Two of my worlds overlapped in my thoughts because of my being at home with C right now. So, I'm going to share a thought I have.
Okay, here's what I've learned today: Babies are content sitting in poop. It's warm, cushiony and the smell doesn't bother them because it's their stinkiness.
It would drive an adult crazy. Why? Because we know better and can do something about it. That's kind of like being empowered. Babies don't feel empowerment because they don't have the tools to do something about the poop in which they've created and sit in, orrr lay in. They just stay in the poop and are content, until it probably starts to sting their hineys. I think that we as adults sometimes stink things up because we are comfortable sitting in poop, haven't found a voice to holler out for help and don't know any better.
Just a random thought that probably won't seem so profound to me in about 5 minutes. Babies are content sitting in poop, metaphorically--are you?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
She said, "He likes the ocean," and I think she was talking to me. I couldn't really tell though because all I heard were beeps, clinks and liquids releasing from tubes. Making sense of everything around me was another obstacle to me figuring out who she was talking to and about. Not to mention, who was she? When I picked my head up from the plastic incubator it was really hurting because I must've just layed my forehead against the edge which was slightly less comfortable than the hospital bed I'd been in for some time. I was in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit with my new baby boy and about nine other very sick babies, all of which seemed to go home well before mine. And that's who she (the nurse) was talking about-our baby. I looked up and saw a stuffed animal that played ocean sounds, and apparently, that what she was talking about. Pieces of the puzzle to this place were falling together rapidly, almost like when you press "finish" on a Solitaire game just to see the solution because you are tired of playing/thinking. So, into the stack goes the curiosities of where I am.
I had this strange stiffness that came over my swelling body around my 32nd week of pregnancy. These weird ailments came on so swiftly that I figured that it was just how this pregnancy was going to go, and I never thought I was "sick". I thought I just felt like crap. Heck, I got so used to feeling like crap, I didn't know what it was like to not feel like crap. I hadn't been sleeping for more than 30 minutes a night for a couple of weeks. My hands were numb. My left knee felt like it was being operated on in a third world country at all times. My vision---what exactly should 20/20 look like? Nothing tasted good, everyone sucked, and I was miserable. My face looked like---it_was_huge.
So, two weeks of being swollen and about 3 days of not being able to pee were pretty rotten. Finally, on Friday, July 9 I woke up to my husband telling me that he was going to work. I told him I really didn't feel well and that my right shoulder was hurting so bad that I couldn't talk without gasping. He gave me Libby's ladybug ice pack and left for work. I'd been so sick for so long, nothing seemed out of the ordinary to him either. His mom came to entertain Libby and the muralist worked on a mural in the nursery. I knew at about 9 am things weren't right. I called the doctor's office and he happened to be out of town. The receptionist put me on hold for what seemed like an enternity. Finally, I learned I needed to be checked (for the third time that week) in Labor and Delivery. Not checked to see if I was in labor because we all knew that wasn't the case at 34 weeks, but rather what story my blood pressure might be able to tell. I decided to drive myself because I was hurting in my shoulder, sleep deprived and flat out miserable.
Steven gets wind of me preparing to go to the hospital and comes home to get me before I could leave on my own. My bp was unreal when they checked it, but my mani/pedi was to die for--and by the looks of my bloodwork, I was headed that way.
Before I knew it, a doctor I hadn't met was checking me, nurses were doing all kinds of things to me and an anesthesiologist was praying with me. When the team of what looked like "Holy Crap, what do we have here" left the room, I looked at Steven who'd just returned from having stepped out with my phone for a bit. He looked blank. Soon, I saw various family members coming in quietly one by one and just staring at me. I thought that was freaky. I asked for my phone so that I could read or occupy myself while they quitely stared at me and just patted the sheet I was under. I was headed to an emergency c-section and thought I'd calm my nerves. However, what I saw on my Facebook status, that apparently had been updated by Steven was prayer requests for my liver and kidneys which were gearing up for a shutdown. I heard the nurses mention HELLP syndrome and my mom had mentioned it to me, but surely not...
I was super puzzled, but had to hand off my phone and be wheeled by a stool where S was told to sit to a room where people began introducing themselves and asking if it was alright if they cut my undergarmets off. I thought to myself, "Well, the nurse just did some handy architectural work down South, do you really need to ask if you can cut my bra off"? I heard a roar of laughter so that thought must have come out of my mouth rather than been to myself.
Once I was strapped to a table, a team of doctors ready for the premature baby were ready and came to the top of my head to introduce themselves and to tell me all kinds of junk I wouldn't remember. I was also told it would be wise to not get pregnant again and that a tubal would be appropriate during the surgery. I thought to myself, "So would lipo". I heard laughter once more and realized that I must have said that outloud, as well.
Steven came in. The anesthesiologist's cellphone rang several times during the surgery (and he answered it). I finally looked at him and asked him to tell me what was being done. He said, "They are putting you back together like Humpty Dumpty". I said, "I feel that". He said, "What"? I said, "I don't feel pain, but I feel what they are doing". He said, "It won't be much longer". Then the doctor who was doing the c-section said to the anesthesiologist, "Push from up top. The baby is transverse and wrapped in the cord. Push now. Push hard".
The anesthesiologist hung up his cellphone and shoved hard just below my chest. The baby came out. There was no crying. I didn't have my contacts in and couldn't see much. They whisked him away and began working to get him on a ventilator. The next thing I remember is waking up in a tiny dark room with a nurse, my sister and Steven on his laptop working. Everytime I looked at him, he just pushed a Morphine drip button and I fell back to sleep.
Finally, the next morning, I asked to see my phone and I saw that my Facebook status said something about someone being in ICU and bloodlevels not being right or something. I asked, "Who's in ICU"? My sister and Steven simultaneously said, "You are". I said, "What? This is ICU? I'm in ICU? Why?" The nurse said, "You are very sick. Very sick".
I remember people coming by to see me and finally getting moved to a regular room late Saturday night. I wasn't aware I could take anything to help me sleep or be in less pain, so I didn't ask for anything, but I thought I was never going to be out of pain. Walking to the bathroom, though I was just thankful I could pee, hurt so bad. Laying hurt. Laughing hurt. Talking hurt. I was hurting. Steven was working on his laptop because some deadline was upon him. On the way to that regular post partrum room, I was wheeled in to see the baby. I was wheeled past the "Normal Nursery" as it was referred to and to the "Special Care Nursery". This is where you don't hold your baby, he is fed and monitored by tubes. And she said, "He likes the ocean........."
I had this strange stiffness that came over my swelling body around my 32nd week of pregnancy. These weird ailments came on so swiftly that I figured that it was just how this pregnancy was going to go, and I never thought I was "sick". I thought I just felt like crap. Heck, I got so used to feeling like crap, I didn't know what it was like to not feel like crap. I hadn't been sleeping for more than 30 minutes a night for a couple of weeks. My hands were numb. My left knee felt like it was being operated on in a third world country at all times. My vision---what exactly should 20/20 look like? Nothing tasted good, everyone sucked, and I was miserable. My face looked like---it_was_huge.
So, two weeks of being swollen and about 3 days of not being able to pee were pretty rotten. Finally, on Friday, July 9 I woke up to my husband telling me that he was going to work. I told him I really didn't feel well and that my right shoulder was hurting so bad that I couldn't talk without gasping. He gave me Libby's ladybug ice pack and left for work. I'd been so sick for so long, nothing seemed out of the ordinary to him either. His mom came to entertain Libby and the muralist worked on a mural in the nursery. I knew at about 9 am things weren't right. I called the doctor's office and he happened to be out of town. The receptionist put me on hold for what seemed like an enternity. Finally, I learned I needed to be checked (for the third time that week) in Labor and Delivery. Not checked to see if I was in labor because we all knew that wasn't the case at 34 weeks, but rather what story my blood pressure might be able to tell. I decided to drive myself because I was hurting in my shoulder, sleep deprived and flat out miserable.
Steven gets wind of me preparing to go to the hospital and comes home to get me before I could leave on my own. My bp was unreal when they checked it, but my mani/pedi was to die for--and by the looks of my bloodwork, I was headed that way.
Before I knew it, a doctor I hadn't met was checking me, nurses were doing all kinds of things to me and an anesthesiologist was praying with me. When the team of what looked like "Holy Crap, what do we have here" left the room, I looked at Steven who'd just returned from having stepped out with my phone for a bit. He looked blank. Soon, I saw various family members coming in quietly one by one and just staring at me. I thought that was freaky. I asked for my phone so that I could read or occupy myself while they quitely stared at me and just patted the sheet I was under. I was headed to an emergency c-section and thought I'd calm my nerves. However, what I saw on my Facebook status, that apparently had been updated by Steven was prayer requests for my liver and kidneys which were gearing up for a shutdown. I heard the nurses mention HELLP syndrome and my mom had mentioned it to me, but surely not...
I was super puzzled, but had to hand off my phone and be wheeled by a stool where S was told to sit to a room where people began introducing themselves and asking if it was alright if they cut my undergarmets off. I thought to myself, "Well, the nurse just did some handy architectural work down South, do you really need to ask if you can cut my bra off"? I heard a roar of laughter so that thought must have come out of my mouth rather than been to myself.
Once I was strapped to a table, a team of doctors ready for the premature baby were ready and came to the top of my head to introduce themselves and to tell me all kinds of junk I wouldn't remember. I was also told it would be wise to not get pregnant again and that a tubal would be appropriate during the surgery. I thought to myself, "So would lipo". I heard laughter once more and realized that I must have said that outloud, as well.
Steven came in. The anesthesiologist's cellphone rang several times during the surgery (and he answered it). I finally looked at him and asked him to tell me what was being done. He said, "They are putting you back together like Humpty Dumpty". I said, "I feel that". He said, "What"? I said, "I don't feel pain, but I feel what they are doing". He said, "It won't be much longer". Then the doctor who was doing the c-section said to the anesthesiologist, "Push from up top. The baby is transverse and wrapped in the cord. Push now. Push hard".
The anesthesiologist hung up his cellphone and shoved hard just below my chest. The baby came out. There was no crying. I didn't have my contacts in and couldn't see much. They whisked him away and began working to get him on a ventilator. The next thing I remember is waking up in a tiny dark room with a nurse, my sister and Steven on his laptop working. Everytime I looked at him, he just pushed a Morphine drip button and I fell back to sleep.
Finally, the next morning, I asked to see my phone and I saw that my Facebook status said something about someone being in ICU and bloodlevels not being right or something. I asked, "Who's in ICU"? My sister and Steven simultaneously said, "You are". I said, "What? This is ICU? I'm in ICU? Why?" The nurse said, "You are very sick. Very sick".
I remember people coming by to see me and finally getting moved to a regular room late Saturday night. I wasn't aware I could take anything to help me sleep or be in less pain, so I didn't ask for anything, but I thought I was never going to be out of pain. Walking to the bathroom, though I was just thankful I could pee, hurt so bad. Laying hurt. Laughing hurt. Talking hurt. I was hurting. Steven was working on his laptop because some deadline was upon him. On the way to that regular post partrum room, I was wheeled in to see the baby. I was wheeled past the "Normal Nursery" as it was referred to and to the "Special Care Nursery". This is where you don't hold your baby, he is fed and monitored by tubes. And she said, "He likes the ocean........."
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