May 24, 2006

Whew! Are you kidding me? I can't believe I typed that much last night and STILL only got to the recovery room. This is one heck of a story. I hope it's as interesting to everyone else as it is to me. If not, then I've got a lot of bored friends out there or a lot of people lying and saying, "I am always looking at your blog!" :)

Okay. Where was I? The nurses talking about the cords and how they wanted to see them, if they hadn't already been disposed of. How in the heck do you dispose of umblical cords, anyway? I shudder to think.

At one point, someone (I couldn't tell you who -- too many pain drugs) told me to not be surprised if I were asked to be in a medical journal. I guess it was that wild.

Hey -- when I screw something up, I make sure I go all the way with it.

After recovery, I was wheeled through the NICU to see the girls. Truth be told, I don't remember much of this, except that I was like a bull in a china shop. Here I was, still on the gurney, being wheeled through some of the tightest working conditions you've ever seen. They really work with so little space in there and how we got me through to see not one but TWO babies is beyond me.

I remember seeing Grace and noting that they had not replaced her intubation. I saw Faith and thought, "Why aren't my identical twins identical?" They looked nothing alike. They still don't.

I was taken to the 2nd floor for recovery and put in room 213 (I thought it was funny that the girls were born at 2:11 and 2:12 and I was in 213). Probably no one else finds that amusing.

I was hoisted into bed and Todd and I were left alone. I think. Most of this is pretty blurry to me. I was in shock (surgery will do that to you), I had lost more blood than expected (and you didn't think I could be any paler) and I was taking pain meds as the epidural/spinal wore off. I know Todd was running on fumes. My dad would later say it was like watching someone who had just done a pound of crack cocaine. He just couldn't sit still. He was nervous, happy, in shock and dealing with just about every other emotion available. He left shortly after I got into my room to go home and get some rest (by this time, it was evening and the sun was going down).

That night, Sylvia visited me and we had a nice talk about babies (hers and mine!) and everything else. It was the calm before the storm.

At 9:00 my nurse came in and said, "Okay -- it's time to walk!"

I'm sorry. What did you say? Did you say walk? I nearly looked her in the eye and said, with all honesty, "I'm a c-section patient," meaning, "I need to stay in bed for awhile."

She must have been the shock on my face and she said, "The faster you're up, the faster your incision will heal." Oh my Lord -- this wasn't a mistake.

Apparently, there is a technique to getting out of bed only five hours after a five-inch incision has been made in your lower abdomen.

1. Scootch all the way to the side of the bed
2. Raise the head of the bed all the way up
3. Push up on your elbow
4. Push up on your hand
5. Swing your legs over the side of the bed and use the rails to sit up
6. Put your feet flat on the floor
7. Stand up while holding onto the IV pole
8. Scream like hell

Okay, I added that last one, but I was not at all prepared for what this would feel like. It was awful. It was this burning, searing pain, especially on the left side where the clamp had gone. And I was going to make it clear across the room (about seven feet) to the bathroom? Who are YOU kidding, lady?

But I made it! The first steps were hard and each one got a little easier and a little easier. The nurse helped me to the bathroom and back (it was during that "and" part between "bathroom" and "back" that I lost any ounce of dignity that I had left) and I blissfully laid down again. It was time again to walk at 1:00 a.m., but true to the nurse's word, it was much easier the second time around. After the 1:00 trip, I was free to lie in bed until morning.

BIG MISTAKE.

I was awoken by a very brusk and hearty woman at 7:30 that morning who set down my breakfast tray and took my vital signs. Good morning, sunshine.

Shortly after, my nurse, Yasmin, walked in.

Now, for anyone who is planning to have a baby at Methodist Hospital (Med Center location), you need to commit this name to memory: Yasmin. Yasmin. YASMIN. Got it? If she is your nurse, run the other way. Or ask her to do so before she can get her hands on you. Yasmin, bad. No Yasmin, good.

First of all, Yasmin is a beautiful woman of Indian decent with a gorgeous accent. Very exotic and pretty. I hated her immediately.

No, actually, I liked her a lot. I though, "Oh good -- she'll be a good nurse." Usually I'm right about these things. Usually.

She had a very no muss, no fuss attitude and asked me immediately if I needed pain meds. I had been taking Nubane all night long to control the itching that is a side effect of the epidural, so I was feeling pretty good, lying there in bed.

"No thanks. I'm fine."

She instructed me to get up, move around, take a shower, etc and that after that, I could go to the NICU. I needed one more round of antibiotics, but we could take the IV out after the dose at 1:00 p.m. I was a little surprised by how little help she was offering and I asked, "Am I on my own with this?"

"Oh yes," she assured me. "You've already gotten up twice, so you're ready to do it on your own."

She left and I went through my instructions for getting out of bed. Once I was up, I decided to make my way to my bag and get my clothing for the day. Okay...first step.

Oh my God. The pain.

Second step.

The excrutiating pain.

Third step.

Shaking like a mental patient commences.

Fourth step.

Crying ensues.

Fifth step.

How in the hell will I get back to the bed?

Sixth step.

Where is the damn emergency button?

Seventh step.

Almost to the bed.

Eighth step.

Sit down.

I couldn't believe the pain. It was far worse than anything I have ever experienced. It was awful and I was totally unequipped to deal with it. I didn't believe then that I was ready to be doing this on my own and I will go to my death bed swearing that I should have had some assistance. I actually panicked, in that I didn't know how I was going to get help. It was just that bad.

I made it to the call button. I called Yasmin (please don't forget that name) and said, "I'm in so much pain. Please help me." It's all I could utter.

She walked in momentarily and fed me two Lortab and a Motrin. I asked if this was normal and she said, "Oh yes -- the first time is the hardest." I told her that I thought this was unusually painful and she said that I had just laid in bed too long and that my muscles had tensed up again. I needed to move more. And with that, she left.

I nearly slapped her. Obviously, this woman has never had a c-section, nor did she have any idea that saying stuff like that was not going to help me any. I needed a little bit of compassion here, but there was none. Not a bit.

I sat on the bed as the shaking subsided and the drugs took effect. I called Todd and asked if he was on his way. Luckily, he was and he was able to help me shower and get ready. I don't know what I would have done without him. He was my lifesaver.

Dad and Jean arrived and we talked for awhile. They left for the NICU and then back to Houston and I finished up hobbling around the room.

After this whole debacle, Todd wheeled me to the NICU to see the girls. This is the first, real memory I have of them. They were perfect. So small and helpless and yet so strong to survive such an ordeal. My heart filled with love and my eyes with tears. My daughters. Perfect and precious. My mind saw princess dresses and first days of school and dance lessons and Girl Scout initiations and first dates and broken hearts and proms and ... It was just too much. So much comes with girls. Was I up to this? I guess I'd find out.

We returned a little while later and Todd left to go meet his parents at our house. I was feeling a lot better by this time and managed to move around the room with the grace of Quasimodo. But at least I was moving.

After lunch, a new nurse came in. Where was Yasmin? Who cares? I asked this new woman, my new best friend, about the antibiotics. She said, "Oh - your doctor cancelled them. Didn't Yasmin tell you?" Chalk another one up to super nurse. I asked if the IV could come out and new nurse (name forgotten, I'm sorry) complied. Finally, I was free of it all!

Okay -- it's obvious to me that this is going nowhere fast. My ridiculous need for detail, combined with (or caused by) my obsessive-compulsive personality has bogged this blog down. It's a bogged blog. *Weak Smile Here*

So, I'm signing off for today. I'm going to give some thought to how I'm going to get everything in that I need to get in (I'm doing this for my own memory too) without robbing blogger.com of all of its memory.

Also, I'm aware that my link to the slideshow from yesterday isn't working, so I'm going to try to post some of the best photos here. We'll see. I'm never very good at this stuff.

Until then, thanks for bearing with me and the inane details of my c-section. It'll get better, I promise.

With love,
E

Moments later...

Yeah for me! I got the photos posted! Boo for me! They're all catty-wampus. I can fix them, but I'm just too tired now.

Here's the run down though.

- Umbilical cord debacle
- Precious babies (Grace is on the right, Faith on the left)
- Todd (I like to call this "Husband Debacle")
- Me being monitored. Yes, I'm wearing shorts, but they put a towel over them so that I would get transmission goop all over me. Such glamour...