Warning: enormous post ahead!
As most of you already know, our little boy arrived on March 9. He weighed 7 lbs 11 oz at birth, 20.5 inches long, and literally could not be healthier. All of the doctors examining him used the same word to describe him - perfect J
He’s got a great appetite - he’s 8oz above his birth weight as of last week’s ped appointment - and so far he’s pretty mild-mannered. The only thing we’re having difficulty with right now is getting him to go down for naps and to sleep at night, pretty typical baby stuff. He just wants to sit and look around, but then he gets overtired and fussy - he doesn’t cry much, except when he needs something (food, diaper change, or needs to be burped) but he’ll get squirmy and start rolling his head around everywhere. He does let out a yell here and there when he’s fussy or overtired, but mostly he’s pretty good. I’ve been using Harvey Karp’s “5 S’s” technique from “The Happiest Baby on the Block” and it works most of the time: Swaddle him, lap him in my lap on his side or stomach, plug a pacifier in his mouth, and jiggle him til he calms down.
I put up a ton of photos on FB but here’s some more: http://www.flickr.com/photos/cacoakley/ He’s chubbier now though.
I’m healing up well, too - almost no pain anymore. I can pretty much get around as normal, which is great. I expected the rebound to be a lot tougher than it was, especially considering how I felt right after.
As far as how the actual delivery went, well, I’ll have to think long and hard about whether I ever want to do that again. Because honestly, I hated every minute of it.
I’ll start by saying that I made the right decision in all respects: He was full-term when he was delivered (plump and smooth, if we had jumped the gun he would have been wrinkly) and he was already stuck. He had (well, still has) a flat spot on his skull from where he was wedged against my pelvis and he was born with a bruise on his lower lip from the same. My OB said there was little chance he would have been able to have been delivered vaginally.
But still…
Why my C-Section Sucked:
1: My damn blood pressure. Under normal circumstances, my blood pressure is perfect. It’s a point of pride for me. But because I was so anxious the day of my CS, my bp was high. And they had me hooked up to this damn machine that beeped whenever my bp got over a certain point, and the beeping was annoying, which grated my already-frayed nerves and prompted my bp to go even HIGHER, thus continuing the beeping. Sounds like a little thing but I was in triage getting prepped for 2 hours before the surgery so after awhile, it got to me.
2: The damn IV. It hurt. I’m needle-phobic. You would have thought, when the nurse was placing it, that I was having the C-section without anesthesia right there. I was cringing, whimpering, and Brandon was holding me and trying to comfort me. So pitiful.
3: The “parade of scary.” Before the surgery they had to bring in everyone involved and have them spell out the risks to me - of the anesthesia, the surgery itself, etc. But it made for a solid hour of various medical professionals telling me all the different ways they could oh-so-very fuck me up. Blood pressure machine: BEEEP! BEEEP! BEEP! At one point, after one of the surgeons finished telling me how they could nick my bladder, my colon, and God knows what else, I asked “exactly how often do things like that happen?” and he quickly told me that it was extremely rare and that C-sections are a fairly routine surgery. Dude, lead with THAT next time! Brandon commented that they should have salespeople doing the “How we might fuck up” speeches rather than doctors, because a salesperson could sell around the potential drawbacks.
4: My OB! To recap, since I was 5 months along when I found out about the pregnancy, I didn’t have as many doctor’s visits as is typical during my prenatal care. Since there are around 10 doctors at the practice, I only saw three different doctors, and I had actually only seen the OB doing my CS once. But technically I was her patient, since she was the first OB I saw (actually, most of my visits were with one of the nurse practitioners there, who was awesome). And she was my favorite of the two OBs I saw - sweet, funny, and just great overall. But it had been probably ten weeks since my one visit with her, and it had been a different doc who recommended the CS since my pelvis was so small. So she didn’t remember me at first, and I guess on paper my situation didn’t look too swell - late prenatal care plus the fact that I admitted I had been drinking during the first five months (before I found out). So she came in all somber and tried to talk me OUT of the CS and asked if I thought I had a drinking problem! When I told her that the other doc seemed pretty certain I needed one, and that my family history didn’t bode well for a regular vaginal birth, she then asked if I was sure I didn’t want to wait until my due date (which was only 4 days away). I had been there for 2 hours! They’d already shaved me, FFS! Completely disheartening. (It got better though, right as I was wheeled into the OR she came over, gave me a half-hug and said she remembered me now, and her demeanor was totally upbeat. And like I said up above, afterwards she agreed I made the right call.)
5: The spinal, oh dear Lord, the spinal. Hate, hate, hate. Yeah, they numbed me first so I would only feel the pressure. But I still felt the pressure! Of a giant needle in my spine! I thought I was going to throw up. Then it got worse: They hit something and a bolt of pain shot down my right side. I let out a shout, and damn near demanded to be taken home right then. They just calmly repositioned the needle, and I was numb.
6: Generally, the whole “surgery” thing. I was put in a gown, a cap on my head, an oxygen tube up my nose, and I was numb from my chest down. I was surrounded by doctors in gowns, caps and masks, and there were bright lights, and it was cold. It just felt too… surgical, which sounds dumb, but that was it, I guess. It was hard to think of it as a happy thing when the whole environment suggested that something was bad and wrong, like I was really sick or something. I came close to tears when they brought Brandon in, because I realized how I must have looked to him: sprawled out on the table, hooked up to tubes and crap, with the sheet in front of me.
Despite how it “felt,” though, it went smoothly. No complications whatsoever. It was literally five minutes from when they made the first incision to when they pulled little Colin out and held him up for me to see. That moment was pretty huge - it’s like it hadn’t actually hit me until I saw him that there was a baby (even though he looked like a little alien at first). They whisked him off, and it seemed to take an agonizingly long minute, but then I heard his first cry and they called out his birth weight. I was so relieved when I heard it and knew that his weight was right on the money - I had been so nervous about his development. They even brought him over and held him next to my cheek for a minute so I could snuggle him a bit. But then Brandon was the first one to hold him! What a crock.
7: Breastfeeding right after (this might be somewhat TMI). Because I was numb and a little loopy from whatever pain medicine they gave me for when the spinal wore off (I actually dozed off as they were sewing me up), when Colin wasn’t latching correctly because of the bruise on his lower lip, I didn’t realize how wrong it was. Hence, by the end of the first day, my nipples were bruised, bleeding, and blistered. They were so bad that by the time I saw the lactation consultant the next morning, the conversation was less “here’s how to properly breastfeed” and more “let’s talk about alternatives to breastfeeding so you can heal.” When even the lactation consultant is suggesting you supplement with formula, you know it’s bad. They had me pump every 3 hours to keep up my supply but suggested I just BF him for 5 minutes at a time (which was about how long I could stand the pain) and then top him off with formula. It was kind of a bummer, but when he started eating every 90 minutes the second day, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to do it in my state.
8: All the drugs. Even though I hardly slept the first 48 hours - a couple hours here and there - I still feel like I was barely conscious for most of it because of all the pain meds. But the absolute worst was… the Benadryl they gave me. I was a getting kind of itchy from the morphine, and I mentioned it to a nurse, who said they could give me Benadryl to take the itchiness away. She warned that it “might make (me) a little drowsy.” Understatement. I was stoned out of my fucking mind. I remember saying things, then wondering if I had spoken out loud. I remember looking at the horizontal stripes on Colin’s blanket and thinking they were moving. And the worst part at all: I swear, it blocked out all sensation except one thing: the leg compressors. Basically, since I couldn’t walk, they had to put these things on my legs that squeezed and unsqueezed to keep the blood flowing so I wouldn’t clot. The fabric was akin to some sort of scratchy wool, and it was moderately itchy and uncomfortable. Except with the Benadryl, ironically, the itchiness was a thousand times worse. All I could feel was how itchy they were. And since I was so stoned, I was more or less hallucinating that my entire body was wrapped in the compressors and I could feel that horrible wool on every inch of skin. It was all-consuming. I was nearly in tears because it was so miserable, and so incredibly itchy. And I couldn’t scratch, because I couldn’t move. So basically I got the Benadryl to make the medicine-induced itchiness go away, and it made me even itchier. Worst drug trip ever.
Another side effect of all the drugs was that I was ridiculously thirsty, but at first they would only give me ice chips. They caved pretty quickly and gave me water, since I was being an enormous pest about it, but warned me to drink it slowly. I did, then not so quickly, and soon I was downing the equivalent of a Big Gulp of water every couple hours - and still couldn’t quench my thirst. Luckily, it didn’t made me sick, but it did make me pee nonstop. Those poor nurses were in there almost constantly emptying my pee bag from the catheter. It was ridiculous.
9: The first 48 hours of recovery. Those first two days, just sitting up in bed was an enormous challenge. I did finally start walking that first evening, I was stubborn as hell about that - I knew that the sooner you started walking, the easier recovery would be, so as soon as I got settled in my room I started paging the nurses asking if I could walk yet. Finally they let me up and said I could try to do one lap around the nurse’s station, two if I really felt up to it. I did three. I was in some pain when I was done but I was determined to get back to my old self as soon as possible. Still, three laps around the little nurse station felt like running ten miles, and just lowering myself to the toilet was a bitch the first couple days. When I took a shower the second day I barely made it back to the bed after standing that long. And as a side to that:
10: Missing out on caring for Colin during those first 48 hours. I was stuck in bed for most of that time, so when he needed to be fed, or changed, I couldn’t go to him, even though they had him in our room (standard at that hospital). But there was a silver lining to that crowd: Brandon. He was absolutely fantastic. Every time that little baby cried, Brandon reacted as if he was just delighted to be able to do something for him. It was really a treat to watch. Total parenting rockstar. Actually, even now, Colin howls when having his diaper changed by anyone but Brandon. I call him “the diaper king.” But still, it was a bummer not being able to be there for my little boy those first two days of his life.
BUT, by the third day, I felt much, much better and was able to leave early (my OB had initially said I would probably be there for four days). Basically, when I asked what they were giving me for the pain and they told me it was the equivalent of three Advil, I started asking for my discharge papers. By Monday I was about 90%.
And now, here I am, with my sweet little boy, my loving husband, and being able to move around pretty much as normal. So all’s well that ends well!