Your real birthday.
The day of your birth.
We have a party.
That's right. We sing and have presents and everything! So here she is, Miss Julia on the day of her birth. She likes to party down.
But that night I didn't enjoy life much, as previously mentioned.
The next morning I had this huge breakfast which I actually ate. I swear it might've been the best, fluffiest bagel in Christendom (there is humor in that statement). I felt like I might be sort of ok.
But then they came and made me get out of the damned bed again to go to the bathroom. And of course I couldn't pee. The bathroom was amazingly far away from my bed as well. Seriously. Ok it wasn't. But they weren't HELPING me this time, apparently we'd moved into "You're a big girl YOU CAN DO IT!" phase of recovery which I personally was against.
The day was fairly uneventful, I had some visitors whom I probably drooled on or rambled aimlessly - I'm not sure. I feel certain the latter is true.
It was evening when things got a bit wonky.
My nurse came again to get me out of the bed, to make the long trek to the bathroom - I swear it might've been like, 8 feet from my bed. That's like 30 or 40 steps in "Gidge recovery land." While I was enjoying the scenery in my bathroom, and hearing about how I should have a shower (whatever, bite me - I can't even sit on the toilet without almost falling off) a code alarm sounded. My nurse says "STAY HERE I WILL BE RIGHT BACK" and runs off.
And then she stayed gone.
So I'm sitting there on the toilet.....leaning on the wall, wondering when she is coming back....as time passes. More time passes. And more. And more. And more. I start to feel a little otherworldly. As in - there is an OTHER world and I am now on it.
I wonder if they mind if you show up with your mesh surgery panties down around your ankles in Other World...........
....anyway at some point - roughly 20 minutes later or more, a different nurse shows up, issuing apologies and helping me to my feet and to get my panties up which I can't bend over to get and that's sort of annoying. I've been pulling up my own panties since I was at least two.
As we start walking back that 8 feet to my bed I told her "I feel funny......something is wrong......" and at that moment......I start this insane breathing which I couldn't control. I would describe it as my lungs went insane,and started sucking in deep deep breaths and I couldn't stop. I was making this horrible noise when I was breathing,almost like coughing and breathing......and the nurse is looking at me like I'm crazy and I managed to say "I CAN'T BREATHE........" and wham SHE hits the code button and suddenly there are 5 nurses in my room.
My blood pressure had bottomed out - and it starts out low btw. And I was hyperventilating (so THAT is what that's like). The did some mumbojumbo with my head and the bed,dropping it below my heart, and slapped an oxygen mask on me and I just kind of zoned out while they hooked up monitors.
I have to admit, I'd had this terrible anxiety about the surgery, fearing something was going to go wrong. The surgery had come and gone and it was all ok..........and when this started happening, as they put me down on to the bed the first thing that my brain did was go "Oh, here is where it goes wrong........" and I was wondering if I was throwing a clot or having a fucking aneurysm or what. And I wondered if all people who have them get to wonder such things with detachment right before they die or become vegetables or whatever.
Clearly I got spared that drama....and was better within minutes as my blood pressure came back up.
But the cadre of nurses wasn't done with me. OH NO. See - they then decided they had to know if I had actually peed during my tenure on the toilet. And, in my fully oxygenated head rush, I told the truth and said no.
AH /FAIL - it's been too long since surgery, now we have to cath you!
Yeah, catheter. OMG why do those fucking things hurt so much. I was thinking, as they were torturing my lady parts, that merely minutes before, I had been considering that I might be dying - and now they are jamming a probe into my girl bits to drain out the pee. They were telling me, as I was crying, that it hurts men far worse. Bully for them. Sorry to hear it boys.
They informed me, when the torture squad was done, that my pee was like "amber gel" which is a phrase that makes me a bit sick to consider. I got a pitcher of water to drink before I could go to sleep and orders to drink more.
I'd drink my weight to avoid another fucking catheter. I swear to god . That goes for my entire life.
Yeah, c-section is easier. I can see that now. Sure. This has been GREAT SO FAR.