Facing My Demon

You may or may not be aware, but I've suffered more than a little angst post surgery about my incision - and yes, the aftermath of the surgery itself. There have been a couple of points of serious "Yeah I Know I'm Crazy" kind of problems I've been having with the whole thing.......one of which is nightmares about the surgery itself.
It rather contorted itself into a Tudor-esque drawing and quartering, without the drawing bit.
This is probably a sign that the torture scenes on the Tudors are far too graphic, plus that I am watching them in the middle of the night when I am bleary eyed and emotionally charged. Not the best sleep fodder for the recently freaked out by major surgery, I suppose.

But the other real issue, the thing I haven't been able to get past.........has been the incision.
It's been nearly a month, and I had not seen it. I'd HEARD about it plenty.

The nurses all ooooo-ed and ahhhhhh-ed over the massive number of small staples that were used (I seriously didn't see why that mattered) and I heard a lot about it "Looking Good" but mostly, these sort of discussions made me queasy and quite ill.

When I got home, I steadfastly avoided it. I didn't touch it. Soap and hot water had to run down my tummy to get to it, no way I was going to actually WASH it, that would mean TOUCHING it. I made a point NOT to look into the mirror in the bathroom - quickly removing my glasses before disrobing for the shower - thus eliminating accidentally seeing it.

Truthfully I was quite ok with not ever, ever, ever seeing it or knowing anything about it.

I didn't even know EXACTLY where it was, just a vague very GENERAL idea.

But tonight when I got out of the shower, the husband came in and said it was time. He took off the rest of the surgical tape that was still on, and brought me a mirror.

It's bizarre.

It honestly looks like a scratch from a fingernail, it's that thin and small. I mean a BAD scratch, from someone being a dick when they scratch you. But still, not like I was flayed open (which I was) and a GIANT HUMAN BABY was extracted (ONE WAS).

It's surreal......and it doesn't hurt. I have some feeling finally in my abdomen even.

I don't know what to think .I spent a month being horrified and terrified of it. Now I'm like "Really? REALLY?"

I still say it sucked, and was terrifying. But I think I'm going to be ok.

And just for the record, I didn't have the nightmare last night. I think that's a good thing.

Facing My Demon

You may or may not be aware, but I've suffered more than a little angst post surgery about my incision - and yes, the aftermath of the surgery itself. There have been a couple of points of serious "Yeah I Know I'm Crazy" kind of problems I've been having with the whole thing.......one of which is nightmares about the surgery itself.
It rather contorted itself into a Tudor-esque drawing and quartering, without the drawing bit.
This is probably a sign that the torture scenes on the Tudors are far too graphic, plus that I am watching them in the middle of the night when I am bleary eyed and emotionally charged. Not the best sleep fodder for the recently freaked out by major surgery, I suppose.

But the other real issue, the thing I haven't been able to get past.........has been the incision.
It's been nearly a month, and I had not seen it. I'd HEARD about it plenty.

The nurses all ooooo-ed and ahhhhhh-ed over the massive number of small staples that were used (I seriously didn't see why that mattered) and I heard a lot about it "Looking Good" but mostly, these sort of discussions made me queasy and quite ill.

When I got home, I steadfastly avoided it. I didn't touch it. Soap and hot water had to run down my tummy to get to it, no way I was going to actually WASH it, that would mean TOUCHING it. I made a point NOT to look into the mirror in the bathroom - quickly removing my glasses before disrobing for the shower - thus eliminating accidentally seeing it.

Truthfully I was quite ok with not ever, ever, ever seeing it or knowing anything about it.

I didn't even know EXACTLY where it was, just a vague very GENERAL idea.

But tonight when I got out of the shower, the husband came in and said it was time. He took off the rest of the surgical tape that was still on, and brought me a mirror.

It's bizarre.

It honestly looks like a scratch from a fingernail, it's that thin and small. I mean a BAD scratch, from someone being a dick when they scratch you. But still, not like I was flayed open (which I was) and a GIANT HUMAN BABY was extracted (ONE WAS).

It's surreal......and it doesn't hurt. I have some feeling finally in my abdomen even.

I don't know what to think .I spent a month being horrified and terrified of it. Now I'm like "Really? REALLY?"

I still say it sucked, and was terrifying. But I think I'm going to be ok.

And just for the record, I didn't have the nightmare last night. I think that's a good thing.

Thursday Was Better

A nap on Wednesday pretty much changed my world, oddly. I woke up three hours later, had lunch of London Broil and truly felt like a different person. Yeah I still had pain and discomfort but really the percocet was keeping it deep enough that I could think and function.



And on Thursday....we got to go home.

Needless to say, there were some short people who were terribly excited to have her at home.
The big boy also was made student of the week the day she came home, and got to bring home the class mascot - so he was pretty much having a banner day all around.

The twins were divided in their opinion regarding the addition of this new human to the clan. While Baby Birdman was dismissive of her, probably jealous.........his brother was a total gigglebox and at one point got the boppy and positioned himself on the sofa - clearly waiting his turn to hold the baby. So of course we obliged.

And I know I was an emo mess and pretty much in full flip out mode recounting Monday-Wednesday of this event. But I did want to share something beautiful from Monday.....the day she was born.

This bloomed on my rose bush. I tried to hold onto the idea of it as a good omen. (I failed). But obviously, I was right.

I survived.

Thursday Was Better

A nap on Wednesday pretty much changed my world, oddly. I woke up three hours later, had lunch of London Broil and truly felt like a different person. Yeah I still had pain and discomfort but really the percocet was keeping it deep enough that I could think and function.



And on Thursday....we got to go home.

Needless to say, there were some short people who were terribly excited to have her at home.
The big boy also was made student of the week the day she came home, and got to bring home the class mascot - so he was pretty much having a banner day all around.

The twins were divided in their opinion regarding the addition of this new human to the clan. While Baby Birdman was dismissive of her, probably jealous.........his brother was a total gigglebox and at one point got the boppy and positioned himself on the sofa - clearly waiting his turn to hold the baby. So of course we obliged.

And I know I was an emo mess and pretty much in full flip out mode recounting Monday-Wednesday of this event. But I did want to share something beautiful from Monday.....the day she was born.

This bloomed on my rose bush. I tried to hold onto the idea of it as a good omen. (I failed). But obviously, I was right.

I survived.

And Then Came Tuesday

Before I rant about my Tuesday, I should probably say that there was something really really nice on Monday that I left out. We have this family tradition that I think is fairly wonderful which we do on your birthday.
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.

And Then Came Tuesday

Before I rant about my Tuesday, I should probably say that there was something really really nice on Monday that I left out. We have this family tradition that I think is fairly wonderful which we do on your birthday.
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.

Recovery and First Night

When I woke up in recovery, it was unlike any other "coming out of anesthesia" experience I've ever had. Possibly because I'd never had Versed before. Normally I've had the slow wake up, the first I can hear - then I can see, then I can think, then I can consider speech, then I can say HI to the nurse watching me so she knows I'm in there......sort of thing.
This time, it was like waking up from sleep. I opened my eyes and saw my nurse adjusting my IV bag or doing something to it and I said Hi. She smiled and asked me how I felt, and I told her "Like crap."
Which sort of wasn't true. I didn't actually feel like ANYTHING. Just sort of - detached. She told me I'd been in recovery about 10 minutes and that I was doing great and everything had gone really well.
She gave me some ice chips off of a spoon and then DOCTOR SHOUTING came in and shook my feet and asked me if I could move them. I said no, and he smiled and shouted something about that being normal and moved on.
My OB came through and again muttered reassurances of how WELL it had gone and that the baby was very healthy and everything looked wonderful. He said he'd see me tomorrow and went on his way smiling.
Then my Mom called.
In all fairness, she thought she'd just get to talk to a nurse to see how I was doing. But at a high tech hospital with lots of mobile phones, they just brought the phone back to me.
I remember thinking that it was very odd to hold a phone when I couldn't feel over half my body. I had a very mumbly conversation with my mom and then my nurse said that after the machine read one more blood pressure I was gonna go to my room.

They drove me up on the bed, me just sort of watching it all bizarrely.....even as they hoisted me into the other bed using this roller thing like I was some giant fish carcass. I was tucked in and then a nurse came in to check on me.....and she said a bunch of stuff about getting out of bed and while she was talking I fell asleep.

When I woke it was after 3pm - and I realized.....the baby had been born between 12:30 and 1pm- and I had not seen her. I hit the nurse call button and asked if I could please see my baby.

And of course, started to cry. I mean - what if it'd been to long? What if she didn't KNOW me because we missed those first few bonding minutes after birth? What if they brought me the wrong baby? How would I know it was even my baby?

They brought her to me, and I instantly knew this baby. I gave birth to her seven years ago and she was a boy that time. She SMELLED like my baby,despite the baby wash. I held her for hours until the night nurse came on duty and wanted me to rest and took her to the nursery.

My night nurse was like, your mom and Mary Poppins and Miss Congeniality and I don't know what else. I almost wonder if they don't specially give her to the c-section patients that first night.......she was that comforting. She came in to tell me that at 1am my epidural had to come out, and explained all the things we would do to manage my pain. She covered all the things that she was going to do at 1am - one thing of which was make me walk to the bathroom. And then she let me go to sleep.

Then 1am came. She detached all my hoses and wires and hook ups including my catheter but thank god she took that out WHILE the epidural was still in. Then she sat me up and gave me some fruit juice and rubbed my legs to make sure I had feeling.

Then - to the bathroom.

She put her arms around me and walked me to the restroom - and very carefully had me sit on the toilet where I could NOT pee at all, hell I couldn't think much less pee.

Now, this is the part where you know that you've simply lost all your modesty and dignity - as a stranger gets between your legs with a hot water bottle and starts hosing you down and cleaning up your crotch - and you don't even care. Seriously, the only thought I was having was "Wow, thank you for doing such a gross thing for me."

Then she put me into the lovely mesh panties that all veteran moms are familiar with and put me into bed, and told me she'd be back in 4 hours with more pain meds.

The first night, well it was a haze. Surreal. There was a baby. Then they took her the to the nursery and there was just a parade of medical stuff being done to me.

The next morning when I woke up, I truly did feel like crap.

I suppose that's to be expected.

Recovery and First Night

When I woke up in recovery, it was unlike any other "coming out of anesthesia" experience I've ever had. Possibly because I'd never had Versed before. Normally I've had the slow wake up, the first I can hear - then I can see, then I can think, then I can consider speech, then I can say HI to the nurse watching me so she knows I'm in there......sort of thing.
This time, it was like waking up from sleep. I opened my eyes and saw my nurse adjusting my IV bag or doing something to it and I said Hi. She smiled and asked me how I felt, and I told her "Like crap."
Which sort of wasn't true. I didn't actually feel like ANYTHING. Just sort of - detached. She told me I'd been in recovery about 10 minutes and that I was doing great and everything had gone really well.
She gave me some ice chips off of a spoon and then DOCTOR SHOUTING came in and shook my feet and asked me if I could move them. I said no, and he smiled and shouted something about that being normal and moved on.
My OB came through and again muttered reassurances of how WELL it had gone and that the baby was very healthy and everything looked wonderful. He said he'd see me tomorrow and went on his way smiling.
Then my Mom called.
In all fairness, she thought she'd just get to talk to a nurse to see how I was doing. But at a high tech hospital with lots of mobile phones, they just brought the phone back to me.
I remember thinking that it was very odd to hold a phone when I couldn't feel over half my body. I had a very mumbly conversation with my mom and then my nurse said that after the machine read one more blood pressure I was gonna go to my room.

They drove me up on the bed, me just sort of watching it all bizarrely.....even as they hoisted me into the other bed using this roller thing like I was some giant fish carcass. I was tucked in and then a nurse came in to check on me.....and she said a bunch of stuff about getting out of bed and while she was talking I fell asleep.

When I woke it was after 3pm - and I realized.....the baby had been born between 12:30 and 1pm- and I had not seen her. I hit the nurse call button and asked if I could please see my baby.

And of course, started to cry. I mean - what if it'd been to long? What if she didn't KNOW me because we missed those first few bonding minutes after birth? What if they brought me the wrong baby? How would I know it was even my baby?

They brought her to me, and I instantly knew this baby. I gave birth to her seven years ago and she was a boy that time. She SMELLED like my baby,despite the baby wash. I held her for hours until the night nurse came on duty and wanted me to rest and took her to the nursery.

My night nurse was like, your mom and Mary Poppins and Miss Congeniality and I don't know what else. I almost wonder if they don't specially give her to the c-section patients that first night.......she was that comforting. She came in to tell me that at 1am my epidural had to come out, and explained all the things we would do to manage my pain. She covered all the things that she was going to do at 1am - one thing of which was make me walk to the bathroom. And then she let me go to sleep.

Then 1am came. She detached all my hoses and wires and hook ups including my catheter but thank god she took that out WHILE the epidural was still in. Then she sat me up and gave me some fruit juice and rubbed my legs to make sure I had feeling.

Then - to the bathroom.

She put her arms around me and walked me to the restroom - and very carefully had me sit on the toilet where I could NOT pee at all, hell I couldn't think much less pee.

Now, this is the part where you know that you've simply lost all your modesty and dignity - as a stranger gets between your legs with a hot water bottle and starts hosing you down and cleaning up your crotch - and you don't even care. Seriously, the only thought I was having was "Wow, thank you for doing such a gross thing for me."

Then she put me into the lovely mesh panties that all veteran moms are familiar with and put me into bed, and told me she'd be back in 4 hours with more pain meds.

The first night, well it was a haze. Surreal. There was a baby. Then they took her the to the nursery and there was just a parade of medical stuff being done to me.

The next morning when I woke up, I truly did feel like crap.

I suppose that's to be expected.

Put Me In Coach

I have to admit it, I'm more than vexed by the concept that I've conceived a child that won't obey mother nature and turn the correct direction for delivery. I got lucky previously. I know this. Easy labor, easy births - even the twins - for a TWIN delivery were a cake walk comparatively.

I have always, ALWAYS gotten my way, when it came to labor and delivery.

I got the drugs, I got the experience I wanted.

And well......I kinda like it.

I don't FEAR it. It's the known to me. I know for a fact that this frame and these hips can get the job done, I'm BUILT to breed except for that whole deformed uterus thing.

I can DO this, Mother Nature. Put me in. What's the trade off this time? No drugs......well that'd suck but you know what, I'd take it over the c-section I really would. I'd take a deep breath and plung forward that women have for thousands of years and it'd be fine.

I'm not being put in. I've been sidelined, reduced to a spectator in the birth of my own child, my only daughter. It's making me a little bitter, I have to admit. If I brush aside my abject FEAR of surgery, of the recovery, of the pain and suffering I'm going to endure afterward vs. the next to nothing after childbirth.......I'm fucking PISSED OFF that I'm no longer an integral part of this process.

I am not the crew. I am the Enterprise. And that is so not cool.

Does it beat the alternatives? Well hell yeah. I'd rather this than either of us end up dead. But I'm a bit pissed off at fate I have to admit.

And I'm gonna be a huge baby about this whole thing. I'd like everyone to just get their hankies out now because I'm not gonna be brave or tough or nuttin.

I have included random pics from our Twins Club Spring Party for one reason.

They make me happy.

Hope yours was magical too.

Put Me In Coach

I have to admit it, I'm more than vexed by the concept that I've conceived a child that won't obey mother nature and turn the correct direction for delivery. I got lucky previously. I know this. Easy labor, easy births - even the twins - for a TWIN delivery were a cake walk comparatively.

I have always, ALWAYS gotten my way, when it came to labor and delivery.

I got the drugs, I got the experience I wanted.

And well......I kinda like it.

I don't FEAR it. It's the known to me. I know for a fact that this frame and these hips can get the job done, I'm BUILT to breed except for that whole deformed uterus thing.

I can DO this, Mother Nature. Put me in. What's the trade off this time? No drugs......well that'd suck but you know what, I'd take it over the c-section I really would. I'd take a deep breath and plung forward that women have for thousands of years and it'd be fine.

I'm not being put in. I've been sidelined, reduced to a spectator in the birth of my own child, my only daughter. It's making me a little bitter, I have to admit. If I brush aside my abject FEAR of surgery, of the recovery, of the pain and suffering I'm going to endure afterward vs. the next to nothing after childbirth.......I'm fucking PISSED OFF that I'm no longer an integral part of this process.

I am not the crew. I am the Enterprise. And that is so not cool.

Does it beat the alternatives? Well hell yeah. I'd rather this than either of us end up dead. But I'm a bit pissed off at fate I have to admit.

And I'm gonna be a huge baby about this whole thing. I'd like everyone to just get their hankies out now because I'm not gonna be brave or tough or nuttin.

I have included random pics from our Twins Club Spring Party for one reason.

They make me happy.

Hope yours was magical too.