Part 3
Wednesday, January 8 through Thursday, January 9You would think that delivering Lila would be the end of the story. Most of us want our stories to have a happy ending, And we did have a happy ending, however, there is much more that goes into Lila's birth story than her birth alone.
In between the time the nurses took Lila to be weighed and measured and when they brought her back to me to be breastfed for the first time, my doctor was working to deliver the placenta.
Maya's placenta was beautiful as I recall. It glistened with rainbows in the light.
Lila's placenta is a long time coming. My doctor seems concerned, but I'm too busy shifting my gaze from her work to my baby. When the placenta is finally delivered, I ask to see it. My doctor and the nurse both seem a little surprised, but they show it to me and explain how it encapsulated my sweet baby. They show me the hole where her tiny body broke through.
As much as I appreciate what the placenta has done, it appears swollen and excessively red to me. Honestly, it seems as swollen to me as my belly was while I was pregnant. My belly with Lila was significantly larger and more distended than with Maya. Everyone said it was because she was my second and my muscles had already stretched with the first.
--
All the family is getting their pictures taken holding Lila including my sweet Maya, her big sister. My new nurse has begun her shift and is monitoring my vitals. She tells everyone I'll be moved to the maternity wing shortly, and they may go hang out in my room until I get there. Everyone except James and Lila go upstairs.
The nurse gives Lila her first bath wrapped in a blanket. Lila is still quiet. She seems to enjoy having her head scrubbed. She's so contemplative of the new world around her.
After her bath, the nurse continues checking my vitals. She takes my blood pressure over and over. It keeps rising, but I feel fine, possibly because I'm still high on the excitement of giving birth and seeing my baby for the first time.
The nurse leaves the room. She says she'll be back in a minute. She comes back half an hour later and checks my blood pressure again. Again, she starts to leave the room without communicating with me, so I ask her what is going on.
"Your blood pressure is high. I'm going to call your doctor. I'll be back in a minute."
I'm getting frustrated now because I don't understand why I haven't been moved upstairs. I text my mother and my sister-in-law that it may be a while before we get to come up. Of course, no sooner does my sister-in-law show up and I start to complain than the nurse finally returns and says I'm clear to go upstairs.
--
They put me in a wheelchair with Lila in my arms and take me to my new room. I am so glad to see everyone there waiting for us. Maya is hanging out on her blanket on the floor watching cartoons and playing while everyone else is chatting.
My maternity nurse comes in to introduce herself and check on me. James and I say goodbye to our visitors, kiss our big girl goodnight, and watch them leave.
It's time for my nurse to check my uterus. My bladder is so full that it has pushed my uterus clear to the right. She asks me to get up and use the bathroom. She and James help me walk since my legs are still really numb. I sit on the toilet for the longest time, but nothing happens.
I half-walk and am half-carried by these two people back to the bed. The nurse asks if I want a catheter instead. I still can't feel my lower half, so it seems like a good idea.
She ends up emptying two liters of urine from my bladder. That's equivalent to two bottles of soda!
My head begins to ache, and I take a couple of Ibuprofen.
Again, the nurse is checking my blood pressure. It is entirely too high, but I don't feel ill. My doctor is once again consulted, and I am escorted back up to Labor and Delivery, hooked up to a magnesium drip and a continuous blood pressure monitor, and told that I am to remain on bed rest for 12-24 hours.
--
When my doctor arrives, she explains that I have had pre-eclampsia. We never detected it because my hands and feet never swelled and my blood pressure was normal across all of my appointments. She explains how my liver and some other internal organs were swollen instead, but we couldn't see them without an ultrasound, which I had not had since 20 weeks.
--
Pre-eclampsia. The word terrifies me. The only thing I know about it is that Lady Sybil died from it on Downton Abbey.
I don't want to die.
--
Over the course of the ensuing 24 hours, my headache increases to a blinding, throbbing, "my brain is about to explode" migraine. We try numerous different types of pain medications to keep it in check, but nothing seems to work.
The day becomes a blur of pain medication, barely conscious breastfeeding, continuous check-ups, blood pressure measurements every hour on the hour, numerous attempts to reassure Maya that mommy's okay, she's just sick, and doctors from anesthesia and internal medicine trying to figure out how to help me.
Then, a major panic attack. My visitors are told they need to leave. Sharon returns to check on me even though she isn't my assigned nurse. She gives me a sincere pep talk while I'm midway through hyperventilating and nearly choking on my anxiety. I vaguely recall what she said, but I distinctly remember her looking straight into my eyes and saying, "You and me, we go way back."
Everyone is shooed from the room, and I am instructed to rest quietly in my bed, eyes closed, no talking. My mind is racing no matter how long I lay there. My mom is at my bedside stroking my head, encouraging me to be quiet, but I cannot calm down and every tiny thing grates on my nerves.
If you have never had a manic episode, it is difficult for me to describe it to you, but it is agony to be trapped inside your own head with no way to communicate that agony to anyone who might actually be able to help you. In other words, it's torture.
Nobody seems to understand me, and this frustrates me more than anything. So, I decide to write out some rules for my own postpartum care:
- Bring Lila to me every 2.5-3 hours to eat and no sooner unless I specifically request her. This is during daytime hours until 11 PM.
- Do not allow Maya to disturb me if I'm sleeping. We will schedule specific times thru the day for her to be with me.
- If Maya appears to be misbehaving and I seem to be handling it calmly, do not step in. If I am visibly upset or losing patience/energy, step in and redirect her even if you have to do so physically (i.e. Pick her up and move her).
- Do not question what I'm doing unless you can see that I clearly intend to harm myself or someone else.
- If I have a panic attack/manic attack, look me in the eyes and tell me to breathe slowly and deeply. Remain calm and nonjudgmental. Tell me what steps you think I can take.
- If I am depressive, let me talk as long as I am able. Do not interrupt me. Remain nonjudgmental. Reassure me things will work out. Tell me specific success stories from your own experience. Resist the urge to say everything will be ok.
--
As the nightmare that was Thursday, January 9 comes to a close, I am told that my 24 hours on the mag drip are up and I can finally move upstairs and hopefully be at peace enjoying my newly expanded family.
I leave Labor and Delivery this time feeling not so much the smiling glory of giving birth to a unique and amazing new life, but more like a baggy-eyed, sickly invalid.
--
I spent two more days in the hospital. Suffice it to say that they were not very pleasant. I was finally released on Saturday night despite the hospital staff's preferences. I knew I needed to get home to my family and my bed if I ever wanted to fully recover.
Today is the three week point. Lila is three weeks old today, and she grows cuter and more precious to me every day. The further distance I can put between the pain of her pregnancy and the events after her birth, the stronger my bond to her becomes. It's not her fault what I went through, and, yes, it was totally worth it because I love her so very much.
It may sound trite, but it's true. There is no bond stronger in the world than the bond between a mother and child.
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