When Last We Met...

I'd just given birth to a baby that is *probably* not the Antichrist, (although with an earthquake on the east coast this past week, and a once-in-a-lifetime Hurricane of Doom headed towards us this weekend, I'd say the jury is still out on that one), and had been wheeled past the L&D nurses' station (to a round of applause from all the nurses) and up to the postpartum ward on the fifth floor.

But before we move on completely from the whole birthing experience - here are some things that anyone who intends to have a baby naturally should know.

1. It will very likely not be fun.
2. It will very likely hurt. A LOT.
3. Don't let the damned doctors check your dilation frequently. Because that stresses you out more than anything, hearing, "oh - still 4 cm!" after you've been walking for an hour and a half and praying to god that you've made some sort of progress, cervix-wise. Likewise, do not look at the clock.
4. Cry. Seriously, cry. Weep like a little girl. And while you're crying, have your husband/doula/birthing partner tell you that everything is going to be okay, and that they are not going to leave you, and that they won't let anything happen to you. Because as soon as you internalize that shit, your cervix will open like the Gates of Heaven and your baby will come hurtling into the world.
5. GET A DAMNED ENEMA AS SOON AS YOU GET TO THE HOSPITAL!

Pictures! (Photo Credits to Mother to Mother Services, LLC)

(Note, pregnant women - that shit works. Teach your husbands to press that pressure point as hard as they possibly can during contractions. WORKS. And that's my doula doing the pinching. My husband does not have a french manicure.)

Longest ten seconds of my life, until he started screaming...

And then he pretty much never stopped screaming - for the next two months.

Here's what I have to say about postpartum.

It's FUCKING uncomfortable. This is not, necessarily, the hospital's fault...I mean thanks to the delivery of the terrible poop I had given myself hemorrhoids of epic proportions (they are, thank god, gone now) and the "minor" tear that Dr. G had told me about right after delivery turned out to be not so very minor at all, and possibly not even a tear. (The nurse during my final postpartum visit to Dr. G's office at 6 weeks after birth said, "okay and did you have any tearing besides the episiotomy?" and I said, "what episiotomy?" and she said, "uhhh..." Hah!) Anyway, when I was finally brave enough to hop into the shower and wash that area, I discovered a developing scar at least two inches long. Minor tear my FOOT!

So sitting down is bloody uncomfortable. The nurses make you an ice pack out of a newborn diaper ripped open and stuffed with ice cubes, which although an incredibly huge load to put into one's pants actually does feel way better than the cooling gel packs they also provide. And of course you're wearing the Pad Sandwich which also contrives to make you walk (if you are brave enough to try and walk) like you just rode a mule down into, and back out of, the Grand Canyon. (I know what I'm talking about).

The bed is highly adjustable but all it allows you to do is choose which part of yourself is going to hurt most. The nurses bring you a small square egg crate to sit on, but trust me - it doesn't really help either.

Your baby, luckily, is practically comatose the entire time you're there. The nurses joke that they don't put the batteries in until you bring the baby home. And this is true. So apart from trying to figure out breast feeding, issues with the baby were non-existent. He slept, and ate, and slept while eating which stressed me out, and I had to learn how to make a sandwich out of my nipple, (true story), and how to wake him up while he was eating so that he'd actually eat instead of sinking back into a coma as soon as the nipple was in his face.

So the baby isn't what wakes you up every hour. It's the damned nurses. Nurses come to check on the baby if the baby stays in your room. Nurses come to take your freaking blood pressure constantly. People clean the room. People bring you food. People bring you menus so you can choose the food they will bring you later. If you happen to be married to a guy who knows some people on the board, people from the hospital's Foundation bring you free parking vouchers for your guests, and a baby gift. Because I am clueless, I assumed that they brought teddy bears to every new baby. Like some kind of neonatal candystripers. Sandy thinks my naivete is endearing. *shrug*

Anyway, the point is, there is a never ending procession in and out of your room, day and night. If you thought you had a hard time sleeping while in early labor, you discover very quickly that sleeping AFTER labor is even more impossible. And on top of everything else, you feel compelled to check that the baby is still breathing every 1/2 hour.

Then Sandy decided that we should send the baby to the nursery, so we could get some sleep. Evidently the adorable little pterodactyl squeakings that Rhys made in his sleep were keeping Sandy up. So he sent him to the nursery, and I lay awake for two hours worrying about him and finally made Sandy go and get him back again. Pity Sandy you guys. My bed sucked, but HE was sleeping on this thing.

Anyway. I gave birth Monday night - by Wednesday morning we were ready to check out. I'd showered, put on a little makeup, put in earrings...I was looking forward to a free post-partum massage that the nurses had nominated me for, (they really, REALLY, loved my birth plan), and a photo session for Rhys that morning before check out. And then I realized that, since I was walking around a fair bit for the first time since I delivered, suddenly I was feeling heinously dizzy and my heart was beating a million miles a minute. As it happened, the nurse who checked my blood pressure every time I sneezed appeared, and I asked her to take my heart rate. Her eyebrows shot up after she had done so, and she muttered something to the other nurse in the room and then left to go call the attending physician. My heartrate was through the roof.

After an EKG and bolusing a bag of saline into me*, (dammit! I'd gone the entire birth without a single needle stuck in me and here I was getting IV fluids!), the doctor on call (guess who it was...Enrique. Son of a...) announced that he believed it was all just hormonal and that I should go home. But whatever I did, not to pick up or carry the baby while I was feeling dizzy and having tachycardic episodes.

Awesome.

Once again, Dr. Enrique made me feel like an hysterical female. Seriously, I dislike that guy. DISLIKE.

And so we went home.

*Funny story - as the IV bag drained into me, my left breast inflated. No lie. INFLATED. I watched my shirt pulling to the left as it swelled. It was twice the size of the right one in a matter of minutes. I told the nurse, who turned down the IV drip, and then went to tell the doctor. He said there was no way that could happen. But you guys - it did. He refused to believe me. However, the nurse, who actually looked at it, agreed with me. It inflated. Freaky.