Guest Blog: The Ax Forgets But The Tree Always Remembers
Note: Today, I'm guest blogging on my wife's site, and she's blogging here on mine. We each wrote about the birth experience from our perspectives. If you would like to read mine, please check that out on my wife's website. Her inestimable perspective follows ...
While hundreds gathered in New York's Time Square last Thursday for America's largest New Years Eve ritual, I sat at Kaiser Permanente in West Los Angeles waiting for a different ball to drop. I had carried my daughter for 43 weeks, and it was time to give birth.
I lay in the observation room with a saturnine disposition plastered across my face. I'd been cajoled into just doing the surgery on the 31st instead of the first. I'm assuming surgeons prefer not to work on New Year's Day. Still experiencing the violent irregular contractions that had been initiated five days prior with Castor oil and blue cohosh, I wasn't the most difficult person to talk into getting it over with. The IV of electrolytes (and other crap found in Gatorade) had at least managed to space the pains out. I was only having a contraction every 20 minutes at this point, so there was time to think, pray, and worry. I was excited that I'd be meeting my baby girl after waiting so long, but I was making lists in my head of things that needed to be done. Just when I realized that I needed something to turn my brain off, I looked up and noticed the idiot box staring at me. Turning it on, I fished through a bunch of Tiger Woods crap until I got to something at least slightly funny -- Seinfeld. I watched the episode and started to doze off when Wendy Williams came on. I swear she used to be a man.
Anyway, in the middle of one of my snoozes, Hannibal returned from dropping off Mooch, buying a new cellphone, and getting a much needed haircut. We talked, laughed, and joked like we do most of the time. We find amusement even in things that probably shouldn't be funny. I'd been there since 9am with no food. 5pm was quickly approaching with no sign of my4pm surgery beginning anytime soon. Then our nurse came in and told Hannibal to get dressed. He had way too much fun with his outfit. He popped and locked, professed to be a scientist, and even brought the darn thing home. Don't believe me:
The surgeon, Ramon Yera, a high-strung Cuban guy with a friendly yet borderline snarky sense of humor (Think Ricky Martin meets Simon Cowell. I know Ricky is Puerto Rican, but still.) came in to discuss something that I'd asked the nurse. After walking me through a detailed explanation of the surgery, he and Hannibal started planning a musical number to perform during the operation. *blank stare*
"I can't sing, but I'm an excellent salsa dancer." exclaimed Ramon.
"I've got you covered on the singing!" Hannibal said adjusting his glasses.
"I'm having a c-section not a Glee-section" I thought. He left after bragging about what a great job he does on bikini line incisions, and we waited another 2 hours for an operating room to be cleaned. During this time, the shift changed. I hate change! My nurse came in and said she was leaving. I almost had a nervous breakdown. Hannibal offered to pay her to stay, but she said she couldn't accept. "What about all the stuff we discussed -- no Erythromycin, no Vitamin K, etc. -- will the new nurse know that?" I asked.
"Of course. I briefed her on everything. You'll be fine." She said.
"You said you'd bring the baby to my face so I could kiss her, does this other lady know that?" I asked.
"I'll tell her." She said. "You're really kind of freaking out." I sat up and tried to meditate. I thought positively. Then I had to pee. I unhooked all my monitors and threw the cords over my shoulder. When I got back, the new nurse came in and said it was time to get going.
Here's what happened next:
My partner was ushered into a green room to wait.
I was taken into the operating room and asked to sit on a table leaning forward and be very still. All alone. No team. No partner. No hand to hold. I leaned on the new nurse that I didn't know. She barely spoke my language. I was told if I felt an electric-like shock to let them know, and then I was stabbed in the spine and quickly crucified on a cross-shaped operating table. Arms strapped down, my legs became heavy. A catheter was inserted. I didn't feel most of that. This spinal was much more dense than the epidural I had last time. I felt powerless. Nauseated. Dizzy.
They brought in my husband with camera in tow. I hated for him to see me this way. Betadine solution smeared, taking short lifeless breaths, my words were muffled by the oxygen mask. "Don't take any pictures of me like this. I don't want to remember it. I don't want to know what it looks like."
I stared at the blue drape, and hoped that Hannibal couldn't see over it. He can't even stomach a scene from from Grey's Anatomy or Nip/Tuck [NOTE: Just the needle parts!]. Was he holding my hand? I guess. I was numb up to the chest. They seriously discussed the musical number while he was operating on me. I felt so helpless. The anesthesiologist kept checking on me. I felt pressure. Lots of pressure on my chest, and then I heard loud screaming. "She's here." I thought. I didn't have the strength to cry, but I was overcome with emotion.
"She has a tooth -- a natal tooth!" The surgeon exclaimed.
"I've never actually seen one in person." said the attending Certified Nurse Midwife.
"What the hell?" I mumbled to myself. "Did she come out with a college degree, too, because that would save me a lot of money?" They gave me a quick glance of her from 6 feet away. That's not what I was promised. She screamed for the next 20 minutes. "I want to touch her. I want to kiss her." I said loud enough to be heard.
"Hang on. Hang on. I've gotta stitch you up. Hold your horses." the surgeon said. I didn't like that tone at all. I'll never forget it (especially since Hannibal video taped it). Hannibal talked to the baby through her whole process, but it wasn't soothing her. I saw nothing. The doctor and the midwife sat discussing their holiday vacations as they wrapped up the procedure. They cleared my womb, stitched my uterus, fixed my "sticky" bladder, mended my muscles, stapled me closed, and finally transferred me to a stretcher. It felt like forever.
She stopped crying as soon as they handed her to me. I kissed her forehead. As soon as I rubbed her cheek, the Morphine itch started. They used a new type called Duramorph, which would wear off in 18-24 hours, but that's still a long time to be itching. I fought through the itching to connect with my baby. I even breastfed her in the recovery room. She latched on like a pro.
I was so uncomfortable. Cords were plugged into me everywhere. My blood pressure was being taken every 3 minutes automatically. All my vitals were fine. I just had to remember to breathe. They put some futuristic leg cuffs on my calves to promote circulation. It worked, because I could lift my hips within 30 minutes. It still took almost 2 hours for us to go to our room though.
posted by Hannibal Tabu, The Operative at
1:39 PM
1 Comments:
Annnnd... now I'm over here, and I want to continue gushing a bit more but don't worry, Hannibal, this time it's for your wifey!
Myshell, I know that we don't know each other well, so this might sound a bit superfluous coming from someone who's not around alot. Trust when I say it's more a geographical thing than anything.
Anyway, I'm getting on with it, don't worry.
I just wanted to say that I've been reading all of your blogs over the last few months.
Right now I am sending you a generous helping of real, sincere, love and support. But from what I've observed about you, Miss Lady, you are one of the toughest cookies I know.
You already had a place in my heart for the happiness and love you bring to my friend. That I've said to you in the past. But now, as I get to know you a little better vicariously through your writing, I begin to love you as a sister, and a fellow mother, and as a woman with dreams and ideas about life that I respect quite a bit.
As I've read over these few weeks, I don't worry about you at all. I feel your pain, frustration, annoyance, fear, etc...but I don't feel any sense of concern for your welfare. You are a strong woman, very self aware,resilient, and very soon, you'll be back to what you do oh so very well, runnin' thangs, mothering, teaching, inspiring, supporting, loving, laughing, DANCING!
Us three over here, can hardly wait to introduce ourselves to your new edition and to congratulate you in person. I've got something for the big sister too! See you in a few weeks!
Post a Comment
<< Home