What a big day! First of all, I'm now 35 weeks and second, I received my last P17 injection this morning! I never thought I would get through all 20 shots and here I am, all finished!
I saw Dr. Davis this afternoon. We really didn't have much to discuss and my cervix wasn't even evaluated. My fluid level is holding steady at 10.5 and my NST was good - baby was reactive and no contractions were detected.
Concerned about my increased irritability, I asked Dr. Davis how I would know if I was going into labor. He said whenever I'm unsure just go to the hospital like I did over the weekend. He said I might go back six times between now and my scheduled c-section and that it is okay to be evaluated and sent home.
Baby Boy remains breech, frank breech to be exact. It seems like he's been in this position for as long as I've been evaluated. Of course this brings with it new worries for me such as his hips and possible need for braces or physical therapy after birth. But it's nothing we can't handle.
Oh, and he may just have a name. We are keeping it under wraps...
Showing posts with label transabdominal cerclage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label transabdominal cerclage. Show all posts
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Moving Right Along
Yesterday was another big milestone for me personally - at 34w 5d, Baby Boy has officially had an additional 10 weeks in utero than his Big Sissy.
My lung maturity amnio is just two weeks away and based on the time of day right now, in two weeks, it will be over (unless the doc is backed up). I was told they can get a feel for the results based on how the sample looks. Hopefully this doc will give us his off-the-cuff opinion.
The Terbutaline has been working, for the most part. With taking it every 8 hours, I felt a surge of symptoms six hours into my pill. Additionally, at about the same time, I developed chest pressure and shortness of breath. I was confused because I know Terbutaline is an asthma medication. This prompted a call to the service last night. The covering doc felt that my asthma symptoms are worse than I thought and that the Terbutaline was working on both my asthma and my uterine irritability. I was told to increase the Terbutaline to every six hours and have been doing so for three doses now. So far, so good.
My lung maturity amnio is just two weeks away and based on the time of day right now, in two weeks, it will be over (unless the doc is backed up). I was told they can get a feel for the results based on how the sample looks. Hopefully this doc will give us his off-the-cuff opinion.
The Terbutaline has been working, for the most part. With taking it every 8 hours, I felt a surge of symptoms six hours into my pill. Additionally, at about the same time, I developed chest pressure and shortness of breath. I was confused because I know Terbutaline is an asthma medication. This prompted a call to the service last night. The covering doc felt that my asthma symptoms are worse than I thought and that the Terbutaline was working on both my asthma and my uterine irritability. I was told to increase the Terbutaline to every six hours and have been doing so for three doses now. So far, so good.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Too Much, Too Fast
As I am back into the full swing of my life post TAC surgery, I can see that I didn't quite recover as quickly as I thought I might. For the first two weeks, my mother took care of Precious Miracle. I don't know what I would have done without her help. Precious Miracle is at the stage where she requires constant attention and interaction. She is into things that she shouldn't and climbing where she ought not to (stairs and furniture). She also likes to be snuggled, typically between the hours of 3 pm and bedtime. These are all things a person with a freshly cut hole in the stomach can't handle. So with that, I must say, "Thank you, Mom!"
Perhaps part of my slow recovery is the fact that I pushed myself instead of taking it easy. Five days post-op, I held an egg hunt in my neighborhood. I picked up heavy items, walked a distance and went up and down the stairs without thinking about it. And what did I get? Here I sit, over three weeks later, still putting pressure on my incision as I sneeze.
The third week of my recovery was spent in sunny Florida and once again, I did things that I probably shouldn't have. I wore my jeans (I'm still very swollen) and carried heavy items, not to mention I walked all over the airport. I had no idea that closing the hatch on an SUV required so much abdominal work until I did it with freshly cut abdominal muscles. Perhaps that's what put me over the edge. I ended up in a walk-in, no appointment necessary, doctors' office, where they prescribed antibiotics for my red, swollen incision.
My greatest fear has been and still is infection. But for some reason it's not stopping me. I put my jeans on again this morning to attend Story Time at the local library. Sitting on the floor in tight jeans is no fun period. This was much worse. I could feel parts of my incision pulling, tugging. I would grab a belt loop to pull my jeans away from my waist to relieve the burning sensation. When I got home, I put my sweats on as soon as I walked in the door.
While on vacation, as I tried to fall asleep in my twin bed, I wondered quietly to myself if I had made a mistake. "Should I have waited to have this surgery? Did I jump in too quickly?" Then I thought of what my mind would be saying if I hadn't had the surgery. "I should've done it. It would be over by now. We would be that much closer to growing our family."
So all in all, I am happy where I am. I learned a lesson my body has been trying to tell me for sometime now - take care of me!!! Slow down!!! Much easier said than done.
Perhaps part of my slow recovery is the fact that I pushed myself instead of taking it easy. Five days post-op, I held an egg hunt in my neighborhood. I picked up heavy items, walked a distance and went up and down the stairs without thinking about it. And what did I get? Here I sit, over three weeks later, still putting pressure on my incision as I sneeze.
The third week of my recovery was spent in sunny Florida and once again, I did things that I probably shouldn't have. I wore my jeans (I'm still very swollen) and carried heavy items, not to mention I walked all over the airport. I had no idea that closing the hatch on an SUV required so much abdominal work until I did it with freshly cut abdominal muscles. Perhaps that's what put me over the edge. I ended up in a walk-in, no appointment necessary, doctors' office, where they prescribed antibiotics for my red, swollen incision.
My greatest fear has been and still is infection. But for some reason it's not stopping me. I put my jeans on again this morning to attend Story Time at the local library. Sitting on the floor in tight jeans is no fun period. This was much worse. I could feel parts of my incision pulling, tugging. I would grab a belt loop to pull my jeans away from my waist to relieve the burning sensation. When I got home, I put my sweats on as soon as I walked in the door.
While on vacation, as I tried to fall asleep in my twin bed, I wondered quietly to myself if I had made a mistake. "Should I have waited to have this surgery? Did I jump in too quickly?" Then I thought of what my mind would be saying if I hadn't had the surgery. "I should've done it. It would be over by now. We would be that much closer to growing our family."
So all in all, I am happy where I am. I learned a lesson my body has been trying to tell me for sometime now - take care of me!!! Slow down!!! Much easier said than done.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Finally, Post-Op
Here I am almost two weeks later. This is where I longed to be - on the other side of this surgery. It is done, my TAC is placed. I feel like I've been fixed - as if my "problem" has been repaired. Deciding to have another child and when is back in the air for me. This recovery (although not terrible) has shed some light on what life is like post c-section with a toddler in tow. Keeping in mind that a new baby and breastfeeding/pumping didn't enter into this most recent scenario, I step back and observe the disruption with extreme caution. For one, Precious Miracle seems too young for me to have another child right now. Who knows, in two months, I could change my mind and could easily find myself holding the end of a stick with a plus sign slowly getting "pinker".
Just to recount my surgery:
First of all, Precious Miracle appeared to have some respiratory issues the weekend prior to my surgery. Our doc was not on call so we treated her as best we could at home with nebs and supplemental O2. It turns out the appointment with pulmology that I canceled just the week before was desperately needed. We were lucky they were able to squeeze us back in during our previously scheduled time slot. Knowing my mother would have to drive to the hospital with supplemental O2 made me very nervous. During my last minutes at home, I decided that I would be much more comfortable if my husband stayed with Precious Miracle. My mother was taking me to have my TAC placed.
We needed to drive back to my mom's to pick up good ol' Uncle Jerry so my mother wouldn't have to drive home alone (the hospital was about 1.5 hrs away). To get us there on time, I thought it would be best if I drove. So I did, all the way down 202, 76 with its usual backups, over the Walt Whitman to 42 and then finally to route 55 which would be the longest leg of the trip, 30 miles to our exit and then wham, there was the hospital. It looked like a prison from the outside. If this doc wasn't so good, I might have reconsidered...
We parked and unloaded my two bags full of all the things I would need for my max, 2 night stay. I found Dr. Davis' office at the testing unit and waited until he was ready to sign my release form. He pretty much answered all my questions during my last visit so all I really needed to do was sign. The only hang-up was staples versus stitches versus just steri strips. I did not like the idea of having 20 staples removed from my stomach and told him I was more comfortable with steri strips as, "it healed great last time".
Following protocol, he took me from his office to an exam room just to listen to my lungs and check me over. On the back of the door was a chart showing the "tree" of lungs at four different stages of fetal development. It was sponsored by Synagis and reminded me in my state of nervousness why I was electing to have my stomach cut open. A sense of calm came over me and I was brave in holding back my tears.
Dr. Davis confirmed that the lump in my right breast needs to come out. (It was removed on Wednesday the 19th and thankfully, it's benign. ) He was surprised that it was scheduled so soon after my TAC but I really just preferred to get all things surgical behind me.
Off to preadmission testing where I had to get a blood pregnancy test. Negative. No surprise there. I went out to the waiting area and called to check on Precious Miracle. In the middle of my conversation, they called me back to pre-op. I said a quick goodbye to my hubby.
The nurse escorted me back. My nerves began to fire up a bit. I changed into a blue gown with geese in flight and used the bathroom across the hall and brushed my teeth. I crawled into the bed and began to shake. It was chilly and between the temperature and my nerves, all I could do was shake. This prompted the nurse to retrieve some warm blankets and place them over me.
A tech popped her head into my curtained off quarters and told me someone would be by with a fetal monitor. I told her that I was not pregnant. She looked surprised. My nurse came back in to place my IV. Before doing so, she confirmed, my name, date of birth and reason for my surgery. After providing all the info, I followed up with, "I am not pregnant. It is a pre-pregnancy placement". She looked perplexed.
My IV was placed in my left hand. Boy, did it burn really bad for about 5 minutes. Apparently, it's this new cleaning solution they use on your skin. The burning was unreal and I even questioned whether or not it had been tested and proven to be safe for use in humans. I hope they don't use it on their pediatric cases. (They have a PICU and do plenty of outpatient surgery, so I was told.)
The anesthesiologist came in to speak with me. Yet another person I had to inform that I was not expecting. When he heard that he highly recommended that I go with general in lieu of the spinal. If I were his wife, he told me (unsolicited by the way), he would have done general. I told him I've had trouble waking from general in the past. And was fearful that perhaps knowing this, they might not administer enough and I could wake up mid surgery, unable to move yet feeling every slice, cut and tug. He then went through statistics about how rare it is but then admitted that he had one patient during his career that experienced this very phenomenon.
I decided (weeks ago) that I wanted a spinal with mild IV sedation. I told him that I would prefer to stick to my original plan. He said ok. I also confirmed that he, the actual anesthesiologist, NOT the nurse anesthetist, would be administering my spinal.
The nurse anesthetist was actually the next person to visit my "room". He reminded me of Ross from Jay Leno but not quite as flamboyant. His happy-go-lucky nature put me at ease some. He reviewed with me the triple cocktail of meds I was to receive as part of my IV sedation. I explained that I was a "pioneer" and that I needed to be aware during surgery so I could talk with Dr. Davis and report my findings and experience back to fellow preemie moms also suffering from cervical insufficiency. He agreed and claimed he understood. I thought I was good. But would later learn that I wasn't.
Dr. Davis came to my "room" to walk me back to the OR. He took my glasses for me and promised to return them to me in recovery. He asked if I had any final questions. Indeed, I did. I explained to him that I was beginning to get concerned that he only placed TACs during pregnancy, as EVERYONE in the unit thought I was with child. He reviewed with me his hospital rotation and as it turns out, usually schedules his "out of town" or non-pregnancy following patients at one of his other two hospitals. In other words, he only usually places TACs on the pregnant women in his practice at this hospital. I was satisfied with this answer and was ready for my TAC. Before we left for the OR, I reminded Dr. Davis that of all the doctors, I picked him.
As I was wheeled back, I was holding onto a picture of Precious Miracle and Hubby in the snow. My inspiration. I think that is what helped me be so brave - remembering all the suffering that Precious Miracle had in the NICU - how could I not face this head on? My mother, on the other hand, was not brave. She began to cry as they pushed me down the hall. Also clenched in my fist were the purple rosary beads that Precious Miracle had, just two days prior, worn as a necklace. I thought about bringing the special rosary beads that were my grandmothers, the woman Precious Miracle is named after. Those rosary beads were with me during my five days of bedrest, my c-section, my recovery in the hospital and every single day that Precious Miracle was in the NICU. They were always in my front pocket. Today, they are in a special case in her diaper bag. I left them with her knowing she was going to DuPont and wanted them to be close to her. These purple rosary beads are special too, just in a different way.
On the way back to the OR, I told Dr. Davis that I would have liked to have done a documentary about my experience, something to share with and help others. He said I should have told him two weeks prior, that he could have arranged that. I asked if we should reschedule.
I got an IV full of versed, an amnesia drug, to relax my nerves. I felt just a tiny bit loopy, not too bad. I transferred myself over to the OR bed. I had to sit up, feet hanging over the side, back hunched, to get my spinal administered. Dr. Davis was the one who held me from the front. It took me back to my c-section, where I cried into the arms of this nice African American nurse as the doctor did my spinal while I was on my side. I couldn't sit up because Precious Miracle was falling out of me. I cried tears of fear and anguish. Today was different, today was a new chapter.
The nurse anesthetist asked if I needed a little more medication and I said yes. But I meant a little more, NOT a ton more. I woke up in recovery not remembering a thing.
Recovery was tough because I couldn't get my body temperature up. My first memory was a vague conversation with Dr. Davis about a small uterus. It hung in my mind and I couldn't get rid of those words. Small uterus. Fucked up cervix AND small uterus. What does this mean?
While the nurses put a big tarp over my stretcher and plugged a blower of hot air underneath (like an air mattress), I dosed. I was awakened every so often by the compression of the blood pressure cuff attached to my right arm. "Is your pressure always this low?" Then a thermometer would show up in my face. "Still not high enough." I made an attempt to drink some apple juice and eat a graham cracker.
Dr. Davis came by to see me again. He remembered that I needed my glasses and I was a little more awake so I could ask my question. "What does a small uterus mean?" He wheeled a chair out from around the nurses' station and we had a "heart to heart". He kindly and positively told me that I would more than likely deliver at 32-34 weeks, not the 37-39 originally thought. Anything after 34 is "cake" he told me. I shared with him my fear of an older preemie and the problems that I've read about. We've been so blessed with Precious Miracle, could we be blessed again? He went through all the statistics that were all too familiar. Albeit, this time they sounded better.
Somehow, my body did all the things the nurses hoped it would do and I was ready to go to my room. Dr. Davis met my mother in the waiting area and walked her back to where I would spend the next two nights.
I was so hungry and wanted to eat something other than crackers but once I saw the tray, I lost my appetite. I was given morphine and it made me feel like I wanted to run around the place. I was up all night watching TV and just couldn't fall asleep for any length of time. My body started to itch and I asked specifically for Benadryl but the nurse insisted on another medication that I later learned counteracts the pain medications. I continued to itch and she continued to give me this mysterious medication.
By shift change, I was ready to deal with someone new. My catheter was removed and I was ready to make an attempt at getting out of bed. I tried to stay on top of my pain management and soon got a headache. I was in no condition to do any reading or catch up on computer work as I originally thought would be an integral part of my "free time" away from home. Hubby was on his way to see me. He brought some chicken noodle soup from Boston Market. I was too sick to my stomach to eat. I got up and sat in the chair and Dr. Davis came in with a med student to check on me.
My incision started to bleed during the night so the nurse had changed my steri strips. She mentioned hematoma and after hearing what my friend went though, I was quick to have Dr. Davis assess the situation. He said it all looked good. I asked him to please review what he told me the day before so my husband could hear accurate information.
I then started to get sick. I almost threw up in the bucket but somehow managed not to. Dr. Davis pressed on my stomach to determine if I had a spinal headache. It really felt like the start of a bad migraine. After hearing what my friend with the hematoma went through to fix her spinal headache, I was hoping the doctor wouldn't say those words.
As an advocate for my own care, I asked for a shot of dilaudid (works like a charm) and some compazine for my nausea. Dr. Davis agreed and wrote the orders. He also wrote a script for my pain meds for home as I would not see him the next day. Yes, I was spending one more night. Darn. I wanted to get home.
Before my dilaudid was given, I thought it would help if I showered. My wonderful husband helped me. This time, I brought my own clothes and didn't need to wear the mesh underwear the hospital provides. (My darling husband helped me put on those mesh underwear when I had my c-section.) It is times like this when I am reminded just how unconditional my husband's love is. I question whether I would be able to care for him the way he cares for me.
Wrapping this up, after sleeping the next 18 hours (dilaudid is good), I ended up discharging the next morning. Precious Miracle joined my mother and Uncle Jerry and we drove home. It was good to see my baby but better that my mom was there to care for her.
I spent the next few days in bed. The recovery was the worst part. Now that I am almost two weeks out, it doesn't seem so bad (except that I look pregnant and still can't put my jeans on).
I organized an egg hunt just five days post surgery. Had it been a c-section, I just would have been released from the hospital the day before the hunt. Not bad for getting back on my feet. And, nine days after my surgery, I went for same day surgery to have a lump removed from my breast. Today is day 12 post-op and I'm feeling pretty good.
Now, when this cycle passes, we can start TTC as they say in computer language. (Trying to conceive.) Are we ready? Or not?
Just to recount my surgery:
First of all, Precious Miracle appeared to have some respiratory issues the weekend prior to my surgery. Our doc was not on call so we treated her as best we could at home with nebs and supplemental O2. It turns out the appointment with pulmology that I canceled just the week before was desperately needed. We were lucky they were able to squeeze us back in during our previously scheduled time slot. Knowing my mother would have to drive to the hospital with supplemental O2 made me very nervous. During my last minutes at home, I decided that I would be much more comfortable if my husband stayed with Precious Miracle. My mother was taking me to have my TAC placed.
We needed to drive back to my mom's to pick up good ol' Uncle Jerry so my mother wouldn't have to drive home alone (the hospital was about 1.5 hrs away). To get us there on time, I thought it would be best if I drove. So I did, all the way down 202, 76 with its usual backups, over the Walt Whitman to 42 and then finally to route 55 which would be the longest leg of the trip, 30 miles to our exit and then wham, there was the hospital. It looked like a prison from the outside. If this doc wasn't so good, I might have reconsidered...
We parked and unloaded my two bags full of all the things I would need for my max, 2 night stay. I found Dr. Davis' office at the testing unit and waited until he was ready to sign my release form. He pretty much answered all my questions during my last visit so all I really needed to do was sign. The only hang-up was staples versus stitches versus just steri strips. I did not like the idea of having 20 staples removed from my stomach and told him I was more comfortable with steri strips as, "it healed great last time".
Following protocol, he took me from his office to an exam room just to listen to my lungs and check me over. On the back of the door was a chart showing the "tree" of lungs at four different stages of fetal development. It was sponsored by Synagis and reminded me in my state of nervousness why I was electing to have my stomach cut open. A sense of calm came over me and I was brave in holding back my tears.
Dr. Davis confirmed that the lump in my right breast needs to come out. (It was removed on Wednesday the 19th and thankfully, it's benign. ) He was surprised that it was scheduled so soon after my TAC but I really just preferred to get all things surgical behind me.
Off to preadmission testing where I had to get a blood pregnancy test. Negative. No surprise there. I went out to the waiting area and called to check on Precious Miracle. In the middle of my conversation, they called me back to pre-op. I said a quick goodbye to my hubby.
The nurse escorted me back. My nerves began to fire up a bit. I changed into a blue gown with geese in flight and used the bathroom across the hall and brushed my teeth. I crawled into the bed and began to shake. It was chilly and between the temperature and my nerves, all I could do was shake. This prompted the nurse to retrieve some warm blankets and place them over me.
A tech popped her head into my curtained off quarters and told me someone would be by with a fetal monitor. I told her that I was not pregnant. She looked surprised. My nurse came back in to place my IV. Before doing so, she confirmed, my name, date of birth and reason for my surgery. After providing all the info, I followed up with, "I am not pregnant. It is a pre-pregnancy placement". She looked perplexed.
My IV was placed in my left hand. Boy, did it burn really bad for about 5 minutes. Apparently, it's this new cleaning solution they use on your skin. The burning was unreal and I even questioned whether or not it had been tested and proven to be safe for use in humans. I hope they don't use it on their pediatric cases. (They have a PICU and do plenty of outpatient surgery, so I was told.)
The anesthesiologist came in to speak with me. Yet another person I had to inform that I was not expecting. When he heard that he highly recommended that I go with general in lieu of the spinal. If I were his wife, he told me (unsolicited by the way), he would have done general. I told him I've had trouble waking from general in the past. And was fearful that perhaps knowing this, they might not administer enough and I could wake up mid surgery, unable to move yet feeling every slice, cut and tug. He then went through statistics about how rare it is but then admitted that he had one patient during his career that experienced this very phenomenon.
I decided (weeks ago) that I wanted a spinal with mild IV sedation. I told him that I would prefer to stick to my original plan. He said ok. I also confirmed that he, the actual anesthesiologist, NOT the nurse anesthetist, would be administering my spinal.
The nurse anesthetist was actually the next person to visit my "room". He reminded me of Ross from Jay Leno but not quite as flamboyant. His happy-go-lucky nature put me at ease some. He reviewed with me the triple cocktail of meds I was to receive as part of my IV sedation. I explained that I was a "pioneer" and that I needed to be aware during surgery so I could talk with Dr. Davis and report my findings and experience back to fellow preemie moms also suffering from cervical insufficiency. He agreed and claimed he understood. I thought I was good. But would later learn that I wasn't.
Dr. Davis came to my "room" to walk me back to the OR. He took my glasses for me and promised to return them to me in recovery. He asked if I had any final questions. Indeed, I did. I explained to him that I was beginning to get concerned that he only placed TACs during pregnancy, as EVERYONE in the unit thought I was with child. He reviewed with me his hospital rotation and as it turns out, usually schedules his "out of town" or non-pregnancy following patients at one of his other two hospitals. In other words, he only usually places TACs on the pregnant women in his practice at this hospital. I was satisfied with this answer and was ready for my TAC. Before we left for the OR, I reminded Dr. Davis that of all the doctors, I picked him.
As I was wheeled back, I was holding onto a picture of Precious Miracle and Hubby in the snow. My inspiration. I think that is what helped me be so brave - remembering all the suffering that Precious Miracle had in the NICU - how could I not face this head on? My mother, on the other hand, was not brave. She began to cry as they pushed me down the hall. Also clenched in my fist were the purple rosary beads that Precious Miracle had, just two days prior, worn as a necklace. I thought about bringing the special rosary beads that were my grandmothers, the woman Precious Miracle is named after. Those rosary beads were with me during my five days of bedrest, my c-section, my recovery in the hospital and every single day that Precious Miracle was in the NICU. They were always in my front pocket. Today, they are in a special case in her diaper bag. I left them with her knowing she was going to DuPont and wanted them to be close to her. These purple rosary beads are special too, just in a different way.
On the way back to the OR, I told Dr. Davis that I would have liked to have done a documentary about my experience, something to share with and help others. He said I should have told him two weeks prior, that he could have arranged that. I asked if we should reschedule.
I got an IV full of versed, an amnesia drug, to relax my nerves. I felt just a tiny bit loopy, not too bad. I transferred myself over to the OR bed. I had to sit up, feet hanging over the side, back hunched, to get my spinal administered. Dr. Davis was the one who held me from the front. It took me back to my c-section, where I cried into the arms of this nice African American nurse as the doctor did my spinal while I was on my side. I couldn't sit up because Precious Miracle was falling out of me. I cried tears of fear and anguish. Today was different, today was a new chapter.
The nurse anesthetist asked if I needed a little more medication and I said yes. But I meant a little more, NOT a ton more. I woke up in recovery not remembering a thing.
Recovery was tough because I couldn't get my body temperature up. My first memory was a vague conversation with Dr. Davis about a small uterus. It hung in my mind and I couldn't get rid of those words. Small uterus. Fucked up cervix AND small uterus. What does this mean?
While the nurses put a big tarp over my stretcher and plugged a blower of hot air underneath (like an air mattress), I dosed. I was awakened every so often by the compression of the blood pressure cuff attached to my right arm. "Is your pressure always this low?" Then a thermometer would show up in my face. "Still not high enough." I made an attempt to drink some apple juice and eat a graham cracker.
Dr. Davis came by to see me again. He remembered that I needed my glasses and I was a little more awake so I could ask my question. "What does a small uterus mean?" He wheeled a chair out from around the nurses' station and we had a "heart to heart". He kindly and positively told me that I would more than likely deliver at 32-34 weeks, not the 37-39 originally thought. Anything after 34 is "cake" he told me. I shared with him my fear of an older preemie and the problems that I've read about. We've been so blessed with Precious Miracle, could we be blessed again? He went through all the statistics that were all too familiar. Albeit, this time they sounded better.
Somehow, my body did all the things the nurses hoped it would do and I was ready to go to my room. Dr. Davis met my mother in the waiting area and walked her back to where I would spend the next two nights.
I was so hungry and wanted to eat something other than crackers but once I saw the tray, I lost my appetite. I was given morphine and it made me feel like I wanted to run around the place. I was up all night watching TV and just couldn't fall asleep for any length of time. My body started to itch and I asked specifically for Benadryl but the nurse insisted on another medication that I later learned counteracts the pain medications. I continued to itch and she continued to give me this mysterious medication.
By shift change, I was ready to deal with someone new. My catheter was removed and I was ready to make an attempt at getting out of bed. I tried to stay on top of my pain management and soon got a headache. I was in no condition to do any reading or catch up on computer work as I originally thought would be an integral part of my "free time" away from home. Hubby was on his way to see me. He brought some chicken noodle soup from Boston Market. I was too sick to my stomach to eat. I got up and sat in the chair and Dr. Davis came in with a med student to check on me.
My incision started to bleed during the night so the nurse had changed my steri strips. She mentioned hematoma and after hearing what my friend went though, I was quick to have Dr. Davis assess the situation. He said it all looked good. I asked him to please review what he told me the day before so my husband could hear accurate information.
I then started to get sick. I almost threw up in the bucket but somehow managed not to. Dr. Davis pressed on my stomach to determine if I had a spinal headache. It really felt like the start of a bad migraine. After hearing what my friend with the hematoma went through to fix her spinal headache, I was hoping the doctor wouldn't say those words.
As an advocate for my own care, I asked for a shot of dilaudid (works like a charm) and some compazine for my nausea. Dr. Davis agreed and wrote the orders. He also wrote a script for my pain meds for home as I would not see him the next day. Yes, I was spending one more night. Darn. I wanted to get home.
Before my dilaudid was given, I thought it would help if I showered. My wonderful husband helped me. This time, I brought my own clothes and didn't need to wear the mesh underwear the hospital provides. (My darling husband helped me put on those mesh underwear when I had my c-section.) It is times like this when I am reminded just how unconditional my husband's love is. I question whether I would be able to care for him the way he cares for me.
Wrapping this up, after sleeping the next 18 hours (dilaudid is good), I ended up discharging the next morning. Precious Miracle joined my mother and Uncle Jerry and we drove home. It was good to see my baby but better that my mom was there to care for her.
I spent the next few days in bed. The recovery was the worst part. Now that I am almost two weeks out, it doesn't seem so bad (except that I look pregnant and still can't put my jeans on).
I organized an egg hunt just five days post surgery. Had it been a c-section, I just would have been released from the hospital the day before the hunt. Not bad for getting back on my feet. And, nine days after my surgery, I went for same day surgery to have a lump removed from my breast. Today is day 12 post-op and I'm feeling pretty good.
Now, when this cycle passes, we can start TTC as they say in computer language. (Trying to conceive.) Are we ready? Or not?
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