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Those ice chips were a little piece of heaven dripping onto my parched mouth and throat. I couldn’t get enough. Dr. Wingo even let me have some water too. I probably drank too much at first because it delayed the removal of my NG tube by about 8 hours. But in retrospect, it was still worth it. The tube was annoying, the way it sat in the back of my throat and I could feel it every time I swallowed. But the feeling of cold ice on my dry throat was wonderful. It distracted me from the reality of my diagnosis and the sensation of pain that was lurking in the background.
Humor was the one thing that was helping me to cope with the whole situation. We laughed with Dr. Wingo prior to the surgery (she has a great personality and sense of humor) and even after the surgery when she came to see me in my room. Some visitors came and we tried joking with my ICU nurse, but he was totally devoid of any sense of humor. He took everything way too seriously.
I wanted to see my baby but we were told that babies aren’t allowed in the ICU. I would have to visit him down on the postpartum unit where they had been kind enough to give Jeremy his own room. It seemed like a nearly impossible feat to get myself into a wheelchair with all of my tubes and stay sitting long enough to travel through the hospital and hold my baby, not to imagine the pain that would accompany such movement. But I was a woman on a mission. I wanted to see my baby. Around 2 pm on Saturday I prepared myself with a dose of morphine through my PCA pump. With the help of a couple of strong nurses, I sat up in bed, straining against my fresh incision, turned and hung my legs off the side, stood up, turned around and sat down in a wheelchair amid the tangle of IV tubes, a urinary catheter, NG tube hanging out my nose, and a gown that was way too large for my too-thin frame.
I winced as the wheelchair bumped over every small crack in the floor and as it entered the elevator and exited the elevator. Every movement jarred my body and caused me pain. As the post partum nurses pushed me down the hall they emphasized the importance of skin-to-skin contact with the baby to promote bonding. I finally reached Jeremy’s room. The nurses again reminded me about “skin-to-skin” as they left the room. I kept thinking, “blah blah blah. I learned all that in nursing school and with my 4 other babies. I’m a pro by now.” I totally tuned out whatever they were saying. It definitely seemed unimportant in relation to everything else I had on my plate. Bonding with my baby wouldn’t be a problem.
My parents were able to visit thanks to the babysitting help of some neighbors. My dad gently passed baby Blake into my arms. He felt like a lead weight even though he was only about 7 lbs at this point. I kept thinking that I don’t remember my other babies feeling so heavy when in fact most of them weighed more than Blake did at birth. My arms were so weak and I was hurting so much that it was difficult to hold him let alone think about trying to put him under my gown for some “skin-to-skin.” The nurses’ suggestion seemed pretty ridiculous at this point. Blake was so perfect and laid there sleeping in my arms. I wished I could have held him longer and gaze into his beautiful and serene face but I felt completely wiped out and exhausted after about 15 minutes. Jeremy could see that I had reached my limit and pressed the call light and asked if I could be helped back to bed. I pressed my PCA pump a few more times in preparation for my painful journey back to bed.
I made one more journey down to Jeremy’s room that night right before bed to see my precious baby one more time. I made the mistake of giving myself too much morphine before the wheelchair ride that by the time I had Blake in my arms, I was starting to nod off. I was disappointed with myself as I handed him back to Jeremy after only 10 minutes and tried to avoid falling asleep on the ride back.
Sunday I was able to get rid of my arterial line and NG tube. I can’t believe how long that thing was. The nurse just kept pulling and pulling it out. It felt so good to have that thing out. Slowly I was able to move more. I was getting better at anticipating pain and pushing my button to compensate. Unless I fell asleep. It felt great to sleep for a long stretch, but the pain upon waking was miserable. Dr. Wingo’s associate came by that day to check on me. She took off my abdominal binder and pulled off the bandage. I had not prepared myself mentally to see my incision. I was not ready to see where I was cut open and I wasn’t told how big the incision was. Dr. Wingo had briefly mentioned that she had to make the incision longer than we anticipated, but I didn’t have any definite picture in my mind of what it would look like. She pulled if off before I was ready to see it. After she peeled off the bandage I slowly looked down at it. It wasn’t what I expected. But then again, I’m not sure what I expected. There was the cut: it started right below my sternum and ran down toward my belly button, circled around my belly button to the left, and then traveled down all the way to my pubic button. I remember being a little confused at first that there weren’t any staples or stitches. She must have stitched it together from underneath. But I was also surprised that there wasn’t any dried blood or oozing. It was a very clean looking incision. Mentally I still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that I had really been cut open. With a knife. From breast bone to pubic bone. And it would be there forever. I guess it strongly affected my self-image to see such a disfiguring mark across my belly. It was definitely going to take some getting used to.
I was then transferred to a new room on the oncology floor. I was looking forward to the new room so that Blake could come to my room accompanied by a nurse from the nursery. However, when I arrived there I discovered that it was hard for the nurses to find some free time to bring the baby. They don’t just have spare nurses around to run babies around the hospital. I understood that, but it felt like I was waiting all day to see Blake again. During this time the medical staff was great. They kept me comfortable and answered all my questions and gave me time to myself as well. Finally, that evening, Blake was escorted to my room. Some friends came by to visit that night and bring me the sacrament. It was a nice reverent reminder that Christ was aware of my situation. I brought a sweet spirit into my little hospital room and a moment of peace and calm to my world that had turned upside down.
We began chatting and laughed and joked about my situation. I’m sure that they thought it was crazy that we could be laughing during a time like this. But the gravity of my diagnosis had not yet set in and Jeremy’s way of coping was humor. It helped me to not have to face the harsh reality yet. I just wanted to enjoy the present and the time with my baby.
My brother, Justin and his wife came by to visit with their two kids. At first I didn’t think I was ready to have the kids in my room. But I was so glad they came. Tanya brought her camera and took some pictures of us with the baby that are the only pictures I have of the time in the hospital. They bring a lot of memories and stir up emotions from that time. I look horrible: I hadn’t cleaned up since surgery, still in pain, and tired. But I am so grateful to have them.
For more pictures from this day check here.
Read the next installment here.