Part 1: Nova's VBAC
So where was I?
Oh yes. Fresh newborn in my arms, my husband by my side, and my preschooler being cared for by a dear friend. I had VBAC'ed. I had pushed a giant head out. I had succeeded.
I was on a high only hormones and euphoria could bring. And then it all crashed down.
Nova was born at 7pm on a Sunday, and the doctors planned to release us on Tuesday - barring any issues. They wanted to monitor my pre-E to make sure that it was going away on its own, as well as monitor Nova since she had been a meconium baby and I was GBS+. No one was too worried about my pre-E diagnosis since it had occurred only a couple hours before birth and birth is supposed to be the ultimate cure. I spent that first night wide awake, staring at my precious baby while Stephen slept on the world's hardest, narrowest couch beside me. My extroverted self thrived off interactions with various medical personnel, and I remember thinking that this hospital stay wasn't bad at all.
Until my 1pm blood pressure reading.
A chatty tech came in and casually took my blood pressure. The band tightened uncomfortably and I squirmed and rolled my eyes. I still had a port in the crook of each arm, since my hide-a-veins didn't allow the techs any other access.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
"Huh, that's weird," the tech muttered. I glanced over at the monitor. 195/94."That has to be wrong," I insisted.
He took it again. A similar number.
"I'm going to go get a doctor," he said hurriedly.
They checked my BP seemingly countless times in the next couple hours and every reading said the same thing: a blood pressure spike. My blood labs came back with similar results. The pre-E was surging and I needed more than monitoring. Delivery hadn't cured me.
At 5pm, they hooked me up to magnesium for the next 12 hours and gave me pills to push the fluid out of my legs. Bitter tears filled my eyes. I didn't want to be hooked up to a giant pump. I wanted to be able to nurse my baby without wires and needles attached to me. I wanted to sleep without the BP monitor going off every hour. I wanted to go to the bathroom without lugging the magnesium drip around. [I escaped a catheter because, other than what the readings were telling them, I looked and acted fine.]
The magnesium made me emotional, but didn't drug me until later. I spent that second night teaching my sleepy, lazy baby how to nurse, cringing with each post birth uterine contraction, and dreaming of the day I could be better.
12 hours later, the first round of magnesium was finished and my numbers were still high. Onto a second. And BP meds. Landon visited that day, and we took our first family of four photo while I had needles and tubes in my arms and a magnesium pump attached to my person. I wanted nothing more to go home to him. Tuesday night, my BP lowered to semi-acceptable numbers, and the doctors talked about sending me home Wednesday morning. I was ready.
And then, Wednesday morning, my numbers surged again. It was as if my pre-eclampsia wanted to extinguish all joy and hope and keep me in my hospital prison forever. Wednesday was difficult. That evening, the doctors upped my meds and monitored me closely. They remained close-lipped about when we would go home, but I heard rumors of Friday. I was heartbroken and exhausted and Stephen was exhausted from curling up on the world's hardest surface for broken sleep. Nova, however, was thriving.
By Thursday morning, I was resigned to my fate. The pre-E would win and I would live at the hospital forever. I still felt fine, and my inability to feel my own symptoms and illness frustrated me. The pediatrician came in grinning and told me that Nova was already gaining weight and that he had heard that they might send us home that day. A glimmer of hope.
Finally, in the mid-morning, a doctor stopped by. My numbers--both BP and labs--were finally trending downward and staying that way. He would release me with a slew of conditions - the most annoying being that we had to return twice in the next four days for labs and BP readings. The wait until my afternoon reading was agonizing; I was terrified of my numbers shooting up and not being able to go home. But. My numbers behaved, and we started the agonizingly slow release process.
Finally, at 4:30pm Thursday afternoon, we left the hospital. 5 days and 4 nights after we had gotten there, and with a fresh newborn in my now track marked arms.
It's been four days since we got home, and my numbers have continued to slowly drop. I feel so much healthier and stronger in my own home, and despite our numerous trips to Lakenheath, I'm making a full birth recovery. My meds are still high, but they're doing their job of keeping me alive. I've finally started to feel off if I'm late on a dose or if I stand up too quickly, but otherwise I'm my perky, chatty
self.
The most difficult part of this whole ordeal has been inconveniencing others. I am truly so grateful to my husband and friends here for taking care of me, Landon, and Nova. I couldn't have done it without the women who visited me, who cared for my child, who brought us meals, and of course, the father of my babies who does it all.
So where was I?
Oh yes. Fresh newborn in my arms, my husband by my side, and my preschooler being cared for by a dear friend. I had VBAC'ed. I had pushed a giant head out. I had succeeded.
I was on a high only hormones and euphoria could bring. And then it all crashed down.
Nova was born at 7pm on a Sunday, and the doctors planned to release us on Tuesday - barring any issues. They wanted to monitor my pre-E to make sure that it was going away on its own, as well as monitor Nova since she had been a meconium baby and I was GBS+. No one was too worried about my pre-E diagnosis since it had occurred only a couple hours before birth and birth is supposed to be the ultimate cure. I spent that first night wide awake, staring at my precious baby while Stephen slept on the world's hardest, narrowest couch beside me. My extroverted self thrived off interactions with various medical personnel, and I remember thinking that this hospital stay wasn't bad at all.
Until my 1pm blood pressure reading.
A chatty tech came in and casually took my blood pressure. The band tightened uncomfortably and I squirmed and rolled my eyes. I still had a port in the crook of each arm, since my hide-a-veins didn't allow the techs any other access.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
"Huh, that's weird," the tech muttered. I glanced over at the monitor. 195/94."That has to be wrong," I insisted.
He took it again. A similar number.
"I'm going to go get a doctor," he said hurriedly.
They checked my BP seemingly countless times in the next couple hours and every reading said the same thing: a blood pressure spike. My blood labs came back with similar results. The pre-E was surging and I needed more than monitoring. Delivery hadn't cured me.
Right before it all got crazy.
At 5pm, they hooked me up to magnesium for the next 12 hours and gave me pills to push the fluid out of my legs. Bitter tears filled my eyes. I didn't want to be hooked up to a giant pump. I wanted to be able to nurse my baby without wires and needles attached to me. I wanted to sleep without the BP monitor going off every hour. I wanted to go to the bathroom without lugging the magnesium drip around. [I escaped a catheter because, other than what the readings were telling them, I looked and acted fine.]
The magnesium made me emotional, but didn't drug me until later. I spent that second night teaching my sleepy, lazy baby how to nurse, cringing with each post birth uterine contraction, and dreaming of the day I could be better.
12 hours later, the first round of magnesium was finished and my numbers were still high. Onto a second. And BP meds. Landon visited that day, and we took our first family of four photo while I had needles and tubes in my arms and a magnesium pump attached to my person. I wanted nothing more to go home to him. Tuesday night, my BP lowered to semi-acceptable numbers, and the doctors talked about sending me home Wednesday morning. I was ready.
Note the magnesium pump in the back.
And then, Wednesday morning, my numbers surged again. It was as if my pre-eclampsia wanted to extinguish all joy and hope and keep me in my hospital prison forever. Wednesday was difficult. That evening, the doctors upped my meds and monitored me closely. They remained close-lipped about when we would go home, but I heard rumors of Friday. I was heartbroken and exhausted and Stephen was exhausted from curling up on the world's hardest surface for broken sleep. Nova, however, was thriving.
By Thursday morning, I was resigned to my fate. The pre-E would win and I would live at the hospital forever. I still felt fine, and my inability to feel my own symptoms and illness frustrated me. The pediatrician came in grinning and told me that Nova was already gaining weight and that he had heard that they might send us home that day. A glimmer of hope.
Finally, in the mid-morning, a doctor stopped by. My numbers--both BP and labs--were finally trending downward and staying that way. He would release me with a slew of conditions - the most annoying being that we had to return twice in the next four days for labs and BP readings. The wait until my afternoon reading was agonizing; I was terrified of my numbers shooting up and not being able to go home. But. My numbers behaved, and we started the agonizingly slow release process.
Finally, at 4:30pm Thursday afternoon, we left the hospital. 5 days and 4 nights after we had gotten there, and with a fresh newborn in my now track marked arms.
Going home.
It's been four days since we got home, and my numbers have continued to slowly drop. I feel so much healthier and stronger in my own home, and despite our numerous trips to Lakenheath, I'm making a full birth recovery. My meds are still high, but they're doing their job of keeping me alive. I've finally started to feel off if I'm late on a dose or if I stand up too quickly, but otherwise I'm my perky, chatty
self.
The post partum situation I wanted.
The most difficult part of this whole ordeal has been inconveniencing others. I am truly so grateful to my husband and friends here for taking care of me, Landon, and Nova. I couldn't have done it without the women who visited me, who cared for my child, who brought us meals, and of course, the father of my babies who does it all.
Comments
Post a Comment
Add your thoughts! <3
Use your good manners, grammar, and humor, and we will all be happy!