A Storm is Brewing: Recovery

Our daughter, Ruby, arrived on October, 7, 2017 by emergency c-section. As soon as she arrived she was rushed from the room and was immiediately put on a ventilator.

Andy and I stayed behind in the operating room. We sat in silence for what seemed like forever while the doctor finished my surgery. There were so many questions racing through my mind.

What does she look like?

Is she alright?

When can I see her?

How much longer is this going to take?

I remember that in the midst of all of these questions I began feeling very sick. I remember closing my eyes and focusing on taking deep breaths because I felt like I’d vomit and/or pass out if I wasn’t careful. The anesthesiologist noticed and asked if I was alright.

“I feel sick.”

I couldn’t get any other words out. She explained that often, when the doctors are finishing up the stitches, nausea can set in. She included reasonings as to why, but all I heard was that she was going to give me some type of medicine through my iv to help.

I remember thinking that I didn’t have time for complications. I didn’t have time to focus on anything other than that little person in the other room.

And about the time I started to feel better, they came in and told Andy he could see Ruby. I’ve never been so thankful to have my husband called away from me, but now I was alone again.

I don’t remember how much longer before they’d finished my surgery. I do remember that God knew how much I needed the comedy that came next.

I need to begin this part of the story by sharing with you that I have NO upper body strength whatsoever. None. Zip. Zero. I say that to share this: I, who was numb from the chest down, who is not a small girl especially on this particular day of my life, was left alone with 2 very petite female nurses who were responsible for moving me from the operating table to a hospital bed. Let that sink in.

They looked at each other and asked aloud, “How are we going to do this?”

I was thinking the same thing.

The hospital bed was pushed right up to the operating table. The nurses began devising a plan that I didn’t have a great deal of confidence in, buy hey, what do I know?

I was told to cross my arms over my chest and not to move. Then one nurse positioned herself by my head and the other nurse at my feet and they grabbed the sheet under me which gave me the sensation of laying in a hammock. On the count of three, they were going to pull the sheet and move me to the hospital bed.

Let me just say that I sure am glad they remembered to put the brakes on the bed because on the count of three I was moved, but not very far. I was half way between the hospital bed and the operating table at just the right angle that if the brakes weren’t on, the bed would have rolled and I would have hit the floor.

Now the two petite nurses were out of breath and we were all laughing. They asked me if I could reach and grab the rails of the hospital bed and pull myself over (Please be reminded that I have NO upper body strength and I’m practically dead weight at this point).

“I’ll try.”

Yeah…..nope. I pulled with all I had in me and went nowhere. Didn’t even pull myself one inch.

More laughter.

They then pushed and pulled and we laughed until I was FINALLY in the hospital bed and they could wheel me out the door and to the recovery room down the hall.

Once in the recovery room, I was wheeled into my own little “cubicle” off a larger room. There were no other patients in the recovery room that evening. I was alone with one nurse who started me on a medication that was required because of the hypertension I’d developed. It was to ensure that I didn’t have seizures following my surgery and I had to be on this medicine for 12 hours before I could even think about seeing Ruby. The nurse then began asking me several questions.

How far along were you? 38 weeks, 5 days

Did you smoke during your pregnancy? No

Did you drink during your pregnancy? No

Did you use recreational drugs? No

Does your husband abuse you? —-

I guess my face gave me away because she laughed and then shared with me that I’d be surprised at how many times the answer is yes.

She finished her questions, and handed me my phone before going back to her desk to begin entering everything in the computer.

I was alone.

I usually have no problem being by myself, but at this moment in time, it was the LAST thing I wanted. I wanted someone, anyone with me to reassure me that everything would be alright, to talk to, to keep me busy, anything. I didn’t want to sit alone with my thoughts so I began texting.

I texted my parents, I texted my friends. I told them I was out of surgery. I told them what I knew which was nothing. I told them Andy was with Ruby.

Andy sent me a picture of Ruby. I was finally able to see our little girl. Dark hair, tiny nose and ears. Perfect.

The nurse came in periodically to check that fluid wasn’t building up in my abdomen. This process involved her opening my hospital gown and pushing on my stomach while I’m laying on the bed in all my glory. *Childbirth is so glamorous.* This process was alright while I was still numb, but eventually this became a very painful process that has been added to the “I hate this” list that I’ve compiled regarding my c-section experience.

I had to be in recovery for 2 hours. I don’t remember how long I was alone in the recovery room before Andy came in. An hour, maybe more, maybe less.

I do remember that the recovery room nurse was very friendly and, following the anesthesiologist and the petite nurses, she was the third blessing that God placed in my path that night.

I also remember panicking because my phone was dying and I didn’t want to be cut off from everyone if it died, but then Andy came in *Thank God!*

He began relaying what he had been told, but he didn’t fully understand so I was confused and I didn’t understand which was frustrating both of us. The recovery room nurse offered to call the NICU and let me talk to someone who could better explain what was going on.

This phone call was my first of many frustrating interactions with the NICU nurses. When I was handed the phone, I was met with silence. If the recovery room nurse hadn’t been speaking to someone on the other line before handing me the phone, I wouldn’t have known anyone was on the other line. So I began,

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Hi, I was wondering if you could tell me what is going on with my daughter, Ruby?”

“What do you want to know?”

*Seriously? What do I NEED to know* “What going on with her? I don’t know anything.”

I was then given a very long, medical jargon filled, impossible to understand if you’re not in the medical field explanation of what was going on with Ruby and thenshe ended the conversation with “Anything else?”

I hung up that phone and almost burst into tears out of frustration. I now, not only had not seen my baby, I did not know what was going on with my baby, and now I felt like an idiot because I couldn’t understand what was going on with my baby.

To top it off, a text came through at some point that was never meant to come to me. A conversation was being held between people who care about me and the text read:

Kendall and Andy are not aware of the severity of Ruby’s condition. The next 72 hours are critical. She will be in the NICU probably all week and at some point will be sedated unless something changes. She will not be able to come to the room.

I didn’t reply to the text. I didn’t care that they were given this information. I cared that we hadn’t been given this information first. Why hadn’t this been explained to Andy? Why hadn’t a doctor come to tell us this? Why couldn’t the nurses I’d spoken to explain that to me in a way I could understand?

I was frustrated and my worry was growing, but we were finally told that I was going to be moved out of recovery and into a regular room. While we were waiting to leave, Andy was gathering our things together and the recovery room nurse told us that she’d be sure the NICU number was written in the room so we could check on Ruby whenever we wanted. She then told me she’d come check on me when she got off work.

We then left the recovery room as our storm raged on.