Birth Story Part 4: Pressure or Pain

Decision Time

The next nurse got the worst of me. She was a breath of fresh air after the day shift, but I was exhausted and projectile vomiting again. What a way to start a shift. She did her best to stay hopeful that I would progress, but I think she knew the c-section was inevitable. She checked me and thought I was a 6 or 7. She said that she thought he might want to try for a couple more hours, but she'd call my OB to verify. I told her to just go ahead and cath me then call him.

I knew after everything we'd done it was unlikely that 3 more hours of this was going to get me to the pushing stage. And I could guarantee that my OB would come in and say I was at least 1-2 cms less dilated than what she thought. Earlier on in the day when the other OB said I was a 6, he said I was a 5. Was I a 5, was I a 6, maybe a 7? Who knows! There was never any agreement as to my dilation. I wanted to have a vaginal birth, but I knew in my gut it was time. She returned and said, "if you're ready, we will schedule your c-section for 10 PM and begin to prep you." See I told you. While I was at peace with the fact that I would deliver my baby via c-section and felt relieved that we would have our little man with us soon, I felt defeated. I didn't feel like a warrior, I felt weak. I felt like my body failed me.

C-Section Prep

This new shift also meant that I'd have a new Anesthesiologist. She came in shortly after and asked how my epidural was, I was in my own head and said fine, and she kept talking as the other nurses started prepping me. Wait - why did you respond fine? It wasn't fine. I stopped her and said wait actually I had break through pain twice that the other anesthesiologist had to come in and fix twice with a bolus. I vividly recall her just staring at me blankly - she paused and didn't respond to my statement, but then just continued on with her pre-caesarean spiel.

"You won't feel pain, but you'll feel pressure. It's a common misconception that you're completely numb."

Wait what you're going to cut a baby out of my abdomen and I'm still going to feel it?! She reported that some women hardly notice it, but others do. Remember how I said I had a high pain tolerance earlier? In that moment I just assumed the women with the high pain tolerance probably are the ones who barely noticed it. I'm probably good. No other pain options were discussed with me at that point. She asked, "Do you know why you are having a c-section?" I was confused so I started re-hashing all the events that happened over the last few days - cervical ripening, pitocin, foley, membrane sweep, water breaking, still only dilated to somewhere between a 5 and 7 - no one could agree. She nodded her head listening to me ramble on and then chimed in,

"Failure to progress."

Ohhh okay. THAT was the answer you were looking for. I didn't know that was even a formal term, but apparently it is a pretty common reason women have c-sections. Failure to progress. A little cup of medicine appeared at my face. They explained those were supposed to help with the nausea that would come with more pain meds. Oh goodie more nausea!

"You'll want to take it like a shot. Trust me"

Challenge accepted - I went to college. I reached for my water cup, but a chaser wasn't allowed. It was - disgusting. Next thing I knew I was then being wheeled through the halls on my way to surgery. My husband had to take our bags to the waiting room and would meet me in there. For whatever reason, we weren't allowed to put our bags in our postpartum room, they had to go in the waiting room. Learning more I now know oh that’s just incase there's a complication and I have to go somewhere other than the postpartum rooms.

When we got there I remember thinking how cool it was, I'd never been in an OR before. The Anesthesiologist asked if I could transfer myself over to the table. The other nurses had already scrubbed in and were ready to go; no one was there to help lift me. I tried my hardest, but couldn't lift my butt high enough to shift. She was mumbling to herself that she'd have to lift me by herself. I'm a two person lift lady; this is a back injury waiting to happen. I told her to just wait for my husband he would be able to transfer me much easier than she would.

She yelled down the hall for another nurse. 1.2.3. I was on the table and they started strapping my limbs down. It's a damn good thing they did. The Anesthesiologist said she'd be right behind me the whole time and asked how I was doing. I was good. She offered something for anxiety and I declined because honestly at this point I felt fine, I wasn't scared or anxious. I was excited.

In came my husband and then in came the doctors. I was shaking pretty badly at this point, but was reassured that was normal. Everyone went around the table introducing themselves. Apparently that was supposed to make me more comfortable. As the shaking intensified I started to wonder if maybe I did need the anxiety medication. No nope you're good - she said this was normal. Everything is going to be fine. My thoughts were then interrupted by a "you might remember me" I looked up to see the OB who placed my internal monitors earlier in the day. Ah, yes sir I do. Lucky number 7 with the soft hands. Then my OB, with the world's largest hands, said "let's get started."

The Delivery

I had nowhere else to look but up. My eyes landed on the big light right above the table, in which I could see the reflection of what was happening. I remember thinking hell yeah I get to watch! I watched as they made the incision in the light above me. I thought it was pretty cool until I felt a sharp pain on my right hand side. I yelped out. The Anesthesiologist hurriedly asked,

"Pressure or pain? Pressure or pain?"

I remember thinking to myself your mind is playing tricks on you; you saw them make the incision. You're not really feeling it - there's no way. I responded "pressure". It got worse and worse. I moaned through the entire thing. It was an intense pressure. I was going to vomit. I begged for the Fentanyl and the nausea medication they'd given me over the last two days. She then popped an alcohol wipe in front of my nose and said this would help. It didn't. She kept asking,

"Pressure or pain? Pressure or pain?"

My response was always pressure, even though I'm pretty sure it was pain. She practically pushed my husband out of the way and asked for help from one of the nurses. When I say she asked for help I really mean that she was yelling for help. It got worse. She was now frantically running around behind me yelling,

"I don't know what's going on! This has never happened before! I need help!"

How professional. I was about to puke and was laying on my back wondering if I was going to just puke all over my own face. When I mustered up the strength to speak I repeated again the only thing that worked before was the Fentanyl and the nausea med they gave me. Another alcohol wipe appeared at my nose. If I had control of my arms I would have likely smacked away her hand in that moment. It was happening. My husband then yelled "shes going to puke!!!". As the puke exited my mouth someone put a tiny little bucket next to my cheek. How magical. I was begging for pain killers, something for nausea, and now I wanted that anxiety medication.

All I can remember is someone saying that I'd hit my max. I can't recall if it was the nurse from day shift or maybe in this moment being told I had hit my max. The max of what though I don't know. My husband has since clarified that he thinks it was the nausea medication I'd hit my max of.

I was still in pain, still puking, and I had no idea what was going on. It's a good thing they had me strapped down. I remember wanting, perhaps even trying, to roll over into the fetal position during the surgery. I then heard the nurse grunting beside me. I followed the noise and looked to my left to see her attempting to hold my arm down. I was in an unintentional arm wrestling match with the nurse and was winning my one arm to her two. Apparently my IV had stopped flowing because I was squeezing my hands so tight. I looked to the right to see the Anesthesiologist trying to place an IV in my right hand. Relax your hand, Breathe, Relax your hand. I then heard my OB's voice exclaim,

"We have a healthy waterskiier!"

He lifted him over the sheet for me to see him. I felt joy for a few moments. I could hear him crying. That was a good sign. Pain. Then I felt A LOT of pulling and tugging that they so casually eluded to earlier. I envisioned someone yanking my long intestines out and playing around with them in the air then squishing them back inside of me. It was awful. What is going on? Why isn't this getting any better? Where is my husband? I then heard the other nurse ask from across the room,

"Dad, do you want to come meet your son?"

No no no no no no . Don't leave me. I remember watching him walk over towards the baby and stopping. He hesitated and looked back at me torn at what to do. The other aspect of my “birth plan” was that my husband was to go with the baby for everything. I knew he had to go, but I didn't want him to. The pain intensified. I closed my eyes now screaming. My husband left the OR with the baby, and I was alone. My only advocate was gone. The anesthesiologist was still running around behind me. This certainly did not feel like the best day of my life.

My husband shared with me later that he and everyone else could hear me screaming all the way down the hall in the recovery room and on the way out he heard someone say “put her out”. Looking back, I’m wondering if I had a panic attack when he left the room. At some point I either passed out or released my hand long enough for the IV to take and my body to start feeling the meds they had been attempting to push the whole time - or at least I hope they were trying to push. I honestly have no idea what was going on. It's also possible that my body just said "night night" after the pain and exhaustion from the last 56 hours. I recall the Anesthesiologist popping her head over the top of me and saying, “you probably won't remember much.” I cut her off and said "I don’t care" with tears streaming down my face.

Recovery

After that everything else was a pretty much a blur. At some point before they wheeled me into recovery, I recall them saying "oh he's got strawberry blonde hair, I wonder who it's from. It looks like it might be from mom." I recall drunkenly chiming in, “ the blonde is fake - it’s highlights,” before dozing back off to sleep. Hopefully that was a little comedic relief that we all needed after that delivery.

I don't remember if I got skin to skin contact. I don't know how long I was "out" for. I don't know how much time passed before I got the opportunity to start breastfeeding my son. The only thing I remembered for a long time was a nurse handing me a nipple shield saying "you're gonna need this." We took a picture of the three of us and then in came my nurse from earlier. I really liked her up until the point where she had to start pressing on my stomach - what they call a fundal massage. She came back multiple times while we were trying to breastfeed. I was in and out of it and don't remember much of anything besides eyeing her like a hawk over at the nurses station and calling out to her "how many more times do you have to do this?", then wincing in pain and moaningwith every push on my stomach.

I had to ask my husband if we were able to do skin-to-skin after he was born. That was so important to me, but I honestly couldn't remember. The pain has masked the joy of that moment. After repeatedly asking my husband over the last few months if we got to do skin-to-skin, the memory is finally coming back. I now, 5 months later, vaguely remember them bringing him to my face for a quick second and me telling him "mama loves you” before the screaming started again. That must have been right before he left the room.

After the delivery the OB told my husband that there was no way he was coming out. His head was in the 99th percentile and my birth canal was too small. Maybe my epidural wasn't done right or maybe it was the perfect storm of exhaustion, pain, not having anything to eat, puking up the only things I could consume for 3 days, and having contractions over the last few days that it intensified the expected "pressure" I would feel.

When we finally got to our postpartum room I remember the nurse telling the next shift “she’s pretty out of it.” I was livid.. Do you KNOW what I went through? I am trying my best to stay awake and learn how to breastfeed all while healing after the chaotic c-section your team provided me with. I haven’t slept in what feels like days and am exhausted. Nevertheless, I opened my eyes and shot them a polite little smile letting them know I could hear them gabbing. I grabbed onto the side railings above my head and pulled myself up. I’ll show you.

My nurse on the next shift was so great and really helped to set me up for success with breastfeeding. She taught me a trick to put a rolled up towel under my boob for breastfeeding, helped me learn how to latch, and even taught me some tips and tricks to keep him awake. My lil guy was sleepy at the breast. She told me to undress him, play with his face, his feet, and do hands-on breast compressions to try to keep him awake. Babies sleep a lot those first 48 hours. No oral assessment was done because his latch looked good at that time. The pediatrician came in and checked him - all good minus the extra fluid in one of his testicles, but I learned that too was normal as long as they go down over time. Noted.

I remember the nurse saying if you’re up to it you should probably try to walk. My birth plan was to keep moving. I wasn't able to move as much as I wanted during labor, so I'd do it now. Plus I wanted to get the heck out of there. Even though I could hardly adjust myself in bed, I inched my legs over, put my arms around my husband's neck, then let him pull me up. In sickness and in health. I didn’t realize I’d need him this early on in our marriage for that vow to come to fruition. Thank God for him. We put the baby in the bassinet and walked as far as I could hunched over, taking as many breaks as I needed.

It was then I heard the rocky theme song again - perfect timing. As I walked back into our room with a big smile on my face I then heard a lullaby playing over the loudspeakers. My smile faded. Oh no maybe the rocky theme song wasn't for new babies. When my nurse came in next I asked for clarification. She then explained the lullaby was for the babies and the rocky theme song was played when COVID patients were discharged. I suppose I’ll take it. What a letdown that was!

I was bound and determined to get out of that hospital. I was breastfeeding every 1-4 hours as instructed by the nurses, trying to get some rest in between, and was finally able to eat solids some time later Tuesday. I was instructed to take it easy eating after the C section - not like all the posts you see on social media of women eating big meals after birth. I puked up every last ounce of apple juice and beef broth I consumed over the last 3 days, but sure I’d be happy to wait a little longer for real food. Of course they were right and I needed to take it easy.

I woke up about 3 hrs after the start of our last feeding. Both my husband and the baby were still asleep. I could barely move, let alone get myself out of bed, and I needed to pee (the cath was finally gone - yay!). I was in so much pain and had waited as long as I could - she was behind schedule giving me my pain meds. After about 30 minutes of waiting, I called for the night shift nurse (I believe this was shift #8 at this point). I ended up talking to another nurse who said they'd let mine know. When I worked as a rehab aide at a hospital in college, I remember constantly seeing call lights go off as I walked the halls. I would pop my head in, per the hospital policy, to see if I could help/let them know their nurse would be in soon. Most of the time it was the patient asking for their pain meds. I didn't want to be the patient constantly hitting the call light or the one begging for pain meds. I was trying to be respectful of how busy the nurses were, but I couldn’t wait any longer.

We were approaching that 4 hr feeding mark, but the baby was still sleeping and I needed help. Finally I woke my husband up and he helped me get out of bed. About 30 minutes later my nurse finally comes in and I had started feeding the baby. No pain meds in hand. She left to go get my pain meds. When she comes back another 30 minutes later with my meds, she walked over to her station and checked the sheet where we logged feeding times and exasperated, “you went over FOUR hours without feeding the baby!” I took a breath and calmly explained the situation, though I wanted to let her know that had she arrived with my pain meds on time, or arrived when I called, or helped me get in and out of bed, that perhaps I would have been a little more efficient and timely to feed the baby when the clock struck 4 hours. I thought I set an alarm and apparently I didn’t.

Here I was getting reprimanded AGAIN. She informed me in the snottiest manner possible that since I had waited SOOOO long to feed my baby - shame on me for sleeping - he would have to have a blood draw to check his sugar levels. This same nurse left the needle cap in the bassinet where she laid my baby down right after he started screaming from the blood draw. She was a peach and evidently needed to brush up on her sharps disposal procedure. My husband was about 5 seconds away from blowing a gasket when he picked up the cap out of the bassinet. All I could do was shake my head at this point and pray that we’d get discharged soon.

A few hours later the main OBGYN at the clinic I go to came in to check on me, flipping through my chart saying, “it sounds like you’ve been doing well getting up and walking.” Then he asked how long I’d been there, to which I responded, “since Saturday.” He looked up and said, “oohhhh that was YOU. Yeah let’s get you out of here ASAP!”

I texted my parents to give them the green light to start their travel from IL to TX. It was Wednesday afternoon, and we were finally headed home. We are forever grateful to both sets of our parents who were able to come down and help. I had no idea what I was up against with my postpartum recovery. I thought the worst of it was over. That's when the nightmares started happening.

My experience navigating the 4th Trimester will be posted at a later date. Stay tuned.

In case you missed the other posts in my Birth Story series

• A Prelude to my Birth Story (6 min read)

• Birth Story Part 1: Yo Adrian, Let's Have a Baby (9 min read)

• Birth Story Part 2: A Small (COVID) World (5 min read)

• Birth Story Part 3: Why is Everyone Staring? (8 min read)