The rest of the evening after his birth is really a blur to me. Though my epidural had been turned off and I could now wiggle my legs, I was on a good mix of pain medications and was probably a bit loopy. I was still very shaken and feeling emotionally fragile.
Soon after we were in our room, our parents showed up bearing a yummy Zaxby's dinner. The nurses were all very fearful that I was going to barf -- in fact, they were like that since the Wednesday last when I was brought into Labor and Delivery with the agonizing pains -- and my assurances that barfing is a rarity for me didn't seem to quell their fears. They kept barfing sacks near me at all times, though they were never needed.
They kept me hooked up to a few different tethers that night, and I kept popping awake about every 15 minutes or so. There were little leg massagers around my calves to prevent blood clots, and in my half-sleep state I kept thinking it was Hermione the cat shifting around my feet. It almost felt like home.
The next morning they wanted me up and out of that bed. I had to take a shower (which felt wonderful, actually) and I had to remove the dressing from my c-section scar (which wasn't as hard to do as I was afraid it was).
After that, I finally got to see Sam again. It took a while to commandeer a wheelchair, but once that was done, The Husband wheeled me down to the N.I.C.U. where I got to hold my baby boy again. Now that I was in a better state of mind, I got to really look at him. He really did have long feet and toes! He looked pretty healthy, really; he just needed some fattening up.
His little bitty hand had an IV in it and there were three lead wires on his chest measuring heart rate, breathing rate, and something else I never was sure of. Poor little guy.
We couldn't stay there all day so back to my room we went. We came back again after lunch, and Sam was doing well enough that the doctor was willing to let us try to feed him to see how he did. After a bit of wiggling he did latch on -- that made me feel better. I was afraid we'd lost a lot of time in the feeding department.
That afternoon I got to see Lydia again -- I hadn't seen her since Tuesday morning. Always the Daddy's girl, she was more happy to be in The Husband's arms than anything. Actually, there were a lot of people in my room that afternoon, and that's usually when a scene will happen.
I'd been feeling a stitch in my right side most of the afternoon but had just been trying to change positions. When someone told Lydia to hand Mommy a brownie and she took a bite out of it before handing it to me, I started to laugh before I realized how much that hurt.
But no one can make me laugh like my sister, and she started making fun of the odd family next door to me that were wearing matching t-shirts for the arrival of their baby -- grandparents and everybody, y'all! I can't help but laugh at that . . . OUCH.
On that stupid "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is your pain?" question the nurses constantly asked me, this was a freakin' 10, okay? It really hurt, and it didn't stop, and everybody was there. It hurt from my scar all the way up to that stitch in my side. I must have looked bad because The Husband jumped to my side and everyone cleared out. The stitch in my side hurt so bad it hurt to breathe, which led me to only take shallow breaths, and the whole damn thing was so scary I easily fell into Panic Attack #3.
The Husband's buzzing the nurses and they're frittering about but mainly seem confused by me. It felt like forever before someone came in that began to make decisions. I wasn't very aware of the passage of time, I was just trying to breathe and The Husband was trying to get me to calm down. They gave me some morphine which helped the pain around my scar but it didn't touch the stitch.
The Decision Maker wanted to be proactive and do some tests -- he mentioned CAT scan -- and said the same phrase my doctor said right before the c-section: there will be a few people in here and things will go fast. I was just starting to calm down from the panic attack but those words scared me. I looked at The Husband and said, "Ohh, can they give me something for that so I don't notice? I'm on the edge."
They did give me something, though I have no idea what it was, but I barely remember the EKG, and have only vague memories of the CAT scan. I remember they put dye in my veins for the CAT scan. It turns out they were checking for blood clots or a potential pulmonary embolism.
After those tests were over I was so pumped up with God-knows-what that I conked right out. I slept better that night until about 1:00 in the morning, when once again my veins failed me as they tried to get a blood sample. It took two nurses and about five tries to get something.
The next morning I was starting to feel better, though embarrassed by the previous day's events now that the doctors were concluding it was "gas," and I finally got to go see Sam again after they did one more test on me to make sure there were no blood clots in my legs.
We got to feed Sam more throughout that day, and I found myself re-learning the basics like burping a very small child. Lydia really was not much bigger than this when she was born.
Sam was still doing better, but they were making no promises as to when he would get out. I was allowed to stay in the hospital until Sunday the 6th, and they were hinting that would be the earliest he would be able to leave. Thankfully, he kept improving and he transitioned to a crib in the N.I.C.U. that Friday evening.
He was on three hour feedings so I made sure I was down there every three hours or had pumped enough milk for him so he was in good supply, usually to get him through the overnight hours. Before we could leave the N.I.C.U. The Husband and I had to watch a video on car seat safety and one on infant C.P.R. That video came with a take-home blow-up infant for practice. 'Creepy' doesn't even begin to describe it.
Sunday rolled around and we got our most ardent wish -- Sam could come home with me! He had gained two ounces while at the hospital and his breathing was excellent. He had no infection and was eating beautifully. I was also on the mend and had been walking down to the N.I.C.U. since Friday.
I was checked out one more time by the on-call doctor before I was discharged. "Wow, your scar looks great, you can hardly tell," she cooed. Ohh, I bet you say that to all the c-section girls!
Finally, on a hot Sunday D-Day afternoon (Happy Birthday, Ken!), we pack up Sam and his wide array of stuff and climb into Elliott, ready to head home to meet the cats and, most importaly, Miss Lydia Jane.
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