My baby girl is currently in the other room, sound asleep against her daddy, after a very loud (and let's be honest, very annoying) crying fit. I'm not sure what set her off this time. Maybe it was because she woke up in her swing and she wasn't really done with her nap yet? Clearly, the torture device I had placed her in, with its gentle swaying motion, was just too much for my trying-to-sleep child. I thought about taking a nap myself, also snuggled up against the rest of the family, but decided to update my lonely blog instead. My big sister asked me once while I was pregnant if I was going to turn this into "one of those annoying mommy blogs". I laughed and told her I hoped not. Considering I haven't updated this since before I found out I was pregnant, I guess we'll see what happens. (Although, how updates about my adorable child could ever be considered annoying is beyond me.) Tomorrow is Mother's Day and since it's finally quiet in the house (for now...), I figured it was time to tell my story. Not all of it, because there are things I don't want to relive right now, and maybe not ever, but some of it.
I woke up on Thanksgiving morning with black spots over my eyes. I could see, sure, but there were spots. No matter how many times I blinked my eyes, the spots remained. I told the husband, called the hospital, and was advised to come in. "Right now? Really?" "YES." After arriving at the hospital and getting my blood pressure checked, I was told we were going to have a baby. Immediately. (My BP was ridiculously high, like so high, I didn't even know that number was possible in relation to blood pressure. Go me. Always aiming high.) (Isn't that the Air Force motto?) (My bad. Oorah. Semper Fi and whatnot.) I tried to explain to my doctor (who had come in just to help deliver my baby, even though it was his day off) that we had plans for the afternoon. We had a cheesecake made and a cheese dip. Oh, and a corn casserole! My favorite. I really needed to eat turkey and see my friends. This was all so very inconvenient. (Did I mention this was a *month* before my scheduled due date? That, too.) I was told, in no uncertain terms, that to save myself and the baby, we were having a c-section. Immediately. Happy Thanksgiving!
After our beautiful, tiny daughter (Not even five pounds!) was born, and the jokes were made about naming her "Sweet Potato" or "Turkey", I seemed to be getting better. Which, when dealing with pre-eclampsia (the doctor's diagnosis), is what happens to the majority of patients. But, because I always like to be the exception to every rule, I got worse. (My doctor actually used me as a test subject at a conference he had coming up just for that very reason.) (SPECIAL.) I don't really remember the exact sequence of events, but I do remember details.
I remember the nights when I couldn't breathe. My husband sitting across from me, holding my hands, telling me to look into his eyes and follow his breathing. Breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...breathe out. Mine was breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout. (This happened more times than I count and even a few times after I got home.) I prayed for morning to come just so I could be awake with everyone else (instead of awake and alone in the dark). I remember the doctor asking me if I wanted a blood transfusion or to just continue taking the iron pills which "may or may not actually help". I eventually chose the blood transfusion and I remember watching someone else's blood being pumped into my veins. I remember the late night cat scan to check the fluid on my lungs. I remember the anxiety and the Xanax they finally prescribed just to calm me down. I remember begging the nurse to let my husband take me for a "walk" down the hall just to get me out of my room. (I was in a wheelchair.) I wondered what would happen if we just raced out the front door and never looked back. I remember being hooked up to the blood pressure monitor which checked my BP every five minutes and would beep if it was too high. It beeped a lot. I remember refusing to take any more Percocet after the first dose because it gave me nightmares, even while I was awake. (Horrible awake-mares that kept me up all.night.long.) I remember my husband sleeping on the tiny, uncomfortable couch every single night I was in the hospital. I remember friends coming to visit, even one who brought me McDonald's and sat with me, all while I was hooked up to oxygen and running out of breath from talking. I remember my mom buying another (stupidly expensive) plane ticket just to come out a month early to help take care of me and the baby. I remember thinking there was no way my God was cruel enough to take two daughters-in-law away from my husband's parents. I remember thinking I loved my life and my family more than anything and I was not leaving this world anytime soon. (I know this sounds like total DRAMA, but at the time and even now as I write, the drama was/is very real.)
I woke up on Thanksgiving morning with black spots over my eyes. I could see, sure, but there were spots. No matter how many times I blinked my eyes, the spots remained. I told the husband, called the hospital, and was advised to come in. "Right now? Really?" "YES." After arriving at the hospital and getting my blood pressure checked, I was told we were going to have a baby. Immediately. (My BP was ridiculously high, like so high, I didn't even know that number was possible in relation to blood pressure. Go me. Always aiming high.) (Isn't that the Air Force motto?) (My bad. Oorah. Semper Fi and whatnot.) I tried to explain to my doctor (who had come in just to help deliver my baby, even though it was his day off) that we had plans for the afternoon. We had a cheesecake made and a cheese dip. Oh, and a corn casserole! My favorite. I really needed to eat turkey and see my friends. This was all so very inconvenient. (Did I mention this was a *month* before my scheduled due date? That, too.) I was told, in no uncertain terms, that to save myself and the baby, we were having a c-section. Immediately. Happy Thanksgiving!
After our beautiful, tiny daughter (Not even five pounds!) was born, and the jokes were made about naming her "Sweet Potato" or "Turkey", I seemed to be getting better. Which, when dealing with pre-eclampsia (the doctor's diagnosis), is what happens to the majority of patients. But, because I always like to be the exception to every rule, I got worse. (My doctor actually used me as a test subject at a conference he had coming up just for that very reason.) (SPECIAL.) I don't really remember the exact sequence of events, but I do remember details.
I remember the nights when I couldn't breathe. My husband sitting across from me, holding my hands, telling me to look into his eyes and follow his breathing. Breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...breathe out. Mine was breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout. (This happened more times than I count and even a few times after I got home.) I prayed for morning to come just so I could be awake with everyone else (instead of awake and alone in the dark). I remember the doctor asking me if I wanted a blood transfusion or to just continue taking the iron pills which "may or may not actually help". I eventually chose the blood transfusion and I remember watching someone else's blood being pumped into my veins. I remember the late night cat scan to check the fluid on my lungs. I remember the anxiety and the Xanax they finally prescribed just to calm me down. I remember begging the nurse to let my husband take me for a "walk" down the hall just to get me out of my room. (I was in a wheelchair.) I wondered what would happen if we just raced out the front door and never looked back. I remember being hooked up to the blood pressure monitor which checked my BP every five minutes and would beep if it was too high. It beeped a lot. I remember refusing to take any more Percocet after the first dose because it gave me nightmares, even while I was awake. (Horrible awake-mares that kept me up all.night.long.) I remember my husband sleeping on the tiny, uncomfortable couch every single night I was in the hospital. I remember friends coming to visit, even one who brought me McDonald's and sat with me, all while I was hooked up to oxygen and running out of breath from talking. I remember my mom buying another (stupidly expensive) plane ticket just to come out a month early to help take care of me and the baby. I remember thinking there was no way my God was cruel enough to take two daughters-in-law away from my husband's parents. I remember thinking I loved my life and my family more than anything and I was not leaving this world anytime soon. (I know this sounds like total DRAMA, but at the time and even now as I write, the drama was/is very real.)
There's a quote from Christopher Robin to Pooh Bear in which he says, "...you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think". I thought about that a lot in the hospital. I just kept telling myself to "put your brave face on". (Blog alert!) I always wanted to be a mom and I finally was. It was time to celebrate! The time for being scared was over. ("Be anxious for nothing", amiright?) You know, I was convinced we were having a boy, but when the doctor said "girl", I think my heart did a little happy dance. My heart still does a happy dance every time I see that sweet baby's smiling face. (And even when it's not so smiling.) She put me through a lot (as I'm sure I'll remind her SO many times in the future), but God, is she worth it. Happy Mother's Day, mamas. May your hearts be as happy as mine.
*You get me, Pooh Bear.
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