While the doctor was pulling my second baby out of me, she remarked, “This is a big baby.”
The baby was not very large, I am just very petite, so relatively speaking, the baby seemed large. When it was time to show me my new addition, I saw a scrunched up face of a sweet baby and asked, “Well, what is it?” The doctor obviously was not used to patients not finding out the gender and replied, “Oh, it’s a girl!” I was so excited because my daughter really wanted a sister. It was such an amazing moment and I enjoyed it so much more the second time around.
This time, when I was in recovery, I was able to have my baby immediately and watch her latch on to me. My husband was able to stand next to both of us instead of trying to figure out whether or not to stay near me or the baby. Intense happiness was felt by all. My blood pressure was normal, I did not have a skyrocketing fever, and it felt fantastic.
I was eventually moved to a hospital room, still hooked up to lots of machines, but stable. I felt nauseous and did eventually vomit over and over again. When that finally passed, I didn't feel great, but I still was outrageously happy. Everything seemed to be improving, so my husband went to make the appropriate phone calls. The nurses swooped in and out to check my vitals constantly, but when my husband was out of the room and I was alone, one nurse started to panic as she felt my abdomen. “I think you have a blockage or clot,” she revealed and paged the doctor. The doctor came running in and felt around (remember, I was JUST cut open) and she declared I needed an internal and external ultrasound of my uterus and abdominal area. My husband missed the adventure, but thankfully, it was determined that I did not have a blockage or clot. Instead, the medical team declared serious dehydration, so they filled me with IV fluids, one after another. After retaining fluids for so long during the pregnancy, I really was not excited about having more deposited in my body voluntarily, but whatever, it was temporary.
I felt trapped in the bed and claustrophobic. I begged the nurse to let me move around but she told me I would faint if I did and was forced to remain in bed. Restlessness overtook my mind in a way that I had never experienced before. Something was wrong.
A different nurse came on duty and checked my blood pressure that evening, and it was high. My blood pressure had been high at exactly two moments in my life. The first time was when I overhyperstimulated after IVF, and the second, was after the birth of my first child when I could not swallow. I was confused; my blood pressure had been perfect the entire pregnancy and after the surgery, why was it high now?
After monitoring my blood pressure over the next few hours it was determined that I would need to be put on blood pressure medication. This was not welcome news, but, at least there was a treatment. As the nurses continued to monitor my pain levels and my vitals, I figured the blood pressure would be under control with the meds and I would soon feel normal. I tried to focus on feeding my new bundle of joy and selecting the perfect name. I followed the advice and instructions of the nurses and doctors, but my blood pressure was still deemed problematic and I felt horrible. The silver lining was that I was finally able to get out of bed. Sure I needed a bit of help getting around, but progress was progress.
One nurse repeatedly told me she did not like my blood pressure numbers, but what could I do about it? Every time she told me she didn't like the numbers, I panicked a bit more thinking I might be in trouble, but tried to ignore it, as again, what could I do? I was told that my stay in the hospital would have to be extended until my numbers were stable. Mentally ready to leave the hospital, but not physically, I could only focus on positive things, so I concentrated on feeding my child.
My second daughter was breastfeeding like a champ. She was jaundiced and borderline in needing a UV treatment, but that was not very abnormal for a C-section delivered baby. She lost a little weight as all newborns generally do, but no one was worried, with the exception of one nurse. One overnight nurse chastised me and told me I needed to supplement with formula right away as my baby had not peed in a few hours. The best way to feed your child can be debated all day long, but I was determined to breastfeed unless I was told that I could not. Besides, this nurse was the first and only person to mention supplementing her diet with formula.
Every other nurse had been remarking how many wet diapers my daughter had and how wonderful she was doing. I refused to supplement formula based on the opinion of one person, and responded that I would speak to my pediatrician in the morning. However, every time the nurse came in with my baby that evening and through the morning, she warned me that I needed to do something about this dire situation. She also informed me that she fed all of her own children formula and they were fine. Again, I repeated that I would speak to my pediatrician in the morning.
When my pediatrician arrived, I relayed the feeding advice I was given by the nurse the previous evening and he shared that the same nurse was trying to evoke panic in him about my daughter’s feeding a few moments earlier. However, he looked at my baby girl’s stats and determined that she was absolutely fine. He added that it was ridiculous that I was told by anybody at this time that there was a need to supplement. What did concern him, but not much, was that my daughter’s bilirubin levels were getting a little bit worse, but since I had to extend my stay due to my blood pressure issues, she would receive the UV treatment and neither one of us would be released from the hospital until the next day.
After my daughter received one night of jaundice treatment and I was monitored on medication for one extra day in the hospital, we were both told we could go home. The doctors were still concerned, but I was thrilled to be leaving the hospital.
Unfortunately, I would only be home for two days... To be concluded.
Merryl Polak is the author of Murphy Lives Here, a story about her struggle with the pursuit of motherhood. After struggling with infertility for almost 9 years, she finds that parenting struggles have followed her infertility struggles perfectly!