I'm such a raging sentimentalist.
Michael Jackson died yesterday, and I am still in complete shock. It's not like I'm this crazy Michael Jackson fan either. I mean, I loved his music back in the day (who didn't?!), but it had been a long time since I really even gave him a second thought beyond whatever popped into my mind in line at the grocery store whenever I read the National Enquirer's latest freaky headline concerning the King of Pop.
But now that he's gone, I'm nostalgic. "Thriller" was my second cassette tape when I was a little girl (Billy Joel's "An Innocent Man"--complete with "Uptown Girl" and "For the Longest Time"--was the first), and I would drag my tape player all over the house and play "Beat It" and"Billie Jean" until the tape ribbon physically unraveled. As a child who loved art and crafts, I had a shirt that was designated my "painting" shirt. It one of those ugly black concert tee-shirts that someone got me when they went to see MJ live, and I absolutely loooved it. I would point to his white glove and dance, and even though it was more like a smock than a shirt on my three-year-old body, I insisted that I wear it whenever I was painting.
I watched the "Billie Jean" video--the one where MJ performs live for the Motown 25th Anniversary--about five times yesterday, and I don't think it will ever be anything less than amazing. Have you EVER seen anyone dance like that?! It's incredible. I remember watching it on TV with my parents when I was a little kid and both of them being blown away. I remember seeing women scream and cry in the audience and, being about four, not understanding that. I remember asking my mom why those ladies at the Michael Jackson show were so sad and my mother doing her best to explain to me that sometimes people cry when they get too excited and overwhelmed. How funny.
He became so weird and freakish in his later years that it's easy to see why most of us forgot how unbelievably "cool" he was in his prime. I'm beginning to understand how my parents must have felt when Elvis died and/or John Lennon was shot. (Incidentally, Elvis died the year Jeff was born, and John Lennon was shot a year before my birth in 1981.) I can't help but think of Harper and how strange it is that she will never quite grasp the magnitude of Michael Jackson's stardom. She will never really get how cool "Thriller" was when it debuted (and actually, considering technology's advances, "Thriller" will probably seem pretty lame to her when she's old enough to see it!) or how unbelievably powerful you'd have to be to orchestrate "We Are the World." She will never fully understand how absolutely HUGE Michael Jackson was at the height of his career, how far he fell, and how freakish he became. And to me, that is so odd--that my child will never quite comprehend this person in history that my husband & I will instantly recognize and remember and at whom we will marvel for the rest of our lives whenever we hear one of his songs.
I think Michael Jackson is the first MAJOR icon my generation has lost, and although it's been such a long time since we were all captivated by that young, skinny black kid from Gary, Indiana, I hope I always remember him as the amazing performer that he was--the one with the shimmery black jacket, black top hat, and white glove, who could slide his feet backward as though walking on the moon.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
A Rough Couple of Weeks
I haven't updated this blog in forever. Ugh! I hate getting behind on things, but such is inevitable when you're a new mom. I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that getting "extra" things done--pretty much anything aside from basic necessary tasks, of which updating your blog isn't--is just not in the cards. At least not right now.
We've been dealing with a lot over the past few weeks, which is one of my reasons for not writing, aside from the typical new mom stuff (e.g., no sleep, fussy baby, etc.).
On the upside, Harper had her two-month well visit with her pediatrician on June 1st, and she weighed 8 lbs. flat and measured 20 ½ in. at the time of her visit. That's a pound and a half since her May 12th homecoming, which is awesome!
However, June 1st was a tough day…for both of us. The two-month well visit means two-month vaccinations, and I can't even begin to describe how incredibly difficult it was to have to watch my child scream in pain as shot upon shot was administered into her chubby little thighs. I literally alternated between wanting to punch my pediatrician in the face (even though I really like the guy!) and wanting to jump in between him and Harper as if to say, "Noooo! Stop poking her! Poke ME with the needles, not her! I'll take all of the shots for her!"
I heard Harper's "help me, I'm in pain" cry for the first time that day, and it was undoubtedly the most horrible sound I think I've ever heard. It's such a helpless feeling as a mother, to hear your child scream out in pain and know that you are powerless to stop it. I'm already dreading our four-month vaccinations.
So our pediatrician's appointment went well, but it was tough.
Tougher, still, was our appointment with the pediatric ophthalmologist two days later. To make a long story short, all preemies--particularly those born at 31 weeks and under or those with an extremely low birth weight (e.g., 3.5 lbs. and below)--are at risk for Retinopathy of Prematurity (ROP), a condition in which the blood vessels in the retinas stop growing or begin to grow abnormally. Most of the time, the problem simply resolves itself on its own without any medical intervention; if the retina becomes detached, as in the worst cases, blindness can occur. Because Harper doesn't fall into either of the above categories in terms of her prematurity, I expected her to receive a clean bill of health where her eyes are concerned…
But, as I found out at our appointment on June 3rd, from a doctor with absolutely no beside manner whatsoever--every first-time mom's dream--Harper does, in fact, have ROP. Of course when I found this out, I was an absolute basketcase. I'd gotten so used to hearing that everything was fine with Harper's health that I was totally unprepared for anything less than "everything looks great, Mrs. Henderson." The icing on the cake was the doctor. What a royal jerk. He didn't really explain anything about ROP and what it is, how bad Harper's case actually is, or our chances for a best-case scenario outcome vs. a worst-case scenario outcome. He just condescendingly explained the disease by using a bunch of weak metaphors and proceeded to cover his you-know-what by giving me a run-down of the most unlikely result (although I didn't know that at the time).
Luckily, Jeff & I sought a second opinion, not necessarily because we believed we would receive a different diagnosis but because I felt so strongly about seeing a different doctor.
So, early last week, we saw a much warmer and friendlier ophthalmologist who is not a pediatric doctor but a doctor specializing in retinology. The prognosis is not nearly as bleak as Doctor #1 originally made it seem, but Jeff & I already expected that after reading up on ROP after Harper's original appointment.
Basically, because of her prematurity, Harper's retinal blood vessels have not fully developed. ROP is graded in terms of "stages," with stage one being the least severe and stage five being the most. Harper has stage one ROP in her right eye (which means her right eye has a 90-95% chance of resolution without medical intervention) and stage two ROP in her left (meaning a 70-80% chance that everything will work itself out without treatment in her left eye). The concern is her left eye; if it progresses to stage three ROP, then she will have to have laser surgery to correct the problem. Apparently laser surgery fixes stage three ROP almost 100% of the time, so that's comforting.
For now, the doctor is simply monitoring her condition to make sure it doesn't worsen. We'll return to the ophthalmologist every two weeks so Harper's retinas can be evaluated. Our next appointment is this Thursday. Of course, I'm worrying about it, but I've been praying about it a lot. "Give it to God," my mom says. I'm trying.
In other news, Harper is making tremendous progress toward her developmental milestones. Naturally, preemies are always a tad "behind" other children of the same actual age; because of this, parents of preemies are told to measure their child's development based on his/her "adjusted" or "corrected" age (the amount of time that has elapsed since the child's original due date). So, while Harper's actual age is just over 11 weeks, her adjusted age is just 3 ½ weeks. And for a 3 ½-week-old baby, she's doing incredibly well!
It seems like she's made a lot of accomplishments over the past week. She's experimenting with sounds a lot--making pterodactyl-like screeches and high-pitched squeaks fairly often--and she just started cooing over the weekend. She's also developed distinctly different cries for different wants/needs (unlike the first few weeks, during which all of the crying sounds exactly the same!). She still can't hold her head up unsupported for long periods of time, but she can lift it when she's on her tummy and can hold it upright temporarily. What else? She's now focusing on specific objects, like the stars and lambs on her lamb swing mobile or our faces when we're holding her, and though she has yet to figure out how to use her legs to "scoot" during tummy time, she can already roll herself over onto her back unassisted.
Unfortunately for Mommy (and Daddy, too, as I'm sure her crying interrupts his sweet dreams even if he doesn't acknowledge it), Harper is still not sleeping through the night. Not even close. She's generally up and ready to eat every three-and-a-half hours, give or take an hour in either direction. My two saving graces are: (1) she's usually a very good eater and sucks down her 3- to 3 ½-oz. bottle of formula in less than 30 minutes; and (2) Jeff feeds her before he goes to work, thereby allowing me to get at least three hours of uninterrupted sleep, which is huge. She's still sleeping beside us in our bedroom for the time being, and I imagine we'll probably keep her there until she either outgrows her bassinet or starts sleeping through the night. My goal is to have her sleeping upstairs in her own crib in her own nursery by August, but we shall see.
As far as her personality goes, well… I don't know how Jeff was as a baby, but according to my mother (and a crapload of pictures in my baby photo albums!), I was a very serious, studious baby--the antithesis of my little brother, who was ALWAYS smiling and laughing. Hilariously, Harper definitely takes after me in this way. She will give an occasional smile, sure, but generally she is a very inquisitive, "thinker" baby: her lips pursed, her brow knitted, her eyes open wide, a constant contemplative expression upon her face. I wonder if this will ring true for her personality in later years. It certainly did for my brother & me.
What else?
She LOVES her lamb swing, her pacifier, her Fisher Price crib aquarium, stretching her arms and legs, having her hands up by her face, taking baths, looking out the window, being held and talked to, and being rocked. She DETESTS all formulas except for Similac Neosure, having her arms tucked in when I swaddle her, wearing outfits with mitts (she ALWAYS finds a way to weasel her fingers out!), silence, being changed, and, aside from bath time, being naked (Daddy says this is a good thing and that it should stay that way until she's 30!).
The funniest thing is that she absolutely LOVES--and I mean LOVES--music. She insists that we turn on the music whenever she's in her lamb swing or bouncer, and she fusses unless her Fisher Price crib aquarium is playing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" whenever she's bedding down in her bassinet. The moment the music stops--even if she's dead asleep at the time--she starts fussing. It's hilarious. Jeff & I are wondering if we have a future American Idol or perhaps a potential band geek on our hands! Either way, we'll be the proudest parents alive!
OK, I think that's enough to get everyone caught up for now. I can't guarantee that I'll update every week, but I promise I will try to do a better job of staying on top of this blog in the weeks to come. In the meantime, a few recent pictures of the Harpster are posted below. (Isn't she beautiful? The other day some lady at Alamo Café said she was so beautiful that we ought to send her picture in to the Gerber Company and have them put HER on the side of baby food jars! What a compliment!)
We've been dealing with a lot over the past few weeks, which is one of my reasons for not writing, aside from the typical new mom stuff (e.g., no sleep, fussy baby, etc.).
On the upside, Harper had her two-month well visit with her pediatrician on June 1st, and she weighed 8 lbs. flat and measured 20 ½ in. at the time of her visit. That's a pound and a half since her May 12th homecoming, which is awesome!
However, June 1st was a tough day…for both of us. The two-month well visit means two-month vaccinations, and I can't even begin to describe how incredibly difficult it was to have to watch my child scream in pain as shot upon shot was administered into her chubby little thighs. I literally alternated between wanting to punch my pediatrician in the face (even though I really like the guy!) and wanting to jump in between him and Harper as if to say, "Noooo! Stop poking her! Poke ME with the needles, not her! I'll take all of the shots for her!"
I heard Harper's "help me, I'm in pain" cry for the first time that day, and it was undoubtedly the most horrible sound I think I've ever heard. It's such a helpless feeling as a mother, to hear your child scream out in pain and know that you are powerless to stop it. I'm already dreading our four-month vaccinations.
So our pediatrician's appointment went well, but it was tough.
Tougher, still, was our appointment with the pediatric ophthalmologist two days later. To make a long story short, all preemies--particularly those born at 31 weeks and under or those with an extremely low birth weight (e.g., 3.5 lbs. and below)--are at risk for Retinopathy of Prematurity (ROP), a condition in which the blood vessels in the retinas stop growing or begin to grow abnormally. Most of the time, the problem simply resolves itself on its own without any medical intervention; if the retina becomes detached, as in the worst cases, blindness can occur. Because Harper doesn't fall into either of the above categories in terms of her prematurity, I expected her to receive a clean bill of health where her eyes are concerned…
But, as I found out at our appointment on June 3rd, from a doctor with absolutely no beside manner whatsoever--every first-time mom's dream--Harper does, in fact, have ROP. Of course when I found this out, I was an absolute basketcase. I'd gotten so used to hearing that everything was fine with Harper's health that I was totally unprepared for anything less than "everything looks great, Mrs. Henderson." The icing on the cake was the doctor. What a royal jerk. He didn't really explain anything about ROP and what it is, how bad Harper's case actually is, or our chances for a best-case scenario outcome vs. a worst-case scenario outcome. He just condescendingly explained the disease by using a bunch of weak metaphors and proceeded to cover his you-know-what by giving me a run-down of the most unlikely result (although I didn't know that at the time).
Luckily, Jeff & I sought a second opinion, not necessarily because we believed we would receive a different diagnosis but because I felt so strongly about seeing a different doctor.
So, early last week, we saw a much warmer and friendlier ophthalmologist who is not a pediatric doctor but a doctor specializing in retinology. The prognosis is not nearly as bleak as Doctor #1 originally made it seem, but Jeff & I already expected that after reading up on ROP after Harper's original appointment.
Basically, because of her prematurity, Harper's retinal blood vessels have not fully developed. ROP is graded in terms of "stages," with stage one being the least severe and stage five being the most. Harper has stage one ROP in her right eye (which means her right eye has a 90-95% chance of resolution without medical intervention) and stage two ROP in her left (meaning a 70-80% chance that everything will work itself out without treatment in her left eye). The concern is her left eye; if it progresses to stage three ROP, then she will have to have laser surgery to correct the problem. Apparently laser surgery fixes stage three ROP almost 100% of the time, so that's comforting.
For now, the doctor is simply monitoring her condition to make sure it doesn't worsen. We'll return to the ophthalmologist every two weeks so Harper's retinas can be evaluated. Our next appointment is this Thursday. Of course, I'm worrying about it, but I've been praying about it a lot. "Give it to God," my mom says. I'm trying.
In other news, Harper is making tremendous progress toward her developmental milestones. Naturally, preemies are always a tad "behind" other children of the same actual age; because of this, parents of preemies are told to measure their child's development based on his/her "adjusted" or "corrected" age (the amount of time that has elapsed since the child's original due date). So, while Harper's actual age is just over 11 weeks, her adjusted age is just 3 ½ weeks. And for a 3 ½-week-old baby, she's doing incredibly well!
It seems like she's made a lot of accomplishments over the past week. She's experimenting with sounds a lot--making pterodactyl-like screeches and high-pitched squeaks fairly often--and she just started cooing over the weekend. She's also developed distinctly different cries for different wants/needs (unlike the first few weeks, during which all of the crying sounds exactly the same!). She still can't hold her head up unsupported for long periods of time, but she can lift it when she's on her tummy and can hold it upright temporarily. What else? She's now focusing on specific objects, like the stars and lambs on her lamb swing mobile or our faces when we're holding her, and though she has yet to figure out how to use her legs to "scoot" during tummy time, she can already roll herself over onto her back unassisted.
Unfortunately for Mommy (and Daddy, too, as I'm sure her crying interrupts his sweet dreams even if he doesn't acknowledge it), Harper is still not sleeping through the night. Not even close. She's generally up and ready to eat every three-and-a-half hours, give or take an hour in either direction. My two saving graces are: (1) she's usually a very good eater and sucks down her 3- to 3 ½-oz. bottle of formula in less than 30 minutes; and (2) Jeff feeds her before he goes to work, thereby allowing me to get at least three hours of uninterrupted sleep, which is huge. She's still sleeping beside us in our bedroom for the time being, and I imagine we'll probably keep her there until she either outgrows her bassinet or starts sleeping through the night. My goal is to have her sleeping upstairs in her own crib in her own nursery by August, but we shall see.
As far as her personality goes, well… I don't know how Jeff was as a baby, but according to my mother (and a crapload of pictures in my baby photo albums!), I was a very serious, studious baby--the antithesis of my little brother, who was ALWAYS smiling and laughing. Hilariously, Harper definitely takes after me in this way. She will give an occasional smile, sure, but generally she is a very inquisitive, "thinker" baby: her lips pursed, her brow knitted, her eyes open wide, a constant contemplative expression upon her face. I wonder if this will ring true for her personality in later years. It certainly did for my brother & me.
What else?
She LOVES her lamb swing, her pacifier, her Fisher Price crib aquarium, stretching her arms and legs, having her hands up by her face, taking baths, looking out the window, being held and talked to, and being rocked. She DETESTS all formulas except for Similac Neosure, having her arms tucked in when I swaddle her, wearing outfits with mitts (she ALWAYS finds a way to weasel her fingers out!), silence, being changed, and, aside from bath time, being naked (Daddy says this is a good thing and that it should stay that way until she's 30!).
The funniest thing is that she absolutely LOVES--and I mean LOVES--music. She insists that we turn on the music whenever she's in her lamb swing or bouncer, and she fusses unless her Fisher Price crib aquarium is playing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" whenever she's bedding down in her bassinet. The moment the music stops--even if she's dead asleep at the time--she starts fussing. It's hilarious. Jeff & I are wondering if we have a future American Idol or perhaps a potential band geek on our hands! Either way, we'll be the proudest parents alive!
OK, I think that's enough to get everyone caught up for now. I can't guarantee that I'll update every week, but I promise I will try to do a better job of staying on top of this blog in the weeks to come. In the meantime, a few recent pictures of the Harpster are posted below. (Isn't she beautiful? The other day some lady at Alamo Café said she was so beautiful that we ought to send her picture in to the Gerber Company and have them put HER on the side of baby food jars! What a compliment!)
Friday, May 22, 2009
Happy Pseudo-Birthday, Harper!
I can't believe Harper is almost a two-month-old. She'll be eight weeks tomorrow, which is insane to me.
Crazier, still, is that today--May 22nd--was supposed to be my "due date."
I can hardly fathom that my baby girl is only a few days shy of two months, but it also seems so strange to think that, merely eight weeks ago, I didn't know her. I bonded with her while she was in utero, of course, and I'd like to think that I knew her well before she was born, but in truth, I had no idea what that little face would look like--the face that I'll never forget for the rest of my life.
And although I can still remember what life was like before Harper arrived, I'm not sure I remember what it was like not to know her. Does that make sense?
We have come such a long way over the past eight weeks. Harper was born weighing only 3 lbs. 10 oz. During her first week of life in the NICU, she plummeted to 3 lbs. 3.3 oz., ate exclusively out of a feeding tube placed down her throat, had an IV in her heel, and sported "aviators" to combat the bilirubin lights used to improve her jaundice.
By the time of her discharge six weeks later, she weighed 6 lbs. 2.3 oz.--nearly double what she weighed at her lowest point.
We don't know what she weighs at the moment (we don't believe in scales here at our house, particularly post-pregnancy!), but she was 6 lbs. 10 oz. at her first doctor's appointment last Thursday. And she's been porking up ever since she got home! She now has a nice double chin, chubby cheeks, and is starting to get those "rolls" typical of most babies!
I'm so proud of my little fighter. Just look at how far she's come in the past eight weeks...
Week One:
Week Two:
Week Three:
Week Four:
Week Five:
Week Six:
Week Seven:
Week Eight:
Crazier, still, is that today--May 22nd--was supposed to be my "due date."
I can hardly fathom that my baby girl is only a few days shy of two months, but it also seems so strange to think that, merely eight weeks ago, I didn't know her. I bonded with her while she was in utero, of course, and I'd like to think that I knew her well before she was born, but in truth, I had no idea what that little face would look like--the face that I'll never forget for the rest of my life.
And although I can still remember what life was like before Harper arrived, I'm not sure I remember what it was like not to know her. Does that make sense?
We have come such a long way over the past eight weeks. Harper was born weighing only 3 lbs. 10 oz. During her first week of life in the NICU, she plummeted to 3 lbs. 3.3 oz., ate exclusively out of a feeding tube placed down her throat, had an IV in her heel, and sported "aviators" to combat the bilirubin lights used to improve her jaundice.
By the time of her discharge six weeks later, she weighed 6 lbs. 2.3 oz.--nearly double what she weighed at her lowest point.
We don't know what she weighs at the moment (we don't believe in scales here at our house, particularly post-pregnancy!), but she was 6 lbs. 10 oz. at her first doctor's appointment last Thursday. And she's been porking up ever since she got home! She now has a nice double chin, chubby cheeks, and is starting to get those "rolls" typical of most babies!
I'm so proud of my little fighter. Just look at how far she's come in the past eight weeks...
Week One:
Week Two:
Week Three:
Week Four:
Week Five:
Week Six:
Week Seven:
Week Eight:
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Thoughts of a First-time Mother On Baby's First Night Home
She is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.... Will I ever sleep again?... I can't believe she sucked down that bottle so fast!... BURP, HARPER, BURP! PLLLEEEAAASSSE!... Is she wet? Dirty? I need to check, but I don't want to wake her up.... Hahaha. She looks just like Jeff when she's asleep.... Note to self: Call the pediatrician tomorrow to schedule an appointment for later this week.... Why is your diaper leaking, Harps? We put it on right, didn't we?!... New diaper. New gown. New receiving blanket. Good to go.... This is sooo fun!... What's the matter, Harperoni? You're not wet, you're not dirty, you're not hungry. What else could be wrong?... Go back to sleep, Bitterman.... Should I try to get her to eat more, or is she good?... God, please let me be good at this. I want so badly to be good at this.... I have a husband, a house, and a child. I think I am officially an adult now.... EXPLOSIVE DIAPER ALERT!... Jeez! How could something so tiny create this much poop?!... Look at her stretch out those arms and legs! Wow!... OK, Harper, let's not wake up Daddy.... Dude, tomorrow Daddy will go to work and we'll be on our own. Oh, God, I'm a little scared!... Oh, Harper, please go back to sleep. We were up an hour ago!... Did I shake up the formula? It's 4:00 A.M. I can't remember.... Hi, Harper, I'm your mom--as surreal as that is.... How could you have been the one kicking me all those months?!... I wonder what she's thinking right now.... C'mon, Harper, wake up. Let's finish our bottle.... And there goes half the bottle...on my shirt. Awesome.... Clearly I'm going to be doing at least one load of baby laundry per day.... Is she warm enough? Cool enough?... Wow. No one is ever coming to get her, huh?... Isn't she beautiful? Everything about her is so perfect.... I'm a mommy. Unbelievable.... SERIOUSLY, WILL I EVER SLEEP AGAIN?!... This is only a window of time.... I love you so much, Harper. So, so much.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
A Letter to My Daughter on Mother's Day
Dear Harper,
Today is my first Mother's Day, and although you're not home with me right now, I'm crediting you for making this the best day I can remember.
I'm also crediting you for teaching your mom ten very important things in the past nine months:
Love,
Mom
Today is my first Mother's Day, and although you're not home with me right now, I'm crediting you for making this the best day I can remember.
I'm also crediting you for teaching your mom ten very important things in the past nine months:
- God is a genius. I didn't realize just how smart He is until you started growing inside me; then it became quite clear. There is no other way to explain the miracle of pregnancy and childbirth than by grand design.
- I didn't think it was possible to love something or someone as much as I love you.
- I look at you and can't believe I am responsible for creating something so blatantly perfect. How could I, with all my faults, make something so wonderful?
- Your daddy is going to be an amazing father. And he already adores you more than I ever could have expected or imagined.
- Your dad & I have an incredible marriage. We are capable of handling a lot, and the reason is that we have each other.
- Your grandmother loves me in a way that no one else ever could. It is a pure, primal, selfless, compassionate, unconditional love that could never end despite my actions or age, and only now am I beginning to fully understand it.
- Things don't always work out the way we expect, but God knows what He is doing, even when we don't.
- The world seemed much safer before you arrived. I realize now that everytime your grandparents worried about me or told me to "be careful," it's because they saw me as completely vulnerable in a big, scary world and because they would do absolutely ANYTHING to prevent me from getting hurt.
- I realize that someday you will be old enough to be your own person, hold your own opinions, and make your own decisions, but I will forever struggle with the concept that you are not "mine" and that I will one day have to let you go.
- Although it's seemingly light years away, that day will come too soon.
Love,
Mom
Friday, May 8, 2009
Cesarean Advice
A girl I know from middle and high school delivered her first child--a girl--via C-section this morning. She'd planned for a regular vaginal birth, but for some reason her doctor changed things at the last minute, and since she knew that I'd recently had one, she e-mailed me and asked for some advice about what to expect with her C. She had a fairly difficult time during her third trimester, so I wanted to make sure I put some time and thought into my reply to her. And since that's exactly what I ultimately did, I thought I'd post my reply here in my blog.
All of this stuff is so fresh in my mind now, but I KNOW I will have forgotten most of it by the time we're ready to do this again (which won't be for at least another four years, I assure you). So this is really a "just in case" post: Just in case anyone ever asks me for cesarean advice again, I'll be able to refer them to this link, and just in case I need to be reminded of this stuff a few years down the road, well, then it's all here...
ABOUT THE EPIDURAL
I promise the epidural does not hurt that bad when it's being administered. It really doesn't. It stings a little, but if you're anything like me, then it won't be anywhere close to as bad as you'd built it up to be. It can, however, leave quite a bruise in the middle of your back (mine was about the size of a golf ball at first), so you can probably expect to be a pretty tender at your epidural site during the first couple weeks, particularly in the first few days. (It's not a stabbing acute pain or anything like that; it's just sore in the same way a bruise is, and the fact that it's right in the middle of your back--what you lie down upon--makes it more inconvenient.)
ABOUT THE CATHETER
After they do the epidural, they'll insert your catheter. I was incredibly worried about this and thought it would hurt, but by the time they do it, you won't be able to feel it at all. They do a couple other things to prep you for surgery (vitals, one of those finger clamp things to measure the oxygen in your blood, nothing worth mentioning), and then they get started. If you read my previous entry, you know what I think about the actual procedure...
After 24 hours, they'll take your catheter out. It doesn't hurt at all to have it removed. What's weird is that it does a number on your bladder, so you kinda have to retrain yourself how to pee. It's not like you can't control your bladder or anything like that; you just probably won't be able to go more than a little trickle at a time. It's weird.
ABOUT THE PROCEDURE
The whole thing takes about an hour from the time they wheel you in to the time you're all sewn and stapled back up again. I don't even remember being wheeled back out, and although I remember bits and pieces from the 24 hours following my surgery, I have no sense of time. (I can't distinguish between people I saw two hours after the surgery vs. people I saw the next afternoon.) So expect to be pretty groggy for the 24 hours following your C.
ABOUT THE FIRST 24 HOURS
The worst part of the entire experience will be roughly 12 hours after your surgery. Your Labor & Delivery nurse will come in and check to make sure your uterus is starting to decrease in size. She'll do this by pressing on your tummy (up by your belly button). ASK FOR PAIN MEDICINE BEFORE SHE DOES THIS. It's the most painful part of the entire experience. They'll continue to do periodic checks of your uterus by pressing on your tummy, but none of those hurt nearly as bad as that first one.
The first time you have to get up and go to the bathroom, don't freak out if you look down and see an input cup full of blood mixed in with your urine. You'll bleed a little bit (about the same as you would during the first couple days of your period) throughout your stay in the hospital, but nothing like the first time you get up to use the restroom.
I am not going to lie and say that C-section recovery is easy, because it's not. As they will tell you over and over again in the hospital, you are having "major abdominal surgery," and after it's over you will completely understand why they say that. The first two days are REALLY tough. You will need someone to help you with almost everything, including getting up and walking to the bathroom. Within 24 hours after your surgery, you should be able to stand up (if only for a few seconds and while holding onto something), and within 48 hours, you should be able to walk short distances (very, very slowly like an old woman, but still!). Don't be surprised if walking down the hall completely wipes you out. Recovery from a cesarean is a really slow process, so it's all about doing things in baby steps.
DURING YOUR HOSPITAL STAY
Just a couple of weird things that you need to be prepared for during the three or four days you're in the hospital... First off, while it's a little embarrassing and gross, if you're not comfortable "tooting" in front of your husband and mother (or anyone else who may be there for an extended period of time), you need to get that way real fast! During a C-section, air gets kinda "trapped" inside your body; your digestive track is also really sluggish and slow due to pregnancy, so you'll have more gas on your tummy than usual. The nurses will give you medicine to help it come out, so don't be surprised if you sound like a college frat boy in the hospital! (And although it's the antithesis of feminine, you really shouldn't hold it in. You literally feel better almost INSTANTLY every time you pass gas, so just prepare your husband and whoever else is going to be there with you and don't look back!)
Also, sneezing, coughing, and laughing are not so fun in the first few days. They don't really hurt; they just feel weird as a result of having to use your inner abdominal muscles while they're still healing. It's kind'of a sensation like your insides are going to fall out on the floor (even though obviously they won't!). Holding your tummy whenever you sneeze, cough, or laugh really hard helps a lot.
ABOUT YOUR STAPLES
Before you leave the hospital, they'll take out your staples. I worried about this the entire time I was in the hospital, even though everyone assured me it wouldn't hurt at all. DO NOT worry about this! I PROMISE it does not hurt in the least. You can barely even feel it. After taking out your staples, the doctor will put little butterfly bandages across your incision. You'll take them off yourself (if they don't fall off themselves) after about 10 days.
ABOUT THE FIRST NIGHT AT HOME
The first night home is pretty tough. It's not so much that your incision or insides hurt; it's that the muscles you've been using to compensate for your out-of-commission abdominal muscles are not used to working so hard and thus are tired and sore and won't relax. Your brain kinda won't let you relax either. Jeff & I called it "mental pain." I remember crying to Jeff that I was hurting, but after talking it out with him, I realized that lying there in bed nothing really physically hurt; I just had the sensation that someone was going to run in and hit me in the tummy right where my incision was, and it made me panic. If you ever go through this, just stay calm and try to talk some rational sense into yourself (e.g., no one is going to come in and do anything to your tummy, etc.).
ABOUT AT-HOME RECOVERY
I can't tell you how long it takes to fully recover, because I haven't fully recovered yet (and it will have been six weeks since my surgery by tomorrow evening). Like I said, it's a very slow, baby steps process. The first four weeks are obviously the toughest; you just get a little bit better and a little bit closer to back to normal each and every week. Baby yourself a lot, and don't expect to do ANYTHING else except take care of yourself and the baby during your first week. If your mom or mother-in-law is able to come and stay with you, I would totally take her up on the offer. It's REALLY important for you to get some rest in your first two weeks following delivery--and especially after having surgery, because your body heals itself during sleep.
You'll bleed less and less the longer you're home, but even I am continuing to spot every now and then. Your doctor will probably go over all of the dos and don'ts with you, but the basic don'ts are:
THINGS YOU'LL NEED WHEN YOU COME HOME...
The best advice I can give you is to lean on your husband for support. Guys will show a strength that you didn't know they had when you lean on them in this type of situation. If you expect them to be hands-on and help, they will rise to the occasion. Or at least mine did.
Mine was wonderful. He didn't mind when I woke him up like nine times to help me to the bathroom on my second night in the hospital. He applied pantyliners when I was too sore to bend down and pulled up underwear when I was too weak to do it on my own. He insisted that I was beautiful when I know I looked absolutely horrendous, and he always waited for me to put on my make-up and brush my hair before we went to see Harper because he knew it would make me feel better. When a nurse was so mean to me that I literally cried--and cried hard--he WENT OFF on the charge nurse and demanded that she assign someone else to be responsible for my care. He made things funny and fun at a time when I really needed them to be; although initially painful, difficult, and upsetting, the task of pumping breastmilk actually became a little entertaining once he insisted that we start betting on which breast would "win." He comforted me when I cried and assured me that everything was going to be OK when I wasn't so sure. He was my strength throughout the entire thing, and I'll never forget it.
Lean on yours this way. You'll come out not knowing how you could've possibly done it without him.
All of this stuff is so fresh in my mind now, but I KNOW I will have forgotten most of it by the time we're ready to do this again (which won't be for at least another four years, I assure you). So this is really a "just in case" post: Just in case anyone ever asks me for cesarean advice again, I'll be able to refer them to this link, and just in case I need to be reminded of this stuff a few years down the road, well, then it's all here...
ABOUT THE EPIDURAL
I promise the epidural does not hurt that bad when it's being administered. It really doesn't. It stings a little, but if you're anything like me, then it won't be anywhere close to as bad as you'd built it up to be. It can, however, leave quite a bruise in the middle of your back (mine was about the size of a golf ball at first), so you can probably expect to be a pretty tender at your epidural site during the first couple weeks, particularly in the first few days. (It's not a stabbing acute pain or anything like that; it's just sore in the same way a bruise is, and the fact that it's right in the middle of your back--what you lie down upon--makes it more inconvenient.)
ABOUT THE CATHETER
After they do the epidural, they'll insert your catheter. I was incredibly worried about this and thought it would hurt, but by the time they do it, you won't be able to feel it at all. They do a couple other things to prep you for surgery (vitals, one of those finger clamp things to measure the oxygen in your blood, nothing worth mentioning), and then they get started. If you read my previous entry, you know what I think about the actual procedure...
After 24 hours, they'll take your catheter out. It doesn't hurt at all to have it removed. What's weird is that it does a number on your bladder, so you kinda have to retrain yourself how to pee. It's not like you can't control your bladder or anything like that; you just probably won't be able to go more than a little trickle at a time. It's weird.
ABOUT THE PROCEDURE
The whole thing takes about an hour from the time they wheel you in to the time you're all sewn and stapled back up again. I don't even remember being wheeled back out, and although I remember bits and pieces from the 24 hours following my surgery, I have no sense of time. (I can't distinguish between people I saw two hours after the surgery vs. people I saw the next afternoon.) So expect to be pretty groggy for the 24 hours following your C.
ABOUT THE FIRST 24 HOURS
The worst part of the entire experience will be roughly 12 hours after your surgery. Your Labor & Delivery nurse will come in and check to make sure your uterus is starting to decrease in size. She'll do this by pressing on your tummy (up by your belly button). ASK FOR PAIN MEDICINE BEFORE SHE DOES THIS. It's the most painful part of the entire experience. They'll continue to do periodic checks of your uterus by pressing on your tummy, but none of those hurt nearly as bad as that first one.
The first time you have to get up and go to the bathroom, don't freak out if you look down and see an input cup full of blood mixed in with your urine. You'll bleed a little bit (about the same as you would during the first couple days of your period) throughout your stay in the hospital, but nothing like the first time you get up to use the restroom.
I am not going to lie and say that C-section recovery is easy, because it's not. As they will tell you over and over again in the hospital, you are having "major abdominal surgery," and after it's over you will completely understand why they say that. The first two days are REALLY tough. You will need someone to help you with almost everything, including getting up and walking to the bathroom. Within 24 hours after your surgery, you should be able to stand up (if only for a few seconds and while holding onto something), and within 48 hours, you should be able to walk short distances (very, very slowly like an old woman, but still!). Don't be surprised if walking down the hall completely wipes you out. Recovery from a cesarean is a really slow process, so it's all about doing things in baby steps.
DURING YOUR HOSPITAL STAY
Just a couple of weird things that you need to be prepared for during the three or four days you're in the hospital... First off, while it's a little embarrassing and gross, if you're not comfortable "tooting" in front of your husband and mother (or anyone else who may be there for an extended period of time), you need to get that way real fast! During a C-section, air gets kinda "trapped" inside your body; your digestive track is also really sluggish and slow due to pregnancy, so you'll have more gas on your tummy than usual. The nurses will give you medicine to help it come out, so don't be surprised if you sound like a college frat boy in the hospital! (And although it's the antithesis of feminine, you really shouldn't hold it in. You literally feel better almost INSTANTLY every time you pass gas, so just prepare your husband and whoever else is going to be there with you and don't look back!)
Also, sneezing, coughing, and laughing are not so fun in the first few days. They don't really hurt; they just feel weird as a result of having to use your inner abdominal muscles while they're still healing. It's kind'of a sensation like your insides are going to fall out on the floor (even though obviously they won't!). Holding your tummy whenever you sneeze, cough, or laugh really hard helps a lot.
ABOUT YOUR STAPLES
Before you leave the hospital, they'll take out your staples. I worried about this the entire time I was in the hospital, even though everyone assured me it wouldn't hurt at all. DO NOT worry about this! I PROMISE it does not hurt in the least. You can barely even feel it. After taking out your staples, the doctor will put little butterfly bandages across your incision. You'll take them off yourself (if they don't fall off themselves) after about 10 days.
ABOUT THE FIRST NIGHT AT HOME
The first night home is pretty tough. It's not so much that your incision or insides hurt; it's that the muscles you've been using to compensate for your out-of-commission abdominal muscles are not used to working so hard and thus are tired and sore and won't relax. Your brain kinda won't let you relax either. Jeff & I called it "mental pain." I remember crying to Jeff that I was hurting, but after talking it out with him, I realized that lying there in bed nothing really physically hurt; I just had the sensation that someone was going to run in and hit me in the tummy right where my incision was, and it made me panic. If you ever go through this, just stay calm and try to talk some rational sense into yourself (e.g., no one is going to come in and do anything to your tummy, etc.).
ABOUT AT-HOME RECOVERY
I can't tell you how long it takes to fully recover, because I haven't fully recovered yet (and it will have been six weeks since my surgery by tomorrow evening). Like I said, it's a very slow, baby steps process. The first four weeks are obviously the toughest; you just get a little bit better and a little bit closer to back to normal each and every week. Baby yourself a lot, and don't expect to do ANYTHING else except take care of yourself and the baby during your first week. If your mom or mother-in-law is able to come and stay with you, I would totally take her up on the offer. It's REALLY important for you to get some rest in your first two weeks following delivery--and especially after having surgery, because your body heals itself during sleep.
You'll bleed less and less the longer you're home, but even I am continuing to spot every now and then. Your doctor will probably go over all of the dos and don'ts with you, but the basic don'ts are:
- No lifting anything over 10 lbs. for the first six weeks
- No tampons or sex for the first six weeks
- No baths for the first two weeks (showers are fine, but baths aren't until your incision heals up a little bit more)
- No swimming pools or hot tubs for the first six weeks
- No ab exercises for the first eight weeks
THINGS YOU'LL NEED WHEN YOU COME HOME...
- A "sheet rope." Have your husband create something you can use to pull yourself up to a sitting position when you're lying down in bed. Assuming he will not want you to wake him up every time you need to go to the bathroom or tend to the baby, you'll need some way to hoist yourself up to a sitting position when you're lying down because you won't be strong enough to sit up on your own during your first few nights at home. (It's easy in the hospital because they have those cool adjustable beds that tilt up and down, but once you get home, you're on your own!) Jeff tied a bunch of sheets together and put one end beneath our footboard and the other up by my head. It was like a big rope. Worked wonders during those first few nights at home.
- Pillows. During your first few nights, you need all the pillows you can get for propping. I was surrounded by pillows during my first few nights at home. They made a HUGE difference in my comfort level.
- Granny panties. Assuming you don't wear Granny panties normally, you will want to get at least six pairs of high-cut, natural-waist panties in a much bigger size than you normally wear. Otherwise, you will come home and try to put on your regular underwear and they will hit you directly across your incision. Not comfy. I'm still wearing my Grannies and plan to continue until my incision is 100% healed.
- High-waist pants. If you're like me, practically all of your pants are low-rise, which means they will hit you directly across your incision, and in the beginning, you will be much too sensitive for this. Wearing pants that rub up against my incision STILL isn't comfortable for me, so even if you're not quite as much of a baby as I am, I can guarantee that your normal pants won't feel good in the first two weeks. My advice is to go to Academy and get some sweat pants, scrub pants, etc. in a much bigger size than you normally wear so that you can wear them up above your belly button (like an old woman). It may not be the most attractive look, but I promise you will thank me for this.
- Ocean Spray Cran-Grape Juice. It's gross, I know, but after you've had a C-section, it's really, really hard to go to the bathroom (like, #2). You can't use your ab muscles to bear down and push things out the way you normally would. This stuff is a natural stool softener, so two glasses of this stuff a day not only keeps you from getting constipated (something you REALLY want to avoid with a cesarean), it also make it a lot easier to go when you've gotta go.
- Maxi pads. You may already have some of these around your house, but I didn't. Stock up on maxi pads and pantyliners to protect yourself from bleeding after delivery for about three or so weeks (possibly more).
- Hydrogen peroxide. My doctor said to keep my incision clean and dry. I'm too big of a baby to touch my incision and wash it with soap, so here's what I do to make sure it stays clean: After I take a shower, I pat it dry. I get back in the shower with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a mirror, lean back a little, and, using the mirror to see what I'm doing, let the hydrogen peroxide spill down my incision. It bubbles out any infection or dirty areas of the incision. Then I just pat dry with Kleenex. It's a great, pain-free way to keep your incision clean.
- Tylenol. Seems obvious, but make sure you have a great big bottle of it nearby. You will be going through Tylenol like nobody's business! :-)
The best advice I can give you is to lean on your husband for support. Guys will show a strength that you didn't know they had when you lean on them in this type of situation. If you expect them to be hands-on and help, they will rise to the occasion. Or at least mine did.
Mine was wonderful. He didn't mind when I woke him up like nine times to help me to the bathroom on my second night in the hospital. He applied pantyliners when I was too sore to bend down and pulled up underwear when I was too weak to do it on my own. He insisted that I was beautiful when I know I looked absolutely horrendous, and he always waited for me to put on my make-up and brush my hair before we went to see Harper because he knew it would make me feel better. When a nurse was so mean to me that I literally cried--and cried hard--he WENT OFF on the charge nurse and demanded that she assign someone else to be responsible for my care. He made things funny and fun at a time when I really needed them to be; although initially painful, difficult, and upsetting, the task of pumping breastmilk actually became a little entertaining once he insisted that we start betting on which breast would "win." He comforted me when I cried and assured me that everything was going to be OK when I wasn't so sure. He was my strength throughout the entire thing, and I'll never forget it.
Lean on yours this way. You'll come out not knowing how you could've possibly done it without him.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Avery Harper Henderson
I can’t believe I’ve already been a mother almost an entire month. How surreal. I knew Harper was going to come early—call it a mother’s intuition—but I never dreamed I would already have a five-week-old daughter by the beginning of May.
Here’s the long version of what happened…
Around the beginning of my sixth month, my blood pressure started skyrocketing. I went to the doctor for my regular prenatal appointment, learned my blood pressure was 140/95, and was told to go to the hospital. I stayed in Antepartum for four days, and Dr. Schorlemer released me the day before my birthday with orders of strict bed rest for the duration of my pregnancy.
For those who don’t know, strict bed rest means you can really only get up to go to the bathroom, take a shower, and eat. You cannot walk, stand, or drive. You cannot sit up for more than 20 to 30 minutes at a time, and when you’re lying down, you cannot lie on your back. You may go upstairs only if you’re going to stay there for an extended period of time, and you are barred from doing anything that can elevate your heart rate. This includes merely kissing your husband, let alone doing anything else.
Oh, and you have to go to the doctor twice a week. Except you can’t drive there. Which means that someone (e.g., your husband) has to leave work, drive all the way home to pick you up, bring you to the doctor, sit through your appointment with you, take you all the way back home, and drive all the way back to work. Practically every other day. So fun!
So, yeah, bed rest was pretty much miserable. For me, the hardest part wasn’t being bored—although that, too, was awful—it was having to let someone wait on me hand and foot and watch them do all of my jobs for me. Poor Jeff had to cook, do laundry, feed Bitterman, change the sheets, do the dishes, clean up the kitchen, go grocery shopping, and everything in between—all after working all day! I felt so horribly helpless watching him struggle to do all of the things I normally do for both of us.
At the same time, though, as crummy as the situation was, what we took from it was invaluable. It was the first time in our marriage that Jeff really had to rise to the occasion all by himself, and he did so with flying colors. Not only did the whole experience leave him a little bit more appreciative of me (e.g., “I have no idea how you EVER worked and did all of this at the same time!”), but it left me a little more appreciative of him. After seeing what he would put himself through to care for me, I remember thinking, “Wow. Jeff loves me. I mean, REALLY loves me.” And although I always knew he did, I was unaware of how much. It was kind’of like seeing your wedding vows put to the test. Needless to say, he passed.
Anyway, on Tuesday, March 24, Jeff & I left the house early to go to the first of my twice-weekly doctor’s appointments. I usually loved going to my prenatal appointments (they afforded me an opportunity to listen to my little girl’s heartbeat, after all!), and yet I felt oddly apprehensive about going that morning. I actually told Jeff—and I swear I am not making this up—that I didn’t want to go to my appointment, and when he asked why, I said, “I don’t know. I’m just afraid he’s going to say something like, ‘Let’s walk over to Methodist and have the baby today.’” Perhaps I should start looking into a career at the Psychic Friends Network.
I was Dr. Schorlemer’s first appointment that day, and while he was still at the hospital making his morning rounds, Kathy, his nurse, took my vitals. Blood pressure? 151/101. Kathy led us into an exam room and said the doctor would be with us soon; I lay on the examining table, turned on my left side.
Ten minutes later, in popped Dr. Schorlemer, although his trademark grin had disappeared. “OK Ashley,” he said (because he always calls me by my first name), “you guys need to start heading over to the hospital, because we’re looking at an early delivery.”
Um, WHAT?
My husband piped up, “OK, so, will Taylor just go back to Antepartum for hospital bed rest? Or should we go to Labor & Delivery?”
Dr. Schorlemer smiled a little. “Labor & Delivery.”
“OK, so she will be delivering…”
“Either today or tomorrow.”
I remember trying my hardest to put on a brave face. It faded by the time I got into the hallway. Dr. Schorlemer saw the tears start to flow and put his arm around me. “Don’t worry. It will be all right. Everything is going to be fine, OK?” I shook my head yes and put my game face back on. Time to call the parents…
Jeff called his folks; Mom was teaching, so I called Dad. When I told him the news, he sounded like he was going to have a heart attack. I told him to get in touch with Mom and come up to the hospital, that we would call when we knew the room number. Meanwhile, my in-laws started the ten-hour drive from Alva, Oklahoma to San Antonio.
The actual diagnosis was the same as it was a few weeks earlier: preeclampsia, a fancy word for when your blood pressure skyrockets in response to pregnancy. There are four additional symptoms in addition to the high blood pressure: (1) protein in the urine, which indicates that your kidneys aren’t functioning as they should; (2) major weight gain throughout your pregnancy unrelated to excessive eating or diet; (3) severe swelling, particularly of the hands, face, and feet; and (4) hypersensitive reflexes. (That last one took me by surprise. A nurse took out her little hammer and bopped me on the knee to check my knee-jerk reflex, and I practically drop-kicked her in the jaw.) And, as every nurse assured me, there is no cure for preeclampsia other than delivery. Awesome!
I don’t remember walking in to the hospital, nor do I remember checking into Labor & Delivery. I do remember that my veins had all collapsed as a result of my being so swollen, and that the nurse had to dig around in my arm for about 10 minutes to start an IV. I remember the steroid shots, the nurse complimenting me on my pain threshold, being so hungry I was beside myself, and being really annoyed that I wasn’t allowed to eat anything. By the time I was actually allowed to eat (around 4:00 P.M.), I sent Jeff to the food court to get me a cheeseburger AND a giant piece of pepperoni pizza. I devoured my hospital food tray two hours later.
I vaguely remember Dr. Schorlemer coming in at the end of the day and saying that I should prepare to have my cesarean the following afternoon. And I remember crying to my mom and Jeff. I was petrified—of having a seizure, having the epidural, having the C-section, something being wrong with Harper, etc.—and mad at my own body for bailing on me in the middle of this pregnancy. Of course everyone assured me that it wasn’t my fault, but how can you NOT feel guilty, when you are responsible for forcing your child to enter this world before she’s really ready?
Those were my thoughts when I went to sleep. When I woke up the next day, I was different. I was ready. Bring on the epidural! Bring on the C-section! Bring on Harper! I was actually excited. Still scared, of course, but excited to become a mother and to finally see my baby girl.
My in-laws arrived, and I visited with them for as long as I could stay awake. I eventually had to tell my husband to relocate everyone so I could rest. The maternal/fetal specialist, Dr. Gordon—the same guy who had performed my triple-screen test, my Level II sonogram, and thus, my amniocentesis—came to confirm Schorlemer’s diagnosis and run some tests. He performed an ultrasound, and we learned that Harper was only 3.5 lbs.—smaller than we’d suspected, since I’d been measuring a few weeks ahead of schedule for the past two months.
After we returned to my room, Dr. Gordon explained that there are really only two grades of preeclampsia: severe and mild. My case, however, was somewhere in the middle. That’s when he dropped a bombshell—that because it would be in Harper’s best interest to stay inside my womb as long as possible, he was going to recommend that I remain on hospital bed rest for at least a few more days. As in, “No c-section for you today!”
Logically, I knew this was better for both Harper and me. Better that I didn’t have to go through major surgery later on that afternoon. Better for Harper that she didn’t have to come out at 31 ½ weeks. After all, every day that she stayed put, I was told, equaled two fewer days that she’d have to stay in the NICU.
But emotionally, this was tough news to accept. It had taken a lot for me to get myself, psychologically, to where I was when I woke up that morning: Ready. And now he was saying that I had to mentally readjust AGAIN and just wait?! You’ve got to be kidding me!
The rest of the week is kind’of a blur. I moved out of Labor & Delivery and went back to Antepartum. Not knowing what else to do or how long we were going to have to wait, my in-laws drove back to Oklahoma on Friday morning. Jody & Martha came to see me later on that day. Meanwhile, I continued to get puffier and pack on the pounds with each day that passed. My blood pressure was still high enough for me to be in the hospital but low enough—particularly when I lay on my left side—to not deliver immediately. Can we say frustrating?
On Saturday afternoon, March 28th, Dr. Gordon came back to check on me. I’d gained five pounds since the last time he’d seen me just days earlier, and I looked like a blowfish I was so puffed up. My blood pressure was consistently in a dangerous range, and I guess that, coupled with the weight gain and the ridiculous swelling, was enough for him.
“All right, Mrs. Henderson, we’re going to go ahead and get you delivered today,” he said. “When did you last eat?”
“I just had lunch right before you walked in.”
“OK, then, we’ll deliver in six hours.”
So, back to Labor & Delivery we went. The next six hours were very strange. I alternated between excitement and anxiety and all-out fear. I was especially nervous because, with it being Saturday, my doctor—Dr. Schorlemer, who delivered me and my brother and who has been my OB/GYN since I was 16—was not there and thus would not be the one to perform the cesarean. The whole situation seemed like something out of the movies.
My parents, Jeff, and I sat in my hospital room and stared at the school-style clock on the wall like it was a time bomb. Six hours have never passed by so fast AND slow at the same time.
At about 6:45 P.M., my Labor & Delivery nurse, Ashley, came and got Jeff & me. Jeff was given his scrubs and told to stay outside the doors until someone came and got him while I was wheeled into the operating room. This was my first surgery, so I’d never been in an operating room before, and it looked different than I expected it would. It was smaller than I thought it would be, with tons of fluorescent overhead lights and a built-in, glass bookshelf on the back wall that looked like something in a college science class. I was also surprised by the amount of people that were present. I counted eight nurses/students in addition to the anesthesiologist who greeted me as I walked in.
I don’t remember his name, but he was wonderful. After hearing that I was petrified of having an epidural (mainly because my mom was forced to endure three botched epidurals during her own cesarean), he struck up a conversation just to get me to relax. I learned he had gone to UT and that he had two daughters—22 and 26—who had gone to Texas Tech. He said he would take good care of me because I was a fellow Longhorn, and as stupid as it sounds, that actually made me feel better.
Pretty soon after that it was time to administer the epidural. Ashley had me sit up on the operating table with my gown open at the back. She instructed me to arch my back and stay still. She then took the top of my head, pressed it down, and held my head in place against her chest. I have to say, it surprised me that no one had ever mentioned this to me in all of the stories of epidurals and childbirths that I’d heard.
Forgive me for being so literal here, but basically you are forced to sit there with your head smashed against a random woman’s cleavage. It’s a little awkward, especially since you must stay like that for about 20 minutes. I’m not sure why most women consider that irrelevant, but I don’t, so for all of you who have yet to go through this, prepare to feel a little strange about being in position to motorboat your L&D nurse.
I’m happy to report that the epidural itself hurt for maybe five seconds, and it was no worse than a bee sting. I was shocked by how fast it started working. It was fast enough that Ashley lay me down and inserted my catheter about five minutes later, and I couldn’t even feel it. After about 10 minutes, I had to ask her to move my leg. The nurses covered my lower body with some blue liquid that dyed my skin like a Smurf and then hoisted a drape above my abdomen so that I couldn’t see anything on the other side. I remember thinking that it was a little odd to be lying there with my top half completely covered and my bottom half completely exposed on the other side of the curtain.
At some point, a nurse called in Jeff, who came in and sat down beside me, looking darling in his scrubs. I could tell he was nervous. His eyes were as big as saucers, and they darted all around the room. He eventually grabbed my hand, and five minutes later, the surgeon arrived.
The only reason it actually wasn’t that upsetting to have some random doctor perform my cesarean instead of Dr. Schorlemer is that, during a C-section, you pretty much have no contact with the OB/GYN. I didn’t know that prior to my surgery. Even after I knew I was more than likely going to have to have a cesarean, I always pictured Dr. Schorlemer talking me through the procedure step by step, in the same way he would a vaginal delivery. That’s sooo not how it works. During a cesarean, the anesthesiologist is the one who communicates with you and talks you through everything, not the doctor who’s actually operating on you. So while that’s probably disappointing for those of you who ultimately have to go undergo cesareans and expect your own doctor to get you through your procedure, it was a big relief to me; I didn’t “miss” my own doctor because I don’t think I would’ve known the difference had he actually been the one doing the cutting.
I didn’t feel the first incision. The only reason I knew it had happened is that someone wrote “19:40” next to “time of incision” on the dry erase board that hung on the wall. I remember seeing that and thinking: This is it! Oh, my gosh! We’re having a baby! And I remember grinning from ear to ear, even though I was scared to death.
The second cut—the one into my uterus—I did feel. It didn’t hurt at all, but I could feel that someone was doing something to my body. Honestly, this is the most accurate way I can think of to describe the sensation: It’s like someone has dumped four or five water balloons on top of your abdomen and suddenly starts jiggling all of them simultaneously. Odd.
An eternity went by, or so it seemed, waiting to hear that first faint cry. But in truth, only six minutes passed before someone called out, “Time of birth…19:46!” I squeezed Jeff’s hand and strained to hear the coos and cries from the other side of the curtain. A few seconds later, a nurse appeared from behind the left side of the drape and held up a crying newborn baby.
There she was...
Our child. Our daughter. Our Harper.
She was purplish-bluish-grayish-pink, the same color all babies are when they’re born, and covered in goop. Yet she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And I would call it love at first sight, but I’d fallen in love with her months before she actually arrived. All I knew was that I was witnessing the greatest miracle of my entire life.
Avery Harper Henderson was born weighing three pounds, ten ounces and measuring 17 ½ inches long. Because she was eight weeks early, she had to be rushed to the NICU immediately after birth. Her daddy followed. I remember lying there in the operating room after the two loves of my life had left and praying—thanking God for my beautiful daughter and allowing me the chance to see her and pleading with Him to please, please, please take care of her now that she was here. It was probably the most helpless moment of my entire life.
And it was also the start of not just a new chapter but a new book all together. As a dear friend so eloquently put it in an e-mail to me earlier this week: Our lives now revolved around this new tiny creature, with Harper in the center, like the sun, and Jeff & me as the planets and stars surrounding her.
I just hope we can do a decent job of teaching her how to rise and set...
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