The Morning After

So one of the big reasons we chose to go with a hospital birth instead of a home birth was one we didn't make public until, well... now.

At this particular juncture I can think of about a dozen tangents I could totally go off on regarding subjects of discussion surrounding this particular choice, but I'll spare you all the gory and analytical details and just tell the story:

The morning after Evelyn was born, or rather, the same morning but about 7 hours later, my nurse came and prepped me for surgery. I walked down the hall, into a cold O.R. and climbed up on the narrow little table.

"Dangle your feet down on the sides and hunch your back over.", they said. At this point I was trying not to be annoyed by ANOTHER needle in my back since the nurse had mistakenly removed my epidural catheter immediately after Evelyn was born, rather than leave it in place to use for this surgery as planned.

The needle in the spine thing went quickly and soon I was lying flat with my arms strapped to boards. I began to get a little nervous as I watched them scrub and prep my belly.

Um, I REALLY don't want to watch this!, I kept thinking until finally one side of a blue screen went up and then the other. Whew!!

My nurse stood beside me, the anesthesiologist at my head, doctor at my waist. All was ready.

"YEOOWWCH!!", I yelled out.

The doctor leaned her head over the blue wall.

"You felt that?!", she asked.

No. No, I just screamed that out randomly to make you jump. Like it's April Fools' Day or something. Good grief.

"YES! Yes, I DID feel that, and it HURT!", I said in the most matter-of-fact voice I could muster.

So they added more drugs to the catheter in my spine and waited a few more minutes.

Following that was a series of pokes and prods to determine what parts of me still had feeling and what didn't.

My belly button DID. Instantly the operating table tilted backward and the blood rushed to my head.

My left leg DID. My right leg, however, was dead as a doornail. Whizzz! Went the operating table machinery again as it tipped my head further down and to the left. Good thing I'm strapped in, I thought as I looked up askew at my nurse.

She had a worried look on her face. This did NOT help my state of mind.

"Can you feel this?", the doctor asked me again for the umpteenth time.

I'd had it. So help me I was going to get off this table and back to my room and...

Oh wait. My legs were not cooperating and my arms were strapped to boards.

Right.

I looked up at my nurse.

"I can still feel it a LITTLE BIT," I said with a wobbly voice as tears escaped from the corners of my eyes. "and I don't WANT to feel it AT ALL."

Suddenly there was a deep voice in my ear saying, "Just breathe through your nose..." as a mask went over my face.

I Don't Want to breathe through my nose I want you to tell them all to forget it and take me back to my room and ....



Aaahhhh....

Nitrous oxide.

Wonderful stuff.

Next thing I knew I was in a bed with my nurse watching over me and there I stayed for another hour while I slept it off. When I went back to my room where my sweet little baby girl waited in the arms of her daddy, I was hoping to be able to take care of myself pretty well since he needed to get back to the other kidlets.

Instead, I spent the next 6 hours with my right leg completely numb and useless. I couldn't get up to use the bathroom or even scootch over on my bed to get my cup of water off the table next to it. Well, maybe it was better that I couldn't quite reach my water.

The next morning my hubby came back and the kids all said hello to their new baby sister.

And we went home.

The six of us.

Complete.