Under The Knife

As most of you know, I had a complicated pregnancy.

Here's a little back-story:

My large, subchorionic hematoma was no joke - as it measured halfway around my placenta.  I dealt with active blood loss on a daily basis for nearly three months (starting around 10.5 weeks of my pregnancy), passed large blood clots every so often, was on bed rest for nearly three months, and I had contractions on and off for a week or two towards the end of my short pregnancy.  Also, I went to the hospital four times for "monitoring" due to some of the above complications.  [Should I mention I saw my regular OB/GYN and a high risk OB/GYN every two weeks, and sometimes once a week?  Yes, yes I should mention those constant doctor visits.]

As my pregnancy progressed, I was told by my doctors that I would more than likely have a C-section.  Great!  I have to admit, I wasn't looking forward to a C-section.  I didn't want to be carved open.  I didn't want to go under the knife.  I didn't want my muscles sliced apart and sewn back together.  I didn't want to have to deal with scar tissue.  The thought of it taking a little longer to bounce back to normalcy after giving birth/delivering was not on my wish list.  But, I did want what was best for my baby... and taking a scalpel to my "gut" was actually best for both myself and my baby boy.

[I'd been in the hospital for 5 days when all hell broke loose.  Docs and nurses were able to stop labor twice, but on the third time, no such luck!  I guess third time's a charm.  Little Man was ready!]

Emergency C-Section, here we come:

I'd ping-ponged around the maternity ward... from Labor and Delivery, to Antepartum, and back to L&D once more.  Contractions were increasing and the medicine (mag drip and narcotics) wasn't slowing them down or decreasing my pain.  Little Man's heart rate would dip with the contractions, but it also picked right back up afterwards.  Then... it didn't pick up.

I was woken from a shallow, short-lived nap to a flutter of nurses and doctors who were immediately busy at my bedside.  They began adjusting cords, wires, machines, etc.  A young, male doctor on my team asked, "O.R.?"  Then my primary doc said, "O.R.  STAT!"

Before I knew it I was wheeled out of my L&D room and straight into the O.R. immediately across the hall.  My poor husband was left in the dust!  They had woken him up as they scurried, and just as he was getting a shoe on, I was gone, along with the rest of my team.

I remember seeing large double doors open.  Then I remember seeing a white room with stainless steel work counters, and a team of medical personnel in green scrubs, shoe covers, and caps, frantically getting things ready.  I've never truly seen a room in a frenzy.  I was immediately reclined, and was placed flat on my back.  I remember the large, round, O.R. light above me.  One nurse grabbed my right arm and pulled it out beside me.  Another nurse grabbed my left arm and did the same.  I looked like the lower case "t" lying there.  And the nurses kept saying, "It's gonna be okay.  It's gonna be okay."  I remember laughing to myself thinking, "Of course it's gonna be okay."  The sheet went up, I felt a cold splash across my lower torso, a mask was placed over my nose and mouth.  The last thing I remember was one of the nurses asking if I had a daughter.  I said, "Yes.  Her name is McPhearson."  And then I was out. 

I woke up in an entirely new room, with my husband and mother at my side.  I remember trying to talk to them, but again, my lips moved and no sound would come out.  I drifted in and out of sleep.  I didn't get to see my newborn.  It would be days before I saw my preemie.

According to my doctor, she had the baby out in less than five minutes.  Then it took about 20-30 minutes for them to clean me up and staple me back together.  Ugh, the thought of my own C-section makes me queasy.  And I'm not the squeamish type.  I guess when it happens to you, it's a different story.

I was told that because the baby was so small, I had a mid-transverse C-section, where the incision is vertical and not horizontal (this way they wouldn't injure the baby).  This means that for all future pregnancies, I will have to have C-sections, and more than likely they will be scheduled around 34 or 36 weeks... shoot, can't remember now.  I will not be allowed to deliver vaginally as my uterus could rupture.  If I have contractions and or other labor pains, I am to go to the hospital immediately.  And, it was also recommended that I see a high risk specialist for all future pregnancies.  And since my placenta almost detached completely from my uterus, chances are high that it could happen again.  (That was a lot to take in.)

I had 17 staples that formed a weird, metal smiley face across my lower abdomen.  Just before discharge, my nurse splashed my incision with alcohol... which reminded me of my grandfather because the alcohol smelled sweet like gin and tonic (his choice drink)... and then removed the staples.  The alcohol stung a little.  And it tickled a lot!  I could feel the snip of said staples, but I didn't feel her pull them out.  Well, I may have felt one or two.  Then she placed steri-strips across the incision and all was said and done.  My weird, metal smiley face now looked like the smile from The Nightmare Before Christmas... large, long, wide, white teeth gleamed at me.

My incision site is very sensitive.  If my pants rub a certain way, it makes me queasy.  Parts of my belly are still numb.  But other parts are so very ticklish.  I'm trying to desensitize the area by rubbing very lightly around... not on... the incision.  Once my incision has healed I can begin scar tissue massage and more in-depth desensitization.

I have pictures on my cell phone.  I'll try to get those uploaded sometime so you can see the weird, metal smiley face and the gnarly, toothy smiley face that covered what will forever remain my battle scar of a complicated second pregnancy.

Once again, I wasn't looking forward to going under the knife.  But all-in-all, it wasn't so bad.  In fact, it was totally necessary and worth it, so my precious son could have a fighting chance.  And boy is he a fighter.  He's feisty and has spunk.  He wants to be here... and I can't wait to take him home... months from now.