Delivered Part 3: The Ugly

Trevor spent Tuesday night in the nursery and I was able to get some decent sleep. I woke up Wednesday morning feeling pretty good. No headache. No neck ache. I knew a hot shower would feel really nice so I took one before the nurse brought Trevor to me. Wednesday passed quickly without much incident and I was excited to be going home the next day.

I felt bad that Trevor had spent so much time in the nursery so I decided to keep him with me that night. Around 1am he became inconsolable and I felt a dull headache coming on. I told myself that I was just tired and if I could get some sleep it would go away. I sent Trevor to the nursery once I calmed him down and tried to sleep. The only complaint I had about my roommate was that she liked to keep her light on all night and for some reason that night the light coming from her side of the room was making it impossible to sleep.

I woke up Thursday morning with the same dull headache. I tried not to panic thinking that the spinal headache had returned. I slowly sat up and the blinding pain returned. I texted Evan and told him it was back and that I needed him to get to the hospital as soon as possible because there was no way I could get all of my things together, Trevor ready, and be discharged without his help. Evan scrambled to get Blake ready and dropped him off early with Lindsay and made it to the hospital to find me laying in bed, a mess of tears.

Besides being upset that my headache had returned, I was terrified they were going to make me stay at the hospital. The on-call anesthesiologist came to see me and told me what my options were: 1) Another blood patch- This would be my third blood patch (I had a preventative blood patch while still on the operating table, then another one once the headache started) or 2) Lay flat and let it heal on its own, which could take a week.

I didn't really like either one of my options, but I decided to let the puncture heal on its own. After 2 failed blood patches I didn't want to risk being poked again and creating another hole in the membrane surrounding my spinal cord. I really needed my body to heal on its own so this headache would go away once and for all.

After coming to terms with the fact that I'd be leaving the hospital in a lot of pain, my focus turned to how I was going to manage being upright for at least ten minutes as we walked out of the hospital and waited for our ride home. The pain was so horrific when I had to sit or stand up, but I was willing to do whatever it took to get out of there.

One of the charge nurses came to check on me and said I should stay if I was in a lot of pain. I thanked her for being so helpful to me but told her that I absolutely could not stay at the hospital. I really just needed to be home.

My nurse came and had me sign a few forms and gave me a few instructions on taking care of myself and then we were free to go. Evan gathered all of my belongings, dressed Trevor, got him in the car seat, helped me out of bed and we headed out of the hospital room. Once I made it into the hallway the pain was terrible. I stopped by the front desk to turn in the necessary forms and walked as fast as I could to the elevator. I couldn't hold back the tears and didn't care who saw me crying. We finally made it outside and waited for our ride. At that point being vertical was too much to bear so I laid down. Outside. On a raised part of the sidewalk. I didn't care who saw me as long as no one rushed out and told me I needed to be readmitted to the hospital.

The Ugly

Melanie was giving us a ride and I'm actually grateful to her for taking some pictures. The corpse-like look I'm sporting here perfectly captures how I was feeling: like I was going to die. I tried to stay as flat as possible during the car ride home and the conversation was a welcome distraction from the pain.

We pulled up in front of our building and Evan helped me out of the car and into our apartment. I laid on the couch while he went back out to get Trevor and I just let all the tears I had been holding back for 3 days come gushing out. Even though having a roommate wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be (mostly because we complained to each other about how awful the nurse techs were and laughed about how pushy the hospital photographer was), I felt I had to keep my emotions somewhat in check because no one wants to be the woman who just had a baby and can't stop crying. So I just let everything come out. I was out of the hospital and couldn't be more grateful.

I wondered for a second as I laid on the couch whether I had made the right decision to leave the hospital. What if my headache didn't go away and I had to go back for another blood patch? It became very clear as soon as Evan returned from picking Blake up that he was going to be the best nurse I had ever had. And as stressful as it was for him to have to care for 3 human beings, he was up to the challenge. Being in the hospital was frustrating and stressful for me, but I gather that Evan was just as frustrated and stressed because he couldn't be there to help me. And I'm sure my frantic texts and weepy phone calls didn't help.

By Saturday afternoon I was taking prescription strength Motrin and popping caffeine pills every 3 hours to control the spinal headache. And it worked! My headache was gone by Sunday and I could finally live life like a normal human being.

I had survived pregnancy and giving birth in Brooklyn. None of it was easy and I will never do it again here. Ever. But having such a sweet baby like Trevor helps me look forward to our future as a family.

Delivered Part 2: The Bad

Terms that will help you understand this post a little better (not that you don't know what these are, just a clearer explanation of the roles they played in my hospital stay)
Nurse: A registered nurse who was assigned to take care of me and Trevor (and a whole lot of other patients).
Nurse Tech: may help patients eat and bathe, observe them and record their vitals. Duties may also include preparing rooms, sterilizing equipment and escorting patients to examining rooms or to surgery. AKA the absolute worst part of the being in the hospital due to their bad attitudes, unfriendly demeanor, and apparent lack of social skills.
Charge nurse: Angels sent from heaven to advocate for me when I couldn't help myself. 

I woke up early Tuesday morning (because nurses don't believe in letting you sleep until at least 7) feeling overall rather crappy and with pain in my neck. I knew I wasn't going to be feeling great so soon after a c-section. And I was kind of dreading what Tuesday was going to bring: the "get out of bed and try to move around even though you've just been sliced open" time.

I remember it well with Blake, for two reasons. When I had Blake two nurses came to my room the morning after I had him and asked if I had been out of bed. When I said no, they told me I needed to get up at once and try to use the bathroom. Flanked on either side by a nurse, I was told to stand up as straight as I could and experienced an incredible amount of pain that I was not expecting. As they helped me hobble to the bathroom, it became glaringly obvious that no one had put a pair of those cute mesh hospital underwear on me and well, let's just say it was disgusting and kind of embarrassing. (Side note: that underwear isn't cute. Nothing about your post-partum body and accompanying functions is "cute").

So I knew what to expect for day two. And this time I made sure I had the necessary undergarments on before I got out of bed. The nurse tech entered my room around 6:30am and told me that I needed to sit in a chair for a while. Yay. I slowly raised my bed and what had started out as neck pain turned into the most blinding headache and neck ache I've ever experienced. I thought maybe I was just tired and extremely hungry, but I couldn't figure out why my neck would hurt if I was tired. The nurse tech pulled a chair over to my bed and helped me get my feet on the ground. And then she did something that confused me. She turned around and started messing with a blood pressure machine while she waited for me to get into the chair. By myself. A woman who was dealing with several fresh incisions. And a terrible headache.

I waited for a second to see if she was going to help me and when it became obvious that she wasn't, I somehow maneuvered myself into the chair. I don't even remember how I did it. And I easily could've passed out from the pain my headache was causing me.

"So this is what everyone was talking about. This is how it's going to be, " I thought as I sat in the chair fighting back tears. Most of the women I know who have had babies at this hospital had recounted their experiences to me and I walked away with this advice: "Just expect the worst during your stay and know that you won't have to stay there forever." Not the most comforting thing to hear, but it was completely accurate.

I sat in the chair while the nurse tech checked my blood pressure, leaning forward because that seemed to help the pain a little. I told her that my head and neck were killing me and she said she'd tell my nurse. Ten minutes later my nurse came into the room and asked what was happening. The pain was so bad I couldn't turn my head to look at her. I just started crying and told her I had an excruciating headache and that my neck was hurting. She tried to comfort me and told me it was probably due to lack of food (at this point I hadn't eaten in about 30 hours), but I told her that my hunger doesn't account for the neck pain I was experiencing. I asked her if I could have some crackers or something and she told me breakfast would be coming in a few minutes. With my head pounding, I asked her when I could get back in bed and she told me I needed to sit in the chair for about 20 more minutes. At that point I thought I was going to die. 20 minutes with this pain was an eternity.

Looking back, I wish I had just gotten myself back into bed once she left the room. I had gotten myself into the chair so I knew I could somehow get back into bed by myself. I knew the head and neck pain were because of my epidural, but when I tried to offer that up as an explanation, she brushed it off. So there I sat, my body completely rigid because any movement made it worse. The nurse took my blood pressure and told me everything was fine. Which is just what you want to hear when you are in incredible pain.

The nurse left and I sat in that stupid chair, crying uncontrollably. My liquid-only breakfast was brought in, and even though chicken broth at 7am was disgusting, I ate everything on my tray just to get some nourishment. Finally when the shift changed I had a new nurse. When she came into the room I immediately asked her to help me get back into bed. I told her about my headache and that I think my epidural was causing it. She told me she would call the anesthesiologist and tell him about my pain.

Once I was laying flat in bed, the pain subsided. I grabbed my phone and texted Evan to tell him not to bring Blake to the hospital. I was in no shape to see him, but Evan insisted they were both coming.

Around 8am, a charge nurse wheeled Trevor into my room. As happy as I was to see him, there was no way I could take care of him at this point. I desperately needed to use the bathroom but dreaded being upright for any length of time. I asked her if she could help me use the bathroom and started to put my bed up. The pain returned. With her help I made it to the bathroom, but the ordeal that ensued taught me a valuable lesson about surviving in this hospital: I knew my body and what it was capable of better than the nurses and was better off doing things on my own instead of waiting for a nurse to help me.

What needed to be a 3 minute bathroom trip turned into a 15 minute bathroom trip. By the time I got back in bed I was exhausted. The pain was unbearable and Trevor had started to cry. The charge nurse held him and rocked him, and then she offered to take him back to the nursery because it was obvious I couldn't take care of him.

I laid flat in bed, waiting for Evan and Blake to arrive. 2 nurses came to my room and asked me about my pain. As I explained to them that my head and neck hurt when I sat up but stopped hurting when I laid flat, I received some confused looks. It was so obvious to me that I was experiencing a spinal headache. I emphasized over and over that I was fine if I was flat on my back, but sitting up led to blinding pain. "Isn't that a tell-tale sign of a wet tap," I kept thinking as they continued to ask about the pain.

Soon after they left, Evan and Blake arrived. The look on Blake's face when he saw me sent me over the edge. He was scared of me. I looked so awful that I scared my son. And not the "I have no make up on and my hair is dirty" awful. He sees me like that all the time. This was the "something is wrong with Mommy and she looks scary" awful. I covered my face and started crying. I told Evan I was ok, just a little emotional. Blake walked warily toward me and gave me a hug. Then he quickly returned to Evan.

Trevor had been in the nursery all morning, so Evan and Blake went to retrieve him. It made me incredibly happy to see Blake meet Trevor and despite my early morning protests, I was happy Blake and Evan had come to the hospital.

After they left, the 2 nurses came back and explained what they believed was causing my headache: a post-dural puncture. I wasn't surprised at all by the diagnosis. In fact, if I had known the term they used, I would've just said, "I have a post-dural puncture headache and need a blood patch," when they came to my room the first time. As they explained what it was and how they could fix it, I was confident my pain would  be gone soon. A few hours later the anesthesiologist came and administered a blood patch and the pain was gone within an hour. I was so happy to be able to actually sit up for more than 30 seconds!

Things were looking up. I was feeling better. As long as the blood patch kept working I knew I could handle being in the hospital for another day and a half.

Delivered Part 1: The Good

A week ago today I was riding the R train to the 4th Avenue/9th Street stop, climbing those ridiculous stairs, catching the F train, hopping off at 7th Avenue, and walking to New York Methodist Hospital to have a baby. And while it may be too soon to write about this little "adventure", I want to do it now so I remember it all. The Good. The Bad. The Ugly.

Riding the train to go have a baby. I bet no one else on the train could say that!

Before I continue, I must explain that I had numerous offers from friends to be given a ride to the hospital so we wouldn't have to take public transportation. And 5 months into this pregnancy when Evan said we could just take the train when it was time to go to the hospital, I laughed in his face and said, "Uh, you can take the train. I'll be riding in a car." But as D-Day approached, taking the train didn't seem so bad and was a heck of a lot cheaper than calling a car service to take us to the hospital. And, because of the time I needed to be at the hospital, most of my friends were taking their kids to school. I'm sure we could've worked something out with someone, but riding the train wasn't bad at all and is part of the birth story I will get to tell Trevor one day. (I would not, however, recommend using public transportation if you are actually in labor. Pay the money. Take a car.)

A few days prior to my appointment at the hospital, I was scheduled to have a pre-operation check up in which I'd have my blood drawn and overall health checked so I could be cleared to have a c-section. As luck would have it, I wrote down the wrong day for the appointment and missed it completely. When I called to find out what I should do, I was told to just come early to the hospital on Monday and have it done. As understanding and kind as the nurse was who I spoke to, this little mishap bumped my stress level up to where the anxiety was bubbling just below the surface of my emotions. I tried to hold it together until Monday, but Sunday night it all came crashing down over a bowl of corn flakes at 11:30pm in one big, tear-filled confession: I did not want to have this baby. At least not the way it was going to happen.

I had convinced myself that my body's inability to go into labor with Blake was just a fluke. This time was going to be different. I visualized my labor starting and continuing like it was supposed to, only to end at the hospital with some pushing and the delivering of a baby the right way. None of this "slice me open" stuff like I had with Blake. Unfortunately no amount of visualizing was going to coax my body into labor. I tried everything short of castor oil to get things going, but nothing worked. So Sunday night at 11:30pm it finally hit me that a repeat c-section was most certainly going to happen. And all of the painful, horrible memories of Blake's birth came flooding back. I couldn't go through it again. But there was no choice. This baby had to come out.

Strangely, there was some sort of comfort that came from not being able to control this circumstance. I knew very well that this baby had to be born. I may not like how he was going to be born, but he absolutely could not stay inside of me forever. So instead of dwelling on the slicing and dicing part of this birth, Evan calmed me down and I began to focus on everything after the operating room.

Running late, but I needed a picture!

I woke up Monday morning and announced to Evan that I was ready to get this over with. After dropping Blake off with a friend, we arrived at the hospital where I had my blood drawn and was asked a flurry of health questions. A nurse escorted Evan and me to the labor and delivery floor where we were told to wait in the waiting room among laboring women who were waiting to be checked in and relatives who were waiting to meet the newest member of their family. After only a few minutes, Heidi, my labor and delivery nurse, came and got us and prepped me for surgery. My c-section wasn't scheduled until 2pm, but by 10:30 am I was laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to fetal monitors and an IV.

Pre-surgery. Feeling good.

Evan stepped out for a little while to grab lunch while I laid in bed and tried not to think about the juicy Five Guys burger he was eating a block away. I knew I should try to sleep, but that was impossible. So I stared at the TV trying to take my mind off my impending surgery.

Finally around 1:45 my doctor came to speak to me about the surgery. We were both disappointed I hadn't gone into labor on my own, but now it was time to focus on the matter at hand. Heidi tossed Evan some scrubs and told him to get dressed quickly because it was time to go. She helped me out of bed while Evan stumbled behind us trying to get ready. In his haste, he put one of his shoe covers on his head which the nurse pointed out as she opened the operating room door. I laughed as I followed her in, thinking it was the perfect thing for me to see before my body was cut open.

I sat on the operating table while nurses busily prepped the room. I noticed my heart rate starting to rise and tears forming behind my eyes. My doctor walked in and asked if I was cold. I said I was a little chilly but I was fine. He brought me some clean sheets that had just come out of the dryer and covered me. I was grateful for the warmth. He stood a few inches away from me and started a light conversation. At first I found this awkward, but I soon realized talking about trivial things was taking my mind off the surgery and had a calming effect. My heart rate returned to normal and I found myself starting to joke around with the doctor and nurses.

The anesthesiologist came into the operating room and began to explain the risks of an epidural. 1 in 200 people experience spinal headaches after an epidural, I was told, and then I was asked to sign a consent form. Without much choice in the matter, I mean, I have to be numb and I didn't want to be knocked out completely, I signed the form and the placement of the epidural began. The worst part was the prick of the needle to numb the area where they would be working. My legs started to tingle as the anesthesiologist finished up, and one of the nurses helped me lay down on the operating table.

At this point my body was positioned like one of those dead frogs high school kids dissect in biology class. Even though I couldn't see my body, I pictured it in my head and felt incredibly embarrassed. How many times in one's life do you carry on a normal conversation while a nurse is trying to insert a catheter, another nurse is placing electrodes on your chest, and a doctor is scrubbing your stomach of any germs or bacteria that could compromise the incision he is about to make? It was all very awkward. Not to them. Just to me.

Once everything was ready, they had Evan come sit next to me. Donning his scrubs correctly this time, he sat down beside me and held my hand. I said, "Hi Doctor Jordan!" and thought to myself, "He'd make a cute doctor."

After apparently pinching my stomach really hard and seeing no reaction from me, they knew I was numb and surgery began. I tried to keep my breathing steady and not think about what was happening behind that big blue curtain. I didn't feel anything until the nurse warned me of the pressure I'd feel when they pushed the baby down from his current position and pulled him out.

Trevor cried out. And I immediately started crying, just like I did with Blake. He was here! He was finally here!

Told you Evan would make a cute doctor!

I caught a glimpse of him as he was carried to the warming crib and checked by nurses to make sure he was ok. The doctor commented that he was not a small baby and the nurses confirmed it when they called out that he was 8 pounds 3 ounces, 20 inches long. Evan said, "You were right! He is bigger than Blake." I wasn't surprised at all by his measurements. I felt every inch of him inside of me!

Trevor Wesley Jordan

The doctor worked to stitch me up and then I was moved off the operating table into a bed. Trevor, Evan, and I were wheeled into the recovery room where I would spend the next 6 hours throwing up and having doctors and nurses push on my stomach to make sure everything was returning to normal. Women who had a vaginal delivery stayed in the room where they delivered their baby. Us c-sectioners had to recover communally. So everyone heard me throwing up. And everyone heard me writhing in pain when a nurse pushed on my stomach. But at some point you stop caring because you just want to feel normal again.

Finally a bed opened up and we were all transferred to the mother/baby floor. By this time it was almost 10pm. I sent Trevor to the nursery so I could rest and Evan left to pick Blake up and take him home. It had been an exhausting day, but I was healthy and Trevor was healthy. We had made it through. Now I just had to survive the  next 3 days in the hospital.

trials

The nights are going to be the worst. I've never liked nighttime. I feel better when it's light outside and I know other people are moving around and doing things. When it's late at night and I'm still awake I feel like I'm the only one in the world that isn't asleep and I hate that feeling. So the nights will be the worst.

Evan left for New York a day ago and it's been just as hard as I imagined it would be. I guess when he got the job in New York I didn't have a helpless infant and thought, "Oh ya, we can be apart for 2 months. It will stink, but I can manage." Little did I know. Ha, very little did I know.

It all hit me March 23, the day Blake was born. I had an appointment to be induced at 7 am a week after my original due date. Of course we ended up leaving late and hit traffic. We drive to American Fork every morning at that time and there is rarely any traffic. But of course, the day we are supposed to have our baby there is traffic. We got to the hospital around 7:15 am and within 5 minutes of being there I had changed into my gown and had an IV in my arm. Those nurses were not messing around!
As I laid in the hospital bed I thought to myself, "Ok, now all I have to do is dilate to 10 cm, push, and then we'll have a baby!" I knew it wasn't going to be that easy, but I had faith that my body would do what it needed to do. Prior to being induced I had only had a few mild contractions. I wasn't even dilated to 1 cm when I got to the hospital so I knew it was going to be a long day. But I tried to stay optimistic. The last thing I wanted was a C-section. But oftentimes in life the last thing you want is what you actually get.

After 4 hours of labor I asked for an epidural. The contractions weren't terrible, but I was afraid if I waited any longer it would be really hard for me to sit still while someone stuck a needle into my spinal column as the contractions got stronger. I had the epidural, which wasn't bad at all. I thought it was going to be really painful, but it wasn't. The IV they put in my hand was a lot more painful. After the epidural I was numb and just sat in bed waiting for my body to do its thing.

After about 6 hours of labor I was dilated to 3 cm. Progress, but very slow progress. At that point the baby's heart rate started to drop and the doctor became concerned. He stopped the pitocin to see if the baby's heart rate would go back up. Eventually it did, but I didn't make any progress for 2 hours while I was off the pitocin. When the baby's heart rate was stable, they started the pitocin and said that if the heart rate dropped again a c-section would probably be necessary. And that's the last thing I wanted to hear.

The baby's heart rate stayed pretty stable, but my body was not making the progress it needed to. At 7 pm that night after 12 hours of labor the doctor said I was only dilated to 5 cm. I knew what that meant. He told me that I would need to have a C-section. After the doctor left the room I looked at Evan and couldn't hold back the tears. For some reason I didn't want to cry in front of the doctor that was about to slice me open. An anesthesiologist came into my room and explained what he would do to numb me so I wouldn't feel anything. He told me there was a 95% chance I wouldn't feel anything. But, there was a chance that after he increased the epidural medication that I would be able to feel the doctor cutting me. He said if I did feel anything to let him know and that there would be 10 seconds of pain and then I would be out cold. I was scared.

Within 10 minutes of being told I was going to have a C-section they had Evan in scrubs and were wheeling me to the operating room. I wanted so badly to call my mom, but I didn’t really have time and I knew I would totally lose it if I had to tell her what was happening. I hated that Evan couldn't be with me the whole time. He had to wait until everything was prepped before he could be in the operating room. He had been with me the whole day and at the moment I really needed him he couldn't be there. I knew he desperately wanted to. It was just me, the baby inside of me, and a team of doctors and nurses. I felt alone. Very alone.

As the nurses wheeled me into the operating room, they asked me if I could move myself onto the operating table even though I was numb. I thought they were crazy. I couldn't feel anything from my waist down and they wanted me to move myself. But, somehow I did, which really scared me. I thought, if I can move myself onto the operating table then surely I'm going to feel the doctor cutting me. The anesthesiologist then pumped me full of numbing medication. As I laid on the operating table I prayed. At that point that's all I could do. I prayed that everything would be ok, that at the end of this C-section Evan and I would have a beautiful baby boy to hold and love.

Right before they started the surgery Evan came into the room. He came and held my hand and told me everything would be ok. One of the nurses asked Evan to take off my wedding rings and put them in a bag for safe keeping. Then the doctor asked me if I felt him pinching me and I couldn't. That was a good sign. Next the surgery started. Evan had already decided he wasn't going to look as they cut me open. He wanted to be conscious when the baby was born. All I really could feel was pressure. I couldn't hold back the tears. I've watched too many TLC baby shows and know exactly what happens during a C-section. I couldn't stop myself from picturing what they were doing. The anesthesiologist asked me if I was in pain because I was crying. I shook my head no. All I wanted to hear was the baby cry. I knew if I could hear him cry I would be ok.

Then I heard it: Blake's first little cry. He was out! The nurses took him over to clean him up and check his vitals. Evan went to take pictures of him so I could see him. Then the doctor told me there was going to be an incredible amount of pressure. I'm not sure what they were doing, but I thought my lungs were going to pop out of my mouth. They must have been pushing down on me with all of their strength. That was the worst part of the actual surgery.
As Evan took video and pictures, I laid there trying to take it all in. I could hear Blake crying. I was a mother. It didn't really go the way I had planned it, but I was a mother. Evan brought over pictures for me to look at and instantly I thought Blake looked like a Wilding. I don't know who I thought he looked like, but I thought I recognized him even though I had never seen him. He definitely had my nose.Finally a nurse brought Blake over to me so I could see him. He was so peaceful. He just stared at me. I just stared at him. I kissed him on the cheek and they took him to the nursery to do some more tests. I wouldn't see him for another 2 and a half hours. I wanted Evan to go with Blake to the nursery, but Evan really wanted to stay with me. After what happened in the next 2 hours, I'm so glad Evan decided to stay with me. I'm not sure I would have been able to handle it on my own.
While I was still on the operating table, one of the nurses removed the epidural catheter from my back. Unfortunately she removed it before the anesthesiologist put in the pain medication I would need after the surgery. When I was all stitched up and returned to the room where I would recover, the anesthesiologist tried to give me the pain meds through my epidural catheter...the epidural catheter that was no longer there. I distinctly remember him saying to the nurse, "Oh, you already took it out." And the nurse said, "Oh, I thought you already gave her the medication. It says here you gave her the medication." Note to the anesthesiologist: work on your poker face. The look on his face told me that what just happened was going to be very bad for one person: me.

He gave me the medication through my IV. But, that didn't do anything. I told the nurse my pain was getting worse. It went from a really painful ache on my right side to an intense burning sensation. My pain went from a 6 to a 10 in about 15 minutes. The nurse gave me morphine. When that didn't work she gave me more morphine. When that didn't work she gave me something that started with a T. When that didn't work she gave me Demerol. That worked. I was in incredible pain for about 2 hours. After each dosage of medicine I had to wait 15 minutes to see if it would take affect. The whole time I squeezed Evan's hand. I squeezed it so hard I left nail marks in his hand that didn't go away for a day. All I could keep saying was, "Please make it stop! Please make it stop!" Evan gave me a blessing which helped me deal with the pain. Unfortunately that wasn't the worst of it.

As I lay writhing in pain, the nurse came over and told me she had to push on my stomach-the same general area where they had just cut me open, pulled a baby out, and stitched me up. And then the screaming began. I'm not usually the type of person that lets people know I'm in pain. I just quietly deal with it. Not this time. On 3 separate occasions the nurse had to push on my stomach. And each time she pushed I squeezed Evan's hand and screamed.

Finally the pain medication started working. I had no sense of time while I was recovering. All I was aware of was that I was in excruciating pain and that I had only been able to see Blake for 2 minutes. They wheeled me down to the mother/baby floor and I was finally reunited with my baby. I had gotten out of surgery at around 10:30 and Evan brought Blake to me around 1 am. I didn't want to put him down. I was so exhausted from the day, but all I wanted to do was hold him. I figured I'd think my own baby was cute, but as I stared at him I knew he was beautiful and not only I would think so. He was perfect. He was more perfect than I could have ever imagined. I thanked Heavenly Father that night for 3 things: an amazing husband who was at my bedside throughout the entire experience holding my hand and comforting me, an angelic baby boy that had only passed through the veil hours before and brought with him a piece of heaven, and pain medication that worked.
I held Blake for an hour or so. I can't remember if I fed him that night or not. Then his Grandma Jordan was kind enough to rock him for 2 hours while Evan and I slept. It was around 4 am that I realized Evan never gave me back my wedding rings...but that's another story for another time.

In about 8 weeks Blake and I will be moving to New York. In the meantime I'll be caring for my beautiful baby with help from my family. And unfortunately I'll be returning to work for a few weeks. I'm not sure how that is going to go. I imagine it is going to be the worst few weeks of my life because Evan won't be here and I won't be with Blake most of the day. But, life is full of really hard trials we have to go through. And Heavenly Father has blessed me with so many wonderful people in my life to help me through this.

On a much cuter note, Evan told me that he woke up this morning holding his pillow like a baby. He really misses Blake.