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.

Solo

The only lyrics of this song that have anything to do with me are "ridin' solo". If I wasn't so exhausted I'd take time to make up new lyrics about motherhood. But that ain't happenin' today.

Today I'm officially "Ridin' Solo". I've been really nervous about this day, when my mom and sister returned home and Evan went back to work. But it's 8:30am and both boys are still asleep. I should hop back in bed and sleep too, but I figure that will jinx it and Blake will be calling me as soon as I shut my eyes.

So here's to life as the mother of 2!

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.

It's Go Time

40 weeks. I made it to 40 weeks.

Thar she blows!

(I don't actually think I look like a whale. I just feel like one.)

I was really hoping I wouldn't make it to 40 weeks. I wanted baby #2 to come on his own. I had convinced myself that my experience with Blake was just a fluke. Surely my body wouldn't betray me a second time.

Alas, here I am. 40 weeks pregnant and no signs that my body is going to kick into gear and start doing what it's supposed to do. And I'm not sure how I feel about that.

My emotions have run the gamut from being disappointed that I'll be having a c-section again, to frustration that my body doesn't work properly, to just wanting this baby to be out of me so he can stretch without kicking me in the ribs.

My experience with having Blake (12 hours of labor that ended in a c-section) has left me somewhat nervous about how this c-section and subsequent recovery is going to play out. And while this go round will be different because I know I'm going to the hospital to have a c-section, I'm still nervous about the whole recovery part. Will I feel awful? Will I have good nurses to help me, or will my experience at the hospital be somewhat on the negative side? Will the lady I have to share a room with be inconsiderate and make my hospital stay even worse?

I keep reminding myself that ultimately all I really want is a healthy baby. And if that means a less than stellar hospital experience and a painful recovery, so be it.

Life rarely goes as planned. But that doesn't mean it won't turn out wonderfully.

Wish me luck!

Our First Thanksgiving...

Obviously this isn't our first Thanksgiving. But, it was the first time we celebrated Thanksgiving with just the three of us.

The first Thanksgiving we lived in Brooklyn, we celebrated with some friends in our ward. Last year we headed to VA to visit Evan's aunt and uncle and saw my family for a day.

This year with a baby supposedly on his way, I decided a nice, quiet Thanksgiving dinner was in order. In fact, I had only planned on making the Thanksgiving foods that I like. Luckily those just so happened to be Evan's favorite Thanksgiving foods, too! And even better, neither one of us really like turkey, so I was off the hook there.

I planned a simple menu of rotisserie chicken (a la Costco), the legendary Havert's mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, green beans, and apple pie a la mode (a la Marie Calendar). It was the least stressful Thanksgiving dinner I've ever made and one of the tastiest!

This is my "chicken carving" smile.

And the next day we kicked off the Christmas season by pulling out our Christmas tree and decorations. When Blake saw Evan getting the tree out he yelled, "It's Christmastime!"

I think it's safe to say we are all ready for Christmas!

THE Baby Shower

Writing about this baby shower will not do it justice. I almost didn't write about it because I've been content to just relive it over and over in my head. Words will not convey how truly amazing it was.

But here goes.

My friend Lindsay asked if she could throw a baby shower for me a few months ago. Of course I said yes. And thanks to pregnancy brain, I actually forgot about it until Lindsay handed me a keepsake invitation at church. The week leading up to the shower I started feeling bad that my mom and sister were not going to be able to attend. And then I had a fleeting thought: What if my mom and sister actually showed up at this shower to surprise me?! I actually played the scene over and over in my head while I tried to fall asleep one night. I would turn and see them walk in, scream, run and hug them, and then immediately start crying. And that's pretty much what happened.

After thinking about how amazing it would be if they did surprise me, I convinced myself that it would be nearly impossible for them to come to Brooklyn for my baby shower. My grandmother had recently fallen and broken her leg so my mom was at the hospital and then nursing home all day, every day. And my sister works full-time and can't just take days off. So I put the thought out of my head.

The day of the baby shower Lindsay picked me up (which I thought was a little suspicious since she was hosting the baby shower, but I figured she had people helping her set up) and we headed to the church. We walked in and passed the gym, which was set up for what looked like a luncheon. We headed to the Relief Society room where some friends had already gathered. I chatted for a few minutes and then the festivities began.

As Lindsay welcomed people to the baby shower, she said she thought she heard a few more people coming down the hall and poked her head out of the door to see. Lo and behold, my mother and sister walked in right behind her. And it unfolded just as I had imagined it would: screaming, hugging, crying. It was almost as if all the difficulties of this pregnancy came spilling out into my mom's arms, like I was saying, "It's been so hard. I know it will be worth it, but it's really been so hard."

What I didn't anticipate was this overwhelming feeling of just wanting my mom to take me home with her right then and there. Not to my apartment, but to her house in Virginia. As fun as this baby shower was going to be, I wanted nothing more than to just go home with her. I'm almost 28 years old and I turned into that little girl whose mom surprises her at school to eat lunch together, and then cries and begs her mommy to take her home with her instead of leaving her at school. Except she'd be leaving me in Brooklyn. To have a baby.

Once I got over the initial shock of having my mom and sister in the same room, I thought Lindsay would continue the baby shower and we'd all have a grand ol' time.

Then my sister stepped behind me, introduced herself and started explaining the first baby shower game. I still hadn't caught on that my mom and sister were the ones who had actually planned the baby shower. They weren't just there for the baby shower. They had brought the baby shower with them from Virginia!

I kid you not, they literally transported all of the decorations, games, gifts for winners of the games, gifts for me, and food for 30+ people from Virginia to Brooklyn. I still can't believe it. Well, actually I can because if anyone knows my mom, it's totally something she would do.

We played a few games, opened amazing gifts, and then ate a delicious lunch of barbecue sandwiches, coleslaw, cinnamon apples, and of course, cake. (Ukrop's cake at that! They know me too well.)

After everyone left we cleaned everything up and headed to my apartment to surprise Blake and Evan. That's right. Evan didn't even know about it!

My mom and sister were leaving the next day so Blake made the most of his time with Grandma and Aunt Tori. And to be honest, if it hadn't been ward conference, I would've stayed home from church to hang out with them. I was still at the church when they called and told me they were leaving and could swing by and pick me up so I wouldn't have to take the bus home. It took every ounce of strength not to tell them to come get me and just take me with them. Evan could pack our bags and we'd be on our way to a Virginia vacation. I'd figure out the whole having a baby thing later.

Alas, I let them go knowing they'd return in a few short weeks when baby #2 arrived.

Like I said, my words won't do it justice. There's no way I can convey just how amazing it was. I don't even know if the people at the baby shower really understood how amazing it was. But being able to celebrate the impending arrival of this baby with friends AND my mom and sister was just what I needed to make it to the end.

And just how there are no words to describe this incredible day, there are no words to express my gratitude to the people involved in making this baby shower a success. Lindsay, who I now know can keep the secret of all secrets was instrumental in helping my mom and sister pull this whole thing off. And Yeenor, who found out about the surprise the night before when she saw my mom and sister setting up at the church, was so kind and helpful to my mom and sister.

My dad and brother were also a big help. My dad, the ultimate boy scout, rigged up a system for them to transport all the food and other things they needed for this trip. And my brother Jordan was kind enough to let them leave for a few days while he managed things at home.

And of course, my mom and sister. I will never ever forget how loved I felt when I saw them walk in the door. I would've known how much they love me even if they hadn't done all of this elaborate planning and scheming to throw me a baby shower. But it was just another testament of the incredible family of which I am blessed to be a part.


photo cred: Emily Johnson (because I didn't think to bring my own camera...)

The End

1 week until D-Day.

I don't know what this last week of my pregnancy will bring, but I do know that this baby will be outside my body in one week.

Truth be told, my whole pregnancy I was determined for him to come on his own. Determined not to have another c-section. And when my doctor told me that I was a good candidate for a VBAC, I had the motivation to finish this pregnancy on a positive note.

But I'm 39 weeks* pregnant and there are absolutely no signs that this little boy wants to meet us. And that's kind of depressing.

I haven't done a very good job of recording the monthly happenings of this pregnancy. Mainly because they're kind of depressing, too.

First trimester: Extreme fatigue and nausea (no vomiting, but nausea so severe all I could do was lay on my couch as still as possible while Blake watched TV for hours each morning)

Second trimester: Nausea wears off for the most part, fatigue sticks around, depression sets in. Oh, and hello varicose veins. You are very ugly and itchy.

Third trimester: I've probably felt my best during this last trimester. The antepartum depression I was experiencing only pops up for a day or 2 every few weeks instead of hanging over me for weeks at a time. I'm incredibly uncomfortable as the baby kicks me in the ribs and punches me in the bladder. Oh, and sciatica. Let's add that to the list. For as uncomfortable as I've been, I did start to panic one night when baby boy wasn't moving like he usually does when I was laying in bed. After a few handfuls of chocolate chips (no orange juice on hand...) he kicked up again and I welcomed the discomfort.

This pregnancy hasn't been all bad. A few highlights:

First trimester: Having Blake tell Evan I was pregnant. Evan thought Blake was handing him a thermometer.

Second trimester: Finding out we're having another boy and realizing how perfect this was because we basically had all the baby stuff we would need!

Third trimester: Blake feeling the baby move and listening to him talk about how much he loves him and how he'll help out once the baby gets here. He also likes to remind me not to hit "baby brudder". And of course, having my mom and sister plan a baby shower for me from afar and surprising me at said baby shower. More on that later.

If my memory serves me correctly, Blake's pregnancy was infinitely easier than this one. I thought I was going to be one of those women who had easy pregnancies. Boy was I wrong.

With one week left, it's starting to feel like all the bad stuff didn't matter. I'm alive. The baby is alive. Blake is alive (and can recite whole episodes of his favorite shows...facepalm). So for as much as I've struggled physically and emotionally during this pregnancy, I made it to the end. And as sad as it makes me to think that this delivery will probably be via c-section, I'm trying to remain positive and start gearing myself up mentally for the recovery and postpartum hormones that took me by surprise when I had Blake.

I don't think I'm out of the woods yet. My expectations for the postpartum period are realistic, so I expect life to be pretty rough for a while. Surprisingly, knowing what to expect makes the thought of caring for a newborn again a little less scary.

1 week. I can do it.



*Sorry, no bump picture. I pretty much look the same as my 37 week picture. Maybe a tad rounder.