Up until this point, I was pretty happy with the staff, both nurses and doctors, at the hospital. There were one or two that I liked less than some of the others, but for the most part they were friendly, caring, and good at their jobs. However, the nurse I had overnight from midnight to about 7am on Friday was the worst nurse of my stay. And not just of my stay, but the worst nurse I have ever come into contact with ever. It was a different nurse that took me over to the NICU so my first meeting with her was when she came to take me back. My friend that helped me over there had gone home about 15 minutes before I let the NICU staff know I was ready to go back to my room. I guess my new nurse had never had to get a patient that was connected to the locked morphine pole before because she came by herself. I was a bit hesitant because I knew how hard it was going to be to get me back with only one person. I attempted to explain this and got a not so friendly response. And all the way back it was like she was mad at me personally for wanting to go hold my kid. Like I was ruining her day. It is really tiresome when people complain about things that are part of their jobs. And not an odd part of their job, but just the everyday job. I was glad that I was going to be asleep for most of her shift. But first I had to get safely back in my bed. When we finally got back to the room, she stopped the wheelchair twice as far from the bed as I normally was with nothing to hold onto and then really did nothing to help me back to bed. Just stood there and watched. I was befuddled at this point because complaining is one thing, being seemingly purposely mean to a patient is another. If you’re going to make me work this hard to get into bed, at least be there to give me a hand. It’s only been 24 hours since I was strapped down to a bed with a bunch of hands in my insides. At least I was finally going to get a little rest, and my body was telling me that’s exactly what I needed.
Well, except for the fact that they were still taking my blood pressure a few times an hour. On a sidenote, I HATE having my blood pressure taken. The only thing you can do to me that is worse is stick me with a needle. I don’t know why I hate it so much. Something about the squeezing and then being able to feel your veins and arteries opening back up as the pressure is released. Makes me squirm. But, I had gotten used to the thing going off enough that it didn’t phase me that much. I could pretty much sleep right through it. So this nurse makes a much bigger production out of taking my blood pressure than she needs to. It was like she was trying to wake me up. I guess that didn’t work enough because about 2am, she comes in and wakes me up and announces they are taking out the catheter RIGHT NOW. Ok lady, I’m recovering from surgery and pushed myself to try and breastfeed all day and pushed a bit too hard. I need some rest so I can regroup and start again the next day. And you are not helping me get better at this point. It’s not that I was against having the catheter out, but the idea of trying to get some sleep when in the back of my mind I was afraid I was going to pee all over myself... it wasn’t going to work. Even though she was really pissing me off with her attitude toward me and hostility to the world, I gathered my thoughts and did my best to explain to her, as calmly and rationally as possible, that I just needed to get some sleep without and poking or prodding or worrying about anything for a few hours. Come back at 7 or 8 in the morning, take out the catheter, and let’s go from there. She didn’t seem to like that I was going against her expert opinion. She said I would have to explain it to a doctor. I invited that, as at least the doctor would probably have a better outlook on life and patients than her. It certainly couldn’t get any worse.
Somehow I managed to get some rest that night. They took the catheter out in the morning and now I had to worry about emptying my bladder on top of everything else. But you can’t get better if you don’t push yourself. And best of all, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to have that nurse ever again. And if I did, I would protest until I didn’t have her assigned to me. Friday to Saturday is a blur of seeing Eddie, a few visitors, and attempting to pump. I wasn’t getting a ton of milk, but every little bit was leaps and bounds ahead of nothing. At some point they took the morphine away and starting offering pain pills instead. I didn’t mind a bit as I wasn’t using the morphine anyway. Like I mentioned before, I have a high tolerance for pain, and the pills were more for management so the pain didn’t escalate beyond control. I was taking as little as possible. I remember one visitor coming while Eddie was still in the NICU, he took a five minute video of me holding Eddie and talking about him. My favorite was when I showed off the Baby Lo-Jack device attached to his umbilical cord. They put an alarm device so you can’t smuggle the baby out of the hospital. It’s not really a Lo-Jack, but that’s what it reminded me of. I love that video, it’s so precious.
First thing Saturday morning I starting asking over and over when Eddie was coming to the room with me. It had been over 48 hours, after all. The culture should be done and I wanted to know the results, which I figured would be negative. Eddie was showing no signs of weakness or illness. He has been healthy as can be since he was born and still is to this day. Finally I got word that the culture was negative and they just had to do his hearing test before bringing him to me. I don’t think I have ever watched a clock like I did then, even more than when I was in terrible pain the first night and had to watch ten minutes tick off before pushing the morphine button, or as I jokingly started calling it “the magic green happy button”.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the NICU nurse brought Eddie to my room and handed him over to me. I could hold my son without all the wires and monitors attached. It was glorious. I could breastfeed as often and as long as I wanted. I didn’t have anyone hovering over me and could take my time. I wasn’t having a ton of luck and Eddie seemed to be hungry constantly. By evening I was wondering if this mother thing was for me. And that’s when the shift of the best nurse I had the entire time I was in the hospital started. She was amazing. Caring, outgoing, helpful, knowledgeable, funny, and generally awesome. She helped me try to get Eddie to latch on properly without being in my face and grabby. She didn’t get frustrated and kept calm, which helped Eddie and me both stay calm as well. After a while, she stood back and said, “You’re doing everything right, he’s just not getting it. Keep at it, it should come.” That’s the vote of confidence I needed. I pretty much held him until I was about to fall asleep. I wrapped him up and put him in his bed. He cried a lot and it was hard for me to keep getting up and down. Finally the nurses offered to put him in the bed with me so I could breastfeed while laying down, plus being nearer to me he would probably sleep as well. I wasn’t sure that would work, but sure enough, he was quiet and calm until morning. It was the best feeling ever, and such a change from Thursday night/Friday morning.
Sunday morning, with Eddie still cuddled up next to me, the doctor came in and said I was doing very well, how would I like to go home today? If I was physically able to jump up and down, I would have. Instead I sleepily smiled and said that sounded good. Late morning some good friends of ours came to visit. Their timing couldn’t have been better as they helped me get everything together and helped Eddie and me get dressed and out to the car. I don’t think that’s the visit they had in mind, but it was exactly what I needed. At some point the doctors came and took out the staples in my abdomen. I was quite surprised when the tool they used to do this looked like a bigger version of an office staple remover. I guess it makes sense though.
Eddie was on his way home. I was still clueless about how I was going to take care of him while recovering from the C-section. But at least now I was starting to become confident in myself that I would find a way.
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