After Birth

Wouldn’t it be thrilling if I could assure you that things only got better once Faryn was born?  Having said that,  knowing what you now do about me, please rest assured that this story has only just begun…

It would seem that today,  post pregnancy – new mothers are now magically encased in a different type of womb known as the “private room”.  In 1986 no such private room existed (or if there was one, it was not offered to me) and as previously mentioned, I was placed in a room with 3 other women.  All of the women in my room were breastfeeding and the woman beside me had some sort of strange skin affliction which left her covered from head to toe in scabs.  I tried to stay clear of her, as I wasn’t sure what was going on there. Your baby was only actually allowed in the room with you during visiting hours which were something ridiculous like 10:00 – 2:00.  (I suspect this rule was implemented precisely so that others could bear witness in case you dropped or improperly manhandled said baby).  The rest of the time, your baby had to stay in the case room and if you were breastfeeding (Surprisingly only a small percentage were actually doing this, myself included) the nurses would fetch you every 4 hours (day OR night)  and escort you to the case room where your baby was being stored, so that you might attempt to feed it.   The whole idea of breastfeeding felt unnatural and weird to me and thus, wasn’t going well.  I was beginning to feel irritated and extremely frustrated with it all.  Adding to the misery, my nether region was still recovering from its recent explosion and I was constantly being pestered by the nurses about private matters such as  bowel movements or the sorry state of my mutilated nipples.

On the second day, I was waddling towards the case room with the nurse (Note:  Pixie nurse was thankfully off duty) when I was suddenly overcome with the oddest sensation that something had just dropped out of my body.  I was able to jump back just in time to see my liver literally bounce off the floor like a large brick of  Jello.  I screamed as I jumped around and began flinging  my arms across my body, not sure why I was even still alive, much less standing there able to look at the monstrosity on the floor.

Me:     “OH MY GOD – MY LIVER JUST FELL OUT” (At this point we were both just sort of leaning over staring at it.  To me, it seemed as though it was capable of just getting up and walking away and I wanted to guard it so that it could be put back where it belonged)

Nurse:     “Oh my!  That IS a rather large blood clot”

Me:     “??????????????”

She swiftly bent over and casually scooped my liver/clot into a vomit container, all the while explaining that it needed to be shown to the doctor since it was so “substantial”. She did all of this with the ease and dare I say grace of someone picking up a dropped tissue.  I decided at this exact moment that I would NEVER become a nurse.

The woman beside me with all the scabs was having her own personal series of difficulties – one of which was Hemorrhoids.  During visiting hours (of course) the nurse came in to check on her.  You know those moments where a room is really loud until someone suddenly blurts out something entirely inappropriate right when there’s a lull?  This is what happened to her:

Nurse:     “And how are your HEMORRHOIDS feeling today?”  (This particular lull occurs immediately upon her uttering the word Hemorrhoids)

Scab/Hemorrhoid Mother:     “…inaudible”  (This poor woman as we know is fighting a losing battle if she’s trying to maintain even the tiniest shred of dignity in a place that seems to take pride in ensuring this will never happen)

Nurse:         “Oh my – they look like a cluster of GRAPES!”  (Now I have never actually had Hemorrhoids,  but this visual was simply too much for me to handle and I snorted rather loudly, followed closely with a seal barking laugh which once started is completely impossible to stop – it was shameful)  The room is now silent – as I have my pillow over my face.

Matters for me had also not improved with respect to breastfeeding (the nurse actually had the audacity to suggest I wasn’t being accommodating enough and that the baby could sense this – SERIOUSLY how much more accommodating could I possibly be?)  I also believe that it had JUST dawned on me that at some point I was going to have to take this baby home and look after it on my OWN.  I was terrified.  The nurse came in to see me and we had the following conversation:

Nurse:   “Some tests have been run, and it looks as though your daughter has Jaundice”

 I immediately whipped open the curtains separating me and the scab/hemorrhoid lady angrily declaring:

Me:     “I knew you were CONTAGIOUS with all your skin thingies and HEMORROHIDS” (Oh what an evil monster I had become)

Nurse:     (Has the wherewithal to at least smile)  “Jaundice is NOT contagious, it just means your daughter’s liver is a little underdeveloped”

Me:     “Oh…well then…”

Scab/Hemorrhoid Mother:    ” And I’m sure she probably doesn’t have HEMORRHOIDS either”

After this fiasco they brought Faryn back into the room and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  In a matter of hours, she had turned bright yellow – like a tiny fluorescent banana.  Scab/Hemorrhoid lady was no longer speaking to me so I had no one to commiserate with.

With a typical and uncomplicated delivery such as mine was (I shit you not, all that pain and agony was considered TYPICAL and UNCOMPLICATED) the hospital stay back then was approximately 4 days.   My milk had come in the night before and I was completely engorged which was still causing breastfeeding difficulties, and my daughter still looked like a fluorescent banana.  Even her eye whites were yellow.  Upon discharge, I was told that I would have to bring her back to the hospital each day for the next week so that they could slice open her tiny heel with a lance then squeeze the bejesus out of it to extract enough droplets of blood from the screaming infant in order to check her Bilirubin levels.  These were indeed insufferably hateful people

My mom came to pick us up from the hospital as I still didn’t have my driver’s license and as we were descending in the elevator (me completely panic-stricken about what lay ahead while my mom was eerily calm – oh she knew the madness that was coming my way!) when we stopped a couple of floors down and an elderly man entered.  He looked over at the car seat I was holding with my new baby and said:

Elderly Man:     “My wife just died” 

Me:    (An emotional time bomb of hormones – began sobbing)

Mom:    “I’m so sorry”  (glares at me)

Elderly Man:    “One life ends as another begins”

Me:     (Commencing now into uncontrollable ugly sobbing territory)

This exchange really struck me – not only because I was so hormonal, but because of the truth behind his words.  In retrospect, having lost my own mother 5 years ago next month, I often recall this sad encounter.  Life really does go on, even when we sometimes feel it isn’t possible – it’s just too painful.  As humans, we really are constantly circulating – ending and beginning with every second that passes.

Upon arrival at my apartment – my mom had bought a vintage wicker bassinet that she had laced with beautiful pink ribbon.  She had cleaned my place for me and organized all of the baby paraphernalia I had collected.  I miss my mom so much…

That night was probably one of the most difficult ones yet.  Because I was so engorged, Faryn was still unable to nurse.  She was screaming her head off while I sat there crying on the phone to the La Leche emergency hotline – trying to figure out what I could do to get this baby to nurse.  The woman on the phone asked me to get into a warm bathtub which I did while still on the phone with her.  She then told me to express my milk while sitting in there.  Are you fucking kidding me?

La Leche Lady:   “Just try to relax and express some milk which will help get things flowing”

Me:  “It’s not working – I’ve only ever milked a GOAT!  I AM NOT A GOAT’

La Leche Lady:  Audible sighing…

The next day which would have been around July 27th or so, I anxiously packed up my baby to take her back to the hospital for her first torture session with the dreaded lance.  I had to take the bus with her as I had no vehicle and I did not live near the hospital.  It was a blistering hot summer day, but I was terrified of exposing her to the elements.  Once I finally arrived all frazzled and sweating at the hospital, I immediately looked at Faryn in the car seat and lost it.  Her face was still banana yellow but now it was also bright red – she had become ORANGE like a miniature Donald Trump.  I immediately raced directly to the nurse to express my concern.  She was a very sweet woman and we had the following conversation:

Me:     “THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY BABY!”  (once again I am ugly crying – Oh what the hell is the matter with me?)

Nurse:    “Well let’s take and look and see shall we?”

The nurse smiled at me reassuringly as she removed the swaddled blanket, then the fleece bunny onesie complete with bunny hood and ears, then the regular cotton onesie, then the undershirt – until Faryn was stripped down to her diaper.  It felt like watching someone peel layers from an onion – I swear it was actually making my eyes water.  I think there might have been STEAM coming off my poor baby who had been nearly layered to death in clothing.

Nurse:    “I do believe that your daughter might just be a wee bit hot?”  (Oh bless this kind woman for not whisking my child away from me during this bizarre display of utter stupidity)

Me:      “I was afraid  of exposing her to the elements and she’s so…New” 

Nurse:     “Perhaps we’ll just leave the bunny outfit for winter?” 

So there you have it.  I had brought home a baby with absolutely no maternal skills, I couldn’t nurse her, I couldn’t stop crying, she WOULDN’T stop crying and I had no idea how to be a mother…