1. I had read about the episiotomy and to me, it seemed pretty cut and dry, pun intended. An episiotomy is an incision made so that your nether region doesn’t rip to shreds when pushing an entire human being out of your who-ha. From all of the literature I had read, it was apparent to me that this would be done and was routinely done in this day in time. I was wrong. Apparently, I got an old school doctor.
2. I had also read that it was normal for people to have a bowel movement during delivery and not even know they had done so. I further read that this would cause no harm to the baby and other than embarrassment from the father of the child knowing this had taken place there should be no worries. In this aspect, my doctor was not so old school. The first thing I was instructed to do at 4:30 am after a late steak dinner the night before was to administer myself an enema. Let’s just say that an enema at the crack of dawn following a birthday steak dinner and accompanied by severely rumbled nerves is nothing anyone wants to be part of.
3. See number 2, and no, I didn’t poop on self after #2, again, pun intended.
4. I am aware that no two deliveries are the same. Some women barely make it to the hospital on time before they’re spitting their babies out. Some women have already decided ahead of time that they are going to have a c-section. Me? I just wing it. My mother had assured me that once I start pushing it goes fast. She had ensured me that it only takes about 15 minutes to push before I would see my handsome little man. She had also told me that I would only feel the first few contractions and that wasn’t the case at all either. As soon as they started my IV Pitocin and got me hooked up the all of the leads that would record my contractions the pain started. And I had sent my son’s father back to the hotel room while I dealt with my enema ordeal. I didn’t feel the need for an audience for that. So once I had supposedly been squared away my mom trekked back to the room to retrieve my father and son to be’s, father. She hadn’t made it very far down the hall before I was frantically attempting to call her back. I guess I was very close to going into labor all on my own without the help of the Pitocin and those contractions HURT! I had yet to be given any pain medication and as is usually the case, the nurse didn’t believe I was really in pain yet. It was that sort of pain where you’re not sure if you should just try to be real still or move around a lot in hopes to ward it off.
5. So, at this point, I was fairly mad at the doctor. I had never heard of anyone pushing for nearly 4 hours. I thought I had prepared myself for the worst pain imaginable, but I had not. I haven’t mentioned it yet but the pain medication and the epidural never worked for anything below the belt. It was as if there was some nerve being blocked and the medication wasn’t able to pass to that area. I told the doctor this repeatedly. Also, that episiotomy thing I thought was a given was never done. I could feel it slowly ripping throughout this entire elongated process. Also, when you have just spent so much of your energy trying to push a human out there is very little left to then deliver a placenta. I tried. I gave forth everything else I had and delivered it. Or so I thought. Aside from a scene off of “The Nutty Professor” which I will not explain because I have already gotten personal enough here, all was well with baby and momma. We went home after the normal 3-day stent.
Home with baby and feeding around the clock as normal. He really was a good baby although I wouldn’t realize how good until the birth of my youngest child. But something still wasn’t right with me. Initially, I blamed it on the pain medicine and lack of sleep. I have always been a fair skinned person. But this was taking pale to a whole new level. I was ghost white. And I was bleeding and passing blood clots the size of tennis balls. A week later I went to the ER and was admitted for 4 days. I was never given a reason for the blood passing other than that a little bit of placenta may or may not have been left. I was sent home and given instructions to wear these huge pads and take these pills made by Satan himself. These pills caused me to have contractions. I wasn’t explained this before leaving the hospital. The contractions were in hopes of expressing this bit of placenta and putting an end to this perpetual bleeding to death. They did not work. A week later I was in the bathtub and it quickly turned red and I nearly passed out. My aunt, who was a nurse and lived next door, instructed me to lay down in the bathroom with my feet elevated over my head until the ambulance got there. So I did. I laid butt naked on the floor of my tiny single wide trailer until they arrived. It was so embarrassing. This time my aunt went to the hospital and spoke with the head nurse to see what the doctor’s plans were this time for me. He wanted to admit me and watch and wait again. My aunt, who til this day doesn’t know how truthfully thankful I am of her for this and other things, told that nurse that she needed to speak to her supervisor and then told them that enough was enough. She told them I was not leaving here without a D&C. She further went on to ask why this doctor didn’t seem to give two flips about this and wanted to continuously send me home. She told my aunt that he just hasn’t been the same since his daughter was killed in that car wreck last year. Umm…excuse me… I’m real sorry for your loss and all, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to kill me too. If you can’t accurately treat your patients without dang near killing them then you probably should take some time off. NOW. Because to me, this alone was the reason for ALL of the hardships I had encountered. This was why I had nutty professor lips and no episiotomy. This is why I was allowed to push for nearly 4 hours. This was why I hadn’t yet gotten to truly enjoy the gift of motherhood. But once this was done, I got to love my baby with no interruptions. And I thoroughly loved and still love being a Mom!