The female anatomy, suction and positive thoughts

When my son comes with my husband with yet another bag of a change of clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush and my laptop (have to be able to write!) it feels like déjà vu again. All the nurses admire my adorable daughter (I know his hair has gotten long but come on…) and tell me “she is so cute” to my husband’s endless frustration “he is all boy!” before they take my mom with them and leave me in the empty, lonely room. I almost want the nurses to stay with me and bother me all through the night (like they did my first nights on bed rest) and I can’t help starting a pity party of one, a loud sob escaping my mouth. The nurses only check on me every four hours to take my vitals, check my temp (which luckily is finally going down) and to switch out the IV fluids (still no food) and the antibiotics on steroids! I still feel sick however and no matter how hard I try and how much I need it, I’m still unable to really sleep. The only good news is that nobody is talking large placenta pieces or surgery. Still no answer as to why I’m even here. I post on social media that I am back in the hospital again and get some nice supportive comments which do cheer me up a bit. I call the NICU in the early morning, hoping that my baby at least had a good night. She did and I’m so excited to see her but the main nurse tells me to wait a few hours until the fever is completely gone and I’m completely stabilized. They give me a pump so I can pump right away but what is the point since I won’t be feeding my little baby those drops of valuable milk anyways? Yes, yes, I know, we don’t want my boobs to get engorged (what a weird word…) or for me to get another infection (wouldn’t that just be great) or any clogged milk ducts. I don’t think they have the ability to get too filled with milk now, what I’m pumping is still next to nothing and I feel defeated somehow in this hospital bed, yet again. I’m back at the hospital having just celebrated leaving and I feel like a failure who can’t even do pregnancy and childbirth right, I mean come on already, what is going on here? I try to cheer up while ordering another tuna sandwich (getting used to these by now!) and watching “The housewives” of somewhere (hey, don’t judge…) while I’m pumping. I’m trying to not be disappointed in my body by focusing on the wonderful blessing of child birth, and yes, we do have our miracle baby alive and beautiful and she will get healthy a strong with time. I’m thinking positive thoughts as I marvel over the milk squirting out of my boobs, nourishment for my baby (too bad I have to throw this batch of milk out) into the clear measuring bottles by the help of a machine sucking hard enough to make it flow. My hands are free to eat and handle the TV remote (which also includes the call button, window drapes, lights and bed adjuster) thanks to this marvelous invention, the hands free pumping bra (all pumping mother’s should seriously stop reading and pick one up right now #freeadvertising) that I by luck had time to snatch up at babies r us before going to the hospital and getting sick. What an amazing mix of what the female body can do naturally and modern technology (I bet the women of yesteryears would be jealous if they could see me now).
A team of doctors come by, enjoying the pumping, housewives, half a tuna sandwich and me trying to juggle shutting it all off and putting it all away in a hurry at the same time (let’s just say any wardrobe malfunction probably seem bleak in comparison) AND they also get a view of some hospital rooftops (drapes), strong lights (overhead), get to hear some loud music (wrong channel…radio?), witness some clear nipple shields flying and I’m pretty sure the toilet is flushing (not really). After a pregnant pause (ha, that was on purpose) one of the confused doctors starts taking about not finding any placenta in my uterus after all (I’m pretty sure the young doctor next to him is blushing… I hope for his sake he hasn’t only studied but actually seen the female anatomy before…). As I’m trying to cover up with my sheet and turn off the frantic suction noises of the pump another doctor continues to tell me that my diagnoses is probably a uterus infection (probably?) and that they will have to wait for more test results to confirm anything. As soon as they leave, this is when my doctor calls…

About jennym

A doctor of psychology and a mother of three writing about the struggles and joys and the ups and downs of motherhood, marriage, pregnancies, deliveries and her absolute love for her children in a humoristic yet down to earth weekly blog!

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