Basically placenta free!!!

As I’m back in my huge hospital bed, pumping yet again (this thing has become my best friend- even if we fight sometimes) producing some good amounts for the first time (the NICU nurses will be satisfied) I call my own house to talk to my mom. I tell her all about the “vacuuming” procedure, which strangely wasn’t as bad as I had feared (sounded evil enough). It’s not like the man “performing” the procedure (nice job by the way) gave me any guarantees but I should now basically be “placenta free”. A quick knock on the door followed by a short serious looking Asian man let me know that the doctor for the day was here making his rounds. He silently reads what I assume is my chart (for all I know it could be a hidden steamy short story amongst all the paperwork) for what seems like forever.  When it starts to get awkward I can’t help clearing my throat trying to get his attention. I’m glad I don’t break his concentration if he is reading up on my condition but seriously what’s up with the stern look and stone face? Hello again, bedside manners. I’m here in this bed, can’t miss me, I’m called “the patient”. He finally looks up “mmhm” what, what???

He tells me very slowly and with a slight accent that I’m lucky I was in the hospital already when I got sick and that it’s good that I’m on the strongest antibiotics possible because they have been able to “turn this around” (sounds like good news but I proceed with caution) “this means?” “This means that you will probably be able to go home tomorrow” (yay!!! I think…am I really well enough…Friday’s “events” scared the …out of me…)

“however” (why is there always a “however”…? “The results from the urine culture were not good at all” uh oh! “We will send you home with another  form of antibiotics for ten days and then you need to go back to your doctor and get re-tested”. Okay that doesn’t sound too bad, reasonable even; I’m used to antibiotics! That night I sleep a little easier, I just wish that my baby was doing better with the eating but I know that they are taking really good care of her down in the NICU, I know that our favorite nurse Kate is there watching over her tonight and all I fear is tomorrow I must face my littlest love with a feeding tube-that won’t be easy. The night nurse comes in to take my vitals around 2 am, it is then I notice something extremely strange…

The Asian night nurse who is working silently, her face illuminating by just a dull night light, whispering “sorry” (“solly”) as the cuffs go on and the thermometer is put in my mouth, has a second thumb on her right hand (Noo I’m not making it up, it is true). I feel myself getting sad for her under the thin white hospital sheet. This poor woman! There must be a surgery for this, I peek again and yes, it is still there, smaller and alien looking. I want to reach out and squeeze her arm or hug her or something in appreciation of her gentle sweet nature (not everyone here is that nice or considerate, trust me), instead I mumble “it’s okay” “thank you” and “have a good night”, what am I supposed to do…?

The next morning I pump, chat with my mom and call my husband at work to prepare him of the possibility of him having to pick me up today! I pack my things, have some lunch, cruise around on social media some, feeling much better overall. I’m ready to be back, to be a strong momma ones again and to focus on my children!

I don’t get to the NICU until the afternoon with expressed milk ready in both my hands (please eat little one!) preparing myself mentally to see my baby girl with the feeding tube (or at least trying to prepare but feeling sad and almost intimidated). Shyly I round the corner after having washed my hands like a maniac and until people lined up behind me, to save time I guess…

To my pleasure, there is no feeding tube anywhere near my tiny daughter, instead a new nurse I haven’t seen before is all smiles telling me baby girl is ready to try a bottle! Before I can answer though, there is some commotion going on before a frantic man runs by almost knocking me over and then a different type of alarm blares, what in the whole world is going on here…?

 

 

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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