Today's post is brought to you by blogger extradornaire, Huckdoll. I love this lady. I find myself nodding along as I read her. She's real, she's powerful, she's amazing, she's smart, and she has twin girls to boot. Enjoy.
Ah, MomBabe. I've always loved this pretty mama and though I can't quite remember where or how we met, I do remember staying up late with her on a few occasions on one of the social networks and laughing the insanely late night hours away. She's followed me to and from at least three blogs and at a really dark time, she wrote maybe four sentences that made me feel really good and regain a little faith in blogging friends.
She's the real doll and I definitely owe her one. That, and she shares my passion for all things MTV related. Every time I ramble on about The Hills and The City, she comes out with something like, "Soooo, did you watch Bromance?" Hahaha,
On with the post. People who are reading me from my blog or mutual blog acquaintances know that I'm quite lengthy and wordy. Mine's the kind of blog that folks see in their readers and go, "Hmmm, Huckdoll posted and it's going to take me ten years to read...I'll just save it for later". So because this is MomBabe's space and I don't want to take up 3/4 of the entire blog, I'm going to make this short.
Reading about MomBabe's surgery has evoked memories of my own two surgeries...
The first one was to have my appendix removed. It was one of those, check into hospital at 7pm and by 2am you are being wheeled down to surgery for an emergency appendectomy.
I was 22. The surgery took place at 2:22am on February 2, 2002. Creepy, no?
I barely had a chance to even compute what the hell was going on and before I knew it, I was asked to count backward from 20 and it went something like this:
20, 19, 10, feeling lovely and warm...27......
I woke up to the overwhelming urge to toss my cookies, however, I've never tossed any cookies before in my life, so I laid completely still - not even moving a toe - until the urge subsided. Note: I'm severely allergic to codeine (to those with plans to knock me off, I am SO not allergic to codeine) so after an IV full of morphine, I recovered from abdominal surgery with extra strength Tylenol and the occasional ibuprofen suppository shoved up my bum. Not pleasant. Luckily, I was left with a 1 inch incision and I have forgotten about that trauma due to....
Surgery Number Two.
For those of you who are all, "Who the heck is this Huckdoll character?", please note that I am Mommy to three year old twin girls, Callie and Lily. Former Baby A and Baby B who decided from early on that they liked their feet pointing downwards and their heads up and LOVED the fact that they could kick and jab mommy's bladder to their hearts content, doubling her over in pain at least forty times a day.
Breech multiples means mandatory c-section, no questions asked. No doctor will perform two breech, vaginal births. WHEW! So we scheduled September 16, 2005 as the big day. As the birth of my children approached, I found myself more fearful than excited. I mean, being AWAKE for surgery? What the heck was this all about? I was freaking out. How could I be awake and not feel? Maybe I could just not have them. Maybe I could just keep them inside me forever. Maybe I could...could...ummm, why the heck did I get pregnant?!?! Do I really want kids that badly? Omgomgomg, what did I do??
As I sat on the operating room table, my gown open at the back, the nurse exclaimed, "Ooohhh, you have a tattoo! What does it mean?" I was all, "Holy cow, can we just do this? Please?" So they proceeded to stick a needle in my lower back which I thought was the epidural but in fact, it was just the painkiller to numb the area for the real needle. Ha. Then I was asked to bend over and brace the nurse in front of me and a massively long and thick needle was produced to inject the good stuff somewhere in my spinal column. Despite the initial painkiller, I felt this needle. Or knife. I don't know. What I do know is that NO beautiful, healthy babies will ever erase that pain.
Next, I was laid down and my body began to numb from the tips of my toes all the way up. A rod of ice was produced to test my numbness and I couldn't feel anything up to my neck. A sheet was hung just below my bust and in came my surgeon...wearing three inch red heels. Clip clop, clip clop...I couldn't believe it. I relive that moment often...a feeling of worship and worry.
And then it began. Blood started splattering on the drape and I started panicking. The doctor analyzing my vitals asked me to calm down and relax but the more I heard the beepbeepbeepbeepbeep of the heart monitor, the more scared I became.
Baby A was born with a slight pressure and pull. They showed her to me over the curtain, all white and bloody. Ditto for Baby B. Next thing I knew, they were both brought over to me and placed on my chest to see. They were clean and pink and THE most beautiful creatures I'd ever seen in my life. I cried because of their perfection. I was so lucky....
Beepbeepbeepbeep. The heart monitor picked up again and all I heard was, "Take the babies and Dad out of here, she's hemorrhaging". The babies were taken away from me and a needle - equally as thick as the epidural - was inserted into one of the only places NOT numbed - my shoulder. Thanks for that, really.
And all was calm again within seconds.
I was in recovery for most of that day. With all of my rules about NO ONE except Daddy being able to see my newborns, everyone got to meet them before I did. As much as I willed my toes to wiggle and legs to thaw, it just didn't work. I was really numbed and it was one of the worst feelings to be trapped in recovery knowing that your babies are out there somewhere without you. I was so thirsty but none of the nurses let me drink or chew on ice, but the girl who had the c-section right after me was given ice chips within four minutes of arriving. I still hate her.
Finally, I was wheeled into the NICU and was able to meet my daughters for real. Within an hour we were all cozy and tucked into a private room with a cot for Daddy and life as I know it began.
Again, I recovered from a major abdominal surgery with Tylenol and Advil but no bum suppositories. Damn. This time I was left with a scar about four inches across, way below where a bikini bottom would sit, so I feel lucky for that. If I were to ever wear a bikini again. Which I won't.
Surgery Number Three?
**Thank you, MomBabe for inspiring me to tell my story and giving me your space to write it. xo