Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed

Over the years, I’ve heard various people say something to the effect of: “Your body will never look the same after having a baby.” While this is very true, it could also be said that your body will never feel the same after having a baby…something akin to getting body slammed by the Incredible Hulk…at least for me.

The day after I came home from the hospital, I hopped dragged myself onto the scale, excited to discover how much weight I had lost so far. Ummmm what!?! I had just delivered an 8 lb. baby, but only weighed 7 lbs. less than I did when I left for the hospital. Granted, I was unbelievably sleep deprived at the time and couldn’t recall my middle name, but I was *pretty* certain the numbers weren’t adding (subtracting?) up. Not only had I delivered an 8 lb. baby, I had also shed a placenta (email my mom for a pic), my amniotic fluid, etc. Staring down at the scale in disbelief, I caught a glimpse of my feet over my (still) very large belly. The light bulb popped on. When I was at the hospital, I had been pumped with far too many fluids and was clearly over hydrated. No wonder every part of my body felt so stiff and uncomfortable – it felt like I had been pumped to maximum capacity with an air compressor! It took two weeks before everything shrunk back to its original size. Check out the pictures below for a visual reference –

My elephant feet/legs, four days after Caleb was born
A comparison shot, taken a few days ago

Unreal right!? I don’t want to be one of those crazy “birth mom-zilla’s,” but I’m pretty set on refusing an IV next time around!

I also continued to recover from the second degree tear that occurred during labor. Each trip to the bathroom was quite the affair, and took ten minutes to complete the care procedure. Thankfully, (or not so thankfully at all), I was still constipated, so I didn’t find myself bowl movementing much. But man, when I did, it felt like I was having another baby. Awesome. Oh and random tangent – am I the only one who found determining whether to put underwear or a bra on immediately after showering a huge dilemma? I could never decide if I’d rather bleed or milk all over myself, and in the midst of my analysis paralysis, I naturally ended up doing both. Ah motherhood…so wonderfully humbling.

The severe pelvic pain (PGP) I developed in my third trimester was a slow recovery and continued to be an issue for about three months postpartum. This meant that I continued to require assistance to: sit/stand up, roll over, walk any notable distance, get in and out of a car, and go up and down stairs. I slept in our living room for the first month after giving birth, because it was still too painful to get in and out of bed. I thought dealing with this was difficult while pregnant…add a newborn into the mix, and Sean suddenly found himself the caretaker of not just one crying baby, but two.

In the midst of the above mentioned challenges, I also began suffering severe back spasms for no apparent reason. At seemingly random moments, my back would wig out and render me immobilized. It was the weirdest thing…it was like I became paralyzed temporarily. One of my more lucid memories in those first few weeks was finishing up nursing Caleb at 2 am, looking forward to sleep, when my back suddenly went into spasm. Sean took care of Caleb, while I remained stuck (literally) in the glider for the next hour until my body just worked it out. I sat there and cried quietly as I watched the precious minutes pass, knowing I desperately needed sleep before Caleb was up again needing to nurse, and the opportunity was passing before my eyes. Since then, my back has continued to experience problems which I am currently in physical therapy to alleviate. The other day, the therapist told me my job as a stay-at-home mom puts me in the same category for back strain/injury as a construction worker. Who knew!?

Readers – did you, your wife, or a friend experience any of these ailments (or others) after giving birth?

More posts in the ‘Afterbirth’ series:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital (Part 1)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)

Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the 10 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

Make Your Voice Heard and Win $25!

I want to hear from you so I can improve this blog and give you more of what you want! I love to write/blog and have aspirations to one day pursue this passion on a professional level. Your honest feedback will help me refine my skills, and I would be so grateful if you took a few minutes to respond to the following (anonymous) 10 question survey. On August 17th, 2012 I will draw a name to win a $25 gift card to Amazon! When you have completed the survey, leave a comment at the bottom of this post or email me your name (this will keep your survey response anonymous).

Additionally, if you begin following this blog (or already follow it) via the facebook page, twitter, email subscription, or RSS feed, I will enter your name into the drawing twice. If you have never visited this blog before, check out our five most popular posts on the right hand side – a great place to begin. This is a fun opportunity to engage with me…thank you very much!

Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues

Ok, first things first, if the term “breastfeed” makes you uncomfortable and you can’t believe I used the word in a public forum, I am shaking my head and rolling my eyes right now. In fact, if you’re squirming at this point, you would probably benefit from reading this article by Tim Challies: “Exchanging the Natural for the Unnatural” (thanks for the article, Sarah).

Here’s the bottom line – God used my experience with breastfeeding to refine my character and teach me about life in general – but before I flesh that out, I’ll continue Caleb’s afterbirth story where I left off:

Regrettably, Caleb’s difficulties with breastfeeding did not end at the hospital – in truth, breastfeeding didn’t start going “well” until Caleb was five months old. And then, well, he went through a “fun” biting stage at 10 months and bit me so hard – breaking skin – that I was forced to completely wean him off that side due to unbearable pain, and the wound’s inability to heal with constant irritation. (Biting…possibly the reason God invented two breasts??) I continued nursing for 4 months after that, and learned to embrace my lopsidedness for those remaining months 🙂

For the first 4 months, Caleb’s biggest problem was staying awake, and despite our best team effort (undressing him every time, blowing on him, tickling his toes/face, dripping cold water on him, etc.), we just could not keep him awake for the life of us (I suppose that shouldn’t have come as a shock since he peacefully slept through labor of all things!) Because of this, each nursing session was an event and took about an hour to complete (of which he actually fed for maybe20 minutes). In the beginning, this added up to a whopping 8-10 hours a day – excluding pumping time.

20 minutes may actually be an overestimate, because on day 5, we had to call his doctor because he hadn’t peed in 16 hours, and we feared he was dehydrated (a very serious issue)! A piece of advice for all you 5-day-olds out there – if you want to really put your parents in a panic and take a few years off their life, just stop urinating…that simple. Ugh, talk about freaked out! Just barely keeping it together at that point, we immediately ran out to grab formula to supplement my breast milk. We then had to feed it to him through a syringe (think baby bird), in order to avoid “nipple confusion” (is this even real?? who knows). Do you see what I mean when I said in my earlier hospital post that breastfeeding is not as simple as you’d think!?

Now, I do not consider myself a crunchy mama, but I have done quite a bit of research on the myriad benefits of breastfeeding* and am a big advocate for breastfeeding children during their first year of life, if at all possible (I do realize, however, it is not always possible, and I do not mean to condemn anyone in this post). I was really committed to making it work, but when we were forced to supplement with formula, I began doubting if I would be able to. I was giving it all I had in me and my heart sunk at the possibility of not being able to give Caleb the best I could offer. During Caleb’s entire first week home, I sobbed every night in the shower, pleading with God to help Caleb start eating. I was so scared that he was failing to thrive and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I have never felt more helpless or utterly reliant on God in my life. Caleb needed to eat, and I could not force him to do it. God had to intervene.


From there on out, it got (slightly) better. I say better because I was no longer concerned that Caleb was going to die (I know that sounds ridiculously dramatic, but that is sincerely how my sleep deprived self felt at the time). For Caleb’s first three weeks of life, we supplemented him with pumped breast milk via a syringe, to ensure he was not dehydrated. I also began attending a breastfeeding clinic to get assistance, and to weigh Caleb weekly for two months (which was debatably helpful). I was told by Caleb’s doctor and the lactation consultant at the clinic that Caleb needed to be gaining an ounce a day, and he simply wasn’t achieving that (or even coming close…he was gaining maybe half an ounce per day). I was repeatedly told I needed to “push” Caleb harder and that he was not gaining enough weight. Beyond a doubt, no other event has ever come close to generating the overwhelming amount of anxiety and self pressure caused by fearing for Caleb’s health.

I know my next comment will put me in the direct line of fire of all the die hard breastfeeding fanatics, but truthfully, I did not enjoy breastfeeding whatsoever. I did not feel a “special bond” through it any more than I would have had I given him a bottle, and forget nursing Caleb until he’s 4 years old. 
For the first three months, there was not one day I did not consider quitting. Perhaps the difficulty of my experience taints my feelings, but I found breastfeeding to be highly stressful, demanding, and inconvenient. Even at one year old, I was still breastfeeding Caleb five times a day in accordance with the Dr.’s orders (due to his small size), and was unable to be away from him for more than three consecutive hours that entire year (six if I pumped). Furthermore, it was painful in the beginning, it hurt my back, it drained my energy, it made participating in two weddings extremely complicated, I hated pumping, nipple shields were a nuisance, I developed two breast infections, it was inconvenient when out and about (particularly when Caleb figured out how to remove the nursing cover and expose me to the entire world), he bit me on numerous occasions to varying degrees, and I was lopsided at the end. 

My purpose in sharing all that is not to whine, to scare anyone, or to demonstrate how ‘awesome’ I am for pushing through, but actually, to encourage. Those are my candid thoughts, and I know I am not the only one who struggled or is struggling with breastfeeding. Breastfeeding
 can seriously suck (no pun intended, hehe), and there’s no doubt that it requires an enormous amount of sacrifice. Sacrifice of your body, your privacy, your comfort, and your freedom. Those were not easy things for me to give up, and I think I grew a lot as a person and in my faith through my many struggles with breastfeeding. 

For those of you who have struggled, are struggling, or will struggle with breastfeeding, my suggestion is this: rely on God, persevere, and remind yourself that part of love is sacrifice, and it comes at a price. John 15:13 says “greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” Breastfeeding, however random, has taught me more than anything else what it means to deny myself and lay down my life (particularly in those first few months). Before I finish, I want to make it abundantly clear that I do NOT look down on you if you did not breastfeed your child(ren). As much as my prideful self wants to take full credit for this accomplishment, I am completely aware that God intervened and it was His grace and strength that saw me through. 


Caleb, if you read this one day, (and are super awkwarded out…sorry), I just want you to know that I love you very much and I was happy to do it for you even though it was hard for me. I am so thankful God carried me through the difficulties and matured me in the process. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat son. 

Readers – what is your experience with breastfeeding?

*If you are interested, here is a great resource on why breastfeeding is important (and other related breastfeeding topics).

More posts in the ‘Afterbirth’ series:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital (Part 1)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed (Part 4)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the 10 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs

What more could possibly be said about Caleb’s ‘afterbirth,’ you ask? Well, our hospital experience in the days following Caleb’s birth was rough, but it was just the beginning of the most difficult month of our lives to date – no contest. Even now I wonder how we ever made it out alive, and I am certain it was purely by the grace of God. (In fact, it amazes me how anyone who has had a newborn lives to tell about it…yet I guess we continue on with only minimal brain damage. Though that is highly subjective…the minimal part).

Upon discharging from the hospital and arriving at our apartment, we were so thrilled to be in the comfort of our own home. Sean and I immediately laid down to catch some desperately needed sleep. SLAM! Shake. SLAM! SLAM! My eyes popped open but my body was unable to move. What was that!? Still in a daze, my mind sluggishly searched for an answer to the rude awakening.

Then it all came flooding back – the neighbors. As good fortune would have it, our apartment shared a landing with another apartment that housed six of the rowdiest college students at Long Beach State University who were fraught with boredom if they weren’t hosting beer pong tournaments on their patio Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights between the hours of 8 pm and 5 am. As a result, broken bottles and vomit were a staple of our stairwell (and no, not my vomit).

Even with all their higher education, they also didn’t seem to understand the concept of shutting a door quietly or climbing stairs without stomping. I never did grasp why all SIX of them found it necessary to do these things, which inevitably shook and reverberated throughout our apartment, jolting us to consciousness each time they occurred (which was often – there were six of them)! As if Caleb wasn’t already pushing us to our sleep deprivation limit. We tried talking to them about it but found more action was required, which resulted in this:


Believe me, sign making was not on the list of things I thought I’d be doing on Caleb’s fourth day of life.

More posts in the ‘Afterbirth’ series:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital (Part 1)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)

Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed (Part 4)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the 10 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

Engage With Me!

As you probably noticed, I spent some time over the weekend connecting with people via social networking sites as well as making changes to my blog. I now have updated profiles on Google+LinkedIn, and Twitter and would love to connect with you on these sites.

Additionally, in an effort to make my blog more accessible, I have added a number of ways to follow my blog if you would like to be notified when I make a new post. I’ve listed your options below (the first three can be found on the right hand side under the title “Follow Me (Get Blog Updates)”:

1. “Like” my blog’s facebook page by either following that link, or by simply clicking the “like” button. By doing this, you will be updated in your facebook news feed when I make new posts.
2. Follow me via twitter by clicking on the “Follow” button.
3. Sign up to receive an email when I make a new post.
4. Subscribe via RSS feed (scroll down to find this option).
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I also added the “g+1” button on the right hand side under the title “Recommend Me,” as well as below every post. When you click this button, it means that you like/recommend my blog/individual posts on google which increases its searchability and recognition. You can also recommend my blog by clicking on the “stumble upon” button.

I love to write and I put a lot of energy into my posts, so I would greatly appreciate more interaction with those of you who enjoy this blog, because it’s much more rewarding to talk with you than at you. I am always looking for ways to become a better writer, get ideas for future posts, and sharpen my mind through discussions, so please use the above tools (and make comments), to engage as much as possible – I value what you have to say! Moreover, when I know there are people reading and connecting with the content, it encourages me to continue writing. In a similar vein, my hope is that this blog would enable me to continually make new connections with people, so if there is a post you find worthy of sharing with others, please do so!

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital

The following is the story of Caleb’s after birth, and I do not mean of the placental type. (Although I do have a picture of Caleb’s literal afterbirth…thanks mom). I want to make it clear from the outset that I am not blogging about this to complain, seek sympathy, or to make any claim that my experience was more difficult than anyone else’s (which is also true of my pregnancy posts and Caleb’s birth post). There are three primary reasons I blog about my recovery and the period of time immediately following Caleb’s birth: 1. It was a momentous and exceptionally difficult time in my life and I find it therapeutic to write about. 2. I believe others who have had similar experiences can find fellowship in it and others who have yet to experience it can learn from my experience. 3. I wish to fight the “facebook fairytale” notion that perpetuates the facade that if you are only awesome enough or try hard enough, birth/parenthood will be a breeze (more to come on this thought in part 2).

With that said, before I delve into the details of my experience, I want to meditate on those things I am grateful for to keep myself grounded and maintain a thankful heart. First and foremost, I am thankful for Caleb and the many blessings he has brought to our family. I am thankful he was/is completely healthy and aside from feeding issues, had no medical problems. I am thankful I have an amazing husband who was involved and supportive. I am thankful for modern medicine and educated health professionals. I am thankful I had medical insurance that helped pay for some of the costs. I am thankful I was fortunate enough to give birth and recover in a relatively comfortable setting, especially when compared with a situation like 
Mary’s

————————————————————————————————————


The time is 6:47 pm on April 26th, 2011 and I had slept four hours in the last 60, spent 19 hours in labor, 
and just pushed a baby out of an inappropriately small tunnel. As I was getting stitched up, I thought: “phew, I can finally relax.” HA! Hahahahaha! Little did I know that by the end of the next 48 hours of my life, I would be wishing I could trade the “recovery” stage for giving birth an extra two times. (FYI: That last statement was not meant as hyperbole).

By 7:15 pm, the buzzing room filled with six medical professionals who had converged for Caleb’s birth quickly dwindled down to just one lone nurse who I could barely understand. As the excitement of the last couple hours died down, I suddenly realized that the massive amount of fluids they had pumped into my IV were making me feel like a water balloon about to explode. Although utilizing the convenience of a bed pan appeared attractive(?) at first, it soon became evident that my bed pan was no match for the alarming quantity of pee I had amassed. (Just think “Dumb and Dumber” here. “Harry, I’m still going and this bottle’s getting full! Hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry!!!”)

I wobbled as quickly as I could over to the toilet and unloaded the remainder of my bladder for what I swear was five glorious minutes of relief. I also unloaded what seemed to be several transfusions worth of blood which sort of freaked me out, but apparently this is normal. After finishing off an entire roll of toilet paper, Sean and Caleb went to the nursery and I got ready to transfer rooms. Although I had little previous experience with newborns, I had taken parenting classes and read enough to know Caleb was going to need diapers…however, I was unaware I was going to need them as well.

After my diaper was situated (which consisted of a pad, a larger pad, a larger larger pad, and elastic mesh underwear to hold it all together), I was wheeled over to my recovery room. Unfortunately, Long Beach Memorial is an incredibly busy hospital and the maternity ward was overflowing that night, so I was required to share a recovery room with another girl and her baby (and of more consequence, Sean would not be able to stay the night with me). Months later, when I received my hospital bills, this arrangement was referred to as a “semi-private” recovery room. Let’s just get one thing straight Long Beach Memorial: A room is either private or public…the end. There is no such thing as a “semi-private” room and let me assure you, there was absolutely nothing private about it. The room was teeny tiny and as the newcomer, I got the bed closest to the door and the smaller space which, when surrounded by my curtain, was approximately 8 ft by 5 ft. I had exactly enough room for a small food tray to the right side of my bed and Caleb’s bassinet to the left. Until then, I had never considered myself claustrophobic.  

Upon arrival, I was introduced to the nurse who would care for me for the next 11 hours. She began explaining things to me that seemed important but she had a very thick accent, spoke extremely fast, and I was so exhausted I didn’t have the energy to ask for clarification. At 8:45 pm (just 2 hours after Caleb was born), Sean came back from the nursery to say goodbye since visiting hours ended at 9 pm. After scarfing down some hospital food (which tasted like a gourmet meal after not eating all day), a different nurse came in to help me change my diaper (oh joy?) Even with the pressure of Caleb off my pelvis, I still had a phenomenal amount of pelvic pain (which lasted three months postpartum), as well as a very sore and freshly stitched up “area.” I don’t know if this is standard, but rather than offering to help me get out of bed, the nurse just stood there and stared at me (I felt weird asking for help, because I figured if that was part of her job description, she would obviously step in). Three minutes later, I had managed to inch my butt over to the edge of the bed and then use my arms to swing my legs off and stand up. And I didn’t even get a round of applause…?

Soon thereafter, Caleb was brought into my room. My nurse said a few things to me that again seemed important – yet were undecipherable, and left. Let me attempt to describe to you what I felt at that point. It felt like I had lied about my experience on a job application, got a job on the bomb squad, was sent out on my first assignment, the rest of my squad deserted me, and I was solely responsible for disarming a highly volatile and fragile explosive device for which I had received no hands-on training. And was mauled by a bear 3 hours earlier. And was so sleep deprived I could barely remember my own name. Truly, I do not think I have ever felt less competent or less prepared for a situation in my life, and I was not expecting to face it without Sean. I knew there was always that little red button I could push for help, but I was certain I was only supposed to push it if someone were flatlining.

I slowly and painfully maneuvered myself out of bed to get Caleb, and I vividly recall feeling scared I was going to drop him because I was so unsteady. I carefully got back in bed and attempted to nurse Caleb since I figured feeding was on the approved list of things to do with a newborn (though it was not incredibly successful). He then cried for the next hour while I desperately tried to rock him and calm him down. He finally faded off to sleep, and the next thing I remember was being jolted awake at 2:30 am by my roommate who was on the phone with her boyfriend. Since she was about an arms reach from my bed, I could hear the entire heated conversation. “I JUST had a baby and you are out PARTYING!? What the bleep do you bleep bleep and you bleep bleep how could you bleep….bleep bleep bleep bleep….” So for the next 30 minutes, I found myself involuntarily tuned into what could very well have been an episode from MTV’s popular reality TV series, “Teen Mom.” While I felt for the girl and her situation, I also felt like punching her in the face.

I think I would be stretching it to say I got two hours of sleep that night (NOT consecutive). Every time I finally began drifting off to sleep, a baby would start crying, my teenage roommate would start talking on her cell, or a nurse/doctor was coming in to check on one of the four of us, give shots, or take/return a baby to/from the nursery for tests. Honestly, my most vivid memory of that entire night was staring at the clock, desperately hoping it was 8 am when visiting hours began and Sean could return. Not exactly how I pictured my first night of motherhood, but I have since learned that parenthood requires a high level of adaptability and this was my first crash course.

When Sean arrived at 8 am (in other words, the end of eternity), I was so relieved I would finally have some help. Not that he knew what he was doing any more than myself, but it was nice to have someone there who could navigate it with me (and was in much better physical shape). Poor Sean felt so bad about leaving us the night before that he got minimal sleep as well, and hadn’t been eating. Regrettably, lack of appetite was one thing Caleb and Sean shared in common (other than their cute, distinctive noses!) 🙂

While I was pregnant, I always felt more apprehensive about breastfeeding than about giving birth. This was well warranted because breastfeeding is hands down the most stressful thing I have ever done. You’d think it would be pretty easy and natural considering it’s God’s design and has been around for awhile, but it can actually become fairly complicated. Since there are two parties involved (and one is a non-talking, non-reasoning lump), there is only so much a mother can do if her baby is not catching on. Even though I was doing everything as instructed, Caleb was not latching well, could not stay awake, and was generally uninterested. Not really sure what his issue was – maybe he thought if he refused to catch on to this new method, we would just give up and reattach that convenient tube back to his belly button? Boys…so lazy 😉

I had read a lot about breastfeeding to prepare myself in advance, and one guideline that was continuously repeated was the need to be in a quiet, calm, relaxed state of mind in order to be successful. However, it was impossible to achieve this state of mind when sharing a closet-sized room with a girl who had invited her entire extended family (and extended extended family) to visit. In a steady stream, her family and friends (who curiously were mainly of the male persuasion) came in and out of our room, knocking back my flimsy curtain each time they walked by. Not to mention the nurses who continuously busted open my curtain with little regard as to what random dude was in the room at the time or whether or not my milk makers were hanging out. My blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. 

Thus began a vicious cycle for the rest of that day. I just could not get in “the zone,” and this reality made me increasingly anxious each time I breastfed. Combine that with Caleb’s sleepiness, disinterest, and lack of skill, and suffice it to say that breastfeeding was going terribly. I asked to see a lactation consultant, but because the maternity ward was so busy, I was not able to see her until the next day. The nurses were also incredibly busy and came in and out long enough to check everyone’s vitals to make sure we were all still alive. They also didn’t seem to know much about breastfeeding (?), and while one attempted to help by giving me a nipple shield, I later found out she gave me the wrong size (which actually set me back a few steps).

My roommate was discharged late in the day and a new roommate was not assigned, so Sean was thankfully able to stay with me my second night. God definitely knew what He was doing because there is no way I could have made it through that night by myself without developing an ulcer or a permanent psychological disorder. As difficult as the first night was, the second night was much more grueling with Caleb. At midnight, I guess it hit Caleb that he would not be allowed back in that warm, cozy sac he came from, and decided to let us know just how angry he was about it. From midnight until 7 am, Caleb slept for *maybe* an hour, and cried for the rest. And by cried I mean screamed – much, much louder than his small lungs should have reasonably been capable of. Sean desperately tried to calm Caleb down and did not sleep all night, while I somehow managed to sleep one pathetic hour through all the crying (Caleb’s AND Sean’s that is…hahaha!)

By 7 am, both of us were exhausted beyond what we thought was physically possible, highly emotional, and I was still in a great deal of pain. I hadn’t showered or even brushed my hair since admitting to the hospital and I felt so dirty and gross, but lacked the strength to do anything about it. Our nurse finally came in and asked how our night went and after relaying the events of the night, she said nonchalantly: “ohhh, you should have called, I would have walked Caleb in the halls.” I now count this as one of the biggest missed opportunities of my life. After hearing this demoralizing news, I began pushing that little red button, but alas, it was just too little too late.

With the events of the last three days weighing on us, Sean was feeling intensely overwhelmed and suffered a panic attack. So, yeah, good times had by all.

We soon acquired a new roommate who was clearly in cahoots with my previous one, as she also came with an overbearing entourage of squealing visitors I daydreamed of tasering. Seriously LB Memorial, are there no limits on visitors? I am certain the number of people in my room standing shoulder-to-shoulder were breaking at least ten different fire codes. Originally I had planned to have a few close friends come visit us in the hospital, but after my roommates had invited enough visitors for the entire maternity ward (plus I just wanted to focus on Caleb and make sure he started feeding well), I decided to wait until we got home.

About an hour before discharge, I was finally able to see the lactation consultant who was unhelpful at best, detrimental at worst. After watching me attempt to breastfeed, she aggressively stated “well, he’s had his time to mess around…now we need to start getting serious because this is just unacceptable.” She then proceeded to give me a different sized nipple shield than the one the nurse had given me (which I also found out later, again, was the wrong size…and even more wrong than what the nurse had given me!!) What a disaster! Now, not only was I using a (very) wrong-sized nipple shield, I was now also feeling discouraged, insecure, and scared out of my mind that apparently Caleb was going to die because he was not eating well. After 20 minutes she moved on, and that was quite alright with me!

At this point in time, I had never felt so anxious to get out of anywhere in my life. I was beyond done. Sick of my confining, claustrophobic space, sick of all the strangers in my room, sick of constantly being poked and prodded, sick of no opportunities to sleep…I just wanted to go home (now I understand why home births seem so attractive!!) All I desperately wanted was to be in a familiar place with my family where I could focus on and enjoy my son. At long last, my nurse brought me the glorious discharge papers, and I could not sign them fast enough.

Ok, so to wrap up this very long post, I will impart two pieces of wisdom from this challenging experience for those of you who have not yet come to this place in life:

1. I CANNOT emphasize this enough – if it is at all within your options, deliver at a hospital with private rooms. As much as I loved my OB, if I could go back, I would have first chosen the hospital I wanted to deliver at and THEN chosen my OB based upon which OB’s were affiliates of that particular hospital. Sean would have been able to stay with me my first night, we would have gotten *much* more sleep, breastfeeding would have been much less stressful, and the general transition to parenthood would have been smoother. I don’t know about other moms, but I felt incredibly nervous, overwhelmed, and vulnerable after giving birth. You are constantly getting poked and prodded and getting naked in some fashion or another to feed your baby or change your pads. I would have felt infinitely more comfortable in a more private environment where I wasn’t forced to share every intimate moment of this significant and life-changing time with complete strangers.

2. For goodness sake, ASK FOR HELP! The entire time I was in the hospital I asked for help a maximum of five times. It wasn’t a pride thing – I just knew the maternity ward was busy and I didn’t want to be a bother or ask the nurses to do things that weren’t part of their job descriptions. However, not asking for help/bringing important needs to the attention of my nurses resulted in skipped medication, little help with Caleb when he was crying, little help with breastfeeding, and no help getting around. Next time that little red button and I are going to be BFF’s 🙂

More posts in the ‘Afterbirth’ series:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)

Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed (Part 4)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the 10 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

10 Ways Pregnancy Crushed My Dignity: Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

If you haven’t yet read the intro to this series, you should do so before reading on for some context.

Ok, so I’ve already covered the constipation, appetite issues, weight gain, “morning” sickness, incontinence, crazy hormones, back pain, rib pain, and pelvic pain. What could possibly be left, you ask? Well, ironically, the worst night of my entire pregnancy was instigated by something that had nothing to do with pregnancy, but was made so much worse by the fact that I was pregnant and already miserable. The story goes something like this:

Midway through my pregnancy, Sean and I were hanging out on the couch watching TV, when I was suddenly hit with the absolute *worst* cramps I had ever experienced in my entire life. They were toe-curlers for sure – I couldn’t breathe, talk, or move when they occurred. Approximately 30 minutes after their onset, Sean had himself convinced that I was experiencing labor contractions – MUCH too early. As we debated whether or not to go to the hospital, I paid closer attention to the pain and decided they felt more like intestinal cramps than uterine cramps. I eventually convinced Sean that I was not going into labor and that my body would resolve the issue on its own. At that point it was past midnight, so I told him he should just go to bed because he had to get up extra early the next morning.

The cramps continued increasing in intensity, and I vividly recall lying in a fetal position on the floor outside our bathroom with my face smashed into the carpet, butt up in the air, rocking back and forth as I prayed that God would relieve the pain quickly. Two hours (and a semi-permanent carpet imprint on my face) later, I finally got that familiar feeling which confirmed my pain was indeed intestinal. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking – “oh crap…not another poop story.” Mm hmm, that’s right…another poop story. Uncomfortable? Read this book to help you overcome.

I mustered up the courage to drag myself off the floor and tried my darndest to get things moving. Unfortunately, it was slow progress (remember, I was ridiculously constipated and probably had about a weeks worth of backlog to unload before clearing the way for any of the new stuff). I made my way back and forth between the toilet and my balled-up position on the floor, and this pattern continued for about 30 minutes. As the cramps became worse and peaked in potency, the overwhelming pain began triggering waves of nausea (recall that I was easily susceptible to nausea during my entire pregnancy).

By the time 3 am rolled around and I had taken five or six trips to the bathroom, I eventually managed to de-clog the gatekeepers and was feeling optimistic that the next round could be the winner. I dragged myself off the floor once again and plopped myself on the toilet – just in time for the floodgates to open. It literally felt like I was pooping out my last six meals – in liquid form. As awesome as this felt, it pushed my growing nausea over the top. It was the point of no return – I knew the vomit was coming whether I liked it or not. I yelled at the top of my lungs for Sean (who was asleep) to “bring me something to barf in NOW!!” With an impressive fireman-like response time, he jumped out of bed, ran down the hall, and I heard him dump the contents of our trash can in the middle of the living room. At the same moment he yelled “hold on, I’m bringing the trash can!”, an explosive amount of vomit erupted from my mouth – all over myself, the bath tub, and the floor…all the while diarrhea-ing out my seventh and eighth latest meal 🙂 And Sean says I’m not a good multi-tasker…

So that’s when Sean arrived on the scene – and let me tell you, it was quite the scene to behold. After assuring alarmed, half-asleep Sean that my vomit was red due to the hot cheetoes I had consumed the day before and not blood, he said “I’ll be right back,” and left before I could ask where he was going. He quickly returned – camera in hand. I’m pretty sure I said something like “are you serious right now!?” To which he replied “oh yeah, dead serious…we eventually have to show the baby all the havoc he has caused.” I at least convinced him to let me clean myself up, flush the toilet, and return to my cocoon on the floor before he proceeded to take pictures of the vomit-filled bath tub. So in case any of you questioned the validity of this story – here is the evidence:

I’m sorry, I know this picture is absolutely disgusting and it is 100% not kosher to post something like this on a blog (or anywhere for that matter), but I just couldn’t resist. Again, I apologize. *Snicker snicker* haha! I should really write a sequel to the “everyone poops” book called “everyone vomits” with this picture on the cover…it’s sure to be a hit.

Well that little incident of “diarrhomit” as I like to call it definitely brought quite a bit of relief, but I was still in a significant amount of pain even after that. As Sean cleaned up the toilet, floor, and bath tub (what a sucker), I returned to my fetal position and continued to wait. Finally, after three of four more rounds, my body finished purging what I later discovered was moldy raspberries. Apparently there’s nothing like moldy raspberries when it comes to making your body want to explode out of every orifice…it’s such a shame too, raspberries used to be my favorite fruit.

So there you have it…it was the food poisoning and resulting diarrhomit that ultimately takes the dignity-crushing cake of the whole 9 months. Others come very close, but I do declare that the combination of labor-like cramps, stained toilet, vomit-covered bathroom, and trash-filled living room makes this incident the trophy winner.

I hope you enjoyed reading this series and got something out of it – maybe a laugh, encouragement, education, your own bout of nausea from that picture above, or increased empathy for those who have difficult pregnancies. Oh and just in case you’re wondering, the doc told me my next pregnancy would be just as awful. So for all you sadists out there, I’m signing off until next time…

The other 9 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the adventures we had after Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital (Part 1)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)

Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed (Part 4)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

The Transformation of our Family Room

We finally finished our family room after four months of extensive remodeling (alliteration not intended)! It was a ton of work and we’re hoping the rest of the rooms will not be quite as time consuming. This is what it looked like before we moved in:

Yes, that is a jet black wall…
…And a dark brown wall…
…And a salmon colored wall…yep, 3 different colors

Since I’m a southern California girl at heart and grew up 15 minutes from the ocean, we decided to go with a coastal theme for our home so I can trick myself into thinking I’m warm up here in freezing northern California 🙂 I’ll give you one point for detecting each aspect of the room we changed in this first picture of what it looks like now…kinda like the game “I spy.” There may or may not be a prize for the winner 😉

Sean installed all three of those wall lights himself (one on the left, two on the right), and connected them to the switch so we wouldn’t need lamps. We also painted the room blue, but that’s pretty obvious.
See that awesome crown molding up top?? Sean did that too (with some help from our brother-in-law, Jake)
Does the fireplace/mantle look different to you from the original photos? It should. We (tediously) painted it because we hated the red brick. We painted the brick white, and the mantle/mortar beige. A much more coastal look.
First TV we’ve ever bought, got a great deal on Amazon
First couch we’ve ever bought new – so thankful we didn’t need to spend hours and hours cleaning pet hair off it after we got it (like every time in the past)! It fits perfectly and maximizes seating in the room.
Put up some bird decals to seal the deal on the beach theme
We swapped out the ugly black curtain for some nice white blinds
We just attended a parenting class at our church last week, and one of the speaker’s suggestions for keeping our kids God-focused was to put up visual reminders around our home of our faith. I can’t think of a better way to do that than to put Bible verses in each room! We chose this verse for our family room because both adults and children need constant reminding of this truth 🙂
We don’t have cable and when we (rarely) watch TV, we watch it via hulu on our computer. You can see all the electronics Sean hooked up on the second-to-bottom shelf. It was actually a lot of effort to get everything working correctly between the computer and TV (we ran into a lot of obstacles).
We will eventually build a fire pit in our backyard so we decided not to use our family room fireplace for fires. Instead, we decorated it to go along with our beach theme. Driftwood, sand, shells, and candles to set the mood 🙂 Before you start envisioning toddlers throwing sand in each other’s eyes and all over the room, Sean installed plexiglass in front of the fireplace with a latch that locks. Good thing Grammie Christie and Auntie Allison gave Caleb a toy with six different latches on it (including the one Sean put on the fireplace), so he can practice unlocking it :/
Got two matching cream-colored bookshelves (also on amazon)
A sand-looking rug to go with our theme, cottage style coffee table, keyboard/mouse to operate the TV, and of course, gotta have the board games for those crazy nights of competition with family/friends
We really like decorating with photos because it makes our home feel cozy and personal to us. The left frame has our Christmas 2011 photo, the middle frame is the signature frame from our wedding with an engagement photo, and the right frame has a photo of Caleb from the wedding we just went to a couple weeks ago.

Whew! That was a lot…the only two things in the room left untouched were the ceiling and flooring. It’s such a great feeling to post this on our blog because it solidifies that we are actually done (done!) with this room!! Yeah!!! Oh and here’s a link to Caleb’s completed nursery if you haven’t seen it. Now onto the guest room…

10 Ways Pregnancy Crushed My Dignity: Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain

(My response to Sean’s post about my crazy pregnancy hormones)

If you haven’t yet read the intro to this series, you should do so before reading on for some context.

As if barfing my face off day in and day out was not enough, in about the 6th month of my pregnancy, I began feeling much more like an 85-year-old than a 25-year-old. There were three specific types of physical pain I experienced during my third trimester (hence three parts to this post), but this segment also easily deserves 3/10 of the pregnancy series because these aches were, well, that painful.

7. Back Pain. Like many pregnant women in their third trimester, my lower back began aching quite a bit from the pressure of the baby and from postural changes that occur while growing a babe. I won’t go into detail here about the back pain I experienced during pregnancy, because it actually became a much more significant problem after giving birth (I will blog about my recovery and the few weeks following Caleb’s birth once I complete the pregnancy series).

8. Rib Pain. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am short and petite. Unfortunately, my body did not recognize that fact as it went about growing a baby. While most other short/petite people (in my experience) grow huge tummies that stick out super far to accommodate the baby (plus their own organs), my tummy grew the positively minimum amount required (in contrast to pretty much every other part of my body). Please reference below a picture of me and my friend, Ally, exactly one month before Caleb was born (we are of a similar height and build, and we were at the exact same point in our pregnancies). You may need to click on the photo and enlarge it to see better, but her belly protrudes a solid4 inches further than mine.

So what? Well, since Caleb was not growing outwards so much, he evicted all my existing organs and wedged himself all up ins my rib cage. There were times when I legitimately questioned if his leg was caught in between two of my ribs. Yes, I realize that is not anatomically correct, but I could swear he was training to be the next karate kid because my ribs felt like they were being used as punching (kicking?) bags. Every time I sat down, I had to lean back and continuously push Caleb downwards to relieve the overwhelming pressure on my ribs. It was incredibly uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the…

9. Pelvic Pain. The other bodily aches were a challenge, but it was the pelvic pain above all else that was the dignity-crushing-clincher of my last trimester. I’m sitting here debating which was worse – the pelvic pain or being terribly sick for all nine months…and really, it’s a toss up. At about 6 months, I developed a condition called pelvic girdle pain (PGP) and I’m not entirely sure why I got it, but two causes of PGP mentioned on wikipedia are “hypermobility, genetical ability to stretch joints beyond normal range” and a “history of pelvic trauma”…which I suppose could both be explained by my cheerleading/dancing days growing up…please reference picture below (both my feet are touching the wall):

Ok actually, as I examine that picture in this moment, I know exactly where the PGP came from, haha!! In any case, it is no doubt the worst (chronic) pain I have ever experienced and certainly the most debilitating. As the pain in my pelvis quickly intensified, I required assistance to stand up, roll over in bed, get out of bed, walk any notable distance, get in and out of a car, and go up and down stairs. Additionally, I developed a sharp shooting pain that would radiate down my right inner thigh at random times while walking…stopping me dead in my tracks for several moments.

For the entire last month of my pregnancy, I slept in our living room recliner because it had become too painful to get in and out of bed (even with assistance), and I could no longer lay on my side (let alone sleep), because the pain was far too intense. Moreover, when I was in labor, the nurse kept making me turn on my side to wake Caleb up (which I had not done in a month), and I am not exaggerating when I say the pain in my pelvis easily matched the pain of the contractions. It’s impossible to describe what the pain was really like, but the best picture I can paint is a feeling like my pelvis was getting dislocated over and over again while simultaneously being crushed by something very heavy (i.e. Caleb).

Do you understand now why I felt like an 85-year-old?? I walked as slow as one, required as much assistance (if not more) as one, lost most of my personal freedom like one, and of course, lost my bladder control like one. It was a very difficult and frustrating situation for me, because I couldn’t do almost anything or go anywhere by myself. It was embarrassing at best. Wikipedia actually describes the psychosocial impact of PGP rather accurately: “PGP in pregnancy seriously interferes with participation in society and activities of daily life; the average sick leave due to posterior pelvic pain during pregnancy is 7 to 12 weeks. In some cases women with PGP may also experience emotional problems such as anxiety over the cause of pain, resentment, anger, lack of self-esteem, frustration and depression; she is three times more likely to suffer postpartum depressive symptoms.”

Well, that was a fatty downer. However, in the spirit of keeping these posts optimistic, I’ll leave you with this encouraging thought: if Sean ever decided to leave engineering, he has more than enough experience to launch a highly successful career as a hospice nurse. Such a well-rounded husband.

The other 9 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the adventures we had after Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital (Part 1)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)

Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed (Part 4)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)