I break out in hives when I breastfeed. True story. I am allergic to nourishing my child. Tell me that doesn't suck. And, yes it really happens. Like one in five trillion women suffer from an allergic response to their own production of Oxytocin and Prolactin, the hormones responsible for milk let-down. I am that one woman in five trillion. As if breastfeeding a newborn when you have two other children isn't hard enough, I itch and turn red and splotchy. Joy. Strangely, I only became allergic to myself with my son, as nursing the girls did not require an epi-pen or Benadryl. It really should come as no surprise, really. This pregnancy, birth and now lactation have been the antithesis of my every plan for bearing my last child.
Nick and I weren't going to have any more children. Madison made us a family of four and left me with a separated pelvis. Although life in a wheelchair had its perks, I was much happier walking. But, then SURPRISE! I was preggo. Honestly, I looked at the pregnancy test like it was in Spanish. I had no idea if I was reading it right, like I hadn't taken two dozen of these tests before. I will never forget that phone call to Nick or the two weeks of crying afterward. Literally, I was devastated. My oldest child had just been diagnosed with autism, my 15-month old was still not sleeping through the night, I was homeschooling and just quit my job. How in the world would I have time and love for one more little body?
God must really think I am a good parent, or have a great sense of humor, to give me another kid. So, I accepted it and told myself this pregnancy was going to be vastly different from my previous two. Like, no smoking crack or horseback riding. Kidding. Actually, I was going to be as active as possible, take the right supplements, all organics, gluten-free, natural medication-free birth outside of a hospital, breastfeed until he was 10, yada, yada, yada. Other than feeling sick 24-7 for the first 14 weeks, things seemed to be going okay. My ass managed to stay the same size for most of the pregnancy and I did not try to break my Twinkie-eating record from my pregnancy with Isabella.
Shortly after I spent the 250 dollars on my hypnobirthing class to accompany my natural childbirth, I learned I had polyhydramnios. Translation – a boat load of amniotic fluid. And, I mean a lot. Like three times the normal preggers. At 38.5 weeks, I was the size of a woman carrying triplets. No lie. This led to numerous ultrasounds that revealed my son may or may not have intestinal issues. It also increased my risks of things going wrong at birth, like bleeding to death. Less than thrilling news. Because my son had his own jacuzzi, he constantly did flips in my belly and couldn't make up his mind if he wanted to go feet or head first. He apparently missed the memo that birthing feet first is NOT ideal. So, all things considered, I decided it would be best to be at a hospital with a doctor. UGH, I dreaded it.
I was in labor for 14 hours with the maximum amount of pitocin to move things along and had not an ounce of pain relief and no epidural. I was pretty amazed at how well I was managing my pain. Those nights going to sleep with hypotherapy CD's telling me that I was a strong woman and to will my child out of my vagina actually worked!!! When 2:30 am rolled around and my breathing partner, aka my husband, was snoring to my side and my water still hadn't broke nor had labor advanced, I realized that once again, things were not going to go as a I had planned. So, I asked for an epidural, if nothing more than to get some rest. Wouldn't you know that I was the one in five trillion women (again) where the anesthesiologist hit a blood vessel – not once, not twice, but four times!!! What the hell. Can't I get a break? I am also that one in five trillion women whose blood pressure gets lower when they are pregnant. So low that my epidural had to be administered in intervals so I wouldn't crash. But, two hours later....relief. I think I actually fell asleep.
8am. Still no progress. It is time to break my water. This is no small feat, as I have TONS of fluid, so it takes a team of four doctors to make this happen. Initially, it sounded like someone took a bucket of mop water and emptied it on the table. And, the doctor doing the deed was, for lack of a better term, sprayed with water. No lie. I saw it. The nurse said I easily lost 13 lbs (random) or fluid and it was the most she had ever seen. Sweet, I am record breaker! Let me guess, 1 in 5 trillion. Then they had to turn the baby inside. It took all four docs pushing and pulling. Let's just say the epidural was working and I was happy I made the impromptu decision to not go pain med-free.
Four hours later and it is time to push. One push, nothing. Two pushes, movement. Three pushes, stop. Nurse leaves the room, Nick has a strange look on his face. At least seven people come back in the room and docs and nurses are looking at my nether regions like they have never seen a woman give birth before. “Oh, wow!” and “That is not good” are phrases that are being said. My nurse says to the doctor, “Were done here, right?” What do you mean, “done?” I don't have a baby. We are far from done.
Done pushing is what she meant. Apparently, I am one in five trillion women who ruptures a blood vessel while pushing and I developed a massive hematoma in my crotch that needed to be surgically repaired to have the bleeding stopped. My nurse said she only heard of it in school. That was like 19 years ago. Saweet. My doctor calmly assures me that my epidural is apparently working well, because if it wasn't I would have been in a lot of pain from the explosion. Again, good decision I made at 2:30 in the morning.
So, off we go for a c-section. This is a far cry from my desire to have a non-medicated birth. Spinal in, sedatives take effect. I am terrified, by the way, and vaguely remember what happened in the rush to get me to the operating room. But, in short time my boy is born -all 10 pounds of him. Now it makes sense why I blew a valve. They put him on my chest, he opens his eyes and it is love at first sight. It is so amazing how you can be overcome with love that you never thought you had in a matter of seconds.
They sew me up, cut me open, sew me up, and ship me off to recovery. Wouldn't you know that I am the one in five trillion women where the spinal anesthesia wears off while in recovery and I am in the worst pain of my entire life. They have given me like seven shots of morphine and it does nothing. It is taking my breath away, literally. And, that dumb nurse keeps pressing on my stomach regardless of me begging, pleading with her to not touch me. What a stupid son of a ….
Dilautid. Morphine. Dilautid. Morphine. I am soooooooo out of it. But, my pain is finally manageable and I get to see my little boy. He has a natural white blond streak in his tons of hair – I think it is like one in five trillion kids that have it. And, he is just perfect. I get to see my girls and then I pass out.
I go home with my family two days later. I am swollen and sans the green color, I look like Shrek thanks to all the fluid that was shoved into my veins. Oh, did I mention I am in pain? We are home for one day when Roman starts puking green and brown. I remember the ultrasounds where I was told he may or may not have intestinal problems and I immediately think blockage, call the children's ER and they tell me bring him down there. He isn't peeing and pooping, and while normally I would be thrilled in the break from changing diapers, this is scary for a four-day old.
They start an upper GI series and we are given a consult with the surgeons for possible repair of his intestines if they are blocked. He is catheterized to extract urine, he is given a spinal tap where the hit a blood vessel not once, not twice, but four times! One in five trillion, and we have matching puncture wounds on our backs. He has an IV, he can't eat, he is admitted to the hospital. His kidney ultrasound reveals a duplex collecting system and hydronephrosis, whatever the hell that means. It is like 1 in 5 trillion. 4 days of antibiotics and a battery of tests later, we are discharged with no infection, no surgery and a clean bill of health. It is the day after Maddie's second birthday and my son is one week old.
All those plans I had to give my son the best start in life, the plans to have a calm birth, the plans for a healthy child – none of them mattered. I was that one in five trillion people who preferred to have a drug free birth and I ended up having the one in five trillion issues. I often joke that I am a sucker for Murphy's Law, and I think that this story lends some truth to that jest. But, all is well that ends well, and outside of some pending observational issues with Roman's kidney, he is healthy and we are adjusting as a walking circus. He pukes, he pees, he poops, he eats, he sleeps and he is perfect. And, even with this saga, I would do it five trillion more times if it meant the outcome was a perfect baby like him.
