Week 18

All is Well.

Just as the doctor promised it would be, just as the surgeon guaranteed, just as my family prayed.

We are on day 4 of recovery (as I'm writing this, anyway) and it feels like it's been an eternity since they rolled me through the doors of the Operating room. A brief recap:

On Wednesday (The day before the surgery,) I received four phone calls from the surgeon's office. My surgery was moved from 7 A.M. to 9 A.M., 9 A.M. to 11 A.M., then to 1 P.M. As an already anxious patient, I snapped at the nurse when she called the fourth time, and said "If you're calling to move me again, you can cancel it." She assured me that she wasn't, she was just calling to confirm, that I needed to be there at 11 A.M. for my 1 o'clock surgery, and hung up as soon as possible. I felt a little bad, but not totally bad, because I was excited to roll out of bed and go, rather than sitting around and waiting for the surgery to happen. I tried to remain optimistic, but I think that anybody that knows me knows that I'm not a reserved personality, and the silence was uncomfortable for friends and family. My sweet mommy took me on a date the night before, and I stuffed my stomach full of my favorite Chinese restaurant, China-Mex. Seriously, give it a whirl. It's in a questionable looking building, and it's a cracker box, but that chef doesn't mess around with good eating. If you go in, tell them I sent you. They won't have a clue who I am, but the food will still be great.

Anyway, I ate until I felt sick, and then I went home to chat it up with my man. We went to bed at midnight, my official cut off for eating and drinking (seriously, a pregnant woman was expected to make it 13 hours without any food or drink... ridiculous.) And about 1 in the morning, I woke up to all of the fury my gallbladder had to offer. I was so, so sick. I stayed sick until about 2:40. Then I collapsed in bed and swore that I was going to cut it out myself if I got sick again. I didn't, so we avoided a potential disaster. It was a pretty bad night, but if nothing else, it was the final push I needed to be okay with surgery.

The next morning, I woke up to cottonmouth, a headache, and hungry baby. It made for a pretty cranky pregnant woman, especially since Facebook was drowning in Valentine's Day posts. We left for the hospital about 10:45, and got a phone call that said "Hey, good news, we're moving your surgery up! Instead of coming in at 1, go ahead and come in as soon as possible so that we can prep you!" That's right, the nurse LIED and wasn't going to tell me about it until the hospital sent me away for showing up 4 hours early. I really wish I knew her name, because I would send her flowers... because it's always better to respond in love. Regardless, the Lord had his hand on the situation and we were right on time. As soon as we got to the hospital, I was put in a room, and the first thing the nurse did was listen to baby's heartbeat. Ella wasn't really comfortable with that, so she ran away from the doppler. It seriously took them about 5 minutes to find her. It made me laugh, but the nurse was less than impressed with my feisty daughter. Twenty Minutes later, they were strapping me up to IVs, antibiotics, blood pressure cuffs, and paperwork. I was stressed, anxiety ridden, and on the verge of tears, but I knew that I had a choice to make. I could trust the Lord and breathe, or I could spend the remainder of my time rolling my eyes at answering the same questions, losing my patience with the nurse asking if I was cold (she REALLY wanted to give me another blanket), or watching the clock move closer to 1 o'clock. About 12:15, the anesthesiologist came in and said, "The O.R. is ready, so we're going to get you ready." He talked a lot about the drugs he was giving me versus what he gives regular patients, promised he would watch the baby closely, and that I would likely feel just fine after the groggy wore off. He gave me a dose of the worst tasting medicine I've ever had, then said "Give that about 10 minutes." They wheeled me into the O.R., laughed at my musing that it didn't look anything like Grey's Anatomy, and started talking to me about absolutely nothing. My main "juice" guy was named Bren, and he was the sweetest, calmest, most reassuring anesthesiologist I've ever met. He's really only one of two that I've met, but I was super sad that Bren was on a rotation and only with ORMC for a brief time. He would've been great to have around delivery. Bren was talking about Tennessee and I was listening intently when he randomly said "Hey, I'll see you in recovery, okay?" then continued on. I don't even remember going to sleep. I do remember waking up in a room that looked just like my previous room, and that it was 2 o'clock. I asked repeatedly for Cody, sometimes because I couldn't remember what the answer was, sometimes because I was trying to make myself stay awake. The nurses laughed because the first question out of my mouth was "Is that gallbladder out? No, is she okay? Answer that first." It was a weird place, because I was aware of my surroundings but my brain wasn't present. After about thirty minutes, I finally focused enough to ask for Cody again, and after another search for ornery Ella, they took me to my original room.

After that, time kind of flew. Ella is not a fan of Dopplers, and the nurses weren't really a fan of Ella's stubborn attitude. I thought it was hysterical. She actually kicked the Doppler dead on once. I choose to believe it was on purpose. It was still a little unnerving, because I never actually heard her, I only had to trust that the nurses did. When I was able to walk to the restroom and empty my bladder, the nurses prepped my discharge paperwork, and home we went.

The first night was the worst, as I was in more pain that I could have possibly prepared for. The nurse advised that leftover carbon dioxide in my abdomen would cause pain, she didn't mention that it would be enough to bring me to tears if I wasn't flat on my back and perfectly still. She didn't mention that it would be up in my neck and shoulders. You know the feeling of a crick in your neck? It kind of felt like that, only worse. My incisions were on fire, I couldn't move without grimacing, and my poor husband was subjected to freezing at any moment when I shrieked loud enough trying to get off of the couch. That night, trying to find a comfortable place to sleep was impossible, and I don't think I slept a wink. I moved to the couch early the next morning, and slept on and off throughout the day. I felt significantly better by the next evening, though still full of CO2 and still unwilling to move by choice.

As the days pass on, I'm only aware of the pain/incisions when I move too suddenly, stand or sit up for too long, or roll over in bed. My stomach is growing at a rapid pace (imagine that, when I eat without fearing the aftermath, my belly grows,) and after three days of worry, I went to the doctor today. I was cramping in all of the wrong places, and since I never heard Ella's heartbeat at the hospital, I warped my mind into a chaotic realm of panic, and ended up a ball of tears in my bed. My mom called and got me into my doctor, and after a very detailed lesson about my ligaments, he assured me that I was just having a pretty intense case of round ligament pain. I had to stop myself from informing him that he was incorrect, but he fed my ego when he told me that he isn't surprised by how badly they're hurting post-surgery. Then he said "You can choose to be annoyed or comforted by the fact that whether or not you had surgery, you would still feel this pain." He did, however, find Ella's heart rate immediately, and smiled and said "I told you she would be blissfully unaware." He talked to me for a long time afterward, and though I felt pretty dumb for panicking, I've been significantly calmer as the pain rattles through my back and uterus. Someday, when I'm a doctor, I will allow post-op patients to see their babies on an ultrasound. Also, there will be no hour long wait times. Also, I will be sure that I adjust payment plans to the patient's needs. Like, when they have to drop the rest of their deductible at the hospital and show me the receipt, my staff will say "Hey, we'll adjust that right now!" instead of "We have to wait for insurance to contact us."

But that's another story for another time. I mostly just praise the Lord and I bless the Lord and my heart is overwhelmed by His grace. I see so many women with heartbreaking stories, and to know that he's carried me this entire journey is to know a love like I've never known before.

The only other major news is that we have started Ella's nursery. I finally found bedding I love (Pink and Lime Green)... but I don't want to post a picture until I like it in person. Her crib furniture has been sitting in my dining room since December, and it was driving me CRAZY. So we put a few pieces together. It's adorable. As she will certainly be.

I'm still not a crazy eater like some other pregnant people I know. I do have a new obsession with a popcorn that I found at Target. It's called "Boom Chicka Pop," and I can eat it by the bag. By the very large bag. I guess a positive look is that it's gluten free, vegan, cholesterol free, 100% whole grain, and various other hippie terms. If you're going to binge, binge healthily. Anyway, it tastes like the perfect cross of kettle corn and a popcorn ball (minus the havoc wrecking syrup,) and I love it. I love it too much for description. Plus, the marketing is GENIUS. I'm a sucker for creative marketing. How could I NOT be attracted to that bag? It's mint green and hot pink. And it has fun words. And fun facts. Basically, everything I look for in my snack items. Please try it. There may be other flavors, but I don't necessarily care about them. You are welcome.

That's week 18! It was a long week, but I am super rested. And in love with maternity shirts. I may wear them until the end of time. Maybe not... but probably. Thanks for walking through this journey with us! Here's the bump!