I am still here, surviving, riding that giant rollercoaster.
Lately I’ve had a few conversations with people about Woody’s birth. The first time it just happened, a new friend asked, and I gabbled it out, surprised at how big the lump in my throat was, but how desperately I wanted her to know what had happened, her concern touched me and I felt I had to get it out, the dark little secret which hasn’t been told to anyone new in a while.
The second time was on Twitter, and I headlined it purely with, “I nearly died”.
Now, I kind of feel like I need to stop putting it in those terms, I guess I do it because, “What?! You nearly died?! Tell me more!” Why do I go straight for the jugular (ha, funny story, they couldn’t even get a line into my jugular, because I was…. nearly dead). See, even in my own garbled trains of thought, the fact that I thought I wasn’t going to make it still seems to come to the forefront.
Is this normal after such a traumatic event? Is it any less interesting to tell people the actual truth rather than the shocking headline?
I think I do it because it’s quite a long story, I feel like I want an index card with bullet points thus:
- I wanted a VBAC
- I developed Obstetric Cholestasis; it’s a problem with your liver; it can be quite serious, the only cure is to give birth
- They didn’t have an Elective Section slots booked; I chose to be induced despite my better judgement and the research I had done
- ARM (Artificial Rupture of Membranes) didn’t work; they gave me Syntocinon
- They gave me too much Syntocinon
- Woody was in distress; his heart rate was Bradycardic
- He was born via episiotomy and forceps; yes, I had an Epidural; no, my bits aren’t the same but I’m too scared to see anyone about it
- I lost 3.8l of blood; that’s about 80% of my total blood volume (or so I am told)
- I went into hypovolemic shock; my veins started collapsing; they were even trying my feet and groin to try and get a line in somewhere; even my jugular collapsed
- I thought I was going to die; so did Andy – he actually thought we were both going to die
- Woody didn’t breathe on his own for 4 minutes; within 10 minutes he was doing okay but he was still taken to neonatal care for observation
- Eventually I went to theatre; I was then sent to HDU for 36 hours so I didn’t see Woody until that time
- I’m generally in a pretty messed up place about it; I don’t know where to get help from; I cry when I think about it
I think that about sums it up, and it’s not any less traumatic or shocking, but it’s just easier to go straight for the bottom line. Although, yes, thank you, the bottom line should be, WE SURVIVED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT SHIT!
I know it sounds all very dramatic, and well, it was actually. And I know I sound melodramatic for either going on about it, or dwelling on it, or continuing to battle with my emotions over it, but that’s to be expected, surely? Am I not allowed that?
I’m not saying I like dwelling on it, and actually, even just looking up Uterine Rupture or Hypovolemic Shock scares the shit out of me, but it’s something that will forever be here, indelibly marked in my soul, I have the scars to show.
I’ve had some incredibly hard times lately, I’ve mostly wanted to hide in bed a lot of the time, but that’s no good when you have two children! Andy keeps asking me, “What’s the matter?”, but I invariably don’t really know, and I feel like everyone gets mad at me when I say, “Just thinking about Woody’s birth again” or even, “I don’t really know.” In fact, the latter seems to wind Andy up more than the former. It’s hard for people to help you when they don’t know what’s wrong. That’s frustrating beauty of depression, right?!
Even last night, I started thinking about the operation I’m going to need to have my gallbladder removed, and I started panicking; the thought of going into theatre, of going under, of the pain of recovery. It should be a walk in the park compared to what I went through, but, there it goes, sneaking back up on me, reminding me how awful it was.
And that’s sad. I’ve spoken before about how ultimately sad I am about Woody’s birth. He’s growing into an utterly amazing, adorable, characterful little boy, and in some ways I’m glad, because he has not been an easy baby, but then I think, but you’re not that little newborn any more, I missed that, because I was so ill and suffering SO tremendously from PTSD and flashbacks and all sorts of nonsense,which I still am, but to a much lesser extent.
Anyway, I’m rambling now. Heh, that’s my blog for you…!
I have lots of other things to update on and I will do, in more happy posts. Needless to say, I’m back bitches!