Corey and I had not been given any time during that first day after becoming parents to just sit down and take it all in. We were in a constant state of "GO GO GO GO GO!!!!" Gotta sign this paper, gotta meet with this person, gotta start pumping so he has breast milk instead of formula, gotta get food, gotta check in to the family house...one thing after another. After Corey left to go pick up our car an hour and a half away in Cottonwood, I met with the lactation consultant to get started on pumping. I was able to hold my son for his first "feeding" of breast milk. He was so small that he only took 4cc's of colostrum for that first feeding. We're talking less liquid than the size of your pinkie finger. I held the syringe in one hand and my baby in the other. The nurse had attached the syringe to his NG tube (nasal/gastral tube. It goes in through the nose and down the esophagus which drains into the stomach.) That wasn't really what I had in mind for the first time of giving breast milk to my baby. I had imagined my baby (being born full term, of course) laying across my belly after being born and nursing, looking up at mommy and snuggling in my own bed. Instead I was sitting in an uncomfortable chair (They got me a glider later), propped up from all sides with pillows. It was not quiet or peaceful because of all the beeps and blings going off every minute from the monitors all over the nursery. There was always some infant's monitor that needed attending to. The only thing that made me feel calm was the sensation of the warm, soft bundle in my arms that needed his mommy.
I had spoken to my midwife and doula earlier that day to let them know that they could come up to see me and the new baby if they wanted to. Thankfully they came just in time to take me across town so that I could get a Rogham shot. I can't remember why the hospital could not administer it. All I remember is the head nurse coming over to me after feeding my son and telling me that I absolutely had to get the shot today. He was an intimidating, tall, black man who was outraged that I had not received a Rogam shot before leaving the hospital the night before. I really wanted to lay into him and give him a piece of my mind. In all the chaos of the way my son was born, it just got overlooked. Besides, a woman has 72 hours to receive Rogam after a birth.
I am a negative blood type and my son was a positive blood type. That means that all subsequent pregnancies could be in danger. If a woman has a negative blood type and births a baby with positive blood, the woman can create antibodies that actually will destroy any more fetuses she produces. The body recognizes the fetus as something like a pathogen and will work to rid the body of it. Rogam helps to prevent this from happening. So that is why it was super important for me to get the shot.
The nurse in charge of my son's isolet had ordered me a tray from the cafeteria because I had been there all day with nothing to eat. It just wasn't on my radar. So, right as the food arrived was when I was told I had to leave urgently. I grabbed the plastic spoon and fork, the applesauce cup and the brownie off the tray and left. My midwife and doula were waiting outside in the car. I apologized for the urgency, and thanked them for giving me a ride across town. We discussed how I was feeling and how the baby was doing. They both reassured me that if I needed anything to call them. My doula made arrangements to give me a post-natal massage the following week. My midwife also made plans to come up and talk more deeply with me about what happened and, of course meet our new son.
I hopped out of the car and thanked them again for the ride before dashing into the medical clinic. They were going to close in 20 minutes, so time was of the essence.
So, there I was, leaning over an exam table with my pants dropped over on hip. Ping! In went the needle. It didn't hurt that much, the nurse was very gentle. It was mostly emotionally exhausting. It was like one more thing I HAD to do before I could sit and rest after being bombarded with new things all day long.
I had to get a taxi back to the family house. Corey had not made it back from Cottonwood yet. I had no cash on me, either. So before taking me to the house, we had to stop at an ATM. Thankfully one of my bank branches was just down the street from the clinic. I didn't want to talk to the woman driving. Some stranger, smoking a cigarette. I was glad to not have to recount the events of the past 24 hrs to her, grateful for the silence. I paid her and left the car, hungry, tired, worn out, beaten, and hormonal. Trudging back to the room, I made a pit stop in the community kitchen to make a bowl of ramen noodles. Laying down on the bed, I tried to take a nap, to allow my body to recuperate and process the enormity of what had happened. Just as I started feeling like sleep would be mine, Corey came into the room. "Come and see the new car," he said, with annoying energy. I really wanted to tell him where he could stick that car, but I held back. We needed to be a team now and unnecessary hurtful comments would not help us get through this.
I did go out to see the car, but only after expressing how thoroughly sleep-deprived I felt. There it was in the parking lot, a gray 2004 Prius. We made a little more substantial dinner and then retired to the room and crashed on the bed. Corey wasn't really able to sleep, so while I layed there, he looked up names for our preemie.
No comments:
Post a Comment