Birth Story: The Hospital Stay

So as I mentioned, the new rooms in Mother Baby are lovely, though they lack a few practical upgrades that would have made them so much better. The lack of fridge was a huge one, especially considering the "cuisine" I was served (more on that later). There is very little counter space and so the cleaning staff swept around my suitcase, cooler, and other items that we had to keep on the floor. Had I not have been pushed on the bed to my room, I'm not certain we ever would have found it as the room numbers are very illogically assigned (I know! How do you screw up numerical order?!), which the nurses confirmed. Apparently, in the beginning the lab folks were actually unable to find a few patients because of the new system, and when the nurses inquired as to whether or not the numbers could be changed, they were told, "No."

I went in expecting a bit of an extended stay because of the c-section. In the first 24 hours, I was not allowed to be alone with Nolan as I was still on morphine, hadn't yet walked, and had an i.v. and catheter. The nurses only had to take him to the special care nursery once when Chris had to leave, and that was one of the hardest times in my stay. On day two, they mentioned that I might be able to go home on day three (which is actually day four because the first day is day zero). I was ambivalent about this. While I didn't mind being in there and the help I received from the nurses, it was inconveniencing my mother who was staying with Norah and Big N was out of sorts because her mom and dad were gone (C stayed overnight with me every night).

To try to ease her mind, C eventually started picking her up from daycare, taking her home, eating supper with her and my mom, putting her to bed, and then returning to the hospital to "sleep." One morning, he left at 4:30 a.m. to return home before she woke only to discover my mother in bed with her, trying to calm her down and get her back to sleep (his cover was totally blown). He spelled my mom off and spent the rest of the "night" in her twin bed with toddler legs and arms flailing.

On Friday, the bilirubin test showed Nolan was becoming jaundiced. They brought in the lamp in the hopes that we would be able to hold off a spike. While we did a good job of keeping it somewhat stable, and my (amazing) doctor was willing to let me go home, we decided to play it safe. It's a good thing we did. Nolan spent the next two and a half days under the lamp. Each day, my doctor came in, incredibly apologetic, telling me that I would have to stay just one more day. Again, like in the operating room, I gave myself about 30 seconds of self-pity (well, more pity for Norah, to be honest) and then reminded myself that this was all in Nolan's best interests.

Because of the length of my stay, I met many nurses, and as with any profession, there was a bell-curve of quality. Some clearly didn't read my chart to know that I was not a first time mom. Some gave me way to much credit for being a second time mom. Some made me feel like I was a nuisance. Some made me feel comfortable asking for help and didn't press when I didn't want any more. Some chatted with me like an old friend. With some, we each played 20 questions like we were on a first date (Where are you from? Do you enjoy your work?). One or two managed to make me feel like the only patient on the whole ward. They were lovely.

To keep myself busy, I read plenty of magazines (a gift from another friend), finished up this month's book club book (The Glass Castle. So good.), and napped when I could. This was surprisingly difficult in a private room. I felt like this time around there were far more interruptions than last, though that has more to do with expectations than with reality. This time, the nurses were in every hour and a half to two hours. Three meals and three snacks between 9:00 and 7:00 meant that food was being delivered at about the same pace. The laundry service and room cleanings were in and out in the mornings. Residents would check on me. My surgeon paid a visit. Nolan's doctor came to see him. There were lab tests (Nolan's poor feet!). And then there were the two days that there was some sort of construction happening on the hallway wall of my room for two hours. A "private" room never felt more public. Last time, I was in a shared room and had zero expectation of privacy. Plus, we were able to have visitors and so there was a constant flow of hospital personnel and friends and family. This time, our visitors were limited. Only your support person, doula, baby's sibling(s), and grandparents of the baby were allowed in. This limited our visitors to my parents. I questioned this policy with the nurse after Chris overheard a young couple on the free phone in the sitting area telling someone they tried to get them in but couldn't and had no idea what was going on or why they had to stay another day. I thought about the more vulnerable mothers who may be estranged from their parents, whose parents may live out of town, whose aunties or uncles may have raised them, who only had friends and no family in the city. It seemed ludicrous to me that they could draw such an arbitrary line in the sand. Don't get me wrong. I quite enjoyed knowing when and who would be showing up in my room and that I didn't have to say "no" to people when I wasn't up for it. I just think that telling a mother-- you can have 4 people on your list, who are they and what is their relation? is a better strategy.

Norah came up to visit me and while she was shy (heartbreaking) and weirded-out at first, she came to enjoy giving me rides on the bed pushing the triangles, kissing her baby brother, telling us about her day at daycare, and playing in the common area. She even went for her first sleep-over at my mom and dad's as my mom had business she needed to attend to at home. I was so proud of her for sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, but nearly died when my mom told me that reading stories before bed, she asked where every character's mommy and daddy were. *tear*

The woman I hired to do my placenta encapsulation arrived Thursday around lunch and returned the next morning with my pills. Turns out I had a giant placenta because where most women only get one jar, I got a jar and a half. They look like oregano in a pill, which has made it incredibly easy to take. I took my first dose, and my milk came in with gusto. Nolan was a latching pro right from the get-go. This, combined with his wizened gazes, the fact that he calms the second we pick him up and is incredibly patient (though not indefinitely) for what he needs, has made us consider the fact that perhaps this isn't his first go-round at life. Everyone keeps suggesting that it is our experienced energy, not his, that is causing these things, but I'll tell you, when he cluster fed on night one and we did not sleep (and the nurses rightly insisted we wake him to feed every 2 hours the next day so that we could get his bilirubin down), I did not fee like a pro, nor did I feel calm. In spite of this, he settled right back into his little routine the next day.

So I mentioned I would talk about the food... if I can even call it that. Not sure if it is my perception, the length of this stay, or reality that has me believing the quality has dropped since my last stay, but here are a few examples of meals and snacks I received (repeatedly):

One piece of dry toast under the plate cover, with coffee, apple juice, and jam.

A snack with a note about fibre that included a white flour muffin, a piece of cheese, and a pudding.

A snack with a note about the importance of the four food groups that included an orange and a cup of orange juice.

Another snack with the same note about the four food groups that included cheese whiz and breadsticks.

The fact that nutrition is clearly viewed as mutually exclusive to the healing process is so beyond me. My father, a diabetic whose kidney was just removed (cancer) was served salty soups, sugary beverages, and simple carbohydrates during his entire stay, even after multiple requests for them to meet his dietary needs. Ridiculous. Needless to say, the cooler filled with banana muffins, fresh fruit, cranberry juice, lactation cookies, yogurt, cheese, and other goodies that my friend made up for me is among the best gifts I have ever received. I am also thankful for the unlimited access to bread, a toaster, and peanut-butter.

On the sixth day, we were finally released. We had a few hours at home to get settled before C had to go pick up Norah. Since then, things have gone relatively smoothly-- well accept for the various plagues we have endured, but more on that later.

I realize there was quite a lot of criticism in this post, but the fact is, I feel very fortunate that the care we required to keep us both healthy was readily available. There was no question of the number of days that would be covered or my ability to pay for services. The fact that these kinds of things are all I have to complain about is actually quite a good thing.