The morphine drip certainly didn't feel like it was doing it's job. All I wanted to do was to be left alone. But the two women kept wiping me down and every touch felt like hell. In fact, the hours leading up to laying in that glass ICU room was nothing short of traumatic.
Hours of contractions, multiple medicine poles, epidural issues, strep B, pre-eclampsia . . . led to my first beautiful words to my firstborn son after they cut me open to welcome him to his new world . . . "I need to throw up!"
Yep . . . that's quite memorable . . . and unfortunate . . . and humorous now 13 years later! I had quite a journey up until that surgery room. My small stature gained over 55 pounds during my pregnancy. That's more than the typical kindergardener!!! I could barely walk more than 100 feet by the middle of my third-trimester without needing a break. And I was put on "decreased activity" which my brain translated into, "well, at least it's not bed rest so I can still clean my house, packs my bags . . . " Ummm, I don't think that's what the OB/GYN meant but this stubborn multi-tasker kept moving (at a MUCH slower speed of course).
I had developed pre-eclampsia which a number of women get during pregnancy, but I'm one of the lucky few in that tiny percentage that kept the high blood pressure post-delivery. So, I can honestly say that my kids caused my condition! The not-so-funny aspect of this medical condition is that it can easily lead to death for the mother and/or the baby so I was closely monitored at home and the doctor's office.
I eventually was induced at 37 weeks and after many hours of pain (worth it for the life of a child) and my body not responding appropriately, we quickly moved to a C-section. Despite all the tears, nausea, discomfort, and being cut open on the operating table, the sponge bath in my private room was the WORST part. Because of the medication I was on, I wasn't fully coherent 24 hours after the surgery, but I sure do remember those two ladies. I know they were doing their jobs to take care of me but all I wanted to do was kick them out of my room . . . and if I had the energy to lift a finger, I may have tried . . . with a smile of course. Once again, they were only doing their duty to clean up that poor little lady who just had a human life pulled from her stomach.
I was put in a special observation room for the first 24 hours to monitor my condition as I still wasn't out of danger. I call it the "glass room" because that's all I recall (again, I was heavily drugged due to being so sick) . . . there were two walls of glass and a lady behind a desk right outside. Little did I know, but I had a nurse watching me to ensure my safety and health.
Many years later, my husband told me that when he came into the room to see me, I looked like death. Thankfully, he didn't tell me at that moment (as I had so eloquently did for my newborn son an hour prior).
Here's the moral to my rather dramatic delivery story . . . sometimes you have to go through a lot of pain before you get to something good. Sometimes you have to be faithful in an unfulfilling job to work yourself up to the next level or promotion. Sometimes you have to stick out those boring classes to finish the degree and pursue your dream. Sometimes you have to clean the company toilets before you can understand how to lead a team.
Although I wouldn't wish my first delivery story or the pain that came with it on anyone . . . it is a stark reminder that sometimes we have to face unspeakable trails and tribulations before we can see the light on the other side of the tunnel. To see those beautifully and wonderfully made tiny fingers and toes that makes all the months, weeks, days, minutes, even seconds of unbearable discomfort disappear.
Don't give up if you're in a rut or can't see the other side. There is healing. There is hope.
Sometimes you need a sponge bath from hell to appreciate a little piece of heaven.