Wow. Today has been the strangest day of my life.
I’m laying in bed on the magnesium-sulfate drip, and I don’t feel like absolute crap. I don’t know what it is! I guess it’s just the pain medication.
I keep asking myself if I want to sleep on my side, but then I remind myself that I can’t because that will mess up the positioning of the fetal heart rate and contraction monitors. Oh wait – I’m not even wearing those! My girls have been born! They are here. Indeed they have arrived.
I only met Rowan, but I wasn’t sure it was Rowan because some of the OR staff explained they were switching who babies A and B were, while other staff did not switch them (Dr. Armstrong). Baby A, Rowan, was born first, and I actually got to meet her for about 30 seconds. My sweet Emmanuelle – I’ve not laid eyes on her yet!
Goodness gracious, “everyone” has met my babies except for me! But it’s okay, I will steal so much time with them tomorrow – for my birthday!
Wow, I am in such a daze. Today has been such a beautiful day – but in such a strange way.
The mag. started around midnight this morning, and it was horrible. But I am sooo thankful I was able to fall asleep. I was so exhausted. I woke up often because my nurse had to check on me and the babies. No biggie. Around 6 a.m. I noticed a bit of a headache. It wasn’t a big deal, but it grew. I told my medical caretakers about it; they determined that it would be best to reap the benefits of all the pain meds of my heart’s desire right after the babies were born. I’m not going to lie, my headache was getting bad, but waiting it out (instead of begging for meds) just seemed like the right thing to do.
Man, preparing for a surgery with a seven-out-of-ten headache, while on the mag. treatment – I was a little bit terrified. I shut down, which manifested in me acting super calm on the outside. My husband thought I was falling asleep; I was just trying to keep it together and focus. In my heart, it felt like birthing these girls at 27 weeks + 5 days went against every. single. instinct. “You’re going to cut open my abdomen and do what with my two-pound princesses?”
The surgery was a very strange experience, but I think that maternal instinct was what really gave me a heck of a time. My girls are premature, and I’m laying on a table exposing their home … and I don’t feel any physical pain, but I do feel.
And when they arrive, how will I know? How am I supposed to know they are going to be okay?
There were sounds; there was pulling in my belly. I think I zoned everything out. My husband kept a loving grip on my hand while his head whipped from one end of the room to the other.
For several moments, we did not know whether or not Emmanuelle was okay. It wasn’t that there was verbal indication she wasn’t okay; all we could hear was beeping in her corner of the room. WHAT IS GOING ON? Apparently, her team was removing her respirator support because she didn’t need it…? That’s my girl.
My babies are doing well. I’m sure I will learn further, but it has been explained to me that life in the NICU is a roller coaster, so I’d better hang on. Things change a lot, and there’s not much information coming from a world that I just don’t understand yet: the NICU. Daddy, Grandma, and Nana know all about it, but I’m clueless. Overall, my girls are stable. Rowan might need the ventilator later tonight…? Emmanuelle’s blood pressure was too low, but I believe that has been resolved at this point. All these things and more are completely normal for infants in the NICU.
I’m just ready for this mag. treatment to be over so I can enter this surreal world of: I’m-a-mommy and mommy-needs-to-do-kangaroo-care-first and mommy-needs-to-start-pumping … and … I’m a mommy. My breasts are – in fact – producing milk. They need me.
My husband just returned from their 10 p.m. blood work. It sounds like the honeymoon phase is over. Rowan might need the tube; I guess they both might have received antibiotics. I don’t know; it’s begun. It’s just begun.
What a day. What a beautifully twisted day…