I definitely did not realize that it had been almost two months since I posted my birth story. Really left you guys on the edge of your seats with that “to be continued.” Not really.
Before I start, I just want to thank everyone who has been continued readers since the beginning of this thing. It means a lot to me that I can connect with everyone and you can get a glimpse into the unfiltered portions of my “people pleaser” mentality. No matter how infrequent this has been a great way for me to practice writing skills, spark discussion, and get things off my chest that I wouldn’t otherwise because I feel like I have to be the good girl that sits quietly and gets walked all over. So I truly just want to thank you all for following along with my journey as it twists and turns in its ever-changing path of life and motherhood. Now that I have said that, let us proceed shall we. *Curtain closes. Lights dim. Act 2, Scene 1* I’m not funny (Please laugh. I’ll cry if you don’t).
Now where did I leave off?
Welp. A tiny person just exited my body for the fourth time. I’m alive. He’s alive. He’s just beautiful. I am riding the high of just giving birth and feeling pretty good despite it being the literal middle of the night. The nurse has helped me get into a chair because I just don’t want to be in the bed anymore. She also gave me a PB &J. I don’t have it in me to tell her that I hate jelly because the only other option was a ham sandwich and I hate ham more. Also its the middle of the night and I am not going to eat a ham sandwich in the middle of the night. I need to be fully cognizant if I am going to put myself and my sensory issues through that. I also haven’t eaten anything in hours and I need this. I can tell you a PB&J and ice water has never tasted so good as it did that night.
She told me not to get up out of the chair without her help, but I’m not any good with rules like that. I feel fine anyway and I really have to pee. So I stand up and I immediately regret it because blood gushes onto the floor in what seems like a ridiculous amount. I sit back down and we call the nurse in. She essentially tells me in a really nice way that I am an idiot and could have fallen down. We get past this whole thing and get moved to our room for the night. Its in a quiet little corner of the ward.
This is the most hilarious part of any hospital stay because Joe couldn’t figure out how to turn the chair into a bed so he just kind of slept with it half unfolded. This continued the first like three times he tried to do it so I just kept taking pictures of him every time he tried to sleep because it made me laugh. The loud ass squeaks from the chair just cracked me up for some reason and then him sleeping on a glorified ottoman was just *chefs kiss*. Now don’t you go judging me and say I’m an asshole cause that is just how we are and I would bet my left toe that he would have found it just as funny if it happened to me.
(A disclaimer, I don’t proofread this or fix it and Grammarly is already telling me I’m an illiterate piece of shit. The website is also telling me this is unreadable. So. Sorry. Take it or leave it.)
At some point I notice that the baby isn’t waking up and feeding like he should be. We go hours and he doesn’t wake up to eat. I think in the first 8 hours of life he ate for maybe 15 minutes. And that might be generous. They keep asking but he isn’t eating. Then it hits me that he hasn’t had a wet diaper or a poop yet. Weird. That’s a new one for us. I keep trying to put him on the boob but he won’t stay awake long enough to eat. I just decided at one point that he was going to be a formula baby and ask for bottles. Again, he isn’t really eating the bottles and what he does eat he’s throwing up. I bring it up to the nurses but they aren’t concerned yet so I’m not too concerned. I get some sleep since he’s sleeping.
They keep coming in to do fundal massages and check on us. As they do. Morning hits and we get eat and then go back to sleep. At some point they take him to do his blood test and bath and then bring him back.
They get his results and his bilirubin levels are high. Now I start panicking because they said they were pretty high and they were going to retest him again in a few hours and to just make sure he’s eating and peeing. He isn’t. He just won’t stay awake. They retest and his bilirubin levels are still high. At this point my mom is now texting me asking when we are going to come home as if I’m on a tropical vacation and I’m late. It hasn’t even been 24 hours. I tell her what’s going on but she tells me she has to go to work tomorrow. I’m spiraling into an angry rage at this point. How am I supposed to control a newborn’s bilirubin levels?! I’m sure I said something snarky about it not being 24 hours but I honestly can’t remember between my panic and seeing red. All I know is I was crying tears of rage about how I would never do that to my daughter but that’s neither here nor there.
24 hours hits and I don’t know how many blood tests and bilirubin tests they’ve done, but its too fucking many. I’m allowed to get discharged if I want, but he needs to stay. I decide that I’m going to stay with him. They decide the next day that he can go home because his levels have lowered enough, but he needs to get retested the following day at the local hospital for his bilirubin levels. This entire time my mom is pressing me to get home because she has to get to work the next day. I just keep getting more angry. Who does this to their kid? Especially one who just gave birth?
I talk to a social worker about my anxiety and she gives me a blanket that is now dubbed the “depression blanket” because I couldn’t see how this blanket was supposed to help anyone. It was a really nice blanket and I’m grateful for it but at the time it seemed ridiculous.
We head to the truck and Joe hurriedly installs the carseat that he didn’t get the chance to the day before because I was having a literal baby and we really slacked off on it. Don’t you worry your pretty little head because we made sure it was installed properly before we drove home. We get home and I am honestly furious at seeing my mother’s face at this point but I put on a smile and mingle. I should be grateful that she even came at all after the whole debacle before. She hangs out with the baby for a bit and tells me the things she did around the house. That I actually am grateful for. Then she wastes no time in packing up and leaving. The kids get home from school to meet their new baby brother and its the cutest thing. They’re sad that MomMom didn’t stay though. They wanted to see her again.
The next day comes and we go to the hospital to get the bilirubin levels retested. It is terrible to hear him scream but the nurses are nice.
We wait impatiently for the results to come back. Right before we leave for school pick up we get the call that his results are good and we all let out a sigh of relief. Thank god for small favors right? We get in the car and as we wait for pick up I get a call.
It’s the children’s hospital.
His newborn screening came back abnormal. His levels are conducive with PKU. I hear her say that if he gets treated now “he might even be able to go to college.” We need to go to the hospital immediately to get retested.
I’m now in tears in the car. Joe gets the kids, and the entire way to the hospital, I’m researching and crying. It could be a false positive, I hear myself saying. I convince myself it’s a false positive by the time we get there. I go into the ER. Alone. While Joe waits in the car with the kids. We wait for what seems like hours before we go back.
When we finally go back they give me some cans of a formula I’ve never seen before and tell me they have to put in an IV to get blood for a retest. I should just breastfeed as normal until I get the results.
So now I’m here in a diaper. Bleeding, crying, with sore nipples not knowing what comes next.
They come in and place the IV. I can’t even hold him. He is two days old. He is screaming and crying and all I can do is rub his head while the nurse tells me I’m doing great. I’m not. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. They get the blood and we are on the way home. Several hours. At night. After the worst day of my life.
We get the call the next day that he has PKU.
What comes now?