Well now that's not entirely true.
Being 24 hours post partum I had lots of worst fears, like the pediatrician coming in and telling me that Hadley has two butt holes like Lila did. Which actually happened the next day, by the way. See how this time I didn't freak out and think she was going to be paralyzed?
Apparently this whole "two buttholes" (or deep sacral dimple, if you want to get all technical) thing runs in families and the doctor told us that if we went home and took a close look then Nick or I probably have one. An activity that I thought would be a fun little way to pass the time once we got home, but Nick said some things are better left a mystery.
My money's on him having the extra butt hole, by the way.
Anyhoo, as with the last time I had a baby, I ended up having to wear the catheter for four horrible days, all the while knowing that if I can't pee before I leave then I'm going to have to go home with this awful thing.
Hang on - let me do some Amish Photoshop on that post-baby belly.
If you've never worn a catheter, let me paint a little picture for you. First, put in a tampon. Then pull it out halfway. Then tie a hose to the bottom of the tampon and connect it to the most embarrassing, personal thing that you wouldn't want to broadcast to the world that you can find. For example, your own excrement would be a good example of a personal thing that you wouldn't want to broadcast to the world.
Then, do some fun things like take a shower, walk around or just sit down. Careful to keep the bag below your crotch or all the pee might flow back in and... YOWSA!
I hadn't planned on this happening again so I only packed one pair of shorts. The fact that you have to thread it through your pant leg makes wearing long pants really hard. And, we all know that you need more than one pair of shorts while in the hospital, for obvious reasons.
I had lots of nurses to impress with my awesome post-baby pj wardrobe.
Me: I had a little accident and I need you to bring me some new shorts when you come visit this afternoon.
Nick: What happened?
Me: I don't want to get into all the details, but it looks like the Texas chainsaw massacre in my bathroom.
Nick: Thanks for not getting into all the details. Which shorts do you want?
Me: Just bring the biggest, darkest ones you can find in my closet.
(two hours later)
Nick: The shorts you asked for.
Me: (silence)
Me: These are really short. And white.
Nick: Yeah, you look hot in them.
Me: These are, like, my junior high cheerleading shorts.
Nick: I thought you were in marching band.
Me: Let's not split hairs.
Nick: Well, I also brought these.
Me: Hand me my old shorts, please.
My hospital stay did have its high points, though. Literally. On Thursday evening just as one of our friends was visiting my ears started ringing and it sounded like everyone was yelling at me from the end of a tunnel. I also kept forgetting where I was and my head felt detached from my body and all I could think of was that I felt like Jambie.
Timing is not really her thing.
Upon closer inspection, however, the nurse determined that I was not, in fact, having a stroke.
I had taken too much percocet and was tripping balls.
Luckily it only lasted for about two hours, and every time I started to feel like I was floating out of my body and freak out Nick kept reminding me that a lot of people pay good money for what I was feeling.
So I decided to just ride it out and called down to the cafeteria and had them hook me up with some Raisinettes.
I'm sure you'll be relieved to know that my prayers were answered when I finally peed on my own the morning I was discharged.
And if you've made it this far through this post without either barfing or unfollowing then I know you're a true friend. Or have had a baby and all this excrament talk is common dinner conversation at your house.
2 comments:
Pffft, give your fellow moms more credit, I read it while consuming fig newtons and merlot!
Congrats on being home! Or even wanting to go home. I had a c-section with my 3rd. With two more waiting at home, they almost had to serve me with an eviction notice.
They had to drag me out kicking and screaming. Seriously - you go from having the 5-star treatment to home, where you could be dead on your living room floor for 8 hours before anyone notices.
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