The operation
I arrived in theatre with an hour to spare, due to my obstetrician being called in to assist labouring mothers in the birth unit. Being in that room was alien. Really, it was like a drab space ship. Every body in their gears, masks, big machines and trays of instruments lining the walls, enormous overhead lights. There I sat, huge, on the tiny raised black bench in the middle of the room, waiting. Fainting was on the menu. But instead the anaesthetist, the technician, Grant and I struck up jovial conversation and I relaxed. As a result, when Workmeister flew in hands in the air saying lets go! (OK, something like that) I felt ready. Receiving the locals before the spinal was the worst part. I knew to expect a big wasp, but that many? The wasps mutated into tiny tickly ants that travelled down my legs, and as the table was tipped this way and that, up my abdomen. (Josephine entertained the staff by pushing her bottom up and out to one side. The leaning pyramid effect, while the table was tilted that way. It looked that I might fall off, and it surprised the staff because such behaviour by a full term baby, or mummies tummy for that matter, is highly unusual.) Beyond that all I felt was small pushing and tugs here and there. Grant would look at me quizzically from time to time asking "Are you O.K?"
Looking back I am glad I had the opportunity to relax in the theatre before the operation, it helped me to enjoy the show. Although for me, after Josephine was born everything else in the room disappeared and the operation was over.
Morphine, on the self administering clicker. ~(Wednesday through to Thursday morning).
Interesting stuff. Nobody noticed my dementia except me. Crazy internal dialogue going on. I would cut back on the clicks when I knew Grant was coming in with the kids because I didnt like the spacey feeling. But that was a mistake.
Nursing
Being spaced meant that I didnt really bother teaching Josephine the correct way to latch and (warning: incoming information may cause discomfort) she tore me up a bit. I didnt care. I was on morphine. Alas the pain came later. She would latch and start nursing, it takes 15 to 20 seconds for let down to occur. The pain is real. My shoulder would jump up to my air and I would suck in my breath, and keep it. Then my upper brain would kick in. Drop your shoulder, relax. Breath. Now encourage Josephine. Without my verbal licks she would not persevere. (It is amazing how responsive she is to my voice. Right from the moment in theatre, after she had been checked, and wrapped in towels, when she was bought to me and she stopped crying as I greeted her.) I have healed now.
My room.
I made it my palace. Throw cloths and pictures. My favourite books. A radio. The midwives were fascinated, but they dont know how long I was looking forward to having that space to myself and my new baby. Five whole days.
The recovery.
They were serious when they said that coming back from a Caesar was tough and you cant do anything for a time. Ouch. I felt great last Thursday and overdid it, am suffering for it now. On the bright side, I dont have to do much right now. Just focus on myself and getting Josephine off to a flying start.
Josephine.
Back hair and blue eyes. Tiny nose, wideset eyes. Bonny (meaning chubby.) She hums to me while I talk to her and loves nothing better than falling asleep on somebody. Physically strong, many comments made.
Conclusion.
A good result. This breeder/lactater has proved herself and can take an early retirement from the program. (And the crowd said ; amen).
Epilogue. Josephine is 14 now. My sister found this old email from me and kindly sent it. With 4 under 5 I should have been retired from any other challenge in the coming years. However 7 months later I would diagnosed with a large bone tumour growing within the lining of my brain. I had sought diagnosis for my symptoms for 5 years. Further to that brewing storm I was keeping a secret. My marriage was bad to the bone. But I was a good liar. My white picket fence was radioactive.