Muscle spasms in my abdomen woke me up in the middle of the night. My first thought was Riley was kicking again. I put my had on my tummy, it was flat. I remembered the c-section. It wasn't a dream. Riley was in the world.
The nurse came in to clean the blood off me. It was very weird being washed by a stranger, but it felt good to be clean. I asked when I could see my son. I was told I couldn't even stand until the magnesium drip was empty. That drip was now hell for a whole new reason. My hospital bed was really squeaky. Even slight movement would cause the bed to squeak wildly, and woke me several times at night. Each time I'd wake I would think of my son and cry. I was utterly depressed. I felt guilty for having him so early. I felt that I had already failed as a mother by requiring him to be born so soon so I could get better.
The feeling of love for my son mixed with the feelings of depression, guilt, jealousy and the numbness of my body didn't help anything. My time in that bed was the most emotionally grueling experience of my life. I didn't want anyone to visit me. I didn't want want to be seen like that. I was sending all my energy to just trying to hold it together and I didn't want to cry in front of Matt. I did anyway, of course. I felt cheated because I couldn't see my son - hold him, room with him, feed him. I needed my bonding time. It was unnatural to not be able to touch and hold Riley when every fiber of my being - mind, body, soul - was aching to do so.
I missed my family. I had hoped that someone from my family would be at the birth of Riley, but, because of my sudden early c-section, I felt robbed of that experience.
The only way to see him was through pictures other people took. I was grateful to get to see him, but I was also jealous and depressed that others got to see him and I couldn't. It was unfair and made me want to see people even less. Just seeing pictures of him made me feel guilty also. All those wires, tubes, and machines around him, the bright light shining on him bothered me. He should have still been in my womb still - instead, he was in an isolette. Even the word isolette made me sad, as if I had left my son alone.
It seemed like I was so alone.
That is pretty much how that long terrible time went.
The nurse came in to clean the blood off me. It was very weird being washed by a stranger, but it felt good to be clean. I asked when I could see my son. I was told I couldn't even stand until the magnesium drip was empty. That drip was now hell for a whole new reason. My hospital bed was really squeaky. Even slight movement would cause the bed to squeak wildly, and woke me several times at night. Each time I'd wake I would think of my son and cry. I was utterly depressed. I felt guilty for having him so early. I felt that I had already failed as a mother by requiring him to be born so soon so I could get better.
The feeling of love for my son mixed with the feelings of depression, guilt, jealousy and the numbness of my body didn't help anything. My time in that bed was the most emotionally grueling experience of my life. I didn't want anyone to visit me. I didn't want want to be seen like that. I was sending all my energy to just trying to hold it together and I didn't want to cry in front of Matt. I did anyway, of course. I felt cheated because I couldn't see my son - hold him, room with him, feed him. I needed my bonding time. It was unnatural to not be able to touch and hold Riley when every fiber of my being - mind, body, soul - was aching to do so.
I missed my family. I had hoped that someone from my family would be at the birth of Riley, but, because of my sudden early c-section, I felt robbed of that experience.
The only way to see him was through pictures other people took. I was grateful to get to see him, but I was also jealous and depressed that others got to see him and I couldn't. It was unfair and made me want to see people even less. Just seeing pictures of him made me feel guilty also. All those wires, tubes, and machines around him, the bright light shining on him bothered me. He should have still been in my womb still - instead, he was in an isolette. Even the word isolette made me sad, as if I had left my son alone.
It seemed like I was so alone.
That is pretty much how that long terrible time went.
Jessica,
ReplyDeleteI'm really sorry you had to experience such a sad time after Riley was born. It makes it that much more wonderful that you have him home with you now!