10.08.2008

It's the Oxycodone Talking

I've been wanting to blog about this for awhile, but haven't made myself sit down and do it. Tonight, I will. It's a funny story. Quite funny (to me at least).

After a complicated delivery and loooong recovery with Cameron, a c-section was scheduled for Elly. I heard a few horror stories, but most of all was told to prepare for the pain that followed the operation. Now to be honest, I considered my csect recovery a walk in the park compared to my prior experience...I'd really like to experience an uncomplicated v-delivery...but that's another story.

I was bound and determined to keep ahead of my pain and use all the available medication to aid me in my recovery. I pushed the morphine trigger constantly, then, when I was put on oral meds, asked for my pills every 4 hours on the dot and without fail. They asked me if, perhaps, I'd like to go down to one pill. Nope, I said, I really am a wimp and I'd like to do all I can to enjoy my first few days with Elly.

The scary part is, I don't fully remember my first night in the hospital. I know I called the nurse in and told her my chest felt numb, and my face felt tingly, and I wondered if it was a result of the medication. I'm pretty sure I was loopy -- and knew it -- so I talked her in circles trying to make myself feel like I made sense. I'm not positive, but I think she laughed out loud a couple times during the conversation. Who knows what I said??!

Caleb stayed with me in the hospital room, on that darned chair-bed, right next to the vent, which made it quite dry. My poor husband has sinus issues that cause him to deafeningly snore throughout the night, and snores are made worse by lumpy beds and overactive vents. Check. I was running low on the sleep bank and wanted to make sure I fed Elly every four hours to get my milk in. I didn't sleep much because I was so concerned I wouldn't feed her enough (this comes from Cameron being so skinny).

If Elly didn't come wheeling in within five minutes of the hour, I called the nurse and asked for her. However, the morphine cocktail I was religiously downing was having adverse affects on my brain. I now remember that every time I called (again trying to be polite and explanatory), that I asked them if they could bring my son in to nurse. My son. I wonder if they looked at the room number on the bassinet and thought, hmmm, was she expecting something different? Is she in denial? Did we make a mistake and stick a bow on this little boy's head? Nope. My son is in Iowa with his grandparents, and he's 18 months old. My brain is just in survival mode and apparently calling on groggy nursing memories of the past. I'm sure the whole nurses' station was laughing every time I called.

Needless to say, Elly was brought to me each time I asked, so apparently they weren't too concerned. They did urge me to dial down the dose though, probably because I was annoying them with the same story about how my arms were numb and I couldn't feel my face. I was discharged two days later and given a bottle of Oxycodone to take at home.

I felt fantastic compared to the last time I'd recovered from delivery, so I was not going to let up on the pain meds that I thought were making this possible. I walked around in a fog for a few weeks, and my poor daughter mercifully was unable to understand me, or she'd have an identity crisis. Here are some of the things I said to her in this time period (actually every time I talked to her. I failed to correct myself unless I was dressing her in pink clothes or Cameron was right beside me):

"Who's the best boy?" "You're a big, strong boy!" "How's my buster?" "Good morning, Cameron!"

I don't think I ever made these mistakes in front of anyone, but I now FULLY remember them happening. Also, we waited until Elly was born to name her, so I wasn't used to calling her by name. That + strong meds = me calling her a variety of names because I literally could not remember what her's was (apparently??!). This is the cycle I went through:

First couple days: called her "my son."
End of first week: called her "Leila," the name of our friends' daughter born a couple months before Elly. (?!)
Second week: called her "Mariah," her middle name.

Third week: time to go off the pain meds. Caleb informed me of a few times I started to talk about odd things at odd times, my arms were still tingly and I was waking up sweating A LOT. So, we cut down on the hard stuff and moved to Tylenol. Honestly, it was fine and I still felt significantly less pain than the last time. The only addiction that remained was a highly unhealthy desire for Lorna Doone shortbread cookies that I developed at the hospital. My stomach growls just thinking about them. My [favorite] nurse would say, "You breastfeeding. You eat whatever you want. Here more cookies."

Thank you Jesus for the miracles of modern medicine that can keep me from feeling a four-inch incision in my middle, and for an excellent surgeon, and for a gracious family who didn't laugh in my face while I was loopy. And thank You, also, that I can remember these things for a good laugh now.

That must be strong stuff!!


Mama & Elly - one day old. I am posting this horrendous pic of myself for effect. I look drugged, eh??

2 comments:

Mrs. B. said...

So funny.
Ahhh...Lorna Doone cookies always make me think of Minnesota hospitals...good memories. :)
Maybe that's why I call Beck "Dooney." Haha!!

Jamie E said...

The nurses got me hooked....on Lorna Doones too, dangit!