Saturday, January 3, 2009

I thought I could do it

I just opened up my computer after spending $100 at the grocery store on mostly crap. Cookies, comfort food.

And yarzheit candles. I bought 4 of them. I'm not sure why I got 4. It's getting close to sunset; we'll light them soon.

I thought I could describe the 180 degree change in the demeanor of the OB resident when she realized what I was there for. And how she had to do yet another pelvic/cervical check (#12?) and ultrasound. The room was darkened for it; I couldn't look, finally, I just couldn't look at the ultrasound. C just held my hand and kept me looking at him.

I thought I could recount the different rooms I was in, all of which echoed with other women's healthy babies' heartbeats in neighboring rooms. How I heard and saw healthy woman laboring as I was wheeled in my bed down to my tiny laboring room.

I thought I could talk about the delay after day in getting the pit.ocin up to my room, so that (even though I was there at 6:30 am, I wasn't induced until about 2pm).

I thought I could describe how wonderfully easy it was to fall against the nurse, Nurse Bob, so I could get my epidural. And how the intern hit big nerves three times, enough for me to cry out, before his supervisor took over. And how the numbness never fully reached my right side. And how we were able make a lame joke, finally, about my having a lot of nerve.

I thought I could talk about how my family took turns sitting in my room because it was so small. There was nothing bigger available, as the department was under construction. Two at a time, plus C. My sister was a writer for sitcoms in a former life, thank god, so her innate sense of humor could make me laugh, even as I watched my stomach clench periodically. Her and the ativa.n.

I thought I could tell how awkward it was with my brother and BIL. And the low, florescent lighting cast a pall over everything. And how my father, through his smile to try to comfort me, looked so very sad and worried. How his big, rough hands held mine and patted them, gently.

I thought I could describe how inured I was to cervical checks, and how each one showed that I was not progressing and how it seemed my body didn't want to let go. How it wasn't until that evening that my protocol changed.

There is much more from this day that I wanted to share. Perhaps I'll be able to tell more later.


Mrs. Spit said...

You haven't failed. In your own time. I'm in no rush. I'll wait. When you are ready.

Amy said...

Eat your comfort food, with luck it will comfort you! In your time you will share what you want and are able to.

I'll be here waiting when you are ready. I'll be here even if you decide you can't share.

Thinking of you all today and everyday.

Much love and peace to you!

Tash said...

I need comfort food after reading that. Your day wasn't just sad, it was a debacle, none of it your fault. What you went through was heartbreaking, and the medical powers that be made it a ring from hell. Tell what you need to, when you need to, if you need to. It's not important whether you do, or don't. What's important is that today you do what you want, and what you need to in order to get through it.

Much love, S. Thinking of your sons today.

charmedgirl said...

sue...i've been reading. i've been reading for a while and just have to say that my heart is breaking for you and c and your boys. i just can't believe everything those medical "professionals" put you through. really, a lot of it is downright shameful on their part. i can't even imagine how painful it is for you to re-live in the telling of it (you live it everyday, i know), but it's good that you are writing.

and now you have to hear HAPPY NEW YEAR from every f*cking store clerk and salesperson. great.

k@lakly said...

A fucking intern for your epidural? Oh, that makes me want to hit something or someone really hard. You had enough to survive, they shouldn't have been practicing on you. But you know that.
Oh Sue, I wish I could come sit with you and just hold your hand and cry. Well, I'm crying now, but I know that doesn't help.
God, I'm sorry. Just so sorry.

The Turtle and the Monkey said...

I am so sorry. When you are ready we are listening.

Take care of yourself. You in are in prayers.nespo

janis said...

Thinking of you, Sue. Fiercely, and with love.

Julia said...

Tell it if and when you can/want/need. I am not going anywhere.
And I am with Tash and K@lakly-- you were treated shamefully. (The dude there to do my epidural was incredibly professional and wonderfully quick. Given that I was afraid of an epidural headache, that was a big deal.)

Perhaps you bought four so you could light two more in a couple of weeks when the Jewish calendar date rolls around. If you want me to look it up for you, please let me know-- it would be my honor.

c. said...

You've already shared so much, Sue. In your own time, hon. In your own time.

Holding you close. XO.

Reese said...

Walking behind you through this journey. Take your time....we are still here.