So I spent Friday morning in the ER, which ended up being nothing but a total waste of $100 and time. But let's back up to Thursday.
I went to the office for an ultrasound-just to make sure my baby was dead. He was. Fun stuff. So they sent me down to pre-op to get some blood work done and get ready for surgery. They sent back about 29974 people to get blood, ask questions, poke and prod me. I was beside myself, esp when they asked questions about the pregnancy. Ben had to answer most of the questions for me because I couldn't even talk. Then they transfer me to anesthesia. The Anesthesiologist gave me two options, a spinal block or they could put me under, he was comfortable with either but the option was mine. Since I had nightmares of dying during surgery all week (not kidding) I wanted to talk about the spinal with Ben. One of the nurses, who was a total asshole for lack of a better word, gave me some serious attitude over it. He went to get Ben, and then gave Ben attitude. Part of me wanted to say to him "Hello! I am having our dead baby sucked out of me in about 10 minutes. Can you cut me some slack?" But anyways. Ben gets back there and the rude nurse says to him "Quick kiss and get out." I was shocked. I had NEVER been treated like that before. I just sat there and sobbed. The anesthesiologist came back and asked what our decision was and the rude nurse said "We are doing general anesthesia." I didn't care. I didn't even argue. I just wanted it over. There were so many people moving around and asking questions that I got really disoriented and scared. I remember going to the OR and a nurse (not the asshole) held my hand and wiped my face. She was so nice, but I didn't get her name.
Then I woke up in recovery. I hurt. I asked for Ben. Then passed back out. Long story short, I stayed in recovery for a while then went home. Pretty uneventful.
Here's the part where I brag on my husband. He is amazing and the best thing that ever happened to me. After surgery, I couldn't go to the bathroom by myself, bend over to even pull my pants up, stand up alone, get in or out of bed on my own, etc. Ben did it all for me. When I had to pee, he went with me. He held my hand and ran the faucet to get me to pee. He let me sit on the toilet and cry because it hurt so unbelievably bad. (During surgery, they had to cath me to empty my bladder. Don't worry, I was asleep. They wouldn't have done it otherwise-more on that later.) Ben did everything for me. It was embarrassing to have my husband help change my pad and pull my underwear up for me but he never once complained and tried to make me feel better. He made jokes while I cried in an attempt to make me feel better. He held me in bed while I cried harder than I think I ever have in my life. He got all my medicine and still makes sure I take what I am supposed to, when I am supposed to. I would not have survived last week without him.
Then Thursday night rolls through. Ben works for the devil, so he had to go to work. Luckily my parents were both here. I hadn't slept all week, even with the help of prescription aids (which I do not recommend) so I was hopeful I would sleep for more than 3 hours. Didn't happen. Around 4 I woke up with this unreal urge to push like I was in labor- a lovely, yet cruel side effect from the pitocin they gave me to dialate my cervix and again to help shrink my uterus back down. I cried for my mom (who was also amazing last week) who came and helped me get up. (Insert TMI warning here.) I went to the bathroom and passed blood blots the size of golf balls. I felt every bit of it. My arms were numb from my elbows to my fingertips and were blood red. My face was on fire. I called Ben who called my OB who told me to go to the ER. Fantastic.
So we get to the ER. The Dr (not my OB) wants to cath me without even talking to me. Here's where I go from nice, compliant patient to raging bitch. I said absolutely not. Over my cold, lifeless body were they going to cath me. My privates had been through the ringer the day before and they were NOT shoving another thing up there. So the Dr. (who was already in a pissy mood) gives me a Lortab and Ativan, told me it was a panic attack and sends me home. THANKS FOR NOTHING. Thanks for not listening to me, thanks for reffering to my surgery as an abortion OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. (I know this is the technical name, but D&C stings just a little less.) I was pissed, and still am.
And now it's Monday morning. I call my OB's office to schedule my follow up for my surgery and tell them I was in the ER Friday morning. I tell them the whole story and they want to see me right away. I should NOT be having these issues following a D&C. I'm still bleeding. Still passing clots. Still having cramps that are so bad they radiate around to my back. My boobs have started leaking (sexy, huh?). I am not sleeping. I have no appetite. I hate my body. I am going to find a way to trade it in.
And to top it all off, the effing Duggar's were on the Today Show. Give me a break. I want to punch her. 18 pregnancies. 18 babies. What gives? Does she pray harder than I do? I'm sure she swears less. What makes her so freaking special. I know the Today Show producers didn't plant her on today's episode to spite me or as a personal dig, but I couldn't help but feel like it was a slap in the face. I think she's just greedy. Who need's 18 kids anyways.
In case you couldn't tell, I'm tired and bitter. I have tried being thankful for all that we have and the many blessings God has given us, but right now, bitter just feels better.
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