The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Five

The next few days in the hospital were a sleepless blur (who can get sleep with nurses and assistants and housekeeping coming in every hour?) of emotional ups and downs, extreme physical pain, scares with Bodhi, frustrations, and miracles.  After the surgery, we spent the next morning with Bodhi, nursing her, adoring her, still trying to process everything that had happened as I was stuck in the bed with a catheter, unable to move and immensely sore from the c-section. They took her back to the nursery in the afternoon so we could try to get a nap since neither of us had slept more than 2 or 3 hours the previous night (and I still hadn’t slept since Sunday).  Less than an hour later, a doctor appeared in our room and informed us that Bodhi was taken to the NICU because she had stopped breathing on her own for “longer than they were comfortable with.”  I didn’t understand – we had just had her and she was perfect.  It was so surreal and I was so weak with exhaustion, I became very emotional and overwhelmed.

Bodhi spent the next three days in the NICU under observation with wires and machinery and nurses round the clock.  It absolutely broke my heart to see her in there and to not be able to have her room with us. The second day in NICU, as I was wheeled down for one of the feedings (walking all that way was still out of the question, unfortunately), a doctor and several nurses were in her room and one nurse with a big cart told us we’d have to wait to go in.  My heart dropped to the floor as she put on her surgical mask.  I wish she would have just told me then and not sent my mind racing to the worst, but it turned out Bodhi had developed jaundice so they were covering her with glowing bilirubin blankets, which made her look like a little glow worm.

All of this caused complications with breastfeeding - something that had started out so well had now become a major struggle. The drugs used during surgery had caused a delay in my milk and made her sleepy and fussy according to the nurses.  Then with her and I both hooked up to iv’s and wires, this made it really difficult and unnatural to get in a good position.  They had given her formula a few times also because they said she was “voracious” and hungry all the time at 9 lbs and I just couldn’t keep up since I wasn’t producing much yet.  This killed me as I had not wanted her to have formula at all.  They had also given her pacifiers with sugar water for all the tests, pokes, etc. which caused textbook “nipple confusion” for her and made it difficult for her to latch on.  Every 2 hours as I tried to nurse her, she arched, screamed, struggled as I cried and cried, feeling completely helpless, this snowball effect of everything spinning out of control seeming to never end.

However, the biggest obstacle of all, hands down, was the severe sleep deprivation.  I thought after everything, I would be able to sleep and recover, but nurses, doctors, maintenance, housekeeping, etc. constantly came into our room throughout the night every half hour it seemed to check vitals, check stitches, ask questions, do paperwork, give medication, take out the trash, etc.  I don’t know how anyone ever sleeps there!  The intense lack of sleep made me delirious and sick and made it extremely difficult to focus on the one job I needed to do – feed my baby.

On our fourth day in the hospital, two magical things happened:  Bodhi was discharged from the NICU back to our room (still with bilirubin blankets) and an amazing lactation consultant introduced the shield, which made Bodhi instantly latch on and nurse with no problems. I couldn’t believe this two inch piece of flimsy plastic could magically fix everything, but it did.  I cried with relief as she nursed like a champ. As she slept, Jimmy and I even got a nap in.  It was a wonderful, beautiful day. 

I keep thinking, though, about how that time in the hospital was such a Buddhist/Yogic lesson for me.  From surrendering to the intense pain during the natural labor, to using my chanting and prayer in the most powerful way I ever have, to letting go when things did not go as planned, to surrendering control and trusting strangers and accepting their compassion and kindness, to having detachment to the few (like the midwife) who did not show this compassion and kindness, to let others take care of me in the days following the surgery.  I realized how quickly our physical bodies can become vessels of suffering, causing us to become so dependent on others. 

And, of course, the best things in life aren’t the easiest.  A church sign near where I live states, “God didn’t say it was easy, only worth it.”  And she is worth everything. 

Amy, a yoga instructor/doula said to me, “A bodhisattva doesn’t become a Bodhisattva by sliding into this world easily.”   Indeed.  I guess I should have known what I was getting into when we chose the name.  Maybe if I would have named her Jennifer, this would have been a different story. :D

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Four

In a haze, I said to the nurses, “I’ve only ever had wisdom teeth pulled.  I’m scared of surgery.”  They were so nice and sweet, “Aww, honey, you’ll be just fine.”   The doctor came in with his face mask and his kind eyes looked down at me (he is very little, very young and very cute, so I nicknamed him Doogie Howser in my head immediately).  He said something about my pelvis being way too small and the angle at which she was coming in (later, I would find out all that back labor was the culprit - her posterior position was the contributing factor of her getting stuck).  He said she was jammed so tightly, he couldn’t fit his forceps up in there around her head so we would have to go ahead with the surgery.  The anesthesiologist appeared above me and she held my hand and began describing everything as it was happening.

I kept asking, “Where’s Jimmy?” and was told he was on his way.  He had to get scrubbed in and dressed first.  I started getting really shaky and trembling, then the shudders became more and more severe into all out tremors.  My teeth clattered loudly as my jaw clenched up and I could hardly speak.  All jittery, I kept saying, “I’m shaking.”  And the friendly anesthesiologist would say, “yes, yes, it’s normal.”

I could hear my labor mix CD start playing softly in the background. The nurses had asked if I had a preference for music and they agreed to play my CD I had made on their player in the background instead of the radio.  This provided an unbelievable comforting connection to the familiar and hearing it soothed me, it being the one connecting thread I had to the natural labor in the birthing center. 

Jimmy appeared next to me with his mask and scrubs and I reached out my trembling hand to him.  I knew from the books the C-section wouldn’t take long – about an hour or so, and most of that time is after the baby was out.  In my frightened haze, I took comfort in knowing she would be out soon, with the rest of the time spent with the doctor putting me back together again.

I felt a pinching where the doctor was making the incision and then smelled a burning scent. The anesthesiologist said things like, “You’ll feel a lot of pressure here” and “You’re going to feel a tugging” and “this next part is going to make you feel nauseous.”  Everything she said was true, but always was understated because I couldn’t believe how much I could actually feel!  I could feel my insides being pulled and moved around and tugged violently.  At times, the pressure and pulling felt like I was being scooped out like a Halloween pumpkin.  As a deep nauseating sensation filled my core, I heard Jimmy cry out, “Oh, oh, here she comes!  She’s almost here!  They’ve almost got her!”

Then I heard him say, “Oh my God!” and I saw my baby girl held up in the air above my belly, all lavender and slippery, her immediate raspy cry the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in all my life.  I sobbed with relief, gratitude and sheer happiness as Jimmy cried with me. 

This was a much different entrance for her than I had planned.  I had been visualizing this harmonious, beautiful natural childbirth, one where I would reach down beatifically to help pull my baby out and then lay her to my chest as the ultimate reward after all the hard labor. But at that moment, seeing her little purple body and hearing her adorable cry, nothing else mattered. I didn’t care of they had to take her out of my ear, my baby was okay.  She was here.  I continued to sob as my body shook violently from the drugs, my arms literally bouncing off the table and my hands fluttering around.  Then I heard someone exclaim with astonishment in their voice, “9 pounds!” 

The next part was one of the toughest for me.  Even in the event of a C-section, I had outlined in my birth plan that I hoped to have the baby laid directly on my chest after her arrival and have some skin to skin time.  But the reality was I was shaking so severely at this point, there was no way I could hold onto Bodhi, no matter how much I wanted to.  So Jimmy held her, swaddled up in her little blanket.  He brought her close to my face for a few seconds so I could see her and I just wanted to take her in forever.  She had the chubbiest cheeks I had every seen, the cutest little bow shaped lips and a head full of curly dark hair.  I ached to hold her and it hurt overwhelmingly not being able to.

Jimmy sat back down next to me on his stool, just out of my sight range. With my neck and jaw so clenched from the epidural, I couldn’t turn my head to see him or the baby. I tried to tell him this, but my jaw was so tight and I was shaking so badly, I couldn’t speak or get his attention and this killed me.  I tried to reach out with my left hand to touch her, but could only manage to pathetically slap a bit at her blanket with my trembling arm.  While I knew Jimmy was ecstatic to be able to hold her and spend those first few sacred minutes with her and I was happy for him, at the same time I was also insanely jealous that I couldn’t do the same.  I could not help but think, “I AM  the one who just went through hell! I want to hold my baby!” 

The longest part was just laying there shaking while they sewed me back up. I began feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath and the anesthesiologist put an oxygen mask over my face.  My body felt severely achy and exhausted from the day’s events and from shaking so violently.  All I wanted in the world were two things: to hold my baby and to sleep.   I had heard my music throughout the birth in a distant and surreal way, but now with the baby out and nothing to do but lay there and wait for them to sew me up, I could hear it more clearly.  “This Woman’s Work” started to play and I couldn’t help but cry a little bit.  I never thought I’d end up being the 5% statistic that needed emergency surgery. Never in a million years.  I couldn’t believe what we had gone through today.  But I was so relieved that my baby was out and was okay.   When the Beach Boys’ melodic “In My Room” came on, I was amused to hear the doctor and a few nurses sing along to its rhythmic and relaxing melody.  That really meant something to me.  It made the experience less sterile and so much more human and personal. In this aspect, I felt myself more in this unexplained turn of events instead of it just happening to me.

Not long after, I was wheeled into a recovery room with Jimmy sitting next to my hospital gurney.  I was still shaking and wondered when it would stop.  Then, the greatest gift of all - someone appeared and plopped Bodhi down on my chest and I looked down at her and started crying so hard.  She was so beautiful and perfect!  It was as if my chest just caved open and my heart exploded in that moment.  She scooted herself over to my right breast and started nursing right away.  I was blown away by this instinct and said out loud, “What a clever baby!”  I was so passionate about nursing, so I was ecstatic to see it was happening already.  I also was happy to see she wasn’t so drugged up that she still knew she wanted to nurse.  This moment was a true light in the darkness of everything that had just transpired. I couldn’t believe I finally had her in my arms and that it was all over with.

While Bodhi nursed, Emily and Sharon walked in and they both looked like hell, so exhausted and haggard – they looked like I felt.  They all agreed of course that she was the most beautiful baby ever!

Then a big, gruff nurse took her off me to get her footprints, measurements, etc. and then in an alarmed voice, she said Bodhi’s blood sugar was really low, “I’ll need to give her formula immediately.”  In my delirious, exhausted state, I weakly protested, “No, I’m breastfeeding.”  I heard her say it was necessary and the next thing I knew they inserted a little feeding tube in her.  “Is she okay?” I asked. The nurse said, “Yes” and I relaxed back into my morphine haze.  I see why people get addicted to morphine – I don’t think anything then could have bothered me, I was so relaxed and peaceful.  Around 3 a.m, we were finally taken to our room and I drifted off into a brief hallucinogenic sleep, marking the end to the longest day of my life.