Recovery

Recovery. At what point can you say you are fully recovered? I don’t know. But as every moment passes I become ever so much closer to that point, if it really exists.

Birth is notorious for ravishing its victims, even if everything goes as planned. But what happens when things don’t go as smooth as you would like? Here is my story of recovery.

After a nearly perfect natural birth my placenta decided to give everyone some problems and failed to detach, consequently my uterus came out inside out with the placenta still attached. My doctor tried to fix it in the room, all the while nurses were multiplying to help out, some giving me shots to stop my bleeding, some putting oxygen on me. My uterus wouldn’t go back, so I got rushed to the OR where I was put under and they were able to fix me without surgery. I came to and was back in my room, listening to the nurses and my family talk. I had an oxygen mask on, a new IV on my left arm where my 4^th blood transfusion was running, and a blood pressure cuff hooked up to my other arm. I was too weak to move. So I had no way of communicating that I was awake, so I just laid there looking at the clock periodically. And thus my journey of recovery started.

After about 30 minutes of being back in my room, my nurse gave me a mug of ice water. It was too heavy for me.  She poured out half and I still struggled with it. I told her I was fine because I didn’t want her to know that it was still too heavy. So once she left I made my husband pour even more out. I ended up just giving up on the water and went to sleep.

I was able to hold my baby and try to feed her 5 hours later. It still kills me that I was too sick to even register that I had another daughter for half of that time. We had to use a billion pillows for her to be on since I still had no strength to hold much of her weight.

I stayed in the hospital for 2 days. The whole time I was there I would get episodes of feeling very light headed, dizzy, and almost pass out. They questioned if I would need another unit of blood, but the blood work said I was ok, so they just gave me more IV fluids. When I got home the weakness and light headedness stayed. I refused to hold the baby while standing for several weeks. I would be fine and normal, and then all of a sudden it was like the floor fell from under me and my head was spinning. The only relief I could find would be to sit down and close my eyes. It was a horrible way to live for over a week. Eventually, the lightheadedness turned into headaches. They became a very constant part of my existence for several months.

At my 6 week check-up I was given the go ahead that I was completely healed. If only it had been so easy.  I was being tormented daily by panic attacks. My uterine inversion was constantly on my mind. I started nursing school, which gave me a large distraction. But when I wasn’t thinking about school, my mind was reliving the whole event. My husband would try to cuddle with me and I would see my doctor’s bald head. That bald head soon became a sign of frustration, sadness, and anger.  I would feed my baby and remember my first time holding her with contentment. And then I would cry. The littlest things would bring on a panic attack. This is not how my life was supposed to be.

Several months later, we were learning about labor and delivery in school and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit there and listen to how birth was “supposed” to be, I couldn’t look at the happy family with a new baby. So I left class, and just ran. I ran from everything. I ran from school, I ran from the trauma, I ran from life. …But eventually I had to come back. By that time, class was over. My teacher noticed me walking in to get my book bag and gave me a hug. Then she said something that I will never forget—that I was not crazy. I went through a traumatic event, and this is how my body happened to process it, but eventually there would be enough time that it wouldn’t sting so bad. She also suggested that I talk to a counselor. Recovery.

This was the turning point to my recovery. I saw a counselor who diagnosed me with PTSD. He taught me coping mechanisms to help calm my attacks before they controlled me. Soon I found myself going from multiple attacks a day to one a day and then weekly. I learned what a lot of my triggers are and what to do when they come up. Now this is recovery.

My PTSD has changed my life. I still have a lot of guilt over not being with my baby for her first few hours, and consequently her first few months because I was in the depths of this creature. A lot of my flashbacks stem from this guilt now days. I get strange panic attacks that are different than my PTSD attacks. I don’t know what is worse, because they just pop up for no apparent reason. Luckily, I am prepared with better coping skills to help calm them down before they turn into something more.  I also have spent a lot of time crying. I thought I had done a good job hiding it until my 4 year old asked me why I cry all the time. How do I explain that my tears come from somewhere deep down that yearns for an escape of this madness? Recovery. 

About 14 months after my baby’s birth, I had an awesome opportunity to pick a floor to do my senior capstone for nursing school. I picked labor and delivery at the hospital it all happened. I had to do it. I had to prove to myself that I am stronger than my situation. My PTSD was not going to control me. Walking in those doors and staring down the hall to my room was the single hardest thing I think I will ever have to do. My 135 hours there brought back so many flashbacks. Some just by walking in my room or the OR, and some by the experiences I witnessed. However, with each one I got stronger and their hold on me got weaker. I learned that I am not ready to be a labor and delivery nurse, which is what I needed to know. But I also learned that my experience came to me for a reason.  Recovery.  

Now, 18 months later my attacks are very mild compared to where they used to be. They still sneak up on my when I least expect it, such as reading a blog about newborns, but they don’t have that hold on me anymore. I actually welcome them for a moment because it reminds me of what I have gone through and that I am, in fact, a warrior mom.