Jason and I were given little time to decide. Doctors come and go my room, convincing me that it’s the only option we have and prolonging the decision is endangering both me and my unborn son.
I finally decided and agreed to go through an emergency caesarean operation. After filling up forms and waivers, which I barely read, they began to prep me up for the operation. I was wearing a gel nail polish on my hand so it took awhile before they managed to take most of it off my totally ruined nails. I don’t care about my ruined nails–it’s not even the least of my worries.
They informed me that I will be given a spinal anesthesia. From what I’ve seen in Grey’s Anatomy and other medical TV dramas, it seemed to be the most painfully administered one. I was wheeled out of my room and into the operating room. Before going in, I was fully awake and fully aware of what was happening. Somebody injected me with something. I was shaking the entire trip from my room to the OR–they were asking me if I was cold but I couldn’t speak anymore. I was shaking so bad because I was scared. I’ve gone through the first and second trimester of my pregnancy thinking I will be having a peaceful and normal natural delivery. I felt someone shaved off my pubic hair. That was it. I was finally wheeled in and transferred to an operating bed.
It all went by in a blur. At some point I felt I was being turned on my side. I can’t remember being cut open but I remember feeling my guts beings moved around. At 10 minutes past 12 midnight of May 25, I heard him cry. Boy, he was a crier! It was a good sign. A baby crying is always a good sign inside a delivery room. I wasn’t sure if what I remembered was real but I felt for a second he was placed next to me. He was gone and they began to close me up. A few hours later (I would later find out that it took quite awhile for my bleeding to stop), I was transferred to the recovery room and spent the remaining hours going in and out of consciousness–out of it due to the fact that my womb was contracting like hell and after all the pain medications, it really felt like hell.
9 am, they wheeled me back into my room. The next 2 days will be a combination of slight and unbearable pain. Slight movement would cause my wound to throb. I would have bruises on my back because I would be lying on my back for so long. Both my arms are connected to multiple IVs. Because I lost so much blood I needed a transfusion. Jason would check on our son at NICU from time to time. From time to time, I would ask him for some photos but since our son’s incubator was far from the viewing window, all I would get is dark blurry image of a baby connected to some tubes. My family would console me by saying how active his movements were inside the incubator–always stretching his arms and feet.
Note: This is the second part in a 3 part series called Why This is My Last One. You can read the first part here. I first had an idea writing about my “final” pregnancy in April 2014. I was constantly being admitted to the hospital and confined to total bed rest due to bleeding that for the last two trimesters of my pregnancy, I feared for mine and my unborn child’s life. I was a relatively healthy adult female with two previous normal childbirths. I never had any complications except for the threatened PLC (Premature Labor Contractions) with my second son which I was able to carry to term. April 2014 was also a milestone for the proponents of the RH Bill or Responsible Parenthood and Reproductive Health of 2012 (R.A. No. 10354) where the Supreme Court declared the law “constitutional” while striking down 8 provisions as “unconstitutional”. I am not Pro-RH Bill nor am I Anti-RH Bill but I am a firm believer of being a responsible parent. Being a responsible parent, I have to make sure I am healthy enough to care for my young sons even if it means giving up on hopes of having a daughter.