After my son was all cleaned up, and we were given a room in the mother baby unit, they loaded me into the elevator and shunted me into the room. I hated being in the hospital the last time. There were so many people coming and going, I never got a moment’s rest. I made sure to express to each person who came in how I didn’t want to be bothered (or at least bothered as little as possible).
It didn’t matter though, they had to do their rounds and make sure the baby and I didn’t die, so the constant bothers continued. What also continued were the judgements and issues surrounding the medication I wanted to take for my postpartum depression, my dosing was not to their liking and because it didn’t go through their pharmacy, they wanted to confiscate my bottle. Nah, bro. Nah.
There were also judgements about how I decided to feed my child. Because I put formula on my intake form, there were lots of efforts to dissuade me, and criticisms about things like pacifier use and nipple confusion. The medical residents, who are doctors, but I honestly don’t think a single one of them has ever had a kid.
What I had forgotten about was the contracting and cramping my body would undergo as my uterus tried desperately to deflate itself and go back to its normal size. The pain was constant and unyielding. I wasn’t able to take anything for pain other than motrin, and the nurses were always late in giving it. I was able to score incredible pain management for my delivery, but my postpartum experience left much to be desired.
The first night, though, the night shift nurse told me that I could leave the baby with her, and get some sleep. They kept him for five hours and I woke up the next morning feeling more human. My doctor came by and examined me, telling me that if I wanted to go home, that she could authorize my discharge, as long as the pediatrician said it was okay to take the baby home. I was so excited. The hospital was not my favorite place and I missed my older son and husband. I wanted to get back on track with integrating our new foursome.
The problem was that, even though my son was cleared around lunch time, my doctor again took her sweet time authorizing the discharge order for me. My husband came and went, as the time for daycare pickup had come and now my son would be a complicating factor at my discharge time. It wasn’t until nearly 6:00 that evening that I was able to get in my own car and ride home.