Letting It Go...

I've finally let it go. All of the sadness, anger, anxiety, and depression from the traumatic experiences of the past three months. I haven't been able to enjoy spending time with my precious baby, because my mind and heart were clouded with all that I couldn't let go. On saturday, the NICU at the Johnson City Medical Center had footprints taken for the wall. Anyone who was and/or has a baby that was in the NICU was invited to come and post their hand or footprint on the wall. I definitely wanted to take Savannah, as she was a NICU baby and survivor.

The night before, I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep. The thoughts of going back to the hospital literally had me frozen with fear. All the feelings of neglect, pain, hopelessness, fear-- they all came back. What should've been a joyous occasion became one of dread. I almost decided not to go. I had a great excuse. I was absolutely dead with a cold/sinus infection, but knew going was the right thing to do.

It was right, on so many levels. Chris and I parked near the Women's Center, the site of my first trauma, and entered with Savannah. I felt all of the emotions rushing back. The anxiety. The fear. The anger-- it filled me. Right behind me, was the Same-Day Surgery Center-- the place where my fistula surgery took place. I felt anger as I thought about it. Dr. Hinton did a great job with the surgery, that's not the problem, the problem was it didn't stay. Back to the surgery. I had never been wheeled into an operating room. I was completely conscious, and completely terrified. It's the most terrifying feeling being conscious, on an operating table, and alone. I wasn't alone-- obviously there were nurses, and Dr. Hinton was there, holding my hand until I was out, but I felt alone. I took it all with strength, because I KNEW I was going to get better.

While Chris and I walked down the long hall, I turned around. I realized that the pain and surgery seemed to be all for nothing. I wanted to turn and run out of the hospital. The Johnson City Medical Center was the last place in the world I wanted to be, but I kept on going. We stepped off the elevator and headed to the NICU. That was a walk I used to dread. Anyone who's been the mother (or family member) of a NICU baby knows that dread. As we rounded the corner, it was actually a happy sight.

Savannah's nurse, Judy was there to welcome us, along with several other nurses and people. There were several people and children of all ages there having their hand or footprints made for the wall. In all, we probably weren't there a total of 15 minutes.

As we left, I was never so thankful to be leaving some place in all my life. I had no idea how much walking out the door of that hospital really did for me. It freed me. All of the anger, resentment, fear, sadness, depression, hopelessness, anxiety-- I left it all the door, literally. I had been suffering with severe post-partum depression and post-traumatic stress syndrome. I saw no joy in my life. No hope, no happiness-- everyday I lived, I didn't live, I merely existed. To be quite honest with you, most days, I didn't want to live. Had I not had the great support system of my beloved family and friends, I probably would've committed suicide. *NOTE: I did not and have not comtemplated suicide-- I'm only speculating on how I would feel if I were going through all of this alone*

I'm thankful for today. I'm thankful for my beautiful baby, wonderful family and friends, and most of all God, for never leaving me. This is the third time, there truly was only one set of footprints-- because he carried me through it all.

For all of my friends that are currently TTC, please, let me stress something to you-- PLEASE make sure you have a good support system. I PRAY that none of you will EVER have to go through what I've been through, BUT if you do, you need help. This is something most people don't talk about. When you're TTC and wanting a baby so badly, you don't realize all of the things that could go wrong. I don't think anyone is ever prepared to be neglected by health care "professionals" during labor. Nor are they prepared to give birth to a child who isn't breathing-- and tests positive for Group B Strep, when you tested negative. No one is prepared to have to leave their baby in the NICU, nor are they prepared to deal with a fistula, and surgery that wasn't a complete success. On top of that, no one is really prepared to deal with post-partum depression. It's real. It can be severe. It's heartbreaking, and most people won't tell you about it. I will.

Being a mother is the hardest thing I've ever done. As hard as pregnancy was, being pregnant was the easy part. I'm not trying to scare anyone here, what I'm trying to do is tell you what I wish someone had told me-- things can go wrong. When and if things go wrong, you need a lot strength and support before you even think about bringing a baby into the world, make sure you have both.

If you or someone you know is suffering with post-partum depression, don't be ashamed to ask for help. It takes a strong person to know that they can't deal with something on their own.

Labor of Love...

She's finally here. At 6:12pm on February 4th, Savannah Boleyn Rach made her grand entrance into the world-- an easy entrance, it wasn't. I was in hard labor for 18 1/2 hours, and on top of that, my epidural didn't work, at least, not for long. The bands from the monitors on my stomach were so tight they were cutting into me, and none of the nurses would help me. I screamed in agony from the hard contratcions, begging God for mercy and strength, because I knew there was no way I could delivery that baby myself. It had been over 36 hours since I'd eaten, and the pain had taken every ounce of strength I had. Violently throwing up bile, because my stomach was empty, I was finally able to dilate to 9 centimeters. At 5:00pm, I was in such pain, that I was screaming and begging for something to take it away. I was given one finally shot of medication into my epidural that would only last for 45 minutes-- after that, I was on my own. I was determined to deliver my baby in that 45 minute window-- but didn't. I felt every agonizing contraction. The pain in my back was indescribable. With every push I begged God for strength. I give Him all the credit for my child being here-- there was no strength left in my body, it was Him that got her here, not me.

When my pain was finally over, my beautiful baby girl was here. Little did I know, she wasn't breathing. My husband and family shielded me from the sight of my newborn baby girl laying there, nearly lifeless as the nurses tried to clear her lungs. Thank God, they were able to, and she began to breathe on her own. She was strong from the womb, and came out a fighter. She had to be. For the first 10 days of her life, she was in the NICU. After aspirating meconium into her lungs in the womb, and then testing positive for group B strep, she was on IV anti-biotics for 10 days-- which meant leaving my baby girl behind when I was discharged from the hospital.

Being in the horrible shape I was in, I was thankful that Savannah was in the NICU for a few days. I knew she was getting round the clock care that I couldn't provide for her. Little did I know how bad of shape I was in. I delivered Savannah on wednesday. On friday, I had my first bowel movement. You wonder why I'm telling you this-- well, it's very relevant to what's coming next. I was absolutely horrified to find out that the bowel movement didn't come out of my rectum, but my vagina. I immediately called my doctor, who told me to come in first thing on monday, that I probably had a fistula. I was calm, thinking I only had to deal with this fistula for the weekend. I had NO idea what would be in store for me.

I was absolutely horrified to find out that I had to wait a full two weeks before surgery could be preformed, and even then, it might not be fixed. I felt like a prisoner in my own body. I had just come through an extremely traumatic experience with labor and delivery-- being neglected by nurses, and laying in excruciating pain, and now this! I tried to stay positive, all the while, having to plan every single move. I couldn't leave the house, because if I had to have a bowel movement, I had to have my medicated wipes to clean myself, and pads or depends in the event of an "accident". It was only for two weeks I kept telling myself.

During those two weeks, I learned to deal. I got pretty good and being able to clean myself, and bathe extra just to feel clean. I was becoming more confident, and knew there was an end in sight. On tuesday February 24th, I went in for surgery. I was scared, but ready. I just wanted to be better, to be well and whole once more. The surgery went well. I woke up in pain, but it wasn't unbearable. I had hope. It was difficult being home and not being able to really get around or care for my daughter, but I was coping. I saw an end to the pain and embarrassment of the fistula.

All of that came crashing down on tuesday. Exactly one week to the day of surgery, it failed. I'll spare you the gory details, but will say this, with each wipe, tears streamed down my cheeks. I saw my hope being wiped away- literally. I wasn't fixed. I was still broken. After all I'd been through, the hope I had of being well, was literally wiped away.

Tearfully, I called my doctor who had me come in wednesday. The fistula, had indeed re-opened. It's not opened very far, but far enough to cause me grief. If it opens all the way, there's more surgery, and a colostomy bag in my future. There is a chance it could close on it's own. I'm giving it up to God, because I don't want to get my hopes up, only to end up broken once more. I know that whatever God decides, I'll deal with. He's never put more on me than I can stand, although there are times I really wonder why He trusts me so much.

The only bright spot in all of this is that my precious baby is home with us, safe, and healthy. She's growing and thriving. Although her start in this world was a rough one, she's growing and thriving. I know that I have to be strong for her, right now, it's just hard. One way or another, I'll survive.