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Wednesday, December 28, 2011

WHEN AISHA WAS BORN -2

Where were we last time? Ah yes, I was carried away in a tricycle from the OR to the O and G ward. I remember it being a really bumpy ride and me admonishing the driver to be gentle and careful. He had to stop a couple of times for me to catch my breath. Dear God, the pain was excruciating. I also recall being so hot and having a battle with the sheets that were on me. I'd take it off and someone would cover me up again. Didn't whoever it was realize I was feeling so hot?  It turns out I was stark naked and out of the OR and there were patient-visitors around! My poor hubby must have been stunned by my nudity in public! I'm the kind of patient that doesn’t keep how I feel to myself. Life's too short for that.
Then came the horrible part of transferring me to the bed. When I heard the matron in charge say "on my count of three" I just screamed out "noooo, wait, just wait, leave me here. I'm OK here" then I drifted back to sleep. She somehow managed to count to three and "aaarrgh." Torture. Unmodernized, advanced torture. I pray no such for anyone. But I was on the bed. So uncomfortable, didn't know if I wanted it raised or lowered, or if I needed pillows or not. One mistake I made though was shifting from my side to my back. I was stuck on that position for 5 days; every movement was a cry for help!

Night 1 (post surgery, PS): was a really rough night for myself and the doctor on call. He was instructed by my consulting gynecologist to take my blood sample every 4 hours for hematocrit and hemoglobin level checks. He also had to check my liver (by palpation) every 2 hours. But I couldn’t bare to be touched, not for anything except for my pain killers and I wanted it I.V and I had to know the dose. So, he would come close and say, "Fati, please I want to take your blood sample?" I would keep repeating, very agitatedly too. "Don’t touch me, don’t come near me."
How we got through that night is just the grace of God!

Day1/Night 2 PS: I begged for water. I was thirsty. Very badly. I begged for my pain meds. I was in pain. Very badly too. The pain meds were right there in front of me, but I couldn’t reach them. Lord knows, if I could, I would have injected myself. I told my doctor that and he was really impressed by my honesty!
Everyone who knew me came to congratulate me, "Madame congratulations, you should get well soon to see your baby, she is a beauty, very strong despite her tiny size." It was the same congratulatory comment I received. I was proud. I was beaming with joy. I was eager to get well. I was greatful for His mercies and the wonderful team of pediatricians (nurses and doctors) and gynecologists (doctors and nurses) taking care of my baby and I.
My husband (now ex) could only tell me how tiny she was, how scared he was to pick her up, how his riffle weighed more than her. But that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on. Said she had my hair texture (amen) and may probably take my petite statue (that would be superrific!)
Night was hot and painful and I felt dehydrated despite the drips I was on.

Day2/Night3 PS: I used what little strength I had in me to beg for water. My lips were chapped, my tongue felt sticky, my saliva was thick and my throat was dry. "I will die o!" was all I kept saying to anyone that came close enough to hear me. My veins were collapsing; new and painful sites on my body were pricked. I was too tired to even flinch! I was still on my back. I couldn’t breathe at night, it hurt to exhale, and it hurt to sit up even with support. It hurt to be cleaned and changed. It hurt to pee (even with a catheter on). It just hurt to be me.
The consulting pediatrician came to personally tell me how my girl was faring. She is a survivor, the daughter of a survivor. I needed to want to get well, and soon too.

Day3/Night4 PS: all glory be to God, I was given the go ahead to have my very first sip of water. My bowel movement sound was A-OK! (to me it was S-Starving). I was to have just 5 Eva bottle cap of water every 3 hours. OMG! The bottle was right there beside me, if only I could just reach out a bit further…..
By now, breathing was a problem for me especially exhaling. I had to change position, I had to sit up, that’s what the doctors and nurses kept encouraging me to do. My ex kept trying to lift me to sitting position, my 'nanny's' tried to balance me but it was damn too painful, the incision site felt raw, the surrounding site felt pulled towards it. Moving any muscle was not a good idea as far as I was concerned. Breathing was a total effort, the only solution was to raise the head of the bed and prop me up with pillows. Then I had to be on oxygen for the rest of the night.
It was a really long night for me.

6 comments:

  1. Captivating, this blogger is one hell of a writer, got to bookmark this blog

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  2. AH! *breath of relief* Mr Kizito isn't here
    Couldn't read this post well, was too graphic (and thus discouraging) for me. I'ld appreciate a more subtle version (maybe when we meet :))

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  3. ahahahahahah =)) maybe thats why it was discouraging for you to read. Insha Allah, its one of my favourite stories :D

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  4. Its really touching and courageous..u r rlly a brave woman,cant wait to read da next episode

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    1. Jazak Allah khair. I am so grateful you took the time to follow the stories. Thank you <3

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