The post where I see lizards! But I guess I like them

So I've met Ella, that Thursday morning. I'll move through the rest of Thursday and Friday here, so I can get to Saturday in the next post, then zoom through. At some point, I need to get to the present.

One thing I did forget was that after I kind of came to after being taken back to my room, at some point, I remember that I was desperately thirsty and virtually begged for water. They wouldn't let me have any until after I'd had my own, erm, bowel activity. Sorry. Something about how my stomach would swell up and I'd explode if I got water and my innards hadn't returned to normal, independent function after the natural shutdown that occurs with the surgery. So they let me have an ice chip or two. One nurse did let me have a glass of water after I promised not to swallow but only swish, but GROUCHY ASS nurse stared killer eyes at me (undoubtedly envisioning me as I burst into tiny bloody pieces) and that didn't last long. But it was another of those intense moments of gratitude, where I would have sold my soul for a Super Big Gulp cup of Third World country water.

Thursday. There were so many little things, as has been the case with all these posts, that I won't remember. I called people to let them know what happened. I had panic attacks. I watched TV. What stands out are the following memories.

At some point during the morning, I think after I was back in the room just after seeing my daughter, I was trying desperately to sleep but could not. As I would sink into that tipping point, I would find myself gasping for air. Even though I could once again take deep breaths without any oxygen (that's how quickly the slide began to reverse) and could prove it to myself, I could not calm down enough to let myself go.

The nurse came into sit with me while I tried to sleep, and it was the same pattern. Terror overcame the point of release into sleep. Eventually, she went and got something to put into my IV, and I did sleep. Later, the social worker came to talk to me again. I had other visitors, too, to discuss the experience and to apologize and this and that and the other.

At some point this day, I was moved onto a different floor, into the post-partum recovery room. This was a ridiculous thing, too, and I'll try to explain why. This room was for EVERY recovering mother and family. It didn't matter if you'd lost your baby or your birth was traumatic. It was the same procedure for everyone, including this ridiculous white board where they'd erase and fill in details, such as who your nurse was at the moment and what your "tasks" were. (My "task" was to pump every three hours, which I found utterly ridiculous because what would be the point when my baby wouldn't make it?)

And there was one of those dorky posters with the cartoon drawings of people, about what to expect, either if you'd delivered vaginally or C-section, and how you needed to take your baby for a hearing screen and a post-release checkup within a certain amount of days. Except I wouldn't be going home with my baby and thanks the fuck for the reminder ...

A lactation chick came to teach me how to use the pump. I don't remember a single word of what she said. I just remembered her face, and when I ran into her again a few weeks later, I told her I didn't remember a single thing.

More tests to check my post-delivery health.

And at night, my dad and sister came. By this point I was able to get myself into the wheelchair with slight assistance from them. Because I couldn't yet exactly walk (that was on my "tasks" list on that stupid-ass white board), I had to take an elevator up a floor to the NICU ... except when we got to the elevators, the fire department was conducting a drill and the elevators were not working. Staff randomly walking by assured us the drills never lasted long, but it did. Eventually, I sent my sister and dad to see Ella and I sat in front of the elevators in my wheelchair bawling. I didn't see Ella then, though I did go back later.

It was the first time my dad saw his granddaughter. He's never told me this (my sister did much later), but at this point he didn't believe either that Ella would live.

They went home, and the nurses wet themselves (hah!) waiting for me to be able to pee on my own for the first time (no more catheter.) I was surprised, too, that I'd have to worry about bleeding. Duh, it's all connected to the same places, but after nothing else was normal, why would I have expected that to be?

More extreme panic as I cannot find sleep in the gasping and choking for air, and more of the mystery drug.

Friday. I went on my own (after being helped into the wheelchair) to visit Ella again. I remember this time because I guess I must've been showing some ass because Claudia (the NICU nurse) sweetly and subtly adjusted my gown.

More tests.

At one point, I was visited by a doctor leading a group of maybe four or five med students. He came in (didn't bother to ask) and asked me questions about the experience, explaining my "case" to the students first. Random questions about my health, my life. And then, I swear to god, he actually took off his glasses, held them in a hand that also held a pen, chewed on the end of a temple and regarded me. I actually said, "You are going to ask me about my childhood now, aren't you?" And I'll be damned if he didn't do just that!!

Friends came to visit this day, one bringing chocolate and rubbing my feet, another bringing a sweet little stuffed rabbit and a desperately needed book on premature babies. I took one to see the baby. And I received phone calls from friends, family and friends of friends. Thank you all; I love you all so much.

All the while, I was becoming more exhausted, but I was terrified about falling asleep. So I begged my family to stay with me that night, because I was so scared. My dad "slept" on a horrible hospital couch/chair setup he made in the waiting room, and my sister slept in the room with me. And here comes a story that's already become a family legend.

As I was drifting off to sleep (AGAIN after they'd ended up having to give me something to knock me out because the panic stole my dreams), I muttered something. My sister said, "What did you say?" And I, in my drug-sleep-induced state, replied in a very enthusiastically bright voice, "Lizards! I see lizards!" To which my sister understandably said, "WHAT?!" And I replied, "lizards!" in a very happy, content voice. And then began to snore.

Of course, I remember none of this. She could be making it up.