How You Doin’?

In the past week I’ve had an overwhelming amount of people ask how I’m doing. I’m very thankful everyone is concerned and appreciate all the well wishes. I don’t mean to purposely not reply, but some hours are better than others and sometimes the literal effort it takes to type a message is just too much. I know that sounds silly. It does.

I don’t mean to ignore anyone, but putting my real feelings into words sometimes makes it worse and I’m just not into sending the generic “doing well” when I’m actually not.

Some of you know the traumatic experience I had after delivery, some of you do not. In reality, it probably isn’t as bad as I made it out to be in my head—I’m not really sure, as I am non-clinical and when the nurses and doctors tried to explain to me what was going on, all I could think about was an article I stupidly read a week before delivering from IHI (Institute for Healthcare Improvement) regarding maternal mortality.

So to sum it up with the facts I do know/remember/what Jacob has told me, I had postpartum hemorrhage, lost almost three times the amount of blood you’re supposed to, had a blood transfusion or two, passed out a bunch of times, went through a whole box of smelling salts (I’m pretty proud of that one–the nurses had never seen that before), went into shock, and eventually thanked the covering physician for not letting me die when things improved. This all probably isn’t that bad, except I don’t do needles, I don’t do IVs, I don’t do blood, and I don’t do well even talking about it. So for me, it was traumatic.

Luckily for me, I had the most amazing nurses/staff/physician and support I could have asked for. Granted I yelled a few F Bombs when they blew my veins, I wasn’t mad at them, I was actually appreciative for the great care they provided.

I can’t pretend I wasn’t scared while all of this was happening. I was downright terrified. I cried (like a little baby), not going to lie about that. I begged Jacob to call a close friend who I knew would be there in a heartbeat, and she was. She reassured me the nurses and doctor knew what they were doing- all while keeping a close eye on things I’m sure, but more importantly was there to just calm me down and ease my anxiety. Friend, I cannot thank you enough for those hours (or however long it actually was) that you were there.

We stayed an extra day to make sure my hemoglobin would be ok and finally got to come home Sunday afternoon. The days from there on out are pretty much a big blur. I function, somewhat. I remember a little. But it’s kinda like the days are a big fog. Hence why I’m probably not replying to your messages. Sometimes I read them when I wake up from a nap and go back to sleep. Sometimes I read them on my Fitbit but never actually go get my phone. And sometimes I start to type something and get distracted and never hit send. So I am sorry. Please know that I’m not ignoring you for any reason other than I probably just don’t have my shit together that day. My goal most days is to shower. Once I’ve accomplished that, I’m not promising anything. And guess what? For me, that’s ok. Maybe that isn’t up to your standards, but it fits perfectly into mine.

And another thing I would like to address- for anyone who wants to judge a new mom, about anything: Don’t. Don’t you dare. Especially if you have no idea what postpartum is about. I’ve seen Facebook posts about you don’t deserve to be a parent if you forget your child is in the car. Well let me tell you something, in the short ten minute drive from Montrose to Dieterich, I can think about 17 million things, none of which include remembering I have a newborn in the back seat. I’m lucky if I remember to put my seatbelt on. (No, I am not driving and I’ve not actually left my baby in the car). You have no idea how many things are going through a mom’s mind and just intensify that when doubling it with postpartum, you have zero idea about knowing.

So to the other struggling mamas out there- you’re doing just fine! Take a shower, or don’t. Take a nap, or don’t. Do the laundry, or don’t. I’m not judging a thing you do, because I can’t even keep track of myself. So to everyone I’ve ignored, this is how I’m doin’.