Blog Day 14

Share something that isn't widely known about you.

I almost died after giving birth to my daughter...It was 1989, back in Charleston, SC that we were living.  I went into labor at 4 a.m. and my daughter was born exactly at noon.  I had planned on having her naturally, but by 11 a.m. they broke my water at the hospital and found there was baby's stool in the water and her heartbeat was not healthy, so they decided to do a C-section. When I woke up from the anesthesia, they told me I had a girl, and I was ecstatic, and it was Thursday, February 16, 1989.  I fed the baby regularly, had visitors, and proceeded to get to know my little baby girl.  All was good...they removed half of my staples and sent me home on Monday and wanted me to come back Wednesday to remove the rest of the staples. 

At home life was obviously different with a new baby...how often does she need to eat, how often does she need a change of her diaper, three months to get to know each other.  I believe it was on Tuesday I started feeling something...whenever it was time to feed the baby and I had to sit up to do so, something didn't feel right.  It felt like I had diaper rash, a burning sensation down below.  My husband thought I was just being lazy and didn't want to feed the baby (men!).  On Wednesday we went to the doctor to have the other staples removed.  The doctor said my stomach was a little firm, but wasn't concerned.  We went home and proceeded to live our lives. 

On Thursday morning I got up and took my shower.  I noticed a bruise on my stomach, maybe about the size of my little fingernail.  Called in my husband and he insisted I call the doctor.  So I did.  My doctor was on vacation, so I talked to his partner.  He said based on where I told him it was located, the size, etc. that it was just a bruise from the surgery, and should it change in shape, color or size to give him a call.  End of phone call.  So the next morning, Friday, I get up and take my shower, and look at my stomach, and lo and behold, the bruise is as large as my fist.  Panic.  We call the doctor again, and he says to meet him in his office in 30 minutes.  We got dressed and headed for the doctor's office.  He took us into the examination room, laid me on the table and took a 6" Q-tip, stuck it down in my incision, and pulled it out.  It was completely black.  He said, "we are going to surgery NOW".  Appears I had gangrene.  Before I went into surgery I asked him point blank, "What's going to happen to me?" and he said "You are either going to live, or there's a possibility you are going to die.  Surgery is never a guarantee."  I was petrified of dying. 

I believe the surgery took 3-4 hours, I can't remember that far back, and when I woke up I was so groggy.  They kept me well sedated for about 4 days, and in Intensive Care.  What they did was to leave my stomach open for 10 days so that I could heal from the inside out.  The gangrene did not hit the fascia wall, so the doctor said I was lucky.  Every 8 hours they would come in, give me a shot of pain medicine, and literally hold me down while the doctor unpacked the cheesecloth with the dead cells, and repack my stomach (deriding).  The medicine they gave me was not enough to kill the pain, so after they did this procedure, they gave me another shot of medicine.  You cannot believe how painful that was, and it happened every 8 hours for 4 days.  Towards the last day, the doctor came in and said I was doing very well, the stomach looked so healthy and would I like to see it...I said "Hell, no".  I was too scared.

As I said, they left my stomach open for 10 days, then I had another surgery to close me up.  I was in the hospital for a total of 10 days, and during that time I was away from my baby.  I cried myself to sleep every night, I missed her so much.  I couldn't see her while I was in ICU, but after they put me into a room by myself, Charles and the baby came to spend the night.  I was in a fit whenever she wasn't with me, and when I couldn't reach Charles I got even more worried.  Charles was a full blown alcoholic and he would take the baby to the bar with him, or in the car driving drunk. I didn't know that at the time, but my mind went everywhere wondering where they were.  He also didn't bring her to the hospital when I asked...he brought her in his own good time, and that made me very sad.  I missed her terribly.

I finally got out of the hospital after 2 weeks, and we went home.  I asked Charles  a couple days before being released to make sure the house was clean so I wouldn't have to worry about it...he said no problem.  I was released on a Saturday, and on the way home we got stopped by the police for a burned out tail light.  Of course Charles didn't have a license (he was driving), so he got arrested, and I had to follow him to the jail and bail him out.  The doctor had told me I shouldn't drive for 6 weeks, hahaha.  Then when we finally got home, I got a look at the house.  Dirty dishes everywhere, dirty diapers everywhere, dirty sheets on the bed.  He didn't clean the house at all, and as a result of my surgery, it took me 2 weeks to get everything cleaned and picked up. 

It took me a year and a half before I quit having nightmares.  Of course after the first week, I didn't get to breast feed my baby because of the medicines they had me on.  And because I was in the hospital for 2 weeks, that interrupted my maternity leave by 2 weeks, and that went by so fast.  I have the most horrific scar from the surgery, and the worst part about the whole thing was that I couldn't get a lawyer to take my case.  When I asked the doctor numerous times what caused the gangrene, he said "sometimes it's just in your body, and comes out when it wants"...how ludicrous was that answer.
He was the partner of the doctor that did the surgery...the doctor that did the surgery never came by to see me, by the way.

Anyway, I'm blessed to be alive 28 years later, with a beautiful daughter, and 2 beautiful granddaughters.  Every time I think of that time, I know I am so lucky to be alive, and grateful to God.