Nightmares of a New Mom

Warning: this is going to be long. But I haven't chronicled this part of Isla's birth story anywhere, and wanted to write it down. 

My life changed momentously and magically when I had Isla.


But here is something about me: I hate hospitals. I loathe them, in fact, and if I could have done a home-midwife type of birth, I would have. Since we moved to a very, very rural community (77 miles to the hospital kind of rural), I just didn't have that option.

Anyway, after I had Isla, my doctor said everything looked good and we could go home the next day.
I was relieved, because I hated the hospital and just wanted to head home. Furthermore, thanks to documentaries like "The Business of Being Born" I was plagued with a deep distrust of anyone in a white coat.

My distrust was further exacerbated by the pediatrician who cooed and awed about how healthy and beautiful Isla was, yet told us that we had to stay another night or else drive the 77 miles back to the hospital tomorrow for a checkup.

I was weak. I was in pain. I was hormonal and not my usual self. I stayed.

Isla was born on a Monday. We went home on Wednesday, and the Pediatrician insisted on a follow-up appointment that Friday.

I remember being irritated. I hadn't even picked the pediatrician, she was just the one on call. She had ridiculous animal stethoscope covers and I loathed her freaky baby talk. I also hated the fact that she'd made us stay an extra, wholly unnecessary day in the confines of the hospital.

But alas, it was our first road trip. Isla was doing great at home and although I was nervous about the endeavor, it had to be done, right? (Wrong! But I didn't know that then!)

We drove the 77 miles to the hospital, and though I was anxious to feed Isla, I waited, thinking I'd have plenty of stress free time after the appointment.

But I got bad news. Isla had lost more weight--still within the normal 10%, but certainly not ideal. They also wanted to check her jaundice levels.

So I marched myself over to the lab to have her blood taken.
And that was awful. The technician tried to take blood from my six pound, five day old baby's arm! What?! I started bawling. Then I started apologizing. But she was all too kind, and let me nurse Isla, and even gave me juice and crackers. And told me to take as long as I needed. Which I did, because what a terrible day....the pediatrician was threatening to admit us back into the hospital. So I calmed Isla down and fed her, and then the heel prick came, and Isla kicked her foot as hard as she could and screamed and screamed.

Well, the bilirubin was a tad bit higher than normal. That's the stuff that causes jaundice.

And that awful pediatrician sat me down and basically said, "Look, you can be a good mom and admit yourself to the hospital, or you can be a bad crack mom and take the bili blanket home."

I was bawling so much I couldn't even tell my husband what she was saying. She had to take the phone from me and tell him what was going on.

How cruel and awful, right? If you're a doctor and you can see how visibly upset staying at the hospital makes someone,  and it wasn't an absolute necessity, wouldn't you try to offer them an alternative route?

I admitted us to the hospital, bawling the whole time. Hormones five days post-partum are not a pretty thing.

The next few hours were hellish. I was new at this. I had no idea how to advocate for what I wanted and frankly, it is terrifying to see your tiny little newborn laid in, essentially, a tanning bed. The doctor had prescribed supplemental feeding for Isla, and when the thought of formula made me bawl the nurse literally rolled her eyes at me. I wasn't trying to be a hormonal mess, but I thought that was pretty awful of that nurse. Who also called Isla "eezla" and told me I might be there for weeks. If I ever see her again I'm punching her in the throat.

The lactation person who came in to start the supplemental feedings was, blessedly, more understanding of my tears. "Ok," she said. "I'm bringing you in a breast pump. We'll see what you pump and if you pump enough than we won't have to do formula."

Thankfully there was plenty. I pumped like a madwoman all through the night.

We got to go home the next day as long as I came back on Monday. But by this time I had done plenty of research via my ipod and the hospital's free wifi and realized that I actually got to make choices like who my baby's doctor was. Amazing, right? ;) Not really. But I was new at this. And it didn't occur to me until then.

Also, by Saturday, when I was still hormonal, sore from pumping ever 1.5 hours (truly, I did that. Isn't that nuts?) and operating on less than 3 hours of sleep, I really, truly, deeply loathed that woman.


So when she said come back Monday, I can't be blamed for snorting a little. Can I? Honey, I thought, I would rather be forced to claw my own eyeballs out than ever look at you again! 
"Can I take her to the clinic at home?" I asked. 
Not an option.
I picked another big city about 70 miles from our town in the opposite direction. Viable option.
Also a viable option? My hometown, only another hour to the south of the hospital we were in currently. Bonus: my mom could go with me. I was not ever going to the hospital solo again, just in case the doctor wants to take advantage of my scared hormonal mess-ness and admit me.

I think I hurt her feelings. She acted kind of upset. But I hated her. And I didn't care. And I was not going back on Monday.

It was amazing the difference at the hospital in my hometown. While Isla had screamed during the needle prick at the first hospital, she barely noticed this one. While the pediatrician had bullied me into admitting Isla at the first hospital, this doctor thoroughly examined my baby, held her, and played with her, declaring her as healthy as a horse. He also took a minute to focus on me, and made sure to tell me--"you have a beautiful baby. It is very, very obvious that she is loved and taken care of. You need to calm down. You are doing a good job. Stop waking her up in the night to feed her-she will wake up when she is hungry. You need more sleep. You need to not be so hard on yourself."

And his prescription for getting the bilirubin down? No bili lights, no bili blanket....
"Lay her in a sunny spot in just her diaper." He also expressed his surprise that the first pediatrician had admitted us.

And guess what? That little six pounder is now a whopping 15 pounds, in only four months.

Also, guess what? The pediatrician had told me not to get a doctor at our local clinic because "family practitioners just aren't comfortable around babies," was proved totally wrong by the fact that Isla has an amazing, intelligent, calm, kind, and funny doctor here. Who does everything that stupid pediatrician did.

And guess what else? We have never gone back to that awful pediatrician since.

For my next baby, I will know. I will know that I can choose things, and I will know not to let myself be bullied into doing things that aren't the best choices for us. Glad I learned that lesson. ;)