Let's keep it trucking with my second pregnancy story.
So, liver issue. That shit had me fucked up and really upset from September 2018 and all of 2019.
I never really planned on having a second kid... maybe like three years down the road.
My main goal after having my first kid was to get healthy... I needed to lose weight and let my liver heal.
Everything was going fine, I was bonding with my baby, and I was once again enjoying the taste and sight of food. I was having a shit time trying to recover from the c-section, contracting an infection twice. I was four months postpartum when the damn fucking incision stopped bleeding... that's how shit-tastic that experience was. You learn a lot about your body parts when they get fucked up... like the fact that coagulating factor is made in the goddamn liver.
In June we were doing some remodeling at the house-- replacing the floors, to be exact-- so we were temporarily living only upstairs, downstairs being forbidden due to all the dust etc etc.
I could just feel my body being different. I fucking KNEW I was pregnant even if my I was only a week late.
Out of rage, I decided to go to the grocery store for a pregnancy test with the excuse of getting everyone food since we couldn't cook.
Upon coming home I went straight for the bathroom and peed on the stick. I wasn't scared, I wasn't excited, I was just... hyper aware what the fucking result was going to be.
Sure enough, fucking ten seconds into the wait the damn line appears.
I angrily opened the bathroom door, walked over to my husband, and threw the pregnancy test directly at the back of his head... piss still shaking off the stick.
"I TOLD YOU THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN! I FUCKING TOLD YOU!"
He laughed. Shit only made me angrier.
"I can't do this right now, man! I'm supposed to lose weight and heal my fucking liver! We could have at least waited until August, after my gastro appointment. Fuck, man! I don't even know if I'll be able to keep it!"
So, I made an appointment with my doctor and waited to see what the verdict would be.
My doctor was ecstatic to see me back... then noticed I wasn't too happy. I asked a couple of stupid questions (like "Will my incision pop back open?!") and she reassured me all would be well.
To prevent any drama like the first pregnancy, they put me on some aspirin and some other shit in hopes of curbing any potential preeclampsia (it's something like 90% sure you'll have it again in the following pregnancy. Some hardcore bullshit). Everything was so "good" I wasn't even considered "high risk" this time.
My barfing spells picked back up around the time I went to my first doctor's visit. The sessions weren't as extreme as with my first little bean, but they were still daily. With this baby, I couldn't even stomach water. I had daydreams about pounding water more than I did anything else. This baby only let me drink whole milk and cranberry juice, and only let me eat bread and tortillas... and cheese.
I once again had a subchorionic hemorrhage, which forced me into bedrest. They also decided I needed to take progesterone for two weeks after my blood panel came in. That medication gave me some crazy fucking dreams.
I found myself very sad most of the time, mainly because I couldn't give my first baby any attention. I would constantly apologize to him for not being able to hold him or play with him.
I couldn't bend over much, my belly was big very fast.
Then came the sugar tests around October. In my first pregnancy I passed the glucose test with flying colors. This time? I failed. I cried so much, mainly because I am terrified of diabetes.
I had to go back in a week later for the "three hour test" where they have to check my glucose levels for three fucking hours. This longer test I passed, however, each doctor visit would reveal glucose in my piss... so the doctor thought perhaps I was dancing around the borderline.
My bean was also measuring FOUR FUCKING WEEKS ahead of schedule so red flags started waving for my doctor and nurses.
"Where trying to figure out why this baby is so big. While it's obvious you make big babies, this baby is... this baby is very big."
They thought perhaps my "borderline diabetes" might be to blame for my giant baby (my first was a big baby, but he was only measuring two weeks ahead), so they told me to ACT like a diabetic... eat like one.
In December, I was given a fucking glucose monitor and I had to check my blood four times a day... it was so fucking shitty. I'm the biggest chicken when it comes to pricking my finger... the suspense fucking kills me.
Anyway, it was also around this time when everything went to hell. My "good" pregnancy entered "Scary" territory and I had to be monitored weekly after New Year's Day. My liver enzyme levels had once again gone to shit (oh yeah, by August I was back to complete normalcy, as though nothing had happened), my glucose was still doing it's little dance, and my blood pressure was starting to climb.
The weirdest symptom I felt was when I started feeling incredibly itchy... I would wake up in the middle of the night to realize I had been scratching the palms of my hands and soles of my feet while I was sleeping.
I ran the question of "Is it normal to feel this itchy?" to my doctor, and she freaked out. She prescribed me some Ursodiol "to help with the itching." She also directed me to some perinatal specialists as well as my gastroenterologist.
She wanted to induce me by week 38 (you can actually schedule a c-section at week 39, which was what my original date was set at because I was also getting my tubes tied. You need special permission/illness to get the baby earlier than that), but required more support from her peers. She sent me to as many doctors as possible to get them to agree with her on getting my ass cut up.
It was a Thursday and I was one day shy of 37 weeks when I went to the perinatal specialist (it was mainly for shits and giggles, since my doctor had managed to bump my date to the following Monday. She got this to happen because my bile acids test showed I was cholestatic, meaning my blood was poisoning my baby). As I was getting my ultrasound done, the tech noted the baby "had zero movement" which freaked everyone out at the office.
Little bean had been SUPER active my entire pregnancy, I first felt him at 10 weeks. By December, I could see his entire body ripping me up... however, lately he would only move at certain times of the day, not nearly as wildly.
I had a second ultrasound where the little bean finally moved, but caused the docs to put me on monitoring for an hour.
Little Bean went back to not moving.
After another half hour, the specialist came in with MY doctor on the phone and told me this shit made him nervous. He said he didn't feel comfortable letting me go home for the weekend with this type of issue going on.
After my six month visit, my doctor kept harping about stillbirth, and I remember it caught my attention because she never said this in my first pregnancy. Now at this perinatal appointment this was exactly what they were telling me.
After leaving me in the room alone for about ten minutes, I cried my eyes out... I could hear them discussing whether or not to have me rush over to the emergency room. I cried so fucking much, I threw up the apple-flavored Juicy Juice and ritz crackers they had given me for a snack.
When the doctor walked back in, he very calmly but sternly told me to go to my DOCTOR doctor, where they would continue the monitoring me.
Literally ten minutes into my appointment with my real doctor (it was supposed to be an hour-long monitoring session) they told me to pack my bags, I was going to deliver the baby the next day.
I cried again.
Wait, what? What is happening?
So... I went ahead and packed my shit for this sudden change of plans.
This time around I was prepared for what was to come. I didn't have to push. I didn't have to sit there and get induced. I walked into the hospital at 3pm, got checked in, changed into my robe, and waited for them to cart me out of my room at 4:15pm.
They had me getting my spinal tap around 4:20pm (this was a little different to the epidural. It sucked more). Baby was out at 4:34pm.
Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
Recovery sucked again. I fainted in the bathroom while taking my first shower... scared the shit out of my nurses. I do remember sitting on the toilet and looking at my nurse saying "I think... I'm going to faint" and her laughing saying "Girl, you did. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You're ghost white." Then the other nurse that looked like Kourtney Kardashian complimented my eyelashes for being so naturally long, dark, and curled (Ma'am, that's sweet and everything, but I just don't want to die right now, yeah?).
I was able to go home after three days... even if I vomited a few times and felt radiating pain on my back and chest.
Two days out of the hospital I had those creepy, intense chills, as well as an annoying cough.
I couldn't take care of my babies because I was sick and didn't want to get them sick.
I also had massive, debilitating headaches for at least five hours of the day, every day.... for a month.
Yep. Those are my pregnancy/delivery stories.
Luckily I have cauterized my fucking tubes, so I know this will never happen to me again. I love the shit out of my kids... but FUCK ever doing it again.
So, liver issue. That shit had me fucked up and really upset from September 2018 and all of 2019.
I never really planned on having a second kid... maybe like three years down the road.
My main goal after having my first kid was to get healthy... I needed to lose weight and let my liver heal.
Everything was going fine, I was bonding with my baby, and I was once again enjoying the taste and sight of food. I was having a shit time trying to recover from the c-section, contracting an infection twice. I was four months postpartum when the damn fucking incision stopped bleeding... that's how shit-tastic that experience was. You learn a lot about your body parts when they get fucked up... like the fact that coagulating factor is made in the goddamn liver.
In June we were doing some remodeling at the house-- replacing the floors, to be exact-- so we were temporarily living only upstairs, downstairs being forbidden due to all the dust etc etc.
I could just feel my body being different. I fucking KNEW I was pregnant even if my I was only a week late.
Out of rage, I decided to go to the grocery store for a pregnancy test with the excuse of getting everyone food since we couldn't cook.
Upon coming home I went straight for the bathroom and peed on the stick. I wasn't scared, I wasn't excited, I was just... hyper aware what the fucking result was going to be.
Sure enough, fucking ten seconds into the wait the damn line appears.
I angrily opened the bathroom door, walked over to my husband, and threw the pregnancy test directly at the back of his head... piss still shaking off the stick.
"I TOLD YOU THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN! I FUCKING TOLD YOU!"
He laughed. Shit only made me angrier.
"I can't do this right now, man! I'm supposed to lose weight and heal my fucking liver! We could have at least waited until August, after my gastro appointment. Fuck, man! I don't even know if I'll be able to keep it!"
So, I made an appointment with my doctor and waited to see what the verdict would be.
My doctor was ecstatic to see me back... then noticed I wasn't too happy. I asked a couple of stupid questions (like "Will my incision pop back open?!") and she reassured me all would be well.
To prevent any drama like the first pregnancy, they put me on some aspirin and some other shit in hopes of curbing any potential preeclampsia (it's something like 90% sure you'll have it again in the following pregnancy. Some hardcore bullshit). Everything was so "good" I wasn't even considered "high risk" this time.
My barfing spells picked back up around the time I went to my first doctor's visit. The sessions weren't as extreme as with my first little bean, but they were still daily. With this baby, I couldn't even stomach water. I had daydreams about pounding water more than I did anything else. This baby only let me drink whole milk and cranberry juice, and only let me eat bread and tortillas... and cheese.
I once again had a subchorionic hemorrhage, which forced me into bedrest. They also decided I needed to take progesterone for two weeks after my blood panel came in. That medication gave me some crazy fucking dreams.
I found myself very sad most of the time, mainly because I couldn't give my first baby any attention. I would constantly apologize to him for not being able to hold him or play with him.
I couldn't bend over much, my belly was big very fast.
Then came the sugar tests around October. In my first pregnancy I passed the glucose test with flying colors. This time? I failed. I cried so much, mainly because I am terrified of diabetes.
I had to go back in a week later for the "three hour test" where they have to check my glucose levels for three fucking hours. This longer test I passed, however, each doctor visit would reveal glucose in my piss... so the doctor thought perhaps I was dancing around the borderline.
My bean was also measuring FOUR FUCKING WEEKS ahead of schedule so red flags started waving for my doctor and nurses.
"Where trying to figure out why this baby is so big. While it's obvious you make big babies, this baby is... this baby is very big."
They thought perhaps my "borderline diabetes" might be to blame for my giant baby (my first was a big baby, but he was only measuring two weeks ahead), so they told me to ACT like a diabetic... eat like one.
In December, I was given a fucking glucose monitor and I had to check my blood four times a day... it was so fucking shitty. I'm the biggest chicken when it comes to pricking my finger... the suspense fucking kills me.
Anyway, it was also around this time when everything went to hell. My "good" pregnancy entered "Scary" territory and I had to be monitored weekly after New Year's Day. My liver enzyme levels had once again gone to shit (oh yeah, by August I was back to complete normalcy, as though nothing had happened), my glucose was still doing it's little dance, and my blood pressure was starting to climb.
The weirdest symptom I felt was when I started feeling incredibly itchy... I would wake up in the middle of the night to realize I had been scratching the palms of my hands and soles of my feet while I was sleeping.
I ran the question of "Is it normal to feel this itchy?" to my doctor, and she freaked out. She prescribed me some Ursodiol "to help with the itching." She also directed me to some perinatal specialists as well as my gastroenterologist.
She wanted to induce me by week 38 (you can actually schedule a c-section at week 39, which was what my original date was set at because I was also getting my tubes tied. You need special permission/illness to get the baby earlier than that), but required more support from her peers. She sent me to as many doctors as possible to get them to agree with her on getting my ass cut up.
It was a Thursday and I was one day shy of 37 weeks when I went to the perinatal specialist (it was mainly for shits and giggles, since my doctor had managed to bump my date to the following Monday. She got this to happen because my bile acids test showed I was cholestatic, meaning my blood was poisoning my baby). As I was getting my ultrasound done, the tech noted the baby "had zero movement" which freaked everyone out at the office.
Little bean had been SUPER active my entire pregnancy, I first felt him at 10 weeks. By December, I could see his entire body ripping me up... however, lately he would only move at certain times of the day, not nearly as wildly.
I had a second ultrasound where the little bean finally moved, but caused the docs to put me on monitoring for an hour.
Little Bean went back to not moving.
After another half hour, the specialist came in with MY doctor on the phone and told me this shit made him nervous. He said he didn't feel comfortable letting me go home for the weekend with this type of issue going on.
After my six month visit, my doctor kept harping about stillbirth, and I remember it caught my attention because she never said this in my first pregnancy. Now at this perinatal appointment this was exactly what they were telling me.
After leaving me in the room alone for about ten minutes, I cried my eyes out... I could hear them discussing whether or not to have me rush over to the emergency room. I cried so fucking much, I threw up the apple-flavored Juicy Juice and ritz crackers they had given me for a snack.
When the doctor walked back in, he very calmly but sternly told me to go to my DOCTOR doctor, where they would continue the monitoring me.
Literally ten minutes into my appointment with my real doctor (it was supposed to be an hour-long monitoring session) they told me to pack my bags, I was going to deliver the baby the next day.
I cried again.
Wait, what? What is happening?
So... I went ahead and packed my shit for this sudden change of plans.
This time around I was prepared for what was to come. I didn't have to push. I didn't have to sit there and get induced. I walked into the hospital at 3pm, got checked in, changed into my robe, and waited for them to cart me out of my room at 4:15pm.
They had me getting my spinal tap around 4:20pm (this was a little different to the epidural. It sucked more). Baby was out at 4:34pm.
Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
Recovery sucked again. I fainted in the bathroom while taking my first shower... scared the shit out of my nurses. I do remember sitting on the toilet and looking at my nurse saying "I think... I'm going to faint" and her laughing saying "Girl, you did. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You're ghost white." Then the other nurse that looked like Kourtney Kardashian complimented my eyelashes for being so naturally long, dark, and curled (Ma'am, that's sweet and everything, but I just don't want to die right now, yeah?).
I was able to go home after three days... even if I vomited a few times and felt radiating pain on my back and chest.
Two days out of the hospital I had those creepy, intense chills, as well as an annoying cough.
I couldn't take care of my babies because I was sick and didn't want to get them sick.
I also had massive, debilitating headaches for at least five hours of the day, every day.... for a month.
Yep. Those are my pregnancy/delivery stories.
Luckily I have cauterized my fucking tubes, so I know this will never happen to me again. I love the shit out of my kids... but FUCK ever doing it again.
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