Pooping after pregnancy-- an important business opputinity for post partum Doulas

I have two favorite things to yell from the bathroom while I poop.*

The first is "KEEP FIRING, ASSHOLES!!!" From the classic movie, Spaceballs. The other is "WHO DOES NUMBER TWO WORK FOR!!!?" which of course originates from Tom Arnold's cameo in Austin Powers.

*Its the little things, like this, that keep our love alive.

This is a very important cinematic clip I want you all to watch.

Clearly, In our house, poop is a public affair, and we laugh and joke about it openly.  But, such an important thing happened to me today, that I needed to broadcast it more widely.

I took my first poop after having my baby. Anyone who has ever had a baby will know why this is a big deal.  I remember after I had my Millie, I was truly terrified by the prospect of pooping.  I was afraid that any squeezing whatsoever "down there" would send half of my vital organs shooting out through my sphincter. After delivering Ben, I had similar fears.  This time, they were compounded by the fact that I was also recovering from major surgery, and the narcotics they gave me completely shut me down for 5 days.  In the hospital, I tried to eat soft foods like pudding and fruit cups, but experience taught me that this would come out feeling like rocks and razor blades.

After they discharged me, I put myself on a 2 day diet regimen of watermelon and docusate.  Finally, I finally felt safe enough to give poop a try. It was horrible.  During Ben's birth, there was a wonderful Labor and Delivery nurse named Shelly who helped coach me through my contractions.  Oh how I wished Shelly were with me now, talking me safely through my poop.

"You can do it!" Shelly would tell me.
"No, Shelly I can't do it!" I would respond, "I need an epidural."
"Just a few more seconds" she would assure me.
Finally, when my poop was out, and safely in the toilet bowl, I would collapse with relief, and Shelly would stroke my forehead.
"You did it kid" she would say to me.
"Thanks Shelly." I would say, the accomplishment welling up inside me.

At the end of the day, I got to take the porcelain out to pasture,* even without Shelly there to support me.  In the process, I think I have stumbled upon a great new business opportunity for post-partum doulas who specialize in coaching new moms through their first BM.  Any of you out there are welcome to steal this business idea from me. In the meantime, I'll be here snacking on watermelon, sitting on the toilet, and yelling celebratory Spaceballs quotes.  KEEP FIRING ASSHOLES!

*This is an amazing new euphemism for pooping that Sean invented this week.

And the Winner Is...

Two days ago, I asked you to help me name my Uterus, who, before her untimely death made several attempts to murder me.

This has been one of my favorite blog posts ever, because of everyone's hilarious comments.  My favorite comment came from my bestie Stacy who send me this text message:

 "New out out-of-the-box submission for uterus name: Mariah Carey. Now, hear me out. She seems harmless, but every year she comes out of nowhere and just slays the holiday special shows."

This comment made me laugh so hard that I almost ignored the popular vote and just named my uterus Mariah Carey instead.  Among other notable suggestions were: Elle Driver (from Kill Bill,) and Catherine DeMedici. In all, y'all's suggestions were all super on-point and murdery.

Anyways, the results are in, and the winner of the popular vote is:
Cersei Lannister!
 

This is a screenshot from the google form I made, which-- to my delight- 53 people actually filled out.

To name my uterus is particularly appropriate because Sean and I like to play the game "what if we and all our friends were in Game of Thrones?" In this game, we decide what houses we would be in if we were in GOT.  Sean, clearly, is of the North.  In terms of morality, he's definitely a Stark, and in terms of handsomeness, I like to think of him as sort of a cross between Jon Snow and Daario Naharis. As for me, I am clearly a Wildling, although sometimes Sean says I might be one of those Dornish snake ladies. Either way, both of our houses are definitely enemies with the Lannisters, and it's no wonder Cersei was trying to do me in.

Today, I'm going out-- totally without fear that one of my organs may be plotting against me.  I know that, as a Lannister, my uterus always likes to pay her debts. But this time, I think Cersei overextended her power play.

RIP Cersei Lannister 

1983-2017

Well played, you treasonous wench, well played. 

What to do when your uterus tries to murder you

"Look at it this way" Sean told me, stroking my head as I fought off the anesthesia, "At least this way your uterus can never again try to kill you." I was laying in the hospital bed, a few hours after coming out of my postpartum hysterectomy, and holding my newborn son, Ben.

Nothing about this pregnancy has been easy, but I know how lucky I am.  In 2015, after having a placenta accreta, I routinely passed blood clots the size of grapefruits, and was rescued by a helicopter paramedic named Alan Jackson.  During this recent pregnancy, the doctors were looking via ultrasound every two weeks for signs of another placenta accreta, but found nothing.  Lured into a false sense of security, we went into labor expecting no complications.  Little did I know, my uterus is a murderous bitch. Here is a rough breakdown of how Ben's birth unfolded.

Early Labor 

• 1:00 pm- My water breaks conveniently, while we happened to be at the hospital. 
• 3:30 pm- The doctors check me, I have dialed from 3 to 4 1/2 cm! 
• 5:00 pm- I am now 6 cm dilated and handling the contractions like a pro. Sean and I high five each other-- "The second time really is easier!" We tell each other.
• 6:00-  All of the nurses agree that my hair looks really good. 
• 7:00 pm- No progress in dilation, but Sean and I are having a hospital dance party to Sturgil Simpson, so things will probably move along soon. 
• 8:00 pm- Shift change! Still only 6 cm dilated, but our new nurse tells me I have pretty mermaid hair, so I am placated. 
• 9:00 pm- The doctors put me on pitocin. Surely this party will get started soon!
• 10:00 pm- They up my amount of pitocin.  My contractions are now strong enough to make me involuntarily pee myself. #progress!
• 11:00 pm- More pitocin. 
• 12:30 am- A new doctor comes in.  She says that the other doctors have been lying to me, and I'm actually only 5 1/2 cm dilated.  My heart is broken into 1,000 pieces. 

Active Labor

• 1:00-3:00 am- Contractions now extremely painful.  I begin to see that pitocin is an evil drug, designed to torture me. Hair is looking disheveled, but still ok. 
• 3:30- My back is on fire.  I want to stab this yoga ball, which is in no way easing my pain. 
• 4:00- Fuck You, pitocin. 
• 4:30- Screaming out loud now. 
• 5:00- Surely I will die from this pain. 
• 5:00- I aggressively beg Sean for pain medicine.  Without drugs I will surely die, I tell him. 
• 5:00- I realize Sean is a heartless asshole. 
• 5:15- Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. My hair looks bad. 
• 5:30- Baby is born. 

Postpartum

• Holding this child is incredible. 
• Sean is most amazing husband on planet. My love for him is incomparable. 
• Doctors still fooling with my stomach, trying to deliver the placenta. Very annoying. 
• My baby has dark hair.  I name him Benjamin Henry. He is my precious. 
• Placenta won't come out.  We head to operating room for D & C. 
• Stay with Daddy, Precious. I'll be back soon. 

Operating Room

• Doctors give me an epidural.  I feel truly nothing, confirming that the last 14 hours of pain have been totally optional, and I have suffered needlessly the name of natural mommy-hood. 
• "If anything is wrong with me, just take my uterus" I tell them. I want to get back to my precious. 
• They start the D&C. I see nothing, My face is under a sheet.
• I'm still reflecting on my natural childbirth. "Your arrogance has brought you nothing but pain." I tell myself. 
• Doctors repeating saying the word "hemorrhaging."
• "This is definitely an accreta." The doctor says. My heart stops.
• Terror. I am in terror. 
• Hysterectomy. Pain. Drugs.
• The surgery is over.  Blood everywhere  
• They wheel me back to Sean. I hold my precious, shaking violently. We are kissing. Then, I sleep. 

When I woke up, my eye was crooked.  The optometrist later told me the trauma was so great it actually knocked me cross eyed for a day. I didn't care. I was back with my family.  When Millie came to the hospital, my little world was complete.  I'll be dammed if I will ever let us separate again.

Obviously, My uterus had been planning this the whole time.  She let me believe that this pregnancy would hold no surprises, then she waited until I was most vulnerable and pounced.  My uterus is a ruthless and scheming bitch and I'm glad she's dead now. As we lay in the hospital bed, Sean stroking my hair, and me starting at him with my crooked eyes, we began to wonder what we should name her.  Hodor turned out to be the perfect name for my cervix.  For my uterus, we developed this list of naming criteria:

• Must be a female name
• Must be murder-ey as hell
• Probably has some maternal or redeeming qualities
• Deceitfulness is a plus

Based on this list, I have developed a short google survey, which I hope you will complete.



Update 1- My eye is back to normal, and my hair looks really good.
Update 2- I am holding my precious.