The Book of Ruth Chapter 2: Fear and Loathing in the Mat Ward

Okay. Just putting it out there. This chapter is going to be less riveting. Just by nature of...nature. Something being ripped out of your stomach is as real as it gets. So I’ll start this chapter with an apology for not being as compelling as chapter 1. But if you’re interested in my ramblings, read on you masochistic weirdo you, read on.

When I came to, the second time, I found myself in a semi-private hospital room that was fully private because no one else was in there. I said to Thomas “I know I’m basically on morphine but I think I’m being like suuuuuper normal. Right?” He just blinked at me and said “You’re...you’re...pretty fucked.”

Then I had this wave of fear wash over me because I am terrified of pain. The weird part about all this is that I have a pretty high threshold for physical pain. But the IDEA of pain leaves me catatonic. Which is why it was so difficult for me to answer the nurses when they asked what level of pain I was experiencing. 1-10, how do you feel?.....?.....?....?

GOOD NEWS part 1: everyone has their feelings about c-section vs vag birth. I never valued one over the other. I never felt like I was going to have control over which way this baby was coming out of my body, so I didn’t stress over it. That's just me. I always referred to it as a shit vs. diarrhea situation. It's coming out one way of the other.

Turns out, Ruth had to come by c-section. The good news is, for me, it didn’t hurt much. My brain, however, was terrified. Some fun post-Ruth’s-birth thoughts: DON’T MOVE! YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BE NORMAL AGAIN. WHEN YOU PEE YOU WILL FEEL LIKE DYING. DON’T POOP! JUST DON’T DO IT. BAD IDEA. NUH UH! IT WILL RIP YOU OPEN! YOU’RE GOING TO LOOK PREGNANT FOREVER. THIS IS YOUR NEW BODY! WHY AM I THINKING ABOUT BODY IMAGE AT A TIME LIKE THIS?! JAMIE SPEARS IS JUST PRETENDING TO STEP DOWN FROM THE CONSERVATORSHIP! HE'LL NEVER LET BRITNEY BE FREE! Isn’t my brain an asshole? None of these things are true. Except maybe the last one.

So, when the nurses asked me how much pain I was in, I would always say, 3 or 4 but I’m scared of what’s coming. What I learned, which no one ever told me, is that the first three days are the hardest. Three days. Totally doable. And it’s not even because it hurts necessarily. For me, it was the fear of pain that rendered me petrified. It didn’t feel great, sure. But you’re on so. Many. Meds. I didn’t feel much. A twinge here or there. A pulling sensation if I moved the wrong way or used my stomach muscles. But nothing life altering. Basically, if you’re like me, don’t be scared. These medical professionals and your body know what they’re doing. Everyone will have their own experience, absolutely, it’s a just-get-through-it-however-you-can kind of thing. But for me, my fear of it all was so much worse than the reality. My boyfriend, Dr. Garber once said, “you may be shocked at how not traumatized you’ll be.” He knows me so well.

So, as I was coming down off the drugs, terrified of moving, catheter still in (I love an effortless pee!), and trying to wrap my head around what the hell just happened and how to never move again: the world’s sweetest nurse made a cameo in my drug-fuelled story. Her name was Evie. I didn’t know that having a baby would turn me into a baby, myself. I felt so helpless and vulnerable. Evie could see I needed to be coddled both physically and emotionally, and the woman SHOWED UP. Every time she came to check on me she’d see the panic in my eyes and squeeze my shoulder. On that first day, I cried to her because I was too scared to move out of my bed. I yipped, “I can’t believe I haven’t met my baby yet. I’m already a shitty mother.” She squeeze my shoulder and calmly said “We’re not doing that. Nope. Don’t do that to yourself. Your baby is exactly where she needs to be. You’re getting yourself ready for her. If that’s not being a good mom, what is?” I exhaled and still felt awful but soothed by her kindness. Every time I thanked her I told her she was a better person than me because there was “no way I’d ever wipe some random, whiney lady’s vag. Ever.” She would laugh and squeeze my shoulder. She knew I needed that extra connection. She could tell my blundering attempts at humour were my way of navigating the weird situation my family found ourselves in. I love Evie. Kind, professional, tuned in.

Then there was Laurie. Laurie was not having any of my shit. She gave me the tough love I needed to psychologically get myself together. “So, are you going to shower or just keep whatever’s happening, happening?” “Um, I’m not showering Laurie. I will. Not. Get. Out. Of. This. Bed. Ever. Again.” “Well, that catheter’s coming out today so, yeah you ARE!” Touché, Laur, touché. Then, when she asked me when the hell I was going to take the dressing off my incision, I wailed, “I’m scared of it. I don’t ever want to take it off. I can’t look at it!”. “That’s stupid. It’s tiny. Get a grip.” And you know, she was totally right! Laurie. We had our moments, but I appreciate how over me she was, and how resistant she was to my attempts at charming her in the hopes of being coddled.

GOOD NEWS part two: the incision. I can barely see it and it’s been less than two weeks. LESS THAN TWO WEEKS! They did incredible work and I was worried I’d be all hacked up. I’m not. I promise. Let’s not be scared of that if you ever have to have a c-section at the Civic.

Then Doctor Smithees (I think that was her name?), came in. This was the doc who did the baby pulling/stiches. She appeared younger than me. Very stylish. And so warm and attentive. “Hey! Look at you, you’re doing great”, “Um, sorry. Who are you? My memory's a little foggy.” “I’m the doctor who delivered your baby... We talked like five times after your surgery...” “Oh, yeah, of course! I showed you my Brisket pics.” She laughed and asked if I remembered what we talked about. I sheepishly shook my head ‘no.’ She told me the whole story again but, tbh, I STILL don’t remember. Then she asked us what we named our girl and we said “Ruth.” And I swear to god she choked back tears. Maybe that name means something to her. Or maybe she’s heard some stupid ass names for babies and was relieved Ruth’s name wasn’t Bookshelph.

THEN ADAM CAME TO VISIT! I had all the docs in my room. Part of me felt like I was hosting. "Should I offer them some of my Costco sized bag of peanut M&Ms? No you idiot, you need those for sustenance! Hoard them at all costs", I thought.

“Why don’t you get rid of the goy?” Adam said, motioning to Thomas. We both sheepishly looked away at his boldness. His possessiveness. His desire. Except that didn’t happen. He just asked us how we were doing and said how nice it was to finally see Thomas after all the just-Gabbie appointments. Great cover Doc, Thomas will never suspect a thing. You're probably thinking he needs a trophy wife, but what he really needs is a participation trophy wife: ME!

Then we went about our day. The catheter came out. I got out of bed for the first time. I peed. It wasn’t horrifying. And I went to meet Ruth.

Thomas rolled me down the long hallway in a wheelchair. We rang the doorbell to the NICU and the door opened. We sanitized our hands, then our phones in this UV lightbox. She was in pod 2.

I was so scared to meet her. I felt awful that she was there on her own. It took me a day and a half to finally visit her. We rolled up to the incubator. I looked at her. She was hooked up to so many machines. I didn’t see her whole face for days after that first meet and greet. And here’s the thing. I feel like I know this girl. Maybe I’ll eat my words in five years but this girl is CHILL. She wasn’t fussy in utero. She was so calm in there. Picking her moments for thoughtful movements at the same exact time every day; while I was drifting off to sleep. I barely felt her. She let me go about my days and kicked just hard enough not to wake me. But in my sleep, I knew she was there.

When they put her on me for skin-to-skin for the first time, I was so apprehensive. Nurse Allison, a legit Disney princess of a woman, cooed “Oh she seems so at home with you. She’s always calm, but she seems so peaceful now.” And I burst into tears. “I was so scared she wasn’t going to like me!” I blubbered. “What?!” Both Allison and Thomas blurted out at my sheer cluelessness.

I’m not really a baby person. I never look at a baby and think anything except, “yup, that’s a baby.” I also felt super shitty that she was booted out of my uterus and it took me awhile to get to her, as previously mentioned. The guilt was THICK. But, in a weird way, I’ve always felt this baby was the strong, independent type. The opposite of me. My therapist told me not to worry so much about being a great mom, all I had to be was good enough. They come out with their own personalities and traits, he said. They call her Rock Steady Ruth.

Then we went back to the room. ADAM VISITED AGAIN! We just can’t stay away from each other. Lovebirds. The three of us shot the shit for awhile until we realized Adam had been working for 12 hours straight, and we were being kind of jerky for keeping him. “I love you.” I mouthed as he turned to leave the hospital room. “I love you, too. Jewess of my dreams” He mouthed back with a wink. As my unwashed, uncombed, rat's nest of a scrunchied bun bobbled atop my head, he told us to call him if we need anything or have any questions. And then he left. Sigh.

Thomas left to grab me some non-hospital dinner. I was alone for the first time in a while. I let out a big, long exhale. Then I heard someone on the other side of the curtain. They seemed to be preparing the room.

About an hour later another family moved in. My heart began to race and my anxiety warning bells started going off. This next bit is not my proudest, but I promised to tell you guys the truth, the whole truth, (barring Adam), and nothing but the truth. So, here goes.

I started wigging the fuck out. I overheard the nurses checking in with the new mom, “oh the baby popped out in one minute. She’s my third. I have zero pain. We can’t wait to get home.” I listened on, trying not to be intrusive but...it was kind of hard not to be. I also started getting nervous about Covid. I didn’t know what their mask status was but we hadn’t been wearing ours in our room because we were the only ones in there. Our baby is so vulnerable we don’t want to be bringing any germs her way. Then their baby started crying and I felt a tightness in my chest. I felt shitty for feeling the way I did, but hearing her healthy, full-term baby cry made me feel so awful. Her baby was there in her little bucket thing beside her bed. Mine was hooked up to a bunch of machines without me all the way down the hall and around the corner. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep. My anxiety skyrocketed.

Thomas walked into the room with dinner. Took one look at me, and grabbed some headphones and my computer. Instinctively turning on Gilmore Girls, my comfort watch. I whispered to him “I can’t stay here. I can’t. I’m going to freak the fuck out.” None of me was being rational.

Our nurses had changed over while we were with Ruth. Tough Love Laur had left and Cool as a Cucumber Colleen was here. She was in no mood for my mental health bullshit. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m being a brat. But is there any way we can switch to a private or empty room?” I felt like the world’s biggest, privileged asshole. My anxiety was mounting. She looked me up and down “No. We don’t have any.”

GOOD NEWS part 3: You thought anxiety would never get you anything except premature wrinkles and weird looks from strangers and family. But in my oxygen-reduced brain, I remembered something a good friend mentioned to me once: if you have a medical history of anxiety they will provide you a private room because sleeplessness can trigger an attack. If this sounds like you, you now have this knowledge if you’re ever in a similar situation. I got your back.

“I have a history of anxiety. Please, if you can, if there’s any way. Can we try and find a room?” Colleen, unimpressed but a consummate professional said “I’ll ask.”

An hour later she came back and let us know our room was ready. We could go now. But I had to get out of bed. Shit. Thomas coached me. ‘Grab onto the sides of the bed and push with your feet.’ That way you don’t use your stomach muscles. Which I was pretty sure would not be a problem because well...I’ve never rocked a six pack, let’s just put it that way. But when you go through that kind of surgery you realize how much of a system muscle groups really are. Unlike the kids from those school group projects, all of your muscles want to do some work. So I slowwwwly got myself out of bed and into our own room.

Now, being alone, you'd think I’d chill out. But the clucks of panic I felt in the shared room really came to roost in the private room. I realized this was my last night. I would have to go home. I’d have to get in the CAR. I’d have to walk up the STAIRS. I’d have to sleep in a BED without hand holds to pull myself up. I wouldn’t have a nurse to take off my dressing or tend to me if my incision opened up! Ruth wasn’t coming home with us. I wouldn’t be just down the hall and around the corner from her. We won’t know what to do with her once we DO bring her home. I don’t know how to be a mom?! How am I going to do this?!

My muscles started tensing. My chest started constricting. My teeth started chattering. My breath was fluttery and short. Which are all tell tale signs that a super fun, adrenaline rush-y panic attack is happening! I clicked the button to call Colleen. I was sure I was going to pass out. Can you take a Klonopin while pumping? Thomas tried to talk me down. I asked him to please shut the heck up. I started to feel faint, helpless, and consumed by the physical manifestation of all my fears. And then I remembered the most annoying fucking thing anyone can say to you when you’re in a heightened state: just breathe! I said it to myself. I closed my eyes and reclined on the bed. In my mind, I went back to my earliest days of acting classes. When I was 9 years old. In 2,3,4 hold 2,3,4. Out 2,3,4,5,6,7,8. Box breathing. I repeated the sequence. Again. And again. And again. I did this for what felt like an hour but was probably fifteen minutes. I came down from the attack. Years and years of working on myself and trying different coping strategies, methods, and tools finally came together. I self soothed. I felt shaky but proud. I had managed my internal crisis. No one needed to save me. Some of my hard work had paid off in these moments. Box mother-fucking breathing.

Coleen came in and asked what was up? I told her I had called her in a panic but I managed it. “That’s awesome.” Then something shifted. I don’t know what, but she just started chatting with us. For quite some time. I won’t share her story with you because it’s not mine to tell, but she’s pretty rad, kind, and doesn’t take any guff. We were glad to have had the opportunity to talk with her for a bit. She couldn’t get to me sooner because 11 women had been admitted just after we’d switched rooms. There’s only so many nurses to go around. I cannot fathom what it’s been like working in a hospital for the last 18 months. Everyone is stretched so thin. Everyone.

Thomas and I passed out around midnight. Exhausted. The next day, two doctors came to check in on me and kindly told me my attempts to invoke my squatter's rights at the hospital weren’t going to fly. It was time to get the fuck out. My act was not cute anymore and I had to face my fears and go the heck home. We visited Ruthie girl, pumped. Ate some lunch, visited Ruth again. Went back to the room to gather our things and leave.

I got served my last meal. Which Thomas ate. Tough Love Laur peeked in, asked Thomas “why are you eating that shit?”. He told her he was eating it on principle. She said “I wouldn’t.” Then she told me she needed to give me a blood thinner shot in my belly. I begged her not to but she gleefully said it was her parting gift. She unceremoniously jabbed it into my stomach and I still have a bruise. Which means she totally lied when she said it wouldn’t hurt. Never change, Laurie, never change.

Then we went home. That story’s our next chapter. What I found most remarkable about those two postpartum days is how significant these women are to my story now. I’ll never forget them and the care they showed me, regardless of how tough or soft. They shaped those anxious hours between sickness to health. Anxiety to relief. Helpless to self-helped. And for them, it was just another day at the office. When we saw Colleen a few days later on a Ru visit, she not-so-politely responded with “no offence, but I have no idea who you are.”

GOOD NEWS PART FOUR: If you decide to have a kid, these may not be your most triumphant moments. But no one is clocking it. You are one of many going through the exact same thing at the exact same time.

No one will remember you.

But I will always remember them.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.