Trying To Poop After My C-Section Nearly Killed Me

When I gave birth to my daughter by c-section I knew I’d be in the hospital a couple days, so I knew I wouldn’t’ be rushing out of there anytime soon. Plus, when you’ve had most of your insides taken out and laid in a bowl, they definitely want to make sure everything is back in its place and functioning properly. The first day’s goal was to get me up and walking….no problem, other than the fact that I was afraid my insides were going to fall out. Still, I placed my confidence in those staples and finished the lap. Each time I got up to walk I finished each lap a little quicker and felt like I was making great progress. But…no BM.

The second day I was allowed to take a shower. Oh, the sweet, warm luxury of a shower! I can’t remember (second to a week of camping) enjoying a shower so much in my life. Of course they have to duct tape you with plastic to keep the wound from getting wet, but none-the-less, the shower was splendid. But still…no BM.

By day three I began to feel the discomfort of my bowls not working. Here I am, breast feeding my new born, enjoying being a new mother, visits by friends and family and the question, “When do you get to go home?”

My sheepish reply, “When I poop.”

My family of course would cheer me on, “Get in there and give it the ole college try!” Bless them for their encouragement, but every attempt I made was futile.

By day four, the pain began to double me over. The nurses called in the Doctor who feared that there was a potential of my intestines being twisted when everything was put back into place or possibly a blockage of some sort. At this point I was in so much pain, I was turning away company and only holding my daughter when she was hungry. I thought I might die, I mean…I literally thought my insides were going to explode and I would die of fecal poisoning. I have never wanted to poop so bad in my entire life. The Dr’s called in an ultrasound to check my intestines. They found no blockage, no twists, no reason for my inability to have a good healthy BM. Well, that’s good, at least that doesn’t mean I have to be reopened, but now what? I just want to poop, people! After much discussion among the Dr and nurses they opted for an enema. Oh, goodie. As if this whole process was so much fun to begin with now I get to look forward to having water injected into my bum. But, hey, at this point I hurt so bad I said, “What the hell, let’s give it a go.”

For the next two hours the nurses continued to check on me every 20-30 minutes. “Nothing?” they’d inquire.

“Nope, not even passing any gas.”

“Hmm, well, we’ll talk with the Dr again and see what our next step should be.”

“Yeah, you do that, because I’m not sure if you are aware of this…but I’m dying here.”

Awhile later as a lay in the fetal position in a pain comparable to birthing contractions, a nurse came back in and informed me that the Dr had ordered another enema. Another freaking enema. I can only the imagine the look on my face was one of complete and utter despondency. “Another one? Really?”

The nurse that I liked to refer to as ‘Nurse Ratched’ just looked at me and with an evil grin said, “Yep.”

I swear she was getting pleasure out of this whole discomfort, I could almost hear her snickering. So again, laying on my side I went through the humiliating procedure of my second enema. Praying, Please God, let this work, please let me poop.

Again for the next hour Nurse Ratched kept checking on me. Although I had passed a little bit of gas it didn’t give nearly the relief I was craving. The look on her face was as though she just couldn’t understand why it wasn’t working and the look on my face was, If I die, I’m taking you with me. She left. A few minutes later a sweet nurse came in with a small cup of white pasty looking crap, “Here, drink this,” she said, handing it to me.

“What is it?”

“It’s Milk of Magnesia.”

I drank it even though I had no idea what it was supposed to do. Not even within 10 minutes it happened! I felt everything in my bowels shift, heard a grumble and I jumped from my hospital bed, ran to the bathroom and took my victory lap.

As I left the restroom feeling like a whole new woman, I asked myself, Why the hell didn’t they give that to me first before not one, but two enemas? First lesson learned. Second lesson I learned, NEVER take the ability to poop for granted.

The best news? A few hours later, I was on my way home with my new baby…who, by the way, had absolutely NO problems pooping.

…And I’m Just Waitin’ For A Pregnant Giraffe To Poop Out A Baby

People have started making jokes about giraffes laying eggs to pass the time. Will they be square eggs? Will it be a blue egg is it’s a boy, and a pink egg if it’s a girl? Are the eggs spotted like a giraffe. Yes, uptight people, we are well aware that giraffes don’t lay eggs. After nearly a week of “BABY WATCH 2017,” these are jokes. Funny jokes. Laugh! It doesn’t have to be veterinary class 101 the whole time.

It seems like Momma April has been in labor FOREVER!! Some have even wondered if she is really pregnant. The answer to this is YES, she is pregnant, for the FOURTH time! She may, however, not be quite as far along as we all thought.

April, who lives at the Animal Adventure Park near Binghamton, New York, has been pregnant for 15 months. While she is showing signs of impending labor (staggered walking, movement in her belly, etc), actual active labor has not yet started. Active labor will begin when the calf’s hooves start to make their way out of the birth  canal. From this point, it can be up to an hour from visible hooves to the baby making that dramatic six-foot tumble to the ground.

When this will happen, nobody is quite sure (but, be prepared for it to break the internet). Rest assured, however, she does have veterinary staff at the zoo checking on her regularly. She is being well cared for, and loved by millions!!

I’ll give it to Animal Adventure Park. This was awesome marketing! Put a stationary camera in the pen with a beautiful pregnant creature, and the world goes nuts!! I can tell you, I want to make the trip to New York to see April, Oliver, and the baby in person (in all their giraffe glory)! They are like my own cuddly, giant pets now!!

If you want to be part of “Baby Watch 2017” (some are referring to it as “Giraffe Watch 2017”), check out the Live feed below. But if you want to see it with the hilarious comments, search Facebook Live for the LIVE FEED (make sure it’s not a recorded feed).

Word has it, the Animal Adventure Park is going to hold a baby naming contest after the birth of this 6 foot, 200 pound cutie. I’m pretty sure Princess Amanda Hope Sparkle Hooves  is a winner!

(FYI, this is the actual LIVE feed from Animal Adventure Park’s Giraffe Cam as seen on YouTube)

Baby cries. Mommy cries. Ladies in masks and gowns smile with their eyes, and declare their congratulations across the hustle and bustle of a busy room.

I just gave birth to my first child, my beautiful, perfect daughter.

Only, I’m not done yet. And somehow I forgot…the placenta.

What It’s Like Giving Birth…To The Placenta

Skin-on-skin, they put her on my chest so the bonding process can start. So sweet. Daddy cries tears of joy. Mommy cries tears of joy. Our princess has made her debut into the world. All is right in life. Euphoric feelings of happiness surround our little family. Ten tiny, perfect fingers. Ten tiny, perfect toes. Perf …

Oh, sweet Jesus! What is that fecking pain?!! That familiar searing pain across my belly? Contractions?!? Am I having twins?!?

“Okay. Now it’s time to birth the placenta.”

Wait, what? Birth? I already gave birth! See this tiny human on my chest? See this actual child I pushed out my vagina?! I’ve already had my 27 long hours of birthing experience fun. The birth already happened. I’m done. You have to be mistaken.

OUCH! Sweet mother of fricken holy crap! That was definitely a fricken contraction. What the actual hell?

I try to hold on to this sweet, slippery, wiggling creature that has been given to me, as the pain shoots across my still-swollen belly and down to my nether regions.

I’m so confused. Baby on my chest, contractions happening through my entire mid-section. I can’t understand anything that anyone is saying. I’m so fricken tired.

Holy fecking son of Zeus! That was a definite contraction!

A nurse takes my sweet angel off my chest. After passing the tiny bit of perfection off to another … I’m assuming … nurse, the first nurse starts to massage my belly.

When I say “massage my belly,” I really mean that she acts like my stomach is a piece of dough, and it is her job in life to punish it into submission. She takes her job seriously, and she seems to be taking actual pleasure, too much fricking pleasure, in this job.

“Alright, here it comes.”

I better be getting a second child out of this … or at least some kind of medal.

“Give a slight push.”

What? Didn’t I already do this part?

Pain, pain, fricking pain …

Finally, sweet relief once more!!

“There it is. All done!”

Oh, thank God. Thank the sweet Lord for this blissful reprieve once more!! I’m done! I did it!! It’s over!

“Okay. Now we just have to stitch up your tear.”

Crap.

Turns Out I’m A Millennial, And I Reject That Notion!

Apparently, if you were born between 1982-2004 you are considered a millennial and I strongly challenge this classification. I mean, I am 27 years old, so I grew up actually playing outside until the streetlights came on and then it was time to come home. I read books that you hold in your hand, not read on a tablet and I watched Saturday morning cartoons every weekend with my dad. I mean I had to wait a good 30 minutes to wait for AOL dial-up and pray that no one had to use the phone for the next hour. Now, if you have no clue what I’m talking about when I say AOL, then you are the generation I pictured when I heard the word millennial. Especially if you have no idea what VHS means or if you never heard of rewinding your tape before you returned it to Blockbuster (if you haven’t heard of this business, please stop reading now).

Basically, my point is I don’t care what the people who decided the years that make up generations say, I will not be lumped in with millennials. I might have been born in 1989, five years shy of the cutoff year, but that doesn’t mean shit to me. I can go days without going on Facebook, but leaving notifications unread is one of my pet peeves, so I always end up caving and checking it. When it comes down to it I think that if you are 25 and older (and are mature), then we should be called Generation Common Sense (If that’s insulting, then you must not have common sense yourself). I say this because I feel like we were one of the last generations to be raised by parents that didn’t let your kids disrespect you or have any privacy.

Not only did I have respect scared into me during my entire childhood, but I also learned to be polite when visiting a friend (that means keeping your phone away for longer than 5 minutes). I went outside for most of my day after doing my homework and played with kids in the neighborhood. The bottom line is that I am mature enough to know that if I go out to lunch with my mother-in-law, I am going to make sure my phone is in my purse the entire time. Just like I love to text, but I am definitely not texting while driving (unless you count using voice-to-text); that’s what I have my husband for lol. Seriously, my husband and I have an agreement that the passenger is responsible for returning all the driver’s text messages.

I think I have covered the main stereotype associated with my generation, oops I mean millennials, but there are many more. They also love to go on adventures, travel the world, have over 200 friends on every social media site that exists, and they are obsessed with famous people. All of those things do not apply to me in anyway, so again I want to stress that I am NOT a millennial and I hardly ever watch YouTube videos. When it comes down to it, I am not addicted to technology, but it is a big part of both the social and business world that I live in. So anyways, the moral of the story is don’t let anyone tell you what you are, reject labels (unless you label yourself, then that’s okay)!

P.S. I am still not going to admit that I am a millennial; I am Generation Common Sense.

Editor’s Note: We at Totally The Bomb think that Heather might be having a life crisis. But since she’s a millennial, we’re going to give her a trophy and she’ll be just fine…

Editor’s Note Two: Actually, we at Totally The Bomb think that Heather’s life crisis is a little funny. I personally think millennials are amazing at adapting to the new world around them and totally have a bad rap. 

Seriously. There are things you can’t unsee and while I wish these women the best, and they certainly look like they are having fun, I might actually need therapy for having just watched it.

Want to see more great videos?

For Valentine’s Day Burger King Is Selling ‘Adult Meals’ With ‘Adult Toys’!!

THIS Guy Is the Workout Inspiration I’ve Been Waiting For My Whole Life!

How to Bounce Back After Having Baby

• Be aware your body has changed. Like faster than the overnight–sometimes in less than an hour. No matter if you went vaginal or had a c-section, you need to admit it, you went through a lot. You did something monumental. Acknowledge it so you can start taking care of yourself.
• Follow your doctor’s directions. I should repeat that like 40 times but I won’t. These guys know what they’re doing. What they tell you helps you bounce-back faster. Don’t ignore them, that’s the worst thing you could do.

• Relax. I know you want to run around like a crazy-lady and show your baby off to the world. Or run to the NICU for every single “touch-time” with your little one (every 3-4 hours). But you just had a baby. Take a few minutes for yourself and nap, read, do a crossword, whatever you do to relax. You need it.
• Breastfeed or pump. There’s a bagillion good hormones that your body makes when you breastfeed. It’s like a magical healing solution for pregnant ladies. It helps with weight loss, energy and gives your baby some awesome nutrients to help them grow.

• Drink water. You’ve lost a lot of fluids and if you’re breastfeeding, you lose more. So, keep your hydration high by drinking a lot. This helps with so much, I can’t even. Energy, ability to produce milk, there’s a reason the nurses push you to drink some water when you’re in the hospital–they even give you a free bottle, so use it.
• Eat yummy things. I’m not saying go out and chow down on a whole host of candy bars. Quite the contrary. I ascribe to the “if you need it, your body will tell you” method of eating. So, don’t worry right now if you’re still having cravings. Play up to them and don’t go on a diet (yet). Let your body tell you what it needs.
• Continue your prenatal vitamins. This is key if you’re breastfeeding or if you’re just interested in your hair continuing to look awesome.
• Take some stool softeners. I KNOW!!! I totally am like not even wanting to think about, much less take, then talk about it, but this is so important. No matter if you’ve had a c-section or if you pushed baby out down the v-lane, you do not (DO. NOT.) want to have the constipation thing. Any pain killers you might be on, any anesthesia you took during labor–even the hospital food, any of those can make for one constipated misery.