The whole crazy procedure

Part 2 – The Pain Pump

After the delivery of the twins, we spent 5 nights in hospital, which is standard here after a c-section. It’s funny – it’s such a common operation that you tend to forget that it’s major abdominal surgery. I took for granted how debilitating it would be. Things were made slightly better by my good friend, the pain pump.

The pain pump and I had a love/hate relationship. When I pressed the button it would deliver a dose of morphine via an epidural line in my back. I could count to 5 and feel it warm my whole body and make everything furry and warm. It’s hard to say no to that. I would spend hours just staring out the window at the elevators going up and down. So that’s the love.

The hate made itself felt in a couple of ways. The first was the fact that every time I left my bed I had to cart the whole damn machine anf all its tubes around. No so easy to administer to two babies…

The second hate factor was that whilst floating on cloud morphine I was rather dumbed down. Confusion reigned. Again, not so good for baby watching. The nurse would come in and ask me when I last fed the babies. I’d say 2 o’clock. She’d say “Oooooo-k, so 10 hours ago?” Holy hell, I guess I’m getting my times muddled…

The ‘pain team’ (sounds like a wrestling team, rather than a group of anaethetists) would come around each day to evaluate me. On the third day they asked how many times I had used the pump. I said 4. They messed around with my machine for a while and said “4? or 33?” Whoops…

So on Day 4 I voluntarily let the pain pump go. It wasn’t him, it was me. I decided that for the sake of my babies we had to go our seperate ways. It was hard, but I know it was the right decision.

Perhaps we’ll meet again some day under different circumstances.

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