Anyway, on Monday I experienced a variant of The Sneaky Hate Spiral. It was similar, but was more of a Sneaky Woe Spiral.
My boobs are hateful, angry bitches.
Mastitis + Thrush + Cracked Nipples + Reynauds = Hateful, angry bitches.
I called my OB and informed them that my boobs are hateful, angry bitches. So they gave me an antibiotic and told me to suck it up. (Paraphrasing here, slightly.)
Monday morning, Ainsley had surgery. Heart surgery. A minor surgery, as far as heart surgeries go, but still. Surgery. So it was a stressful morning.
|Right after her PDA Ligation on Monday.|
Probably having some really trippy morphine dreams.
|Wednesday, two days after her surgery.|
Probably having dreams about her upcoming Sumo Wrestling match.
I don't know about you, but looking at this puffy face really reminds me of something...
|Hey, hey, hey! It's Big Fat Steroid Face!|
The antibiotic that I got for mastitis got rid of my fever, but did nothing to actually get rid of the infection. My boobs hurt so bad that I couldn't even stand up straight. I called my OB to let him know that the antibiotic didn't work and to see if I could get something else.
Oh my hell. Apparently being allergic to penicillin and having mastitis has the potential to turn into a really big production. Because my OB was calling and telling me that, since the one antibiotic I tried didn't work? I needed to go get a PIC line put in to have some sort of superhuman bacteria killer shot directly toward my heart. Or something slightly less dramatic but still. How is it possible that there is no other antibiotic in the whole entire world that I can try before I need a PIC antibiotics?
And guess what I did? I cried. I bitched. I complained. I acted like Olivia when she wants to put her hands in the toilet and I won't let her. I got all mixed up in the Sneaky Woe Spiral and the PICC talk was the impetus of my descent into complete and utter self-pity woe and despair. My baby can be in the NICU for forty five days, and have heart surgery, but you want to give me a PIC line? Well, that I just cannot handle, kind sir.
* le sigh *
So I called a different doctor. And got a different prescription. And got some ice cream. And when I woke up in the morning I felt so much better, like, you know how you feel when you don't think about cutting your right boob off with a dull knife all day?
I felt that good.
But now it's Friday night, and I'm hanging out in the NICU with one pissed off little neonate. They tried to wean her off the vent overnight, and she did pretty well for a while. But then she decided that, meh, breathing is stupid. So they had to up the vent settings. She is just miserable over this tube - gagging, writhing, trying to cry...it's pretty awful to watch.
They are going to try to extubate in the morning. I'm not going to count on anything. Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised when I come in tomorrow. We miss being able to hold her!
*Actually, I started this post on Monday. Then on Tuesday I crossed out Monday and wrote Yesterday. Then I forgot about it until Thursday but was too lazy to care. Then I finished it today.**
**FACT: I rule at blogging.