As with any surgery, one runs the risk of constipation after a c-section. They prescribe a stool softener and send you on your way. I experienced (what I thought was) a terrible case after Jake was born, so I was sure this time to take the Colace as prescribed, never skipping a dose. At day 5 of no action, I took a regular laxative, feeling sure this would get things "moving". 24 hours later (day 6 with no BM) with still no action and obviously desperate to "go", I drank some Magnesium Citrate (guaranteed by several google searches to do the trick. I am a genius, I know). That was around 1pm. About 3 hours later, I started having terrible stomach cramps. They were sporadic and each time one came, I thought it was time for relief, but it never happened. I spent the afternoon and evening in bed with increasing intervals of cramps and trips to the potty with no "outcome". I mean, I was literally crying in pain a good bit of that time. I hardly held Hamp all day because I didn't know when a cramp would come. They were pretty debilitating and, again, coming more and more frequently as the hours passed. I was absolutely miserable and getting worried.
I called the on call Dr at my OB practice around 10pm who said the recommended next step would be an enema and that I could either have someone do it at home (which Deb graciously offered to do, God love her) or in the ER. I chose the ER so I could be sure that, if it didn't work, I would be in a place where they could take further steps, if needed. So John and I headed to the hospital around 10:30.
Once triaged and in my "room", I was soon greeted by a 30 year old MALE nurse, who said he would be taking care of me and asked what seemed to be the problem. I just closed my eyes for a minute and shook my head. Now, I am not a modest person and I'm not easily embarrassed at all, but this was just about enough. In that moment, I decided to put mind over matter and just accept that any shred of dignity I had left after having two babies (which entails a lot of people seeing you naked, wiping you, assessing your lady bits several times a day, emptying your catheter bag, man-handling your boobs for hours at a time trying to help you nurse, etc...) was now going to be out the window for good.
After a failed attempt at IV pain relief (that stuff didn't even touch the pain I was in), we decided to move forward with the enema. Mind over matter. Pain wise, it couldn't be worse than what I was already feeling. So, said 30 year old male nurse begins to put on a full body suit to include a face mask and a plastic shield over his eyes. I am not "shitting" you (hee hee. See what i did there?). Then he asked me to remove my panties, which I had kept on under my gown up to this point for the reason you're about to read. 5 days post partum, I was still experiencing very heavy bleeding, so my panties contained a very, very large maternity pad soaked with blood. I handed them to John, hoping he would just instinctively know to be discreet, but he proceeded to hold them high in the air with the tips of his thumb and finger, asking "what do I do with this?". It was a good thing I had come to peace already with the no dignity thing.
After the enema (it's about what you would imagine it to be like), I asked them to leave me alone to take care of business. 30 year old male nurse and John both took turns about every 5 minutes coming in to
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