when shit hits the fan

Hematoma refers to an abnormal collection of blood in the body that is typically the result of a broken or ruptured blood vessel. Hematomas can cause a minor skin bruise or a collection of clotted blood that is deep within a muscle, organ or even the skull ( about.com)

Two days after we got home with Emma, I was still so weak. While we were still in the hospital, my prognosis was good that I was able to walk 24 hours post-surgery.

Canada's awesome health care provides you  a public nurse to check in on you postpartum. When we got home, the public nurse gave us a visit. Upon checking me up, she noticed the bruises and told me that I need to go to ER because I "might" have hematoma. As if it's not enough that I have twins and c section, I had hematoma. It was already very stressful juggling chores and caring for newborn Emma. I was beside myself and ignored what the nurse said but the bleeding didnt stop. Kevin pushed me to go to the hospital. We had no choice but to drive ourselves to emergency room with Emma in the middle of below zero winter.

Waiting in the emergency was like watching grass grow or paint to dry. Time went so slow, and we had a 4-day old baby with us. A good concerned friend told me to send the baby home (as her immune system was still fragile and she might catch something from the hospital). I mustered the courage to wait at the emergency on my own with bleeding stitches. Kevin together with Emma went home while I waited for bloody 6 hours. For a moment there I thought i would pass out from blood loss. When i was finally checked, doctor told me it was no cause for concern as there were no signs of infection. Some pep talk and I went home with a gauze pad. Yes, a gauze pad and a vote of confidence that I would be all right.

The following day, I was assigned with a new nurse, this time not as cheeky as the previous one. She checked on me and said that I need to go to emergency again ( WHAT?!). I told her the trouble I had to go through just to get a gauze pad but she had some clout in the hospital and had me admitted at the OB triage. I sprinted my way to the hospital and 3 doctors drained the effin blood clot from my stitches and sent me home. It almost threw me. I thought I had to be restitched again.

I kept on telling myself to be strong. I had to. I had no choice. It's not that I was careless, reckless ( insert synonyms), I was just "active" because I had to. The laundry will not wash on itself.

And I remember growing up, I had all the help I could possibly get. We were not rich but we had nanny and maid. It wasn't that difficult for my parents. As a working adult, I had students living with me. They helped me in so many ways. I was very dependent. VERY. My mom's worried about me because she knows I'm the sloth in the family........and the irony of life, I'm raising twins in a first world country where having a maid is a luxury.

Kevin kept on saying how proud he is of me. But there's nothing to be proud of, I'm on i-cant-believe-i-can-do-this mentality. I guess what it  all boils down to is adaptation-- basic need for survival. Live and learn is the name of the game. And everyday it's not just learning about motherhood but learning about myself too