My Dooms Day, I mean Due Date

I always thought I was tough as a warrior and could endure any type of suffering thrown my way. I'd already had two previous c-sections and having a third at the age of 39 would be a piece of cake. Feeling like I wanted to retreat from the world during my pregnancy should have been my first red flag that things weren't going to be as I had assumed they'd be. My c-section happened 2 1/2 weeks earlier then scheduled. It was a joyous occassion at first....my husband was with me, my dear friend (also a former midwife) was with me, and my other dear friend, the attending surgical nurse, was also with me. Andrew was born and only opened his eyes upon hearing my voice. As he was wisked away to the nursery I was busy chatting with my friends about various things......then it hit.....the morphine reared its ugly head. I would never make a good drug addict since even benadryl sends me into a drunken stupor. I became so sick from the morphine, feeling like I was on a boat in a deep ocean with 20 foot swells. There was no relief at all until it worked itself out of my system-about 72 hours later. I started feeling anxious, depressed and out of control back in my room. The doctor thinking he was helping, gave me benadryl, which of course, I reacted to. I finally begged to be released after 3 days post op. My first c-section was 5 days in the hospital, my second was 4 days and I'm thinking if I have to do this again I may just ask my husband to use the sharp kitchen knife and we'll do a home birth. (JUST KIDDING!)
Once home, I started on the miserable journey of Post Partum Depression. I'm 9 months recovering now and am ready to talk about it.