5 Truths About Bed Rest

I found this on Babycenter.com.  It really hits home!  Although I've had family and friends to help out, I've experienced nearly everything below, besides what it feels like to recover after delivery....well, for me, what it's going to be like to recover from muscular atrophy AND major abdominal surgery. 

 I am currently on day 90 of bed rest and almost 34 weeks.  

Warning: this might make you cry and it's long but hey! We have time right?

Five Truths about Bed Rest (from a Mom that Knows)
October 16, 2013 at 12:20pm

By Christine W
October 16, 2013

Exhausted much, Momma? I know. I’ve been there too. I’ve worked more than full-time teaching young children, had parent conferences and after school trainings, cared for an infant, dropped off and picked up from daycare, wrestled laundry, cooked dinners and packed lunches, mowed and trimmed a large lawn, wiped down and disinfected, grocery shopped, vacuumed and mopped, changed linens, scrubbed toilets, changed diapers, fixed bottles and graded papers while my husband worked eighty hours a week out of town. How many hours are in a day, again? What I wouldn’t have given for one day to breathe…justone day.

Isn’t it funny how life can be a monsoon and then a total drought? Balance can be an elusive little booger. I remember being willing to give anything, anything, for one day without a to-do list; for one day without noise. There was a time that every minute of productivity lost sent my life into ripples of chaos. And that’s when I knew. I knew that if I wanted another child, I’d have to wait. I’d have to wait, working slowly towards the goal of nothingness. I’d need to find a way to get away from, well, everything. 

You see, I’m a bed rest momma. For the survival of my babies, I have to be able to donothing—which is a lot harder than people realize. No job, no lifting babies, no carrying groceries, no exercise, no errands, no cleaning, no cooking, no mowing…nothing. Most people think doing nothing sounds like a vacation. In actuality it is hardest thing I’ve ever done. Take it from someone who has done both. Doing nothing is much harder than doingeverything…especially for a mom. 

Truth no. 1: Bed rest eats away at the family.

The absence of a dedicated mother’s contribution in a family creates a giant wormhole that swallows the entire family. We all get sucked in, and it lasts a long, long time. It lasts so long that everyone forgets what functional, pre-pregnancy life was like. It is traumatic for the family—and no, I’m not being dramatic. When a woman goes from doing everything to zero, the void is a vacuum for the family dynamic. 

No more hands-on Mom. No more playing hide-and-seek or pulling the wagon or teaching little one to cook. No more bath games or pushing the swing or chasing bubbles. No more orderly household. Baskets fill with clutter because no one cleans them out. (And no one else knows where stuff really goes anyway.) Kids grow out of clothes because no one keeps up with shopping. Husbands gain a few pounds because no one is cooking balanced meals or packing balanced lunches. Tiny cracks in the order of things grow quickly. Those details have ripple effects. The absence of Mom is felt by all. Mom feels it, too, mainly in the form of guilt. 

Truth no. 2: While bed rest has quite an appetite, marriage is its main courseespecially for parents. 

Bed rest can put a marriage at odds quite easily. The roles of Mom and Dad in everyday life are so critical that contribution is vital to the health of the marriage. If one fails to contribute it burdens the other. Enter resentment, like it or not. Tipping the balance can make a team of two into opponents. Resentment is a sneaky little fella. Watch out for him. 

Daddies are not made to mommas, and they’re certainly not made to be both daddies and mommas at the same time for a length of time. A husband can carry a lot, but he can’t carry it all. Learn what Momma does, do what Momma does, and take care of Momma, too? That's a tall order. What Mom does and what Dad does are full-time operations. Things will pile up, and it will stay that way. And it’s nobody’s fault. 

People are quick to say, “Rest, Momma! Don’t you dare do the dishes. That can wait.” They may be right, but I wonder how long they’d last confined to the sticky, stinky, fly-swarming grotesque pile of mess that swallowed their kitchen in three days. I wonder what they tell their daughter when she has no clean underwear for school. I wonder where they sit when every seat in the living room is covered with clothes or toys or bags of whatever. 

Is it time to go over schoolwork? Well…no one can go over schoolwork without a work surface, and that little kitchen table is all we have. To reclaim the table we’ve got to put away these dirty dishes, and the sink can’t possibly hold another dish (nor can the surrounding countertop). The sink can’t be emptied until the dishwasher is unloaded. Okay, I cave. I do the dishes. Don’t judge me. 

Now I need to throw away this trash on the table, but I can’t throw it away until there is space in the trash can, and there won’t be space in the trashcan until it is taken out….sigh. I’ll just use a grocery bag to collect trash on the counter until he gets home. Now all I need to do is wipe the three days of sticky off that table and I can talk about big E and little e with my little one. 

And by the end of the day, I’m mad at Daddy. Go figure. The reality is, get this bed rest mommas—he cannot do it all. Yesterday he drove an hour and worked all day, drove an hour home, picked up little one and went to the grocery store in town, came home and fixed make-shift dinner, bathed and washed hair, brushed teeth, got her in pajamas, read her a story, and said nighttime prayers. When he finished that, he spent quality time with lonely ole me, who had watched the clock since five a.m. that morning waiting for his return. He listened to me vent and whine about all the pains and contractions and heartburn and nausea and depression and loneliness. And then he sat and drank a beer because by that point he really, really needed it. 

He cannot do it all by himself. He sees the dishes and thinks not tonight. For the sake of my sanity, not tonight! Isee the dishes and think, the mess of this house is caving in on me, and I’m losing my mind! In the bed rest lifestyle—this battle never, ever ceases. Ever. He needs to not do it. I need him to do it. 

After a while, what Daddy really needs is some time away, but what I really need is some company. He is overwhelmed. I am lonely. In the bed rest lifestyle—this battle also never,ever ceases. He needs a break. I need him here. What I need and what he needs are opposite—just like that. There’s no way around it. 

I have learned this much—if a marriage has even the tiniest pinhole-sized Achilles heel…bed rest will surface it. Don’t all marriages have one? Bed rest marriages, sooner or later, will take a good beating. My advice is to hang on tightly to each other, and hang on even tighter to your mind.

Truth no. 3: If you’re on bed rest long enough, at some point you will lose your mind. 

Ooooh it happens. As sure as the sun, it happens. Sooner or later the mind goes. The human mind was not designed to be stuck in a vegetable. It doesn’t take a genius to know that as the body atrophies the mind does funny things. On bedrest, my body rots and my mind becomes my worst enemy. 

Long gone are the days of releasing endorphins. Long gone are my exercise routines, my fresh air, my gardening, my social interactions, and my sense of accomplishment. Even the intimacy goes. (Yes, that’s outlawed, too. Lovely.) Add nausea, heartburn, contractions, insomnia, and medications and some stretch marks to my state of suspended isolation andboom—mental meltdown just waiting to happen.

While on bed rest, I’ve generated anger by stirring over situations that didn’t exist. I’ve released a fury of blame over things that weren’t anybody’s fault. I’ve rained rage over things that didn’t matter. I’ve cried for days over things my mind overthought and then re-overthought. My poor, poor husband. And after watching my craziness over-burden my already struggling family, I’ve choked on my own guilt. Enter sleepless nights. If being a woman doesn’t already make me crazy, add a pregnancy. And if being pregnant doesn’t make me crazy, add bed rest. That’ll do it. 

There’s a lot of letting go when coping with bed rest. Gone are the days of going to church, doing crafts instead of watching television, and having clean towels after a bath. Gone are the days of volunteering, going on an outing, and walking on a clean floor. Are those crackers stuck to my feet? Where did all the coffee mugs go? How long has it been since we washed these sheets? Where did those cafeteria-lady-arms come from? Yes, there’s a lot of letting go for the sake of that baby. And for me, letting my body go can prove difficult as well.

Truth no. 4: The body will go, and there is no other choice but to let it. 

I laugh at the sentiment, “She really let herself go, didn’t she?” And it’s always in reference to a woman, isn’t it? I know better than to think like that. I’ve been there. For the sake of my children’s lives, I have been there. I’ve done months of throwing up and IV fluids with hyperemesis followed by months of bed rest to avoid preterm labor. I’ve done this with three pregnancies in the last seven years. I know too well what a woman who “let go” looks like. I’ve seen her in the mirror one too many times. 

After I have a baby, recovering from the pregnancy itself is a fraction of the challenge. I also have to recover from muscular atrophy associated with immobilization—months of immobilization. Did you know bed rest patients lose up to fourteen percent of their muscle mass per week? I’m not surprised. Given a few months in bed, I’ve got dimples and rolls where no one should ever have dimples and rolls. Everything goes to mush. Some bed rest Mommas become skinny fat people, and some become big fat people. Either way the muscle mass is replaced by connective fatty tissue, and that’s that. 

After I have a baby, my circulatory system is shot. My first walk around the block makes me want to scratch the skin off my legs. Millions of capillaries and arteries in my muscles, which have long been limp and lazy, suddenly scream in demand for more blood. The sensation brings me to either itch or insanity. It takes about a month until the effects are tolerable. 

After I have a baby, my muscles have to be retrained. After the stretch of inactivity, I have lost even basic muscle memory. Suddenly, despite years of fitness training (even fitness instructing), I can’t even squat right. My weight keeps going into my toes and my knees keep going forward. It takes every ounce of my concentration to make my body do things it used to do naturally. Forget piling on the weights. I’ve got to re-learn the technique. 

After I have a baby, I also have a baby. I am nursing four plus hours a day at three hour increments around the clock. My chest is engorged and achy (and constantly leaking). I’m hauling a baby around using atrophied and disconnected core muscles. I’ve gone from zero to a hundred miles per hour while losing all hope of a good night’s rest. I’ve given birth out of a bottom that’s too sore for sitting, and I’m walking on joints that are too loose to absorb impact. I’ve lost a lot of bone mass, my immune system is compromised, and my body is bed rest-fatigued. Did I mention urinary incontinence? Oh—and I’ve got a newborn. Go back to work on top of that? Been there, too.

After I have a baby, I haven’t had control over my nutrition in months. A bed rest momma can’t go shopping for the healthy, organic foods her family loves. A bed rest momma can’t cook healthy meals. A bed rest momma graciously eats whatever is available and thanks God someone is feeding her family. Sexy is not the word that describes me after I have a baby. 

On top of everything, my house hasn’t been cleaned thoroughly in months, and all the extras have piled up—wiping out the fridge, changing the A/C filter, cleaning the bottom of the trash can, reorganizing drawers, cleaning out clutter. And I’m supposed to whip the house back into shape, spring back into full-on mommy hood, and take back my fitness in one giant leap? Get real, people!

And that’s exactly what bed rest pregnancy is—a giant dose of get real; a giant dose ofdon’t you judge me; a giant dose of fat and humble. Do I let myself go during bed rest? Yes. I have to. One does not simply “bounce back” from something like that. Bed rest mommas are still recovering a year later after all the other mommas are rocking and rolling. Give a sista some grace, would ya? 

Truth no. 5: There is but one thing on this earth that is worth this much trouble—a child. 

If you are a bed rest momma, be patient with yourself…especially if you also have to go back to work. Remember that your family has been tipped upside down twice—once during pregnancy and once after birth. You and your husband have been stretched thin pre-baby and then thrown on the newborn roller coaster. Your mind has gone from being overwhelmed by not doing to being overwhelmed by to-dos. Your body has been through the trauma of childbirth and the agony of deterioration. 

Other women will get it together faster than you, and that’s okay. Let them beat you to it. Humility can be a tough place, but it’s a gift. Get over yourself. Ignore what people think. Accept your pace. Rushing through recovery is counter-productive for the family, for your mentality, and for your body. Focus on why you were willing to put yourself through this in the first place—for that miracle.

This baby is worth every second of bedrest you gave to him. And he’s worth every second of time you spend with him instead of cleaning or working out. Pregnancy doesn’t last forever, and neither does infanthood; toddlerhood; childhood. He is what you sacrificedeverything for. Enjoy him. Forget about everything else. While he’s a baby—don’t make it about being perfect. You’ll miss the good stuff. Just breathe that baby in and be Momma. You’ve earned it.