She was on a 48 hour fast, just water and black tea

If you don't happen to be familiar with the title character, her fast was for religious reasons. Mine, on the other hand, was not a self-imposed fast, but towards the end of it, as I hallucinated about food, this favorite Saw Doctors ditty kept running through my addled brain.

Before a Kaiserschnitt, anywhere, one cannot eat. For about 12 hours before. So on Tuesday night, March 2, we headed off for our Last Supper at the lovely Turkish restaurant here in town. I think the last thing I ate was at about 8 pm.

Wednesday morning, we arrived at the Klinikum (newer and more pc term for Krankenhaus, or hospital) at about 7.15. I was whisked through pre-op and the lovely Maeve Josephine was born at 8.23. She's gorgeous and healthy and looks just like her big sis, but is not the focus of this post.

Now after Fiona was born, I was offered Jello and broth, and then the next day I could eat a "light" meal- in Lawrence, MA, this consisted of pancake, bagel, melon, and strawberries. I ate it all and didn't vomit, didn't feel seasick- I've been looking forward to that meal for ten months now. So I expected that since Maeve was born so early, I'd definitely be able to eat something later that day. I waded my way through the day in a post-op haze (not too hazy, though, as no narcotics here- just IV paracetemol, which, friends, is magical. I want it for headaches and fever too). I waited for my Jello. And waited. And finally asked. No, no, I was told, I could have tea, or some water. Bubbly water (Germans do not often drink still water) with Magnesium and Calcium. Nah, I figured I'd wait 'til breakfast.

Now my roommate moved in around 5 pm and she had had a typical birth, so the meal plan lady came to her and took her orders for meals for the next days with me listening (salivating) and waiting for my orders to be taken. The meal plan lady and her little electronic order machine just walked right out- no questions for me. I should have known then.

Thursday morning. I had been awake a lot at night, hungry and feeding the baby. Waiting for this breakfast buffet. I wondered, though, when the nurses were slow to move me out of bed, if I might miss it. I finally asked them about eating. "Oh, no, dear," I was told. "You'll have to wait until Friday for some broth and oatmeal." Friday?! It was Thursday at 7 am and I hadn't eaten since Tuesday night and now I'd have to wait until Friday?! Could I have some apple juice, then? (Figuring that it had a little more substance than tea and water). Absolutely not. I could have tea and water. Luckily I had brought my own still water and even that got a little frown- it's not fortified with Magnesium, the Germans' favorite supplement.

The irony in all of this is that Maeve wasn't getting much to eat either because my milk hadn't come in. It's typical for that to take a few days, but when the mother isn't eating, it takes a bit longer. So they gave her bottles of sugar water! Sugar water! I can't have apple juice (even a small glass? No!) but the one-day-old can have Glucola? But they feel this glucose drink is important to keep up her energy and limit weight loss. As the day went on, I seriously considered swiping some of that glucose drink for myself. I wasn't quite desperate enough yet. If I hadn't been fed on Friday, though, I think I might have.

Thursday night was a long night. I was awake a lot with baby Maeve and The Great Hunger. I had (sensibly) packed granola bars and fiber bars in my hospital bag and really considered going to sneak one, but was afraid the roommate might tattle on me. I was also afraid that a nurse would find out and I'd get in trouble or worse, create some kind of complications. Thanks to modern technology, at about 3 am, I used Russ's iPhone to Google "eating after Cesarean Section" and lo and behold, the newest studies show that it does not impede recovery at all, in fact, it makes patients go home faster if they can eat freely. It's all about intestinal duties being restored, etc, but the point is, eating wouldn't create any issues in my recovery according to doctors in the US and Canada. I decided then and there that if I didn't get food early in the morning on Friday, I could guiltlessly gobble those granola bars and hide the wrappers. Yes, I felt like an addict in rehab. Yes, I felt like a person in an eating disorder clinic. I began to make grocery lists in my head (what else to do when feeding a baby at 4 am in a dark room?) and they were clearly the work of a madwoman. I decided I'd like a Chipwich (I was lucid enough to know that it'd be hard to find here, but Russ could buy the cookies and ice cream separately and I could make the Chipwich itself), and also pizza. I thought I'd like an ice cream cake (it was REALLY hot in the hospital room and the bed was plastic and I kept sticking to it, so I imagine this is where all the ice cream thoughts came from) from Carvel with those lovely little crunchy pieces inside. I also added peanut butter crackers, bananas, and apple juice to the list for good measure. The list went on and on and on inside my mind, and thankfully, I never actually asked Russ to buy these items-it'd be a grocery bill the size of an airplane ticket back to Boston.

When Friday morning dawned, I eagerly awaited my breakfast. Finally, around 9, it arrived. Just as I expected- watery oatmeal. Heaven! Lunch and dinner, clear soup with two Melba Toast crackers, were just as good. Thankfully, I didn't have to drink the infant Glucose drink. But I'll come clean- on Friday I also ate a pudding I coerced Russ into bringing me, the dregs of Fiona's yogurt, and a granola bar. I figured if the hospitals and doctors in English speaking parts of the world would have let me eat anything on Thursday or even Wednesday, by Friday I was in the clear. I did, however, hide all wrappers and send the trash home with Russ. No need to get caught cheating.

I often make fun of Russ for being obsessed with food. He loves food and I usually view it as a means to an end. After a few days of being food-obsessed (I didn't want to hang out in the breakfast room, where there were tables and chairs and games for Fiona, because there were rolls and boxes of cereal there and I was afraid I'd lose the run of myself), I am so grateful that I'm not food-obsessed. It's a very serious disability and I will forever be sympathetic to the plight of the hungry.

In closing- an image for you to laugh out loud. Picture me, abed with Maeve, nursing her and following it up jealously with a bottle of glucose drink for infants, singing in my head "I useta love her... I useta love her... once, a long time ago (Chipwich! Sandwich! Minerals, Minerals, apples, sweets and chocolates, Ices! Ices! Tubs of Ices!) It's just a big bag of chips and a burger to go."

If you're not a Saw Docs fan, become one. It'll provide you endless entertainment and fodder for insanity during a Great Hunger.