Chpater 4: Leaving the ICU/ The world is full of stupid people/I have a beautiful girl

After several days of being hooked up to every machine imaginable (including the one that goes Ping!- a thousand points to the person who gets that reference), the doctors put in an order for me to be moved to a regular room. I remember someone asking me if I wanted a semi-private or private room.
"I don't feel like playing well in the sandbox right now," I replied.
"It's an extra $60 a day for a private room."
"I don't feel like sharing right now."
After a labyrinth of elevators and hallways, I was placed in a room that looked like it was state of the art in 1973. Unfortunately, I had been assigned to a medical floor. I didn't know what that meant. Hindsight being 20/20, I never should have been there or would have been better off staying in ICU. I should have been on either a maternity floor or a surgical floor. It seemed that no one quite understood my needs.

That being said. Here is a list of people who continually pissed me off:

Lactation Nurse 1: She "kindly" brought a hospital grade breast pump to me while in ICU so I could get my milk supply to come in. She didn't show me how to use the thing correctly. She told me that I only had to wash one part of the contraption and not the whole thing- like telling someone you only have to wash the lid of the pot you just used to cook dinner. She also said that breast milk will be fine without refrigeration for 6 hours which is sooooo not true. I thought she was being helpful. If I had followed her instructions, my Preemie Donna would have an infection right now from spoiled milk.

Diabetes Nurse: One night in ICU, I was being visited by DH, Momma Pug, The Aggie, and Texas Barbie. A timid looking nurse walked in and stood at the doorway clasping her hands waiting to be acknowledged. She had the demeanor of a kindergarten teacher and treated us all like five year olds. I don't remember this, but when she was acknowledged and introduced herself she asked, "And how did we get ourselves into this?"

"She had a baby," Momma Pug said. Diabetes Nurse then proceeded to explain to everyone else, but me, what diabetes was but not how to care for myself with it. After about ten minutes of her sickly sweet nonsense, even I had had enough.

"Look," I said not even caring about being nice about it, "I'm on a lot of pain killer right now and I'm honestly not going to remember anything you tell me right now." I was nasty, I know. I didn't care about hurting her feelings I just wanted to get rid of her.

"Well, thank you for your honesty," she said, not realizing she had been insulted. She left shortly after that and I pressed Tweety to try and stop the impending migraine that was coming.

Flighty the Nurse: This was the one who was assigned to me when I got out of ICU. I will sing the praises of those ICU nurses forever. Flighty was someone special who pissed me off every time she walked into my room. She was always forgetting something and had to go back and get it. Once, she was about to give me an insulin shot and she bent the needle. She stamped her foot, stuck out her lip to make a pouty face, and whined like a five year old.

"Hmph!" She said in a high pitched whine. "I bent the needle."

"So go get another one," I said like an adult. And let me be clear on this- this woman had to be at least 45. Also, once they took my button away, she was a fan of waiting until my pain killer had worn off before giving me more. If it says to give it every four to six hours, seven is unacceptable.

She was also incapable of taking my vitals and my blood sugar at the same time. Because, guess what? She forgot!

Now don't get me wrong, there were wonderful people there too. One night, I had a nurse, we'll call her Sweet T. She had two c-sections and understood what I was going through. She made special trips to check on me. There was also a young nurse who wore jeans instead of scrubs who made sure I had my painkiller when I needed it. Then there was Blond Doctor (I think either I or Momma Pug accidentally called her Blonde Doctor to her face, but if we did , she didn't notice it). She was the doctor who was called in to help me poop. I will spare you the gory details but 5 days worth of IV painkiller + childbirth = constipated. It was an ordeal which brought Momma Pug and I closer and swore us both to secrecy. We vowed never to speak of the experience and I shall not.

Dr. Anthony Edwards: I didn't have just one doctor through this whole experience but several. The last one I had was a guy who looked like our favorite nerd. At first, I thought he was an ok guy. When I called him in and begged for the catheter to be taken out of me, he agreed and put in the order very quickly. Until Sunday when he pissed me off. I had begged for DH to stay with me July 5 since I was over being by myself. Momma Pug had stayed on July 4 (we watched some fireworks that had reflected in the windows of another medical building). He slept while I watched Star Wars (As I said impossible to get any sleep in a hospital). The next morning was a glorious day for me. On July 2, I remember being told that I would be discharged on Sunday. I held onto that hope all week. Dr. Edwards walked in on Sunday morning and said, "We're going to see about getting you out of here tomorrow."

It took me a second to process this.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, I looked at your white blood cell count and that's ok. However, you're temperature is slightly elevated and we'll take your staples out tomorrow."

My normal response to this would have been: "I have not seen my child that I supposedly gave birth to five days ago. I'm leaving today."

His response would have been : "But we are concerned about your tempature."

"Of course my temp is elevated, asshole. Everyone in the place pisses me off! Now I don't care if I have to steal an ambulance or walk myself there, I am leaving this hospital today with or without your consent!"

My five days post pardum response was unintelligible because I was crying so hard. I couldn't stay in there one more day. I would have killed someone- probably Flighty.

DH, who was as tired of this as I was, said, "She was told she would be leaving today."

"Not with that temperature."

I calmed down enough to get out one sentence. "My mom is staying with us for a little while and she's a nurse."

"I feel a little bit better about it," Dr. Edwards said.

Through tearful eyes I said in the most assertive voice I could muster at that moment: "I will see my child today."

I must have been channeling the spirit of Linda Blair, a low level demon or something. Dr. Edwards said, "Ok, I'll get the paperwork started." I had never been more releaved in my life.

I finally left the hospital around 3 o'clock, which unbeknownst to me, in the middle of shift change in NICU at Women's Hospital. No visitors were allowed in during that time. My mom had the good idea to call ahead and ask if I could go in for just a moment since I hadn't seen her for almost a week. At first the charge nurse said no, but after I yelled and cried on the phone for a while, she caved and said, "Just five minutes." (I have since sincerely apologized to the poor nurse I yelled at over the phone. She told me if she were in my position that she would have done the exact same thing. Apology accepted.)

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She was tiny and full of tubes. The diaper swallowed her. All I wanted to do was pick her up and tell her that everything was going to be all right: Mommy had arrived and was never going to leave her again. When my five minutes was up, I decided to wait until after shift change was over because it just wasn't enough time. I could rest later. I had too much adrenaline pumping through my body to rest. While we waited, I met some of the other NICU parents, one of which I knew. Lola is the daughter of my high school counselor- who was also there- who happened to be close personal friends with my parents. Her child, Ark, had been in NICU for 13 weeks (and is still there since I saw Lola and her husband Iam in the parking garage yesterday). Iam told me that I had to take this day by day, to celebrate even the smallest of victories, don't become a victim of information overload, and that Preemie Donna is in the best place with the best care she could ever receive.

At 3:45, we went back in and I stayed until my mom pulled me out. She said that I was tiring myself out and had to get some rest. I could have stayed there forever, just watching her sleep. I cried when they wheeled me away from her warmer. All I wanted was my little girl, I finally got to see her and now I had to leave her again after I promised not to.

We went home. Home looked really good. I missed my cats and my bed. I kinda slept that night mostly because of the searing pain. Since I hadn't been forced to walk around, I was behind on my healing. I took some painkiller and tried to sleep knowing that tomorrow I could see her again.

Chapter 3: Nurses, nurses everywhere but no baby in sight

I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to writing my story. I have no real excuse. That being said, back to where I left off. Also, I will try to recall the events as best I can. Everything is kinda fuzzy until Saturday which is when they took away the Tweety button. In light of this, I will write about specific events and feelings I can remember not paying specific attention to what day it happened. I remember more about what happened after I left the ICU anyway. If you were there or otherwise know what happened, feel free to correct me.

July 2nd through the 5th were quite surreal. I knew I had a child somewhere, just not there. An endocrinologist - we shall call her Dr. Wishy since she could never decide what was wrong with me- came with her interns- The Bashful Terrorist (I know he was Pakistani; let me have my fun) and JD (His hair looked much like Zach Braff on Scrubs; and yes, everyone from that show had their equivalent except for Dr. Cox)- who told me that she was going to figure out what happened. I said ok and went back to watching Charmed. I watched Angel and Charmed every morning on TNT since I was awake. You don't get any kind of rest in a hospital. It's loud and everyone comes in to take your vitals. My only consolation was the wonderful nursing staff. I had the sweetest nurse every night. She was from Kenya and had the cutest little accent ever. I loved her and I could tell that she liked to come in and help me out. I'm a nice person, what can I say.

That morning, friends and family began coming in to visit me. I can't explain the relief I felt when DH came in for the first time. All I wanted to do was throw my arms around him and cuddle. I couldn't because I was all wired up. The fact that I couldn't get much physical contact from anyone was difficult. Those of you who know me well know that I am a touchy feely kind of person. I love hugs and desperately needed one or twenty million. I had to settle for kisses on the cheek.

Back to the nurses. I remember when the doctor put me on a liquid diet because I hadn't yet farted (Yes, this was a concern after one has given birth) and I was starving. I had eaten all of my cream of wheat and watery grits when No Nonsense Nurse came in. She asked who I was and I said that I had been looking forward to pancakes since that's what I had ordered for breakfast and was given liquidy corn products in return. She went against the doctors orders and special ordered pancakes for me. It wasn't much, but it brightened my day. My Kenyan nurse always said I was "such a brave girl" and smiled. There was a nurse who was nine months pregnant. The other nurses told her she needed to hang around me so that my early birth would rub off on her. I always felt bad about asking her to do things since she was quite preggo. I hope that by now she has had a safe and easy labor and delivery with a healthy baby. There was also L; she wasn't a nurse, but a medical assistant. One night, she gave me a sponge bath. As she was wiping off my filth, I asked her if I needed to give her a few singles as she did it and if I was going to get a happy ending. She was laughing so hard, she had to stop a few times. She also had the ability to wrangle me out of the bed and into the chair. She couldn't have weighed any more than I did, but she was a mighty little thing!

My Kenyan nurse always asked about how my baby was doing and loved it when people brought pictures of her. Momma Pug printed out pics of my child and put them around my room so I could see her. I don't know what I had done without those pictures. I had seen my baby for maybe thirty seconds whilest in a drug induced state. For the time I was in the hospital, I didn't believe I had a baby. I knew people were bringing me pictures and showing me video of this tiny thing with as many tubes in her as I had. I couldn't really be sure she was mine though. I hadn't had the honor of truly meeting her yet.

I hated being alone in that hospital and I often was. I remember one night that DH, Momma Pug, The Aggie and Texas Barbie came to visit me. It was great to be surrounded by friends. The nurses had to kick everyone out for shift change and I was alone. I started crying. After Hurricane Katrina, I developed a -fear is such a strong wrod, but we'll use it for lack of a better one- fear of being alone. After going through therapy for the first time and learned that I could not do everything by myself, I hated being alone. If I couldn't go home and couldn't see my baby, the least I could do was be surrounded by people who loved me. A new nurse walked in, we'll call her Goldie since she had a gold cap over her front tooth. She saw me crying and asked what was wrong. I explained as best I could my loneliness. She stayed with me until Texas barbie snuck back in to show me the video of me after the C Section.

I know that everyone who was there had other things to do- go see the baby, clean my house, run errands, etc. But I did resent everyone a little bit since no one would show up to see me until it was almost lunch time, would stay for a few minutes and then leave. I was alone every night in the ICU because my mother, who had the best of intentions, told everyone that I was better off alone.

The doctors didn't make matters any better. Dr. Washy told me different things everytime she came in- You're Type 1; you're type 2; you developed type 1 at the beginning of the pregnancy/five years ago/three months ago; it's just gestational. This was another reason why I didn't want to be alone. I was so high I wasn't sure what all the doctors were saying. Hospital patients always need an advocate!! This came into play on my last day in the hospital when Dr. Anthony Edwards told me I could go home on Monday- but I'm getting ahead of the story.

Chapter 2: ICU for both of us

It is now time, Gentle Reader, for the birth of my child. I am wheeled off in the hospital bed, leaving my darling Husband in the room, towards surgery. I wave to the nurses as I pass their station and say, "Bye, I'm off to have a baby." I've accepted the fact that she's coming out early and I'm rather excited to meet her.

Normally, operating rooms are scary. They're sterile, white, bright, and filled with all kinds of scary medical equipment. This one wasn't. The nurses hovered over me and explained everything they were doing. Then the epidural man came in. He was a really nice guy despite the fact that he put a needle into my spine. It was an odd sensation. A shot of cold ran down my spine. Everything below my waist began to tingle and the go pleasantly numb. I couldn't move my toes. I asked the anesthesiologist if he could come by after a rough day at school and give me another one. He laughed and marveled at my astounding sense of humor.

"It's amazing that you can crack jokes at a time like this," he said.

"Well, I am on painkiller," I replied with a slight slur. My arms were strapped down in a position that wasn't unlike Jesus on the cross. A sheet was put up so I didn't have to watch my abdomen being cut open. And I relaxed for a moment waiting for the inevitable.About this time, my DH (That's short for Darling Husband) came to sit by my side in scrubs. The doctors came in and went to work.

At 5:28 pm,she was born. I didn't feel her come out. She didn't cry. I didn't see her at all. DH said, "She's out."

"She's out?" I asked and I saw one of the doctors rush out the room with something small and red in a towel. If I hadn't been high, that would have been the moment that hurt my feelings the most. I've read that it's normal for a woman who gives birth via C-Section to feel like a failure. In my haze, I did. I knew this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. I lost whatever bit of acceptance I had gained on my way to the operating room. To this day, I still don't have it back fully.

DH and I are brought to the recovery room. I beg for something to drink because my mouth is so dry and am given ice chips. I still can't feel anything below the waist. DH pulled out a camcorder which was lent to us by our friend Texas Barbie- she was the one who would have sat with me while he went to class. Now would be the appropriate time to go to my videos and view said video. I will warn you- you'll laugh, you'll cry- as I did. The first part is very funny since I am higher on painkiller than i ever have been before. Then they wheel Phoebe in so I can see her. Please watch the video before proceeding.

If I had known to cry, I would have. I didn't know how close we both were to death at this point. That is not an exaggeration. I am not kidding. At the end of the video, you can barely hear the doctor say "Can you turn that off please?" to DH. Phoebe had acidosis, meaning her blood was too acidic and she had to be rushed off to NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) to be stabilized. That's when the doctors realized that what's wrong with her just might be what's wrong with me too. They test my blood to find that I also have acidosis and a blood sugar of 493- normal blood sugar will be from 70 to 110. I am also rushed to ICU.

The next few hours are very hazy. I was on a lot of painkiller and they had given me a button to give myself more should I desire it. It was hooked to my epidural, so when I pushed the button I got another shot of cold down my spine. I know doctors and nurses came in. I remember my uncle being there. He lives in Tomball and quickly drove down once my mother called him. DH was there with Texas Barbie and my brother from another mother The Aggie. They were talking to the doctors. I saw DH's face and knew it couldn't be good. I had never seen him so scared. I didn't know at that point that I was dying and the doctors were doing everything to keep me alive.

At one point in time, I remember my OB coming in with a friend of his. He was a bald man wearing an ugly yellow print polo shirt. He started messing with my upper chest and I could feel a tube being put into me. I asked what was going on. My Ob said that this friend of his was putting in a central venous catheter or central line- an IV which went into my subclavain vein- or in layman's terms the huge vein which pumps right into my heart. They started administering insulin in mass quantaties and I began to stabilize. I remember saying to my DH at some point in time, "I'm not going to die." Which was true, obviously. I have way too much stuff left to do.

My OB came in again after a while and said that this hospital- which is a women's hospital, they do babies and breast cancer- wasn't equipt to handle my needs. I was being transported my ambulance to another hospital. All I knew is that I was being transfered away from my baby. I told my DH to go home and get some rest. I knew my parents were on their way, his parents were flying in the next day, and his older brother was driving down from Dallas. He wouldn't be alone.

The ambulance and paramedics came to get me and I was wheeled out. The nice ambulance man and I talked while I was being transported. After I told him I was a theatre teacher, he said his sister lived in New York and did a lot of Broadway and off-Broadway work. Only I would discuss theatre with the paramedics after one of the most traumatic expereinces of my life.

We arrived and I was placed in ICU. There was a flurry of doctors and nurses for about an hour. They took my vitals, drew vial after vial of blood, and put more IVs in my arms and hands. I looked like the Borg- I was attached to so many machines and wires I could barely move. My only consolation was what came to be known as the Tweety Button (Thank you, Mama Pug). My pain killer button in this hospital would "chirp" every time I pressed it and it released its narcotic goodness. I pressed this serval times while I was being poked and prodded.

Then, the doctors and nurses left and I was alone. They gave me the remote control and I surfed the channels for a while all the while missing my Dish Network on screen guide. Then, I passed into a dreamless sleep until a nurse showed up an hour later to take my blood sugar.

The next morning the nightmare truly began.

Chapter 1: I’m Limited

As you all know, I have given birth. Although it wasn't my own version of "A Baby Story" I had come to expect. There are a multitude of lessons I have learned from this experience. Hurricane Katrina made me human. This made me mortal.

It started in June. I started getting really, really hot, exceedingly tired and had a thirst that could never be quenched. I figured it was because I was pregnant and my doctor agreed. Until June 29th. My back started to hurt. I once again thought it was because I was pregnant- my doctor once again agreed. I did what I could with hot compresses and Tylenol. I didn't sleep that night because I hurt so bad. It got worse the next day and the pain spread to the front. I thought it was round ligament pain (for those who don't know the lingo: it's growing pains for pregnant women. The ligaments in the abdomen stretch to accommodate the growing wriggling human inside of you. It's completely normal.) I once again did not sleep. One July 1st, I called in sick to work and did my best to get some sleep. I couldn't because I hurt so bad. I called my doctor and he said that it was probably nothing, but to come into the hospital just in case. I said that I would after I dropped my car off at the dealership for service. You see Hubby and I were going to New Orleans that weekend for my Great Aunt's birthday/ my first baby shower and my car needed some TLC.
Looking back, I have no idea how in the hell I drove my car to the dealership and stopped at Chik-fa-lay (I know I probably spelled it wrong; enjoy the story, dammit). I called my loving husband and asked for him to get me and drive me to the hospital. He picked me up and we began our journey.

This the point where everything started to go to hell in a hand basket.

The pain was intense but irregular. I didn't know I was in labor. The contractions were coming about every 3 to 7 minutes- I was trying to time them using the clock in the car. We made it to the hospital and I was dropped off by the door. I was on my way to labor and delivery when a nurse with a wheelchair saw me.
"Honey, are you okay?" she asked.
"I don't know," I replied as a contraction hit me. "My doctor said to go to labor and delivery to see if something's wrong."
"Get in." She put the chair in my direction and I sat down. We went to the third floor and I was wheeled into the expensive posh labor suite. This place had hardwood floors, a full bathroom with a tub and shower, a nice size TV, a VCR/DVD player- nice. It was because they didn't have any other place to put me. The nurse came in and told me to strip and put on a hospital gown. I did and continued to have to worst pain ever. My husband sat beside me, probably feeling as helpless as he does when I have a migraine- only this was much worse.

My child, my precious daughter could be in trouble.

The nurse came in a drew blood. It came out, but I could tell by the look on her face that something was wrong. It was the consistency of maple syrup. She checked to see if I was dilating and I was. She started me on an IV and gave me two shots- one to stop the labor and a steroid shot to strengthen Phoebe's lungs in case she had to be delivered then. I was in a panic. I was only at 27 weeks. She had to stay in longer. Her lungs would be developed for another 10 weeks! How could they pull her out now?
The pain came and went, but was still there. The funny thing is my hubby had class that night- the last class before the final. He called a friend of ours to sit with me while he was gone. She didn't make it in time.
I remember them wheeling me down the hall for a quick ultrasound. It was the first time I saw her little face. I could tell she was tired (There is something to be said about maternal instinct). They wheeled me back to the room and my doctor came to see how I was. He looked at the fact that I was dilated, my baby was in position for delivery, my blood was thick, and my contractions would not stop. He said this baby has to come out now.

Now? How could she she's too small. It's too soon. I remember saying that we hadn't quite decided on the middle name, I didn't know how to breastfeed, we hadn't been to single childbirthing class, and she didn't even have a mattress. A team of nurses came in to prepare me for the C-section. They gave me painkiller and started putting more IVs in me. I was a whirlwind of emotions. I wanted what was best for Phoebe. However, I couldn't help but to feel like a failure because I couldn't even carry my child to term. I wasn't going to get my moment right after the baby is born and the doctor would place her on my chest. I wouldn't get to call my husband and say, "Honey, it's time." I hadn't gotten a single baby shower present. I hadn't gotten a single stretch mark. Hell, I barely got to tell anyone that I had finally reached the last trimester.

More to come.

Cha Cha Cha Changes

I wonder if I've been changed
in the night? Let me think.
Was I the same when I got
up this morning? I almost think
I can remember feeling a little different.
But if I'm not the same,
the next question is
'Who in the world am I?'
Ah, that's the great puzzle!