Tag Archives: pregnancy

there goes my hero, he’s ordinary

Posted on by
4

This story won’t make much sense without these…

Part 1: there goes my hero
Part 2: watch him as he goes

Somewhere in the middle of waiting I noticed my contractions were becoming a lot stronger. I could feel them in my back now and they were 2 minutes apart. I mentioned it to Chris and he said he thought it might be the stress of all this. I wanted to agree but I think a small part of me knew that my body was trying to tell me something. The baby was not okay.

When the perinatologist came back in the room after about 25 minutes she came in alone. As she leaned against the wall to my right the first thing out of her mouth was “We’re going to be able to save your baby.” For the second time that night time stopped. As I tried desperately to find the part of the conversation I had missed she continued on. She told us the baby’s heart was beating too fast and was causing severe stress on the rest of it’s body. As she kept on she told us that since I was 33 weeks along it was close enough to term that it was safer to deliver the baby. Today.

Again she said, “We’re going to be able to save your baby.”

Time was still frozen. In shock, or fear, or most likely naivety I asked if they were going to induce. With almost a small chuckle the doctor responded that inducing the baby would be much to stressful, it had to be a c-section. This was the first moment I internally panicked. I don’t want surgery. I know I can do an induction, I’ve done it before. No surgery. Anxiety silently overtook me. In the moment when I could not grasp what was happening with my baby I feared more than anything the one thing I understood. I would be awake during this surgery.

The doctor continued to talk for a few more minutes. I tried to push the fear back and listen. Dr. Smith would be doing the procedure. She was the doctor on duty and she had been the doctor who delivered Evey. That was a small comfort in this chaos. It would be a little over an hour before the operating room was available. They would come to start prepping me in 30 minutes or so. Then she left.

As Chris and I began to process this new information our family began to arrive. Chris’s mom was first. Always the calm within the storm. Perfect words, perfect silences. My parents came next. Dad clung to what always suited him best, a little humor mixed with pragmatism. Mom worried. Chris’s dad followed soon after. In this flurry of activity Chris relayed most of the details and information. I just tried to keep it together.

Once the waiting was over and they came to start prepping me, it became much easier. The world transformed into into tasks to be done. I concentrated on the black and the white, knowing that if I acknowledge the grey I might break into so many pieces I would not be able to put myself back together.

I needed to change into a gown. An IV was inserted. Blood was drawn. We left the room and were moved to the operating room. On the way I briefly glimpsed more family milling around the halls. My brother and his wife. Brad, a family friend. Our parents gave of hugs and smiles hiding back thinly veiled tears.

In the operating room there was much to be done. A spinal was to be given. I was on the operating table. Chris was with me the whole time. Anxiety was slipping through again. I cautioned the doctor that I was nervous. Would they be able to keep me calm if I needed it? Certainly, she assured me. Within what felt like moments the curtain was raised and prep work began. I asked that she not tell me when she started.

Chris was my hero in that moment. He did everything humanly possible to keep me distracted. He held my hand and we talked about names. Caroline or Anna for a girl. Benjamin or William for a boy. He joked about his fear of seeing over the curtain, little did I know at the time but the curtain did little to impede his view. At one point we giggling a little, adrenaline making us giddy. After what felt like 20 minutes I asked if they had started. Dr. Smith chuckled a little and said she had started a while ago. Chris and I went back to talking with the quiet sounds of the doctors working in the background.

As short time later Dr. Smith announced, “It’s a boy.” And a tiny whimper of a cry was heard.

I hadn’t noticed the team of doctors off in the corner waiting to receive the baby. They had come in while I was being prepped. The hushed but urgent talking started. Chris went over to see the baby. Dr. Smith told me she was going to start finishing the surgery. In silence I waited. In this crystal clear moment of denial I thought nothing more than a few moments with the doctors would make my son okay.

Chris came back to my side. A look that I didn’t comprehend on his face. A voice asked, “Would you like to see your son?” Yes. He was quickly brought to my side in a clear bassinet. The only detail I recall is his color. Bluish-purple. And just as quickly he was gone. A group of at least 5 people left with him to go up the NICU.

Torn between staying with me and going with the baby Chris held my hand. “Go! Go with the baby. I’ll be fine.” I said. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes! Go!” I answered. “What name?” he asked. “Ben, it has to be Ben.” I replied. And he was gone.

Left alone on the operating table fear and realization settled over me. The tears broke. I was terrified.

watch him as he goes

Posted on by
5

It’s a little ironic that as I sit typing this two days before Ben’s second birthday I look out the window to see an odd November snowstorm. It’s almost as if history is repeating itself only this time the snow has decided not to stick and I’m not pregnant. But it seems as if it’s almost fated to help me figure out how to put this all down in words. If you didn’t read yesterday’s post you’ll need to other wise this won’t make any sense.

Part 1: there goes my hero

The drive to the hospital was short, walking distance really but as I wasn’t sure what was going to come of this I moved my car. The parking lot was deserted, not many takers after 5 on Friday. This was the same hospital where I had Evey so I knew my way around pretty well or at least enough not to get lost. The last time I was here I’d had all my paper work filled out in advance and it was a quick stop at the desk before I was put in a room. This time I hadn’t gotten that far. Thirty-three weeks with my second child was cause for a little procrastination. As I road the elevator to the maternity ward my mind was a complete blank but my stomach was full of violently fluttering butterflies.

When I reached the desk to check in I told them my name and that my doctor had just called to let them know I was on my way over. The nurse very politely said yes, they were expecting me. The floor seemed very quiet as if the snow covering the outside had silenced the world inside the hospital. It was eerily different than the last time I was here.

The nurse quickly hustled me off to a room. It wasn’t a delivery room. It was a room for women who had a need for preterm hospital stays. It didn’t sink in right away but eventually it did, this room was designed for women like me.

She gave me a gown and asked me to just remove my shirt and put the gown on, I could keep my jeans on. She gave me a few moments then came back with fetal monitors and a contraction monitor and an enormous stack of paper work along with a laptop on a cart. As she hooked up the fetal monitor she muttered a couple of times that it wasn’t working. She’d be right back with a different one. The second one had the same problem. Then I heard it. She gasped softly and whispered, “It’s halving the number.”

I processed that over and over in my head for a minute. “It’s halving the number.” What number? Then I saw it. The fetal heart monitor read 167, a normal steady sinus rhythm for an unborn baby. I asked the nurse what she meant after trying to figure it out. Her reply stunned me. “The monitor is only picking up half of the baby’s heartbeats, it’s not able to keep up.” Sitting on the hospital bed I did some fast math.

334. 334 beats per minute.

“What does that mean?” I asked. She didn’t answer right away. When she did answer she only said the doctor, a perinatologist, would be in as soon as she was done with another patient to talk to me and answer my questions. I don’t remember much of what happened when I was talking to her after that. I know we went over the routine questions and she entered my information into the computer, apologized that she couldn’t get me anything to drink until we talked to the doctor and asked if my husband was on his way.

As I sat and waited I studied that tiny room to keep my mind from running wild. I studied the wall color, a pale pink salmon. The locations of the chairs, one to the left of the bed. The locations of cabinets and lack of TV. In my studying I glanced at the contraction monitor. There was a distinct wave patter on the monitor and on the paper. I was having mild contractions every three minutes. What was going on?

Within 30 minutes Chris arrived. He rushed in, gave me a quick hug and sat next to me on the bed. Had I talked to a doctor? What was going on? Was I okay? Was the baby okay? He was shaking, tears gathering in his eyes. I don’t know was all I could say. The nurse came back in at that moment and filled him in on the little I knew so far and told us the doctor would be with us shortly. We didn’t wait long.

Wheeling in a freestanding level two ultra sound machine the perinatologist entered. She apologized for the delay. For the second time that day I was loaded down with gooey gel. As she started the ultra sound she gathered some basic info. She wanted to know if we knew the sex. No, we didn’t but at that point I didn’t care anymore and told her as much. She smiled and said there was no need to change that now, trying to ease me fears.

Moments later the avalanche started. When was your last ultra sound? Two weeks ago. Did they mention the baby was getting too big? No. Were there any abnormalities? No. Has the baby’s movement slowed? No. The last ultra sound was two weeks ago. Yes. There was no problem with the baby’s size? No. Did they mention any heart abnormalities? No. Has the baby’s heart rate been fast before? No. Were they concerned about size? No. How big for your first child? 9 pounds even. Have there been any other problems? No. Are you sure no one mentioned anything about the size. Yes, I’m sure.

I was becoming frustrated. Every moment of this pregnancy until today had been easy. There was nothing complicated. I didn’t know what was wrong. No one had told me anything was wrong.

She wrapped up her questions and said she needed about 20 minutes to talk to the OB on duty and go over the numbers and she would be back to talk to us soon.

In silence, we waited.