911

So it happened again.  After dinner last Thursday night, I sat down on one of my many trips to the bathroom.  After a minute, I could still hear trickling, but I was pretty sure my bladder muscles were done doing their work.  I stood up to check out what was happening and was immediately terrified.  The entire bowl was full of blood.  And blood was still trickling out of me. 

Instant panic.  I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t leave the toilet because I was leaking.  Was it just blood or was there amniotic fluid mixed in?  It reminded me a lot of when my water broke with Daughter:  a constant trickle.  I knew that if I was leaking fluid, I’d be having a baby real soon.  I got Chris’ attention and then proceeded to lose my cool.  I sobbed in the bathroom for a couple minutes, but then caught sight of Daughter still sitting at the kitchen table.  Like a smack in the face, this snapped me out of it.  I grabbed a maxi pad and got myself somewhat dressed.  Again, Chris and I fumbled with “Do we drive to ER or do we call 911?”  I couldn’t make a decision.  Chris made it for me and was on the phone with 911 dispatch by the time I came out of the bathroom.  I laid myself down on the kitchen floor to help combat gravity, not knowing at the time that I would be completely horizontal for the next 16 hours. 

                                                           

In the few minutes before the paramedics arrived, I tried my best to make Daughter comfortable.  That sweet girl brought a pillow from the couch and together, she and I laid on the kitchen floor and cuddled.  It was exactly what I needed.  Probably what we both needed.  I was worried about how she would process what was happening and what was about to happen. Thankfully, she’s a bright, well-adjusted girl.  She handled it well. 

Within minutes, my house was full of half a dozen rescue workers.  I found out later that several of them were firemen, but  I never saw the fire truck.  A couple of them started asking me questions in overly calm voices.  They couldn’t get the regular wheeled stretcher into the house, so they carried me out in an old school stretcher.  They called it the canvas and poles.  Once down both sets of front steps, they set the canvas onto the gurney and wheeled me to the ambulance.  I could see Daughter and my mom watching from the porch as I was taken away.  I desperately wanted to kiss my girl and say goodbye to her, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.  So I just watched her until she was out of view. 

In the ambulance, Chris sat on the bench next to me.  They started an IV.  Then we were on our way with lights and sirens.  The whole shebang.  I heard the paramedic tell the hospital that I was experiencing a possible miscarriage.   Thankfully, I knew better or I would have believed him. 

The whole way there, I thought about Daughter and my unborn son and hoped they were both okay. 

At the hospital, I got wheeled around quite a bit before we got to the right place.  The whole gurney was brought into a tiny triage room and I was put on the monitors right away.  Like last week, my uterus showed signs of irritability, but no signs of full-blown contractions.  I wasn’t in labor. 

Within 15 minutes, I was admitted and brought to a room.  Within 30 minutes, I had an IV in each arm, an automatic blood pressure cuff on my left bicep, and the perinatal doctor pressing on my belly with an ultrasound wand.  He asked how much blood I lost, which was impossible to answer.  How do you measure how much of the red toilet bowl was blood vs. water?  He seemed mad that I couldn’t give him a straight answer.  It was at this point that my blood pressure tanked.  It dropped to something absurd, like 45 over 30.  I never got the official number because I was in a haze, very, very close to passing out.  I got extremely hot and nauseous.  The doc ordered an oxygen mask on my face.  I turned to my side and stared at Chris while he kept talking to me.  About every ten seconds, he asked if I was okay.  I nodded when I could.  I felt awful. 

Slowly, I pulled out of that slump.  The doc explained to Chris, since I was not terribly alert, that my fluid level looked good, meaning I hadn’t broken my water.  He also explained that it’s pretty near impossible for me to be leaking fluid because of the placenta blocking the way.  Physically, the fluid has nowhere to go.  The doc also showed Chris a blood clot the size of a baseball and said I would be passing that in the next couple days.  He thought this was causing the uterine irritability. 

After the doc left, two nurses got to work on me.  When labs came in to take some vials of blood, the nurses realized I didn’t have an ID band on yet, so they rushed off to get that.  Sometime later, I noticed I was still wearing my civilian shirt and thankfully, it didn’t have any blood on it yet.  The nurse helped me take it off and feed it through the IV lines.  Then, she got me into a hospital gown.  Since they really didn’t want me to get up at all, I was lucky enough to get a catheter.   They also put me on magnesium sulfate via the IV to quiet the uterus and help baby’s nervous system.  Being on that is a lot like being stoned.  That’s how I stayed for the next 14 hours:  on my side, IV in both arms, catheter, blood pressure taken every 15 minutes, still leaking blood.  And the nurses said, “Try to get some rest.”  With all of that, I probably could have if I didn’t have the leaking.  As it was, I didn’t sleep at all. 

A new perinatal doc came to see me at 8:15 on Friday morning.  He told me lots of wonderful news.  The bleeding had stopped.  I could eat breakfast, since they were no longer expecting to deliver me right away.  Until that point, I was not allowed to eat or drink.  He also said I didn’t need my catheter anymore.  I was genuinely excited about that.  (It’s the little things.) He told me to get comfortable because I would be here at the hospital for a week or more.  He explained that they like to see at least 5 days of no bleeding before they will send mamas home.  He also explained that if I had a third episode of bleeding, I would be admitted to the hospital for the duration of my pregnancy.  He said, “Three strikes and you’re in.” 

On Saturday, I got moved down a floor since I was no longer a critical case.  And that’s where I’ve been since.  I haven’t really minded being in the hospital and that’s mostly because of fear of having an early preemie with lots of medical complications.  It’s easier to relax here than I expect it will be at home.  There aren’t things to clean or jobs to do here.  There’s just bed.  My menu and my 3 delivered meals.  TV.  Books.  Company.    I’m not bored yet, if you can believe it. 

On Sunday morning, Chris and I got woken up by lab coming to take more blood.  I asked her what it was for, expecting her to say hemoglobin since it was pretty low when I got admitted, but she explained it was to have a sample of my blood on hand in case I need a transfusion.  They need a fresh sample every 72 hours.  I still don’t understand this.  I’m pretty sure my blood type isn’t going to change at all, let alone every 72 hours.  But they say it’s the antibodies or some other factors in the blood that change. 

The view from my hospital room.  

They monitor baby twice a day and he’s been getting gold stars every time.  He’s very active and his accels are great.  They look for variation in his heartbeat to show he’s getting enough oxygen to move around and karate chop me from the inside.  For those of you who are runners, they like to see baby doing fartleks.  Since the blood loss is coming from the placenta, there is concern that baby is not getting enough oxygen, but thankfully that’s not what’s going on in our case.  The nurse practitioner assured me the blood loss is completely my own.  None of it is coming from baby.  Then she reminded me of how much extra blood volume pregnant women have.  150 – 200%

As of today, I am IV free.  In fact, I have nothing taped to my body right now . . . for the first time since last Thursday.  We had an ultrasound this morning and Baby looks stellar.  He’s really doing well.   There’s still no additional bleeding, but still no talk of being sent home.  That’s okay.  I feel safer here. 

The only hard part of hospital bedrest is missing Daughter and losing my ability to take care of her.  This is excruciating.  She comes to see me every day, but she’s an active little girl and I have to be careful around her.  She keeps asking me if I’m okay.  I tell her I am.  Then she asks why I’m in the hospital if I’m okay.  It’s difficult for her to understand. It’s been over a week since I last read her bedtime stories or tucked her in.  Like I mentioned before, she’s handling it well, but she needs her parents. 

Chris has been with me every night in the hospital.  Sometimes he goes home to take Daughter to the park or tuck her in, but he’s been sleeping here next to me on the pull out chair.  I’m continually struck by how much he cares about me.  He’s a good, good man.  Yesterday I told him, “I’ve never felt as loved by you as when you push me around in the wheelchair.”  And it’s true.  Being completely vulnerable is making me appreciate the people that surround me.  Especially Chris. 

There’s a good chance that I’ll be having another episode like this one again in the near future.  In fact, the doctor told me there’s a 50% chance of it.  For now, things are quiet and that’s good.  Every day that Baby Boy stays in is a celebration.  As of now, I am 31 weeks 2 days.  We’re looking forward to 32 weeks for a little bit of a safety net.