Tuesday evening my overly cautious mother made me dinner while I snoozed on the sofa. She woke me up in a panic claiming that I had been wheezing. After assessing the situation. We went back to the dreaded East Alabama Medical Center Emergency Room. Here was the situation: I couldn't breathe, my chest hurt, my ankles (what ankles!) were the size of tree trunks, and did I mention I couldn't breathe.
The next few hours were a bit of a blur, but three things I was completely sure of. 1.) The doctor was a complete and total ass. 2.) The nurse saved my life. and 3.) My condition was NOT good. Thanks to my mother's voice the doctor finally agreed to do a chest x-ray which revealed I had a ton of fluid surrounding my lungs, heart, and all those other important organs that perform functions which help you, well you know, live. That good for nothing doctor wanted to send me home and now he is telling me that he thinks I have congestive heart failure. WTF. I was finally admitted. More tests, more blood, more annoyances....blah blah blah....... prison. And the doctors still didn't know what was wrong with me. Monkey was doing what monkeys do and chilling. I on the other hand did not have CHF, but I needed constant oxygen and I felt like I was dying. The verdict, "Umm, we could let you go home because we think it is you being a bad, brittle diabetic and a wimpy, pregnant woman, but let's send you to UAB just be safe." Uh, what?
To make matters worse I just wanted a shower and my pajamas, but now I get to be taken to Birmingham in an ambulance equipped with oxygen, needles, and two very talkative, sweet, talkative EMTs. Yeah right, I was NOT going to ride up there without Stephen in that ambulance with me. Like that made a difference. He became BFFs with both EMTs and completely ignored me the entire two hour ride to Birmingham. Why hasn't my husband lost his voice? Oh that's right, he keeps his on a short chain around his neck. Ugh.
UAB's facilities were phenomenal. My night nurse walked into the room and introduced herself as April Love. Wait. What? I know you. Long story short April's mother was the receptionist at my elementary school and with an overly cautious mother you KNOW she and Ms. Love had become best friends. Also April and I had taken dance lessons together and my mother knew her grandfather from Auburn University. Small freaking world. Although it was a little weird letting April perform her "duties" as a nurse on me as a pregnant woman. Oh well. I hadn't even shaved my legs!
There is something about teaching hospitals that must be said before you choose one to attend. There are actual doctors in these hospitals that look like they just went through puberty or just got their driver's license. Never mind the fact that some and maybe majority of them are your age and younger. When did I get so old? It's a little life jolting when you are trying to hear about some life threatening illness you have just been diagnosed with from a two year old with a pacifier. Woah. Disclaimer: The doctors, and nurses for this fact, were absolutely wonderful and professional at UAB.
Back to my life? So the options for my diagnosis were either congestive heart failure or preeclampsia. I was down on my knees praying that I had congestive heart failure because all I wanted was Monkey to be safe and have the best chance at a normal life. Around 2 am Thursday morning, I awoke to someone telling me that they want to inject me with something like sodium potassium windex that will help Monkey's lungs develop quicker for his delivery. Um, what? Wait! STEPHEN! MOM! tears tears and more tears. Shot in the butt. (J- I said, what what in the butt!) Ok. So after all of these repeat tests at UAB complete with blood, x-rays, and heart images, I have severe preeclampsia. So you are telling me that it is not me being a bad, brittle diabetic and a wimpy, pregnant lady? Ok. We are going to induce you this evening after we run a few more tests. No
I have to mention my day nurse, Milea. She was the best, supportive, and loving person alive. She gave me tons of information about labor and delivery, the RNICU, and what to expect when having a 25 week baby. She held my hand while I endured an epidural. And let me tell you, no man alive could have taken that mile long needle in the middle of their back without shedding a tear. Success. After the epidural, they induced and all I could think about at this point was how gosh darn hungry I was. I hadn't eaten anything since Tuesday at lunch and it was no Thursday evening. Personally I think this is cruel and unusual punishment for a non-pregnant person, but a pregnant person. Pure torture. They should be arrested and thrown into Azkaban.
I "labored" for several hours and finally told my mom and dad to go to their hotel to rest because the doctors didn't expect anything to happen for hours. After they left I started to feel the worst PMS cramps of my life. And sure enough with me being a "wimpy, pregnant lady" they barely made blips on the fetal monitors. This sucks. At some point Monkey did not want cooperate anymore. What baby would? Being taken from a plush bed where you have food served to you, nobody would want to leave. Monkey completely breeched himself and started having irregular heartbeats. The next few minutes went by in a flash. I was being pushed to surgery, lifted on a table, and prepped all within 5 minutes. Enter Stephen wearing orange and blue scrubs. Exit Stephen wearing orange and blue scrubs. When the doctor started to make the incision, I realized I could feel everything. It was the most excruciating pain I have ever felt in my life. Side note: I feel now that I could be in a knife fight or a gang brawl and survive! I was quickly put under anesthesia.
Waking up I realized I couldn't breathe and there was something down my throat and there were people all around me and someone pushing on my chest. Get this gosh darn tube out of my throat so I can breathe. What the crap are you ALL doing around me? At this point, I was told Monkey was doing great. He cried when he was born which is not common because of preemie lung development. I was also informed that I stopped breathing on the table and my heart slowed. Oh yeah and they called a code on me. These last two sentences are NOT good sentences. They called a code. I almost died on the table and they don't know why and they don't know why I came back. Thank you God for not calling me home yet. They wheeled me to the Surgical ICU to endure more needles, blood, and tests.
The life of parents with a baby in the RNICU.......
Ashley, I am in awe of your courage. You are a beautiful writer. Thank you for sharing such a personal and honest part of your life. I love you!
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