Me, Myself and Mommy

To get a full idea of what is going on you should start with these…
The Miscarriage – Part 1: The Loss
The Miscarriage – Part 2: Waiting to Move On

After waiting for what felt an eternity, Wednesday came. Tuesdays used to be my least favorite day of the week, but I can tell you that Wednesdays are slowly creeping up there.

Prior to my doctor’s appointment, I had to go to the hospital lab for more blood work. I wish I could tell you that I am getting used to needles, but I can’t. I’d still rather have a vampire suck the blood out of me, or mosquitoes, or leeches, any will do.

The doctor’s appointment went mostly OK. I say mostly because the very invasive ultrasound hurt a phenomenal amount compared to the one I had a week ago. I made noises that puppies make when you step on their tales – yes it was that bad. Yelping aside, the ultrasound showed that my right ovary was shrinking. My HCG levels had also dropped by half over the last week. The shot of chemo was working.

The doctor was very pleased with the progress we had made over the past week. The medicine was working. However, until the HCG level is untraceable and the ovary returns to the normal size, there is always a risk of the mass rupturing. Therefore, I was to stay (mostly) off my feet, lift nothing more than five pounds, no driving, and be watched 24/7.

Steve and I were relieved. Our chances for preserving 100% of our fertility were improving. We went out to lunch to take a deep breath.

The day moved on as expected. I was drained, but that had become my normal. I take a shower, then nap. I go the doctor, then nap. I eat a meal, then nap.

As evening set in, things began to change.

I began to notice pain in my pelvic floor area. It mostly hurt when I would transition from standing, to sitting, to lying down, or vice versa. I just assumed the ultrasound may have irritated the area. I took one of my super pain pills. As the evening progressed, it got worse, and it spread all the way to my bellybutton. It began to hurt when I peed. The only way I know how to describe the pain is to relate it back to how it felt to pee after giving birth times a hundred. I’m not talking about a it burns when you pee kind of pain either.  It was that feeling of never wanting to pee again because it hurt too much to use the muscles that control your bladder. I took another super pain pill. It got worse. It began to hurt when I wasn’t moving. It brought me to tears when I felt gas bubbles passing through my intestines. I knew that I needed to use the bathroom, and thought maybe it would help relieve the pain if I did go. How-ever, it killed me to pee, so there was no way, I mean NO WAY, I was going to do THAT.

I surrendered. Steve called the doctor. Thank God, my doctor was the one on call for the night.

The doctor and I talked for awhile. Based on the location of my pain, and the way I was describing it, he felt it was important for me to get checked ASAP. That meant going to Stonewall Jackson Hospital (the dreaded local hospital) because Augusta Health was 45 minutes away.

I tried to tell Steve that I was feeling much better, and that we should just go to Agusta. Better yet, I should just take another super pain pill (probably getting close to an overdose) and see how things are in the morning. He said no.

On the way to the hospital I kept asking Steve, “What if this is all because I have to poop? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this would be? Do you have any idea how expensive this poop would be?” I really felt that we would get there and wait forever to find out that all I need is a laxative.

At about 10:00PM, I waddled into the ER hunched over, holding my crotch. I got a lot of sideways stairs, but I didn’t care. It felt so much better to hold things up when I had to stand and walk. Steve told the lady behind the desk what is going on. She looked at me and goes, “should we get you a wheel chair?” YES.

Steve took care of the paper work while the triage nurse checked me out. I informed her that if I seem drunk, it’s because I’ve taken too many super pain pills. I told her that I needed my blood checked, and an ultrasound as soon as possible. That is when this Wednesday night went from bad to worse…

Nurse: “We can’t do an ultrasound until in the morning.”
Steve and I: “What!?”
Nurse: “We don’t have anyone on staff to do one after hours.”
Me: “Steve, call my doctor. We need to leave and go to Augusta now.”
Nurse: “Well just wait. We may be able to call someone in. You can’t leave. You don’t know if you have internal bleeding.”
Me: “Steve, I need a Coke.”
Nurse: “You can’t have anything to eat or drink until we know what is going on.”
Me: I knew I should have made Steve stop at McDonald’s before we came.

We should have gotten up and left then. I was able to hold my crotch and waddle in, so why couldn’t I waddle back out?

We were taken back to a room, and I was given a gown to change into.

I wanted to try to use the bathroom. I was not about to spend the night in that place if all I had to do was poop. I made Steve come with me in case I needed to be picked up off the floor. (You know you are delirious with pain when you ask your significant other to come with you while you try to poop.) I sat down on the toilet, and tried to let my muscles relax into the natural pooping position. Huge mistake. The pain was indescribable. You know, I didn’t even feel the pain anymore. I got hot, and instantly started sweating. The room was spinning. I couldn’t talk straight. I never understood when people used the phrase, “I almost passed out from the pain,” but boy do I get it now.

I made it to the bed, and I even found an almost comfortable position to lie in. My new nurse brought me warm blankets and some amazing pain killers. I even talked her into bringing me some ice chips. Our secret. Man those ice chips were delicious.

Random observation – I was never hooked up to any monitors while in the ER. I thought that since I was possibly bleeding internally that it would be important to monitor my heart rate and such. Guess not.

The doctor came in and asked some questions. Poked around, “Does this hurt?” YES GENIUS. He said he’d have to call in one of the local OBGYNs to get a second opinion. I told him his second opinion could be my doctor. He was on call tonight, and knew what I had been going through the past few weeks.

He came back about half an hour later. He had talked to my doctor. He told ER Doctor to check my iron level. (We later find out that my doctor was furious that they hadn’t already check my iron level to see if I was loosing blood.) Depending on my iron level, I would be transported to Augusta where my doctor could take care of me.

Around 1:00AM the doctor comes  back with the results of the blood test. (I really want to know why people were taking their sweet time, when I had been told a hundred times that if the ectopic pregnancy ruptures it could be life threatening.) The test showed signs of blood loss, but the iron level was high enough that I could go to Augusta. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

We asked if Steve could drive me. The doctor said no, it had to be by ambulance in case things got worse on the way, but here’s the kicker. Stonewall Jackson Hospital does not transport patients to other medical facilities after 10:00PM.  All of Augusta’s ambulances were already transporting patients, so I had to wait an hour for an ambulance to come pick me from another hospital. IT ONLY TAKES 45 MINUTES TO GET TO AUGUSTA FROM SJH.

I just want to point out again that I am still not hooked up to any monitors, and I am loosing blood. I could have passed out, gone into shock, died and no one would have known.

At about 2:00AM the transport team arrived. They loaded me up. I kissed Steve goodbye, and he headed to Augusta.

Before we pulled away from the hospital, the medics hooked me up to a monitor (finally) and checked my vitals. The medic looked at my heart rate, then looked at me, and then at the heart rate, and then at me. My heart rate was at about 140. I am a trained EMT and know that 140 is NOT a safe place to hang out at. However, the medic assured me that she was comfortable with it, and that the stress of the evening was the culprit.

I have been on the back of an ambulance several times before, but never as the patient. I am not a good passenger in a car, much less in a vehicle where I am traveling in reverse, flat on my back. Yes, the stress was spiking my heart rate. I could feel every bump in the road. The wind was blowing, and it was raining. My mind began to wander to dark places… Is the driver alert? It’s really late at night. I would really feel much better if the medics were talking. How much is the ambulance ride going to cost me? How much is this whole shebang going to cost me? Keep breathing. Think of the waves. Calm your heart rate down.

When we got close to the hospital, the medics turned off the lights in the back of the ambulance so no one could see inside. It was to protect my privacy. For a split second, I felt like a celebrity who had partied to hard or was having a mental breakdown.

We pulled up to Augusta. It was 3:00AM, five hours after I had waddled into SJH holding my crotch.

To be continued in…
The Miscarriage – Part 4: To The OR
The Miscarriage – Part 5: The Post Op
The Miscarriage – Part 6: It Stings a Little

This entry was posted on Monday, September 28th, 2009 at 10:40 pm and is filed under Me, Myself. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.