Trip to the Hospital, Part 3. 5-3-13

Mom was on the verge of collapse at this point. She was sure she had food poisoning; I’m still working with the virus theory. We managed to get her into the cab with a driver who didn’t know where he was going. Fortunately, I deciphered one of my sets of scribbles to pronounce the address of the nearby ER. I was strategizing and began barking more orders. “Mom, I want you to go and set down on the curb and I will take care of getting Boop sorted.” So, I managed baby, diaper bag and stroller, and got Boop situated. As I was getting us all out, I saw a lady from the hospital pushing a wheelchair. I quickly looked up and thought, “Thank you, sweet Jesus!” I called over to her to help us. Mom was getting sick on the curb, which by some great fortune to the people of San Francisco was right at the storm drain. We were drawing attention of folks walking by. A husky woman hollered out at my mother from her utility truck as she waited at the red light. Her expression was of disgust, but I think she was genuinely concerned, “Is someone helping you?” I was a little annoyed as I was trying to get the baby in her stroller. “Yes, I am!”

The taxi took off with us on the curb. I am relieved. We made it! Meanwhile the lady with the wheelchair promptly informs us that she can’t help us. She said we needed to go get the taxi back to take us around the corner to the entrance of the ER, that we were at the front entrance. The taxi was already down the block, and I had a 13 month old in a stroller and a mom getting sick in the storm drain. With that I lost it, “This is some welcome to San Francisco! Is this how you treat people that visit your city? My mother is sick, and you won’t help us!?!” With that, 2 passers-by offered to help. One was thinking she would run in to the front information desk and request another wheel chair. But about that time, the little lady with the wheel chair got off her phone and said she had approval to take my mother.

Trip to the Hospital. 5-2-13

I’ve been up since about 3am. I have been trying to get sleepy enough to head back to bed, but I’m not having much luck. Boop was having a rough night, and after getting her settled, I wasn’t able to go back to sleep. No access to Internet for a few days, I might as well try to get caught up on blog posts.

I guess I never really told the story about San Francisco and how our trip ended. I did post some photos and give a few scant details but not the meaty bits. Okay, so Friday, I had a little break in the conference, and we headed down to Pier 39 to do a bit of sightseeing. Mom had forgotten her jacket; so we found one there. We watched the man doing his little vaudeville-esque routine in the center square of the pier, went to see the seals sunning themselves on the little dock, and could manage a view of Alcatraz on an atypically clear day. We looked and looked for something to eat. Mom and I have very different tastes; so it’s an ongoing negotiation of where to eat.

Beware, choppy waters ahead! (Alcatraz from Pier 39)

We settled on a little restaurant along the main drag that gave us a view but kept us out of the wind. I took Boop with me to the potty to wash our hands. They had brought the sourdough bread while we were there, and Mom had torn me off a piece and had started to tear up the baby’s. Nice of her to think of us, but… “Mom, did you wash your hands?” “Oh, I washed them before we left the hotel.” “But Mom, we’ve been all over the place since then.” Not another word. She continued eating. I stared at her for a few minutes. I waited. She looked up at me. She continued to eat. Finally, I asked that she go wash her hands.

Am I germ freak? Mom thinks I'm too health conscious. I’m not thinking so after what happened the next day <see title above>. 

Get Crackin’. 4-21-12

I need to get goin’. I’m behind on blog posts. Mom is here again after just leaving last weekend. She just can’t resist the urge to spend her spare time with little Boop. It works out well for me: I could use the help with Boop. She’s been coming around to the whole breastfeeding thing, being a little more patient when I try to give her as much breast milk as possible. Don’t get me wrong, Mom and I still find things to disagree about, but we have one very sweet little girl to direct our attention toward.

When she came in on Friday, we made an attempt to get Boop’s picture made, but it didn’t work out with timing. I love these 2 little dresses I got for her. She had on the little navy blue one, which I thought looked pretty with her eyes.  She was also in a fairly good mood. It would have been nice but maybe next time—if the outfit still fits. 

ER, Take 2. 7-4-11

The nurse just came in and said they would need to re-run the blood tests. Another pelvic exam <cringe>. A holiday stuck in the ER. At least I got a break for the weekend to take a quick trip to KY. Another HCG to confirm Boop is growing. Man, Boop is BIG. I'm already showing at 11 weeks. No, it's really not twins! I wonder if Boop has an overgrowth syndrome. More likely just big like many others in the family. I have several cousins who were born in the 10-13 lb. range. It just hurts to think about. Let's just focus on a healthy baby, healthy baby. If it has a huge head, it will be painful, but hopefully full of brain and brain potential.

So, what will I learn tonight? I'm much too nonchalant. But the truth is that I'll know nothing new. I still won't know why I'm bleeding. Poor Boop. It's not for the fact that your momma didn't try. And I'm sorry about the pelvics, which I know piss you off. And I'm sorry for all of the ultrasounds that put your private little world on display. Sins of omission vs. sins of commission. Which is worse? My intentions are good. I'm trying hard not to lose you. I called the nurse before coming to the ER who basically said it didn't make much sense to come in unless there was a lot of blood--so we don't bleed to death--or unless I was passing tissue--which would clearly mean that I had a miscarriage. I called Mom to let her know I got home and mentioned the blood, she told me to go to the ER.

Amazingly enough, they took me right back in the ER. However, I still waited forever. This resident was struggling. I think it was his 1st week, as the new residents start July 1. This poor guy looked like he had just walked into a war zone unarmed. He took notes in a notebook. He was really trying, but admitted that he really didn't know what he was doing. At least, he was honest. The nurse was nice enough at first, but then he needed to draw blood. I warned him that I was a hard stick and don't like diggers. He tried 2 different times, and I asked him if he could find someone else. He lost his temper on the way out, and slung his rubber glove in another room. The next woman that came quickly found one on the other side of my wrist and got an IV in just fine. Very painful, but it was in.

So, the resident needed help from a more advanced resident on how to use the ultrasound. I talked them out of the pelvic and transvaginal ultrasound. I knew the resident would be doing it, and I would just be a guinea pig. About an hour later, the attending came in. He told me that the bleeding was not a good sign. He said that my HCG had dropped. That really upset me. Later, I asked the resident if there was any kind of intervention, and he seemed pretty helpless. About an hour later, in walks my high risk OB! with blood shot eyes and a resident in tow. I was shocked and was a bit discombobulated. Something about a placental tear. He put me on progesterone due to my age. I was happy to have something. It was something. At least I felt like I was doing something.

1st Visit to the ER. 7-2-11

I had my high risk OB appt in the afternoon, and during the course of the 2+ hours I was there, my nausea meds wore off; then I was sick for the better part of the afternoon. At home, I needed to go to the bathroom. Bright red blood. Panic. Put my clothes back on. Told Winnie to be a good girl. Grabbed my purse. Jumped in the car. Raced to the ER--stop signs, stop signs. Computed the best entry to the ER and raced to the reception desk. "I'm pregnant and just had bright red blood!" Gave her my name, my DOB. The receptionist told me to be seated and wait to be called. To frantically race and to wait. They will call me quickly. That was about 7pm. I was registered about 7:30pm. "How much longer?" "Well, there's 30 beds and 36 people. There are 5 people waiting." "Okay, thank you." At 8:00pm, they said 2 more people ahead of me. At 8:30pm, 'just one.'

Then, some guy with an ace bandage on his hand came in, sat down, and was called immediately back. That's when I lost it, what's going on?? Oh, he went to "Rapid Care." I blurted out, "Uh, I want this 'Rapid Care'. Why can't I be treated? I've been waiting 2 hrs!" The receptionist said that I could talk to the triage nurse. And of course I did ;) I said, "How much longer is it going to be? I've been waiting 2 hours!" "You're number 3." I was furious then. Don't they care if I'm having a miscarriage?? 

I walked back to my seat. The lady sitting across from me was trying to settle me down, saying something like nobody knows how bad some people feel, probably thinking I had some sort of GI or emotional problem since I had been teary-eyed on and off. Then, she went on to tell me that her husband had been on a 4 wheeler, hit a ditch, and got a gash on his leg and bruised vertebrae. She was trying. Finally, I said, "I'm pregnant and had heavy bleeding. I could be having a miscarriage." She seemed confused but sympathetic. That's probably more information than she wanted. 

I decided to text my friend, G, from work and see if she was still at the office. My mind didn't want to compute that it was after 8pm and unlikely even for G to be there. Although I spent many-a-night alone at the ER, I gladly accepted her offer to come. She arrived a little after 9pm. They took me back not long after. The resident came immediately to me as I was walking in. He wasn't salivating that I could see, but you could tell that he thrived on these sorts of cases. Not long afterwards, he did a pelvic exam <miserable> and then the transvaginal ultrasound. He had the ultrasound monitor turned toward him. Quickly, he did a brief scan. I heard a few swishes of the Doppler. He turned the screen towards me. And there was Boop. The heart was racing. And there were these little arms and legs flailing everywhere.  Boop was still there. Still alive and KICKING. Wow, look at those legs and feet flying around. The heart rate was zipping along at 170+ bpm. And that strange little face, like a little alien creature, typical 11 week old.

The attending MD, who I knew from a class she taught, came in to tell me everything looked good. She joked that the fetus was doing the macharena. I kind of laughed to myself. Nope not dancing. Boop was MAD. Boop looked like s/he was having a little temper tantrum. I was seeing a bit more of a little personality. And that all comes from my Dad's side. A little spitfire. The attending said usually when they see fetuses at that age, they are typically sleeping and very sedate. Not Boop. Everything seemed clear. I had a urinary tract infection, and for who knows how long? Maybe most of the blood was from the UTI?