um, yeah…

Things I haven’t done today: brushed my teeth, stood for more than 5 minutes, seen my daughter Jaye

Things I did today for the first time: took an ambulance ride (twice), peed into a bedpan (twice)

Things I hope never to do: poop in a bedpan, for one…

So um, yeah. Woke up this morning for my morning pee and got back into bed at 6:40am in the hope of getting a bit more sleep before Jaye woke up. It was Mac’s day at home, and my first real day off of work, so we had a few important things planned. Mac was going to install the baby carseat and start moving furniture to make room for baby, maybe even think about assembling the co-sleeper. He was going to take Jaye food shopping so I could rest.

But that all changed in an instant.

Just as I curled up back in bed, relishing in luxurious quiet and comfort, I felt a warm gush of fluid. I flashed on one moment in time, nearly 6 years ago now, when my water had broken in my bed in a quick gush. We all know how that ended, a week later, with a 21 weeker who simply wasn’t viable. Our son.

But there wasn’t that much fluid. I jumped up for the bathroom and realized what it was. Mac was already up, ready to begin his morning routine. “I’m bleeding,” I told him as I sat on the toilet. “You’re bleeding. Should I call 911?” I looked down, looked around, and we both saw the trail of blood. It was on the hardwood floor, on the rug, down my leg. It was still coming out. He didn’t wait for an answer.

“My wife is pregnant and she’s bleeding.” Wait, start over. “My wife is 33 weeks pregnant, very high risk, lots of placenta issues, we need an ambulance.” Repeat. I know the operator was asking what made him think I was at risk, why was it an emergency, etc. Repeat. “We need an ambulance.”

Five minutes later, at 6:55am, a fire truck pulled up. Three big men stormed into our bedroom. I was wearing a nightshirt. They gave me oxygen, checked my blood pressure,  and I tried to explain all of the placenta issues to them. Soon the ambulance arrived and there were five men in our room and it sounded like at least one had experience with pregnancy beyond his wife. Within 5 minutes I was strapped to a gurney being wheeled down our front step, asking the medic if I should bring some pants (no), and making sure that they would tell Mac where they were taking me. I remember thinking, what if they discharge me? I’ll have no pants. Or shoes.

We all agreed our local hospital couldn’t handle my care and they decided to take me 20-25 minutes away to the next best hospital to handle high risk birth and babies. Problem was, it was the opposite direction from my hospital in SF. Mac knew the goal was to get a transfer to my hospital, with my doctor and her team and plan. Even if she wasn’t there, that was where I wanted to be. Next problem, Jaye was still asleep and we had to make a plan for her too.

Mac handled it like a pro and brought Jaye to her cousins then followed to the hospital. I braved the ambulance ride and was admitted by 7:30am. I was fine on the way, just worried. My blood pressure went up considerably from fear and adrenaline. I actually schooled the medic on some new medical issues, even spelling placenta previa and accreta for him (he wrote everything down). He was kind.

I held it together until they pushed me through the ER doors and we headed up to labor & delivery. But as they wheeled me in to the room with the doctor and nurses, the tears came. I don’t want to have my baby here, she can’t be born now. I kept thinking. Not now, not here, please, not like this.

They transferred me to the bed and started checking me, asking questions, hooking up the monitors. I was still bleeding, but there were no more big gushes, and the baby was fine. I told them everything, including that I was a known patient at well known SF hospital, which had a plan for transfer and delivery. Could I be transferred? No, not yet, not until the bleeding stabilized. But they were certain they could handle my care, as well as the baby’s, if necessary.

Mac showed up and started pushing for the transfer as well. But by now it was time for the morning commute. Traffic from hell. Turns out, no buildings in SF even have heli-pads, so you have to be flown to the airport then go by ambulance. WTF? Not a good plan in traffic. What idiots decided that plan? Hello, medical emergency? We had to stay put.

Soon they reached my doc in SF and made a plan. They’d watch me for 4 hours, after which the local doc would decide if I was stable enough to transport. My doc also spoke to Mac on the phone, and he made calls to family. They gave me another shot of steroids in the event of delivery.

After a very long series of hours in which Mac and I were left to entertain ourselves and I was forced to use a bedpan and bare my privates to all while a kind nurse wiped me, we were told I may be stable enough to move. By 1pm they approved the transport, and by 2:30 I was in a new high tech ambulance on my way to SF, with a young hip tatooed nurse attending.

Everyone made it clear that I wouldn’t be going home before this baby was born, whenever that would be. Mac stopped home and grabbed my bag, which I had packed the other day, just in case. He called to check on Jaye, who was having so much fun with her cousins that she hadn’t even asked about us.

The ride to SF was surreal. My pressure was taken every 10 minutes, they listened with a doppler every 10 minutes (very hard in a moving car). I saw the exit signs in the air as we passed. It was about an hour ride. When they wheeled me in this time, I felt relief.

They admitted me at about 4pm. A new resident and doc checked me and they were concerned I might be starting to dilate, which could have caused the bleeding with the placenta right there. The question was, would they plan to deliver with the team in tact, either right away or in 24 hours, OR would they admit me for bedrest and try to stick to the original plan, giving the baby another week to cook. The risk there was that an emergency situation could arise, putting everyone at greater risk. They much preferred a planned procedure, not over the holiday weekend.

(Funny enough, I just wrote about how I love the number 3. Well tomorrow will be 33w3d, but I don’t love it enough not to wait another week. Heh.) Because the active bleeding had subsided, leaving only spotting, they agreed to wait.

So now I write this from my hospital bed, hoping not to bleed or cramp, hoping I can rest, hoping we make it through the week without an emergency arising.The only time I’ve stood up today were to pee this morning, and to pee once I got to my hospital.

Mac has gone home for the night to give our daughter some sense of normalcy before it all begins again. I’ll see them in the morning, after an undoubtedly restless night. With bad TV. At least I have my computer, even if it’s a bit uncomfortable to write.

For now, I am just grateful to have bought some more time, and for bathroom privileges.

Thank you all for the amazing support. Wishing us all a safe weekend. Much love to you all.

Peace out. xo


~ by luna on September 1, 2011.

35 Responses to “um, yeah…”

  1. Thinking of you, so, so hard. I know this b.s. will undoubtedly make you a strong em effer. And it will do the same for your wee one.

  2. Sending good thoughts your way: hope you all manage the next week with grace and humor and great medical care. Fingers crossed for calm, calm, calm.

  3. Hang in there Baby!!!!!!!!!!!

  4. Hi, I’ve been reading all along, but have not commented in a long time. So here’s a very belated congratulations on your pregnancy. As a fellow fibroid sister, I know how much the whole fibroid thing sucks. I wish I could send you something entertaining to watch during your stay. I wish you and your baby the best. Keep on baking her in the oven as long as possible. Try not to focus on the past. Whatever you need to do to stay present or distract yourself from any wayward thoughts, do it! I have a feeling this will all have a very happy ending in due time. Big hugs.

  5. OMG, Luna … commented on a previous post before I saw this. You sound incredibly calm for the day you’ve had. So so SO glad that you’re in “your” hospital. Hope you can get some rest. Know that we’re all thinking of you with all our might. Wish I could bring you bad magazines and good cookies. Oh and my previous comment still stands. She’s going to be strong, just like her mama. Rest. Breathe. Keep us posted.

  6. I’m in awe of your bravery. What an amazing mom you are to both your girls.

  7. Hoping, hoping, hoping you get another week, but so very thankful that you are in the right place and being watched so closely.

  8. What an insane day. Here’s hoping that your little one doesn’t make an appearance for another week! Keeping all appendages crossed.

  9. wow! good luck being brave and strong for a little while longer. best wishes.

  10. It was crazy enough to read about your day that I can’t imagine experiencing it first hand. Here’s hoping baby girl loves 9s as much as you do and will just stay a while longer where she is.

    We’re sending all our love and good thoughts across the bay to you tonight and will be thinking of you over the coming days. Here’s to seeing you on the other side with your pants on and everything.

  11. Wow! How scary and dramatic! I’m glad your at the right hospital with your team in place. Your blog post reads like a gripping script of a medical show. You have mad writing skills in the midst of chaos…most impressive! I sent you an email: standing by and at the ready for meal prep whenever you are ready !!

  12. congratulations on having bathroom rights!

    hang on little tomato. xoxoxo

  13. Oh my gracious. (We have a (admittedly bad) running joke that Maddy is our only family member to have been in an ambulance. It’s not fun, is it.) I’ve now gnawed my nails off and am at my knuckles. I’m hoping this wee one stays put for a little teeny bit while longer to bake, and hope you can mange with the bathroom and YOUR DOCTORS (oh, major phew). And pants. Gotta have some pants.

    Hang tight, Luna. Please keep us updated. (My dad’s birthday is the 4th — I know you like 3’s — I do too — but this to me is also a good day.)

  14. Oh luna, i am so sorry. Minus the placenta issue but add in premature twins and one w/ a severely life threatening illness–i have been there. I stayed in that hospital bed praying, every time i got up that i wouldn’t bleed more. My hospital monitored every ml of blood, and as many fetal heart beats as possible and i prayed to the universe every day for more time for the babies. It is so stressful and difficult, and not how anyone had planned it, but in the end the hospital is the best place to be.
    My heart is w/ you as you go through this agonizing time. You are amazing and you will all get through this with strength and fortitude. I wish there was something i could do!

  15. Sorry, i meant to delete that typo at the end of the post.

  16. Sending hugs, love and prayers that you get another week. In the meantime, yay for computers and bathroom priviliges! I trust that now that you are where you wanted to be, all will be right with the world. Just hang in there and have faith that it will work out.

  17. Oh Luna, I’d been reading your previous posts ‘on the go’ and planned to comment but never came around to do it. But now I just have to sit down and drop everything else to leave some words of encouragement. I admire you for how you and Mac handle everything and I’m glad you’re in the hospital where you want to be (even though you don’t want to be in the hospital…). I hope you’ll get some extra days cooking that little miracle inside you and the delivery can go more or less as planned. Take care – you’re constantly in my thoughts.

  18. Oh my! I am keeping fingers crossed that the baby will be able to come as planned, and will cook just a little longer.

  19. Hang in there Luna! I’m relieved you’re in the right place now. Now let’s just wait for the right time. Anything on hulu or youtube that could supplement bad TV?

  20. Oh, man. How scary! Add me to the list who are happy you’re in the right hospital being watched like a hawk. Hang in there.

  21. Luna, I can only imagine how incredibly difficult this must be. I am so glad you are safely where you need to be and I have everything crossed hoping baby can bake a little longer.

  22. Oh, my! Glad you made it to your fancy hospital! Hope you have a nice boring week there!

  23. Wow had tear in my eyes and what a relief to know baby girl is doing well!
    I am so glad you are at your hospital and that she will hopefully stay snug for one more week. So glad the bleeding has finally stopped.

  24. Super scary stuff. Thinking of you and soooo happy you made it to your chosen hospital!

  25. I can only imagine how frightening this has been. We’re all sending you so much positive energy and love. I wish I could bring you chocolate and magazines and some late-summer flowers!

  26. Oh Luna, how terrifying. Glad you are your choice hospital, and what the hell even where I live the hospitals all have helicopter pads?
    well if youlike to journel you could start writing one for your soon to be daughter. I think at this point beign bored is good, better then the alternative. I had to check this morning just to see if you had posted anything, although I hadn’t expected this. HOpefully Mac can bring jaye so that at lest she can entertain you for a while. thinking of you and sending you lots and lots of positive thoughts!

  27. Wow, what a day! I’m glad that you are where you need to be and with people who will take care of you and your baby. Good luck!

  28. All the best!

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  30. […] finally came home yesterday. I hadn’t been home in two whole weeks. While it was convenient and wonderful to be surrounded by such love and support, it felt really good […]

  31. […] also marks the end of our absolute craziest month on record, beginning with an ambulance ride just past dawn on the 1st of September, with our baby daughter born just over 24 hours later, followed by a 20 day […]

  32. […] whole morning was surreal. Ever since being admitted the day before, I suppose I knew there was a chance they’d want to deliver our baby even earlier than […]

  33. […] to do anything — for fear of even one more spot of blood — on the first of September everything changed when just after dawn I was carried out of my home and taken by ambulance to not one but two […]

  34. […] the days leading up to her first birthday, I began to re-live the trauma of my last days of pregnancy and her birth. Vividly, I remembered the gush of blood that sent me to the ER that fateful morning. […]

  35. […] years ago, the night before labor day weekend, I laid alone in a hospital bed missing my husband and our two year old Jaye. I didn’t know it yet, but it was the eve of our […]

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