I have officially finished my three weeks gluten free. Have had cheated? Yes. Did I pay for it? Yes. Can I tell a difference? Yes and no.
Here's the why to why I did this. About a year ago, my old gynecologist noticed that my white count was high and ordered more testing. I went in and had that done. It wasn't any better the second time around. She really wanted me to see a hematologist but I had to go through my PCP first. During all this my shoulders started hurting me to the point that I got a cortisone shot in one. That helped to some extent but it didn't solve all my problems. My PCP, Dr. Leins, was concerned that the cortisone shot may have skewed the results and ordered yet another CBC. This test was higher than the last. I was put on antibiotics and sent back for another test. This CBC still wasn't any better. At this point, he decided sending me to a hematologist was the best thing to do.
I was at that time referred to the Southwest Cancer Center to Dr. D'Cunha, hematologist. Like with any referral, my appointment was almost a month away from my last meeting with Dr. Leins. During that time, I had plenty of time to scare myself with research online. Going into my appointment, I knew that it could be two different types of leukemia, a blood disorder that I can no longer remember the name of, rheumatoid arthritis (RA) or lupus. I learned a valuable lesson in how scared the internet can make you.
During my first visit, I met Sandra (don't ask me to spell or pronounce her last name) and found out she was a fellow CtK parent and an adoptive mother. She and I became fast friends. We became fast friends. We talked about my medical history, my last set of labs, and what Dr. D'Cunha might possibly order. I knew several of the tests from my research. Others I was unsure of. As it is with insurance, I had to have pre-authorization on one of the tests and was told I would need to come back in two weeks for it, more blood work, a chest x-ray, and an abdominal sonogram.
In the middle of all this mess, I found out that I would need the hysterectomy. I had also found out during all this that my last pap was abnormal. I went into all this hoping that once I had my hysterectomy everything would go back to normal or whatever normal is.
I took Aaron with me to my next visit to get all my test results. Thankfully, all the results I got were normal. No leukemia and no weird blood disorder. This didn't answer all our questions as my white blood count was still high but it eliminated all the scary stuff. I knew that whatever is going on wasn't something that was fatal. I can't tell you how many tears I cried thinking I'd overcome heart failure to die from cancer. Those two weeks of waiting for those results were some of the longest of my life. He wanted me to come back in three and six months for blood tests, and in nine months to see him.
As luck would have it, I got a sinus infection just before my hysterectomy. I ran into one of Dr. Leins' nurses and was told to come in and see him once I was healed from my surgery. I put it off and put it off. The more I put it off, the more my joints hurt and the more the brain fog set in. I found out from the pathology of all my female organs, cervix included, that I had no cancer and no infections of any kind that would lead to the high white count that I had. I had mixed emotions at that visit. I had hoped that the pathology would show some reason as to why my white count was so high but was relieved to know that there was nothing there.
I finally bit the bullet a little over a month ago now and saw Dr. Leins. By this time, I'd had my three month CBC and hadn't heard anything. I was going with the whole no news is good news assumption. However, I still hurt all over (my shoulder, lower back, hips and ankles were the worst) and I was having the hardest time with brain fog. Dr. Leins had me sign a release to get my results for D'Cunha and Nall and ran more blood tests than you can imagine. I think they took close to ten vials of blood.
I went back a few days later for my results. No huge surprise that my white blood count (WBC) came back abnormal. At this point, I think the surprise would be if it were ever within normal results. He also ruled out any thyroid disease, diabetes, and arthritis. He also believes that lupus is off the table, too. That test wasn't a definite but close enough for him to rule it out. Besides my WBC being high, the test he ran to check for inflammation in my system (sed rate for all you medical junkies out there) came back high. So at this point we knew two things, I have inflammation in my system somewhere and my WBC is off.
He told me then that we could do all these other tests, but before we did, he wanted me to go gluten free for at least three weeks to see how I felt afterwards. I thought three weeks was an odd number of weeks but agreed. I found out later that the reason for three weeks is that it takes two weeks to go through "withdrawal".
My joints do feel some better. The brain fog is not gone. It's rather embarrassing to be having a conversation and all of a sudden not remember at all what you were talking about, or look at someone you've known forever and not know their name, or even better, not remember the simplest of words. I've given up bread, beer, crackers, cookies, all "normal" baked goods and, pretty much, all fast food. (For those that don't know gluten is in anything deriving from wheat, rye, and barley.) I have discovered some amazingly tasting alternatives. I've started eating a lot more fresh veggies and fruit. I've tried more things than I ever thought I would. I've lost 5 pounds. I've learned to read labels. I've been reduced to eating the grilled nuggets kids' meal at Chick-fil-a. (Their fries are still ok. Win!!) I've had to learn to eat a whole new way. Digestively things are better. (I can give more info if anyone wants more.)
Tomorrow I go in for yet another CBC at Dr. D'Cunha's. I'll find out in February what the rest of his plan is for me. I'm on the fence about getting more metabolic testing done. I read that it can take six months to a year for all the gluten to fully get out of your system. I feel I'm making strides in the right direction. I don't know that I'll ever go back to eating gluten after what I've been through the last few weeks. I know that I'm eating heather for the most part than I was when I was told to try this.
I don't have all the answers right now. Don't know that I ever will. I'm praying that I will feel "normal" again at some point whether it's from losing weight or from being completely gluten free or finding something. I know who is in control no matter what and, once again, I hope that by sharing and even over sharing, that someone will realize that they aren't alone in this world.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
End of a Very Long Chapter
Life has been crazy the last year or so and I haven't been on here like I wanted. I'll update on the family as a whole another time. Right now it's going to be all about me.
When I was 13, I started this wonderful journey called "womanhood". That was 22 years ago and I had no idea the journey would actually be more of a rollercoaster the older I got.
I've been more than open on this blog about my struggle with infertility. I can't remember if I mentioned it or not, but on more than one occasion, I felt like my body was betraying me. It simply wouldn't do the one thing that a woman's body is meant to do...get pregnant on its own. I joked while I was pregnant with the girls that I wouldn't mind if at the end of it they just jerked everything when they did my C-section. Well, here we are. The time has come and I officially need a hysterectomy.
My body has been anything but "normal" since I had the girls. My heart seems to be great except for a little high blood pressure. My body shape in itself will never ever be the same and I've accepted that. My female stuff has been anything but normal.
Last April, my new gynecologist told me it was time. I laughed because the girls were 6/7 months old. I knew there was no way possible I could have it done then. Can you imagine trying to deal with two infants at that time? Aaron laughed, too, when I told him. We made a decision for me to go on medication to control everything for the time being.
Now I need to back up a little. Go back to 2002. In July of 2002, I was diagnosed with displasgia. (If it's spelled wrong I apologize to all my nursing friends.) What was odd was that my biopsy came back as non-HPV. For those that don't know, HPV is the leading cause of cervical cancer in young women and what most women in their 20s have when they have an abnormal pap. All those years ago I was treated and haven't had an issue since.
That was all good until October. Here I am, 10 years after my initial diagnosis, and I have another abnormal pap. I want to add that since that diagnosis 10 years ago and especially after my PCOS diagnosis, I have absolutely no issues going in for my yearly exam. I am extremely careful about that. Plus being adopted and not knowing my history, I really worry about my female health.
They told me I had to wait 6 months to have another. That was the longest 6 months. In the middle of all that, my doctor who had discussed the hysterectomy last year and gave me my results, moves out of Lubbock, so I have to find a new doctor.
So, here we are. I decided on Dr. Brent Nall after talking to several friends and the nurse that called with my results. I went in on April 23rd for my next exam. (Yes, the date is important because it was TWO days after my 35th birthday.) While I was there, we discussed at length all the issues I had with the girls and after. We talked about my heart and high blood pressure. We talked about other issues I currently have going on but don't want to discuss until we know more. He understood why I opted not to have surgery last year. He doesn't like that I have high blood pressure and am on birth control to cover my PCOS issues. (If I opted to not have the surgery, I'd be looking at being on some kind of birth control for at least the next 15 years. YIKES!!) He then told me, without knowing my results of the repeat pap, that at 35 (remember I'm only TWO days past) things with women start to speed up as far as cancer issues. I found it funny that at 35 and TWO days he brought up the fact that I was in a new age bracket and now somewhat old. I asked about the possibility of an ablation. He feels that with my PCOS as out of control as it is, that have an ablation really isn't an option. We then discussed a hysterectomy.
I came home that night and discussed it with Aaron. We decided that no matter what the test showed that it was time. I called the next week and scheduled it. So, on May 31st, I will be having the big surgery as long as all my other doctors sign off. My cardiologist has already given his blessing.
At this time, I don't know if he will be taking everything. I know for sure my ovaries and uterus but not sure what else.
I will have to be on some kind of hormone therapy because, ironically, I am only 35. There are many upsides to having this surgery. For the first time in 22 years, my hormones should be what a normal woman has. The PCOS has caused my female hormones to be completely overran by the small amount of male hormones a woman has. It should lower my chances of ever becoming diabetic. It could help with the high blood pressure issues. It should help with the acne and hair issues. Basically I was told that every issue I've had could or would possibly reverse itself.
The only major drawback is the hormone therapy. I asked a few questions because of the risk of breast cancer becoming higher and us having no clue if I have any kind of a family history there. Dr. Nall didn't seem that concerned so I won't worry about it now.
At this point, prayers and thoughts are all that we need.
When I was 13, I started this wonderful journey called "womanhood". That was 22 years ago and I had no idea the journey would actually be more of a rollercoaster the older I got.
I've been more than open on this blog about my struggle with infertility. I can't remember if I mentioned it or not, but on more than one occasion, I felt like my body was betraying me. It simply wouldn't do the one thing that a woman's body is meant to do...get pregnant on its own. I joked while I was pregnant with the girls that I wouldn't mind if at the end of it they just jerked everything when they did my C-section. Well, here we are. The time has come and I officially need a hysterectomy.
My body has been anything but "normal" since I had the girls. My heart seems to be great except for a little high blood pressure. My body shape in itself will never ever be the same and I've accepted that. My female stuff has been anything but normal.
Last April, my new gynecologist told me it was time. I laughed because the girls were 6/7 months old. I knew there was no way possible I could have it done then. Can you imagine trying to deal with two infants at that time? Aaron laughed, too, when I told him. We made a decision for me to go on medication to control everything for the time being.
Now I need to back up a little. Go back to 2002. In July of 2002, I was diagnosed with displasgia. (If it's spelled wrong I apologize to all my nursing friends.) What was odd was that my biopsy came back as non-HPV. For those that don't know, HPV is the leading cause of cervical cancer in young women and what most women in their 20s have when they have an abnormal pap. All those years ago I was treated and haven't had an issue since.
That was all good until October. Here I am, 10 years after my initial diagnosis, and I have another abnormal pap. I want to add that since that diagnosis 10 years ago and especially after my PCOS diagnosis, I have absolutely no issues going in for my yearly exam. I am extremely careful about that. Plus being adopted and not knowing my history, I really worry about my female health.
They told me I had to wait 6 months to have another. That was the longest 6 months. In the middle of all that, my doctor who had discussed the hysterectomy last year and gave me my results, moves out of Lubbock, so I have to find a new doctor.
So, here we are. I decided on Dr. Brent Nall after talking to several friends and the nurse that called with my results. I went in on April 23rd for my next exam. (Yes, the date is important because it was TWO days after my 35th birthday.) While I was there, we discussed at length all the issues I had with the girls and after. We talked about my heart and high blood pressure. We talked about other issues I currently have going on but don't want to discuss until we know more. He understood why I opted not to have surgery last year. He doesn't like that I have high blood pressure and am on birth control to cover my PCOS issues. (If I opted to not have the surgery, I'd be looking at being on some kind of birth control for at least the next 15 years. YIKES!!) He then told me, without knowing my results of the repeat pap, that at 35 (remember I'm only TWO days past) things with women start to speed up as far as cancer issues. I found it funny that at 35 and TWO days he brought up the fact that I was in a new age bracket and now somewhat old. I asked about the possibility of an ablation. He feels that with my PCOS as out of control as it is, that have an ablation really isn't an option. We then discussed a hysterectomy.
I came home that night and discussed it with Aaron. We decided that no matter what the test showed that it was time. I called the next week and scheduled it. So, on May 31st, I will be having the big surgery as long as all my other doctors sign off. My cardiologist has already given his blessing.
At this time, I don't know if he will be taking everything. I know for sure my ovaries and uterus but not sure what else.
I will have to be on some kind of hormone therapy because, ironically, I am only 35. There are many upsides to having this surgery. For the first time in 22 years, my hormones should be what a normal woman has. The PCOS has caused my female hormones to be completely overran by the small amount of male hormones a woman has. It should lower my chances of ever becoming diabetic. It could help with the high blood pressure issues. It should help with the acne and hair issues. Basically I was told that every issue I've had could or would possibly reverse itself.
The only major drawback is the hormone therapy. I asked a few questions because of the risk of breast cancer becoming higher and us having no clue if I have any kind of a family history there. Dr. Nall didn't seem that concerned so I won't worry about it now.
At this point, prayers and thoughts are all that we need.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
The Things People Say
Since I found out I was pregnant with the twins, I've been amazed at the things people, random people, would say to me. Now that I get out and about with the girls I've been even more amazed. It boggles my mind at the things in my life that people think (random strangers) they have a right to voice an opinion about. Yesterday I got a doozy of a comment yesterday. That's what prompted this post and vent session.
Here is a list of some of the things that have been said to me and what I think about it and what I wish I could say.
Here is a list of some of the things that have been said to me and what I think about it and what I wish I could say.
- "Are they natural?"-- I know I've been very transparent on here about my infertility issues, but what makes people think they can walk up to another human being and ask if their children are "natural". I can't tell you how many times I've bitten my tongue to keep from telling people while I was pregnant that they weren't natural but fake. I just feel that this is a completely inappropriate question to ask a random question to anyone.
- "Oh my!! You're huge!!"--Yes I know I was huge. You carry twins and see how small you can stay. I could hardly walk I was so big there at the end, but i had two extremely healthy little girls. Plus it is NEVER appropriate to tell a pregnant woman she's huge. I can say I was huge and you can agree with me. You can even tell other people how huge I was. However, you never say it to that person's face. By the way, I started having random strangers tell me this at 16 weeks. One even told me that I would be beyond miserable by the time I delivered. I guess she thought I was stupid.
- "Are they twins?"--Nope I just have two babies that are a minute apart. I know they're not identical, but really!! Nope, my mom and I had babies on the same day at the same time. (People really ask my mom about it.)
- "That's my version of a nightmare."--I know twins aren't for everyone. Even Aaron was a little shocked when we saw two little beans with heartbeats during our first sonogram. Twins weren't exactly in our plans. However, God had a different plan. After all we had been through with the miscarriage and 18 months of trying, me almost dying, the girls in NICU, etc., I know most people couldn't imagine, but it's far from a nightmare. They are BLESSINGS not nightmares even when Mommy hasn't slept or has had very little sleep. Is is easy? No, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.
- "Are they your firsts?" No. We have a three year old, too. "Oh." (Said along with a look of "Are you nuts?")--I wouldn't give anything for my three children. I can't believe people actually think it's ok to look down at me because I have three children. My grandparents had 4. The Duggars have 19 and 2 grandchildren. The Gosslins had 8 of which 6 were born at the same time. Aaron's boss has 9. I'm not unusual. I'm not even weird. I had a friend in the hospital giving birth to her third while I was in the CCU. Wonder if she gets the same "look."
- "Girl, I hope you're done."--What business is it of anyone else's if my husband and I decide to have anymore children? We had made the decision before my heart issues that we were done. Then the doctors told me that if I had anymore, it could kill me. Someone asked me this yesterday (hence the venting) and I looked at her and said, "No. I'll literally die if I have anymore." Rude? Probably, but I don't have a clue who this person is and I don't understand what right she thought she had to voice her opinion about my reproductive choices.
I say all this because I hope people reading it will think before you open your mouth to people that have more than one child, are pregnant, have multiples or choose not to have children. It's really no one else's business but their own.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Dear Angel Baby,
Two years ago today you went home to be with Jesus. I never got to hold you. I never knew whether you were a girl or a boy. I never even got to see you on a sonogram. I only knew about you for 6 days, yet I loved you. I know God had bigger plans for you and for me. Even though I now have your two beautiful sisters, my arms still ache at times to have held you. I think about you still on almost a daily basis. I never knew how deeply you could love someone after 6 days and never have met them. Please rest in the arms of our Heavenly Father and with you Nanny and Gigi. Mommy loves you and will see you some day.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The CCU
This is the conclusion to my complications story.
Waking up Wednesday morning after the first night in my own bed was wonderful. I woke up that morning ready to start what would be our new routine until I could drive myself or the girls were released. That would consist of getting up, getting dressed, getting Michael ready, all of us piling into a car, dropping Michael off at school, dropping me off at the hospital, and Aaron going to work. I would spend the morning at the hospital and Aaron would come for the noon feeding then take me home. Aaron planned on going back up there for the 6 and possibly 9 o'clock feedings. We were going to play those by ear. That morning, however, I didn't get to have a shower. The day before they had removed my central line and a pressure dressing was on it. I couldn't get the dressing wet and I couldn't remove it for a few more hours. They told me I could remove it first thing that morning but, being the wuss I am, I didn't want to risk removing it and then bleeding to death. (Yes, I know that's an exaggeration, but that's where I was mentally and I didn't want to end up back in the hospital.)
That morning in the NICU was quite emotionally taxing. Allison had not been eating well. They had taken out her feeding tube a few days earlier and they were now threatening to put it back in. I knew that when I fed her that morning. I begged and pleaded with her to eat. I prayed and prayed and prayed that she would eat. Nothing worked. I think some of that would've been easier to handle had one of her regular nurses been there, but we had a floater that day. She was a little harsh when she told me they were going to have to put the tube back in. I literally ran (ok, I wasn't capable of running but I left as quickly as I could) out of the NICU. I went downstairs to get Starbucks and try to calm myself. It didn't work. I sat in the NICU waiting room crying. Then I felt really stupid. The only problems my babies had was not wanting to eat. I sat and listened to another mom on the phone talk about the seizures her baby was having. About that time, some of my nurses from antipartum came in to get coffee. They sat with me and let me cry. They told me that it would all be ok and that I wasn't stupid for being upset. It was finally noon and Aaron came. I felt a little better when he got there. It also helped that Julie, another NICU mom, was there with her son, Cade. Somehow her hugs that day got me through.
Aaron brought me home after our visit. I ate lunch. I promised everyone that I would take a nap after the long morning I'd had. I called both grandmothers with an update on the girls. I cried through both phone calls. I hung up with Brenda and went to bed.
I woke up two hours later with a start. Once again, I couldn't breathe. I called Aaron and my mom in a panic. I called Dr. Dorsett's office and was told to call my pulmonologist. I called and left a message for his nurse. I called my mom again and told her to head to Lubbock. She'd call Aaron on the way here and figure out what to do about Michael. She also called Carol Strahan, a very close family friend and R.N. Carol came running to my house with a stethoscope, pulse oxometer, and a blood pressure cuff. She also brought Sam with her. Sam was one of my ICU nurses so she obviously knew what all was going on with me. When they got here my oxygen level was at 85 and I had crackles in my lungs. They picked up the phone and called 911. We called Aaron, who was on his way to get Michael, and filled him in on what all was going on.
The ambulance showed up along with a fire truck. My neighbors apparently thought this was an oddity of nature since many of them were standing in their front yard staring at me. They started an IV before we left and started me on oxygen. Then we were off to Covenant. This time I would be in a different hospital than the girls.
Once at the ER, the tests started getting ran. I sent immediately (ok almost immediately) for a chest x-ray and CT scan with contrast. The contrast would keep me from breast feeding for several days, that should've been a fair warning that I was done with that. I got back to the ER exam room where a respiratory therapist was waiting to take a blood gas. No, I didn't almost punch her out like the last one, but I did say a few choice words that I won't repeat on here. I was given lasix and potassium. They also ran an EKG and yet another blood gas. Apparently the machine ate the first sample. This time I cussed some more and almost threw up. I told Aaron that if the machine ate that one too, she was absolutely NOT sticking me again. If you've never had one of those, let me enlighten you on how they do it. They feel for your pulse and then aim for it. At least that's how it felt on my end. They usually get to dig a little while before they get what they're looking for. This would be why I almost puked and said so many ugly things. I do remember after that first dose of lasix that my breathing was almost immediately better.
Let me take a minute to talk about something. At this point, I was almost two weeks postpartum. I was still bleeding from having the girls. At Lakeside/Women's and Children's/St. Mary's/whatever you want to call it, they are VERY good at knowing this and treating you accordingly since this is where all the babies are delivered. At the main campus of Covenant, not so much. Since I had been catheterized yet again, I was unable to wear any undies which meant I was not allowed a pad. That also meant that every single blasted time I was moved off my gurney or out of my bed, I had to tell people that I had postpartum bleeding. This seriously lasted until well into Thursday afternoon. I can't say I've ever been so humiliated in my life. I couldn't believe that a woman that was two weeks postpartum with bleeding could be treated that way. When they came to change my gown at one point in time, you would've thought I had something worse than bleeding from the way the nursing staff acted. It didn't help any that my doctor had put me on a blood thinner to prevent blood clots which made the bleeding worse. You also would think they would've given a lactating mom a female nurse. Wrong again!! I had a male nurse my first night there and I think it was a little embarrassing for both of us when he walked in on me pumping. This was all beyond humiliating. I don't know how to change it, but maybe putting it on such a public forum will help.
Back to the story...
Around midnight, I was put in a room. Not just any ordinary room, but a room in the CCU (Cardiac Care Unit). This wasn't any CCU either. This was the CCU that my grandfather had almost died in 17 years earlier. You can imagine the thoughts going through my head. As they wheeled me in, the thing that hit me first was the smell. The place smelled like a nursing home and death. It was awful. The doors to most of the rooms on the floor were open so the next thing I noticed were all the lights on the machines and the age of the people in the beds. I'm shocked I didn't have a panic attack at this point.
The nurses came in to get me settled. This took another 30 minutes or so. Aaron and I were then alone in the room. We started discussing whether he was going to stay or go home. I knew he needed to rest so I put on the bravest face I could and told him to go home. I did tell him that I was scared out of my mind to be left there alone, but that I would be watched well. So he went home and I cried after he left. That place scared the hell out of me. Plus, I was really being faced with the reality of my own mortality and never seeing my children, friends and family ever again.
Bright and early around 6:30 that morning, Dr. Bradley came by. This was after being woke up at 3 a.m. for an EKG, at 4 a.m. for another chest x-ray, and at 5:30 to be stuck for the upteenth time. (I was wishing at this time that they had never pulled my PIC line.) He had told me while I was in the ICU at Lakeside that he wanted to do a stress test. I said no at that time because it was 100% necessary and it would keep me out of the NICU. Now I was being kept out of the NICU anyway and it was necessary. Plus he wanted another echo. The nuclear stress test is up there with things that I never want to experience again in my lifetime. The echo wasn't so bad. The rest of the day was rather uneventful. I had the worst headache ever and I couldn't seem to quit crying. Dr. Dorsett came by and ordered me an anti-depressant. I'm not afraid to admit I have postpartum depression. If you had been through what I had, you would too.
Dr. Bradley came by that night to tell me that my diagnosis had changed. Yes I did have congestive heart failure but it was being cause by peripartum cardiomyopathy. Never heard of it? Neither had I. Neither had some of the girls' nurses. It's something that 1 in 4,000 women have after giving birth. He also told me that 1/3 of women with it completely heal and go about life like it never happened, 1/3 of women live the rest of their lives with the problem but it is under control with medication, and 1/3 of women don't survive. Right now, I'm in the first 2/3 of women. The other scary part of the news he brought me was that my echo showed my ejection fraction had gone from 40 to 35 in two weeks. That's not a good thing. Normal is 50. I was also told that even if I wanted to, I was no longer allowed to have any more children. If I were to get pregnant again, it could kill me. We had already decided the twins would be it, but knowing that there was absolutely no way I could have any more was a hard pill to swallow.
All I could think about, and still think about a lot, is how did all this happen. I'm 33 years old and in relatively good health. All I did was give birth which is supposed to be a routine thing. Guess what??!! There's nothing "routine" about giving birth. I've talked to several nurses who told me that they never let on the families how life threatening to women giving birth can be. My cardiologist even told my mom that pregnancy in itself is toxic to women. I'm 33 years old and have a cardiologist and have spent time in the CCU. This has all been very hard to deal with. It has made me miss my grandmother in ways I never knew possible. I keep wanting to pick up the phone to ask her how my grandfather dealt with his diagnosis, how did she change the way she cooked, does she have any advice for Aaron, etc...
I was released on Saturday morning. I had now been the hospital one night shy of three weeks. Between the two stays and extra lasix they prescribed me to take home, they pulled around 50 pounds of fluid off of me. I told Aaron my legs looked like chicken legs because they'd gotten so skinny. He told me they weren't chicken legs, they were back to normal. How sad that I didn't know what normal legs looked like? I was also sent home on a beta blocker, an ace inhibitor, anti-depressant, a prescription strength iron supplement, and a prenatal vitamin. I'm 33 and on cardiac medications. How did this happen?
I am forever thankful that I get to have time with my girls, Michael, and Aaron. I can't help but wonder why God spared me. Especially after losing two dear friends last year, I can't help but wonder what's in store for me. I worry almost daily about my heart. If I start having the least problem breathing, I start to panic and worry that my heart's failing again. I check my oxygen levels several times a day. I check my blood pressure quite a bit, not daily, but several times a week. This is my new reality.
We still don't know that I'm ok. I go in for my first echo in February since the ones I had in the hospital. I can't help but worry about what it's going to show. We won't truly know it'll all be ok until September. It can take the heart a year to fully heal if it's going to.
That's it. That's the whole story of three of the craziest weeks of my life.
Waking up Wednesday morning after the first night in my own bed was wonderful. I woke up that morning ready to start what would be our new routine until I could drive myself or the girls were released. That would consist of getting up, getting dressed, getting Michael ready, all of us piling into a car, dropping Michael off at school, dropping me off at the hospital, and Aaron going to work. I would spend the morning at the hospital and Aaron would come for the noon feeding then take me home. Aaron planned on going back up there for the 6 and possibly 9 o'clock feedings. We were going to play those by ear. That morning, however, I didn't get to have a shower. The day before they had removed my central line and a pressure dressing was on it. I couldn't get the dressing wet and I couldn't remove it for a few more hours. They told me I could remove it first thing that morning but, being the wuss I am, I didn't want to risk removing it and then bleeding to death. (Yes, I know that's an exaggeration, but that's where I was mentally and I didn't want to end up back in the hospital.)
That morning in the NICU was quite emotionally taxing. Allison had not been eating well. They had taken out her feeding tube a few days earlier and they were now threatening to put it back in. I knew that when I fed her that morning. I begged and pleaded with her to eat. I prayed and prayed and prayed that she would eat. Nothing worked. I think some of that would've been easier to handle had one of her regular nurses been there, but we had a floater that day. She was a little harsh when she told me they were going to have to put the tube back in. I literally ran (ok, I wasn't capable of running but I left as quickly as I could) out of the NICU. I went downstairs to get Starbucks and try to calm myself. It didn't work. I sat in the NICU waiting room crying. Then I felt really stupid. The only problems my babies had was not wanting to eat. I sat and listened to another mom on the phone talk about the seizures her baby was having. About that time, some of my nurses from antipartum came in to get coffee. They sat with me and let me cry. They told me that it would all be ok and that I wasn't stupid for being upset. It was finally noon and Aaron came. I felt a little better when he got there. It also helped that Julie, another NICU mom, was there with her son, Cade. Somehow her hugs that day got me through.
Aaron brought me home after our visit. I ate lunch. I promised everyone that I would take a nap after the long morning I'd had. I called both grandmothers with an update on the girls. I cried through both phone calls. I hung up with Brenda and went to bed.
I woke up two hours later with a start. Once again, I couldn't breathe. I called Aaron and my mom in a panic. I called Dr. Dorsett's office and was told to call my pulmonologist. I called and left a message for his nurse. I called my mom again and told her to head to Lubbock. She'd call Aaron on the way here and figure out what to do about Michael. She also called Carol Strahan, a very close family friend and R.N. Carol came running to my house with a stethoscope, pulse oxometer, and a blood pressure cuff. She also brought Sam with her. Sam was one of my ICU nurses so she obviously knew what all was going on with me. When they got here my oxygen level was at 85 and I had crackles in my lungs. They picked up the phone and called 911. We called Aaron, who was on his way to get Michael, and filled him in on what all was going on.
The ambulance showed up along with a fire truck. My neighbors apparently thought this was an oddity of nature since many of them were standing in their front yard staring at me. They started an IV before we left and started me on oxygen. Then we were off to Covenant. This time I would be in a different hospital than the girls.
Once at the ER, the tests started getting ran. I sent immediately (ok almost immediately) for a chest x-ray and CT scan with contrast. The contrast would keep me from breast feeding for several days, that should've been a fair warning that I was done with that. I got back to the ER exam room where a respiratory therapist was waiting to take a blood gas. No, I didn't almost punch her out like the last one, but I did say a few choice words that I won't repeat on here. I was given lasix and potassium. They also ran an EKG and yet another blood gas. Apparently the machine ate the first sample. This time I cussed some more and almost threw up. I told Aaron that if the machine ate that one too, she was absolutely NOT sticking me again. If you've never had one of those, let me enlighten you on how they do it. They feel for your pulse and then aim for it. At least that's how it felt on my end. They usually get to dig a little while before they get what they're looking for. This would be why I almost puked and said so many ugly things. I do remember after that first dose of lasix that my breathing was almost immediately better.
Let me take a minute to talk about something. At this point, I was almost two weeks postpartum. I was still bleeding from having the girls. At Lakeside/Women's and Children's/St. Mary's/whatever you want to call it, they are VERY good at knowing this and treating you accordingly since this is where all the babies are delivered. At the main campus of Covenant, not so much. Since I had been catheterized yet again, I was unable to wear any undies which meant I was not allowed a pad. That also meant that every single blasted time I was moved off my gurney or out of my bed, I had to tell people that I had postpartum bleeding. This seriously lasted until well into Thursday afternoon. I can't say I've ever been so humiliated in my life. I couldn't believe that a woman that was two weeks postpartum with bleeding could be treated that way. When they came to change my gown at one point in time, you would've thought I had something worse than bleeding from the way the nursing staff acted. It didn't help any that my doctor had put me on a blood thinner to prevent blood clots which made the bleeding worse. You also would think they would've given a lactating mom a female nurse. Wrong again!! I had a male nurse my first night there and I think it was a little embarrassing for both of us when he walked in on me pumping. This was all beyond humiliating. I don't know how to change it, but maybe putting it on such a public forum will help.
Back to the story...
Around midnight, I was put in a room. Not just any ordinary room, but a room in the CCU (Cardiac Care Unit). This wasn't any CCU either. This was the CCU that my grandfather had almost died in 17 years earlier. You can imagine the thoughts going through my head. As they wheeled me in, the thing that hit me first was the smell. The place smelled like a nursing home and death. It was awful. The doors to most of the rooms on the floor were open so the next thing I noticed were all the lights on the machines and the age of the people in the beds. I'm shocked I didn't have a panic attack at this point.
The nurses came in to get me settled. This took another 30 minutes or so. Aaron and I were then alone in the room. We started discussing whether he was going to stay or go home. I knew he needed to rest so I put on the bravest face I could and told him to go home. I did tell him that I was scared out of my mind to be left there alone, but that I would be watched well. So he went home and I cried after he left. That place scared the hell out of me. Plus, I was really being faced with the reality of my own mortality and never seeing my children, friends and family ever again.
Bright and early around 6:30 that morning, Dr. Bradley came by. This was after being woke up at 3 a.m. for an EKG, at 4 a.m. for another chest x-ray, and at 5:30 to be stuck for the upteenth time. (I was wishing at this time that they had never pulled my PIC line.) He had told me while I was in the ICU at Lakeside that he wanted to do a stress test. I said no at that time because it was 100% necessary and it would keep me out of the NICU. Now I was being kept out of the NICU anyway and it was necessary. Plus he wanted another echo. The nuclear stress test is up there with things that I never want to experience again in my lifetime. The echo wasn't so bad. The rest of the day was rather uneventful. I had the worst headache ever and I couldn't seem to quit crying. Dr. Dorsett came by and ordered me an anti-depressant. I'm not afraid to admit I have postpartum depression. If you had been through what I had, you would too.
Dr. Bradley came by that night to tell me that my diagnosis had changed. Yes I did have congestive heart failure but it was being cause by peripartum cardiomyopathy. Never heard of it? Neither had I. Neither had some of the girls' nurses. It's something that 1 in 4,000 women have after giving birth. He also told me that 1/3 of women with it completely heal and go about life like it never happened, 1/3 of women live the rest of their lives with the problem but it is under control with medication, and 1/3 of women don't survive. Right now, I'm in the first 2/3 of women. The other scary part of the news he brought me was that my echo showed my ejection fraction had gone from 40 to 35 in two weeks. That's not a good thing. Normal is 50. I was also told that even if I wanted to, I was no longer allowed to have any more children. If I were to get pregnant again, it could kill me. We had already decided the twins would be it, but knowing that there was absolutely no way I could have any more was a hard pill to swallow.
All I could think about, and still think about a lot, is how did all this happen. I'm 33 years old and in relatively good health. All I did was give birth which is supposed to be a routine thing. Guess what??!! There's nothing "routine" about giving birth. I've talked to several nurses who told me that they never let on the families how life threatening to women giving birth can be. My cardiologist even told my mom that pregnancy in itself is toxic to women. I'm 33 years old and have a cardiologist and have spent time in the CCU. This has all been very hard to deal with. It has made me miss my grandmother in ways I never knew possible. I keep wanting to pick up the phone to ask her how my grandfather dealt with his diagnosis, how did she change the way she cooked, does she have any advice for Aaron, etc...
I was released on Saturday morning. I had now been the hospital one night shy of three weeks. Between the two stays and extra lasix they prescribed me to take home, they pulled around 50 pounds of fluid off of me. I told Aaron my legs looked like chicken legs because they'd gotten so skinny. He told me they weren't chicken legs, they were back to normal. How sad that I didn't know what normal legs looked like? I was also sent home on a beta blocker, an ace inhibitor, anti-depressant, a prescription strength iron supplement, and a prenatal vitamin. I'm 33 and on cardiac medications. How did this happen?
I am forever thankful that I get to have time with my girls, Michael, and Aaron. I can't help but wonder why God spared me. Especially after losing two dear friends last year, I can't help but wonder what's in store for me. I worry almost daily about my heart. If I start having the least problem breathing, I start to panic and worry that my heart's failing again. I check my oxygen levels several times a day. I check my blood pressure quite a bit, not daily, but several times a week. This is my new reality.
We still don't know that I'm ok. I go in for my first echo in February since the ones I had in the hospital. I can't help but worry about what it's going to show. We won't truly know it'll all be ok until September. It can take the heart a year to fully heal if it's going to.
That's it. That's the whole story of three of the craziest weeks of my life.
The Complications Begin
Couple of warning before you read any further:
1. These are how I remember things. I'm sure there is more to all of this but I either don't remember or remember it wrong.
2. This part may get a little graphic. There was nothing nice or easy about what I went through.
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My complications began almost immediately after they rolled me out of the operating room. My blood pressure was sky high and I was bleeding. Now I know all women bleed after giving birth, but I was literally starting to hemorrhage. The two nurses began what I remember being called a uterine massage. This consisted of them mashing the living daylights out of my stomach trying to get any clots inside me to release. This was some of the worst pain I've ever experienced in my life. They were giving me pain medication every 15-20 minutes to try and control it. It didn't even take the edge off. I lost all track of time, but I believe they were working on me in the recovery room around 30 minutes to an hour. I was alone in the recovery room short of the nurses there with me. Aaron had gone to the NICU with the girls. I hadn't even really had a chance to love on the girls at this point other than the glimpses I got in the OR. The nurses told me that they would wheel my stretcher through the NICU if I wanted on our way back to my room. By the time that moment came, I felt so horribly that I told them to just take me back to my room. I felt like the worst mother ever, but I wanted to enjoy my first moments with them and knew at that time there was no way I'd even remotely enjoy seeing them.
I was relieved to finally be back in my room. My mom and dad were waiting in the hall for me and I was so happy to see them. I didn't realize how short that relief would be. They moved me from my stretcher to my bed and checked to see if the bleeding had gotten any better. It had not. They once again started the "massage". At one time, I had two nurses pushing on my stomach (which, remember, I'd just had major abdominal surgery and my tubes tied), one at my head trying to keep me calm, one on each leg holding them back, and one running back and forth to the med room grabbing pain medication and other things the nurses asked for. I was screaming in pain and begging for them to give me a little bit of a break. I asked one of the nurses to go get Aaron out of the NICU so we could fill him in on what was going on with me and quite selfishly I wanted him there with me for a bit. I found out about that time that my mom had almost passed out in the hallway from hearing me scream. They had no idea what was going on in my room. My dad thought that maybe they were starting a new IV and how I wish that had been true. I sent Aaron to get my mom so that she could see that I was alright. She and I shared a few tear filled minutes before they had to start working on me again. I think I remember hearing the fact that I hadn't dilated any was complicating the whole clot removal process. I remember at one time one of the nurses having her whole hand inside me trying to remove clots. I don't know, nor do I want to know, how many clots they removed. I do know one of the biggest they removed was the size of a saucer. I maxed out on the demerol they were giving me every twenty minutes. I believe they worked on me in my room for another hour to two hours again. The nurse at my head told me that they were starting to discuss a D&C. If we had gotten to that point, which we were literally minutes away from making, I would've turned it down and instead demanded a hysterectomy.
Finally they had my bleeding under control. The cause was from my uterus being over distended from having twins. From what I understand, this is a pretty common complication with multiples. Every nurse that came into check my bleeding from that point forward was pretty much threatened when she went to touch my stomach. I can't even begin to tell you the pain I was in.
Little did I know that the worst was not behind me.
That night (yes we're still on Friday, September 23rd), I started having a very difficult time breathing. I described it later as what I thought was one of the worst asthma attacks I'd ever had. My night nurse brought me my inhaler and eventually called in respiratory therapy to do breathing treatments with me. I told them that I still felt really tight even after the treatments. One of the therapists told me that I still sounded tight too. I believe that the reason it took so long for my breathing issues to get under control was because we all thought it was asthma. No one thought that my breathing issues was coming from fluid starting to build in my lungs.
Saturday was uneventful. I started trying to get out of bed. I was still having what felt like asthma and was still getting breathing treatments every 4 hours or so. Other than that and several visitors, it was like any other day I'd had in the hospital over the last week. Saturday marked the one week mark of my hospital stay. It was also the first time I finally got to hold and see my girls. It was one of the most exciting moments ever.
Sunday started like any other I'd had in the hospital. My nurse had me up and walking. I walked half-way to the NICU to see the girls. I actually got to give one of them a bottle. It was so nice to see a few more friends that day and Mom and Dad brought Michael to see me. We tried several times to explain to him why Mommy couldn't pick him up and had to remind him several times to be gentle with me because of the big "owie" on my tummy. I got to have a shower which was amazing since I hadn't been able to shower since Thursday night. Mom and Dad had teen Michael to the fair that afternoon and brought him to see me again to tell me all about what he'd done. At that point, my breathing was starting to go downhill fast. I believe this was around 5 or 6 that evening. They had said something about the possibility of pneumonia. I had been started on oxygen at this point. Right after Michael, Mom and Dad got to the hospital, transport came to get me to take me for a chest x-ray. (I found out later that my lungs showed up completely opaque on this x-ray.) I think I remember respiratory coming up and giving me a as needed breathing treatment since it wasn't time for one.
My breathing wasn't improving at all. If anything, it was getting worse. They tried to send me to get a CT scan, but I couldn't tolerate being off oxygen for that long. Right after we figured that out, they checked my oxygen saturation and it was down to something like 75. (100 is normal.) At that point, things started moving quickly. They called respiratory again to come get a blood gas read on me. I remember almost punching the lady in the face because I was so panicked and didn't want to be stuck if I couldn't lay down. (Yes I later apologized to her.) I think it was around 11 p.m. they moved me from antipartum to the ICU.
Once in ICU, they put me on a machine called a B-pap. It's a lot like the C-Pap that they give people with snoring issues or babies in the NICU with breathing problems. They recatheterized me and, finally, got that blood gas draw. They started the lasix at this time too. My heart rate at this time was in the 120s, my respirations were in the 60s, and we won't even talk about my blood pressure. I remember being able to get a little rest that night, however, they did continue to work on me all night.
Monday morning brought Dr. Atkinson to see me. He really worried my poor husband and mother. He recommended at that time that I be intibated and put on a respirator. I vaguely remember Dr. Bradley, my cardiologist, coming by and ordering an echocardiogram. I do remember having the echo done. I remember being told my heart wasn't working correctly and it would be best if I was put on a vent. I remember Steve Carter coming by during all this and praying with me. I don't know that he'll ever know how grateful I was and am for that. I remember telling Aaron that I absolutely did not want to wake up at all while I on the vent. My dad got to the hospital before that and I remember telling him the same thing. The next thing I knew, they were running my family out of the room, moving my bed, trying to get me sedated and a tube down my throat. I remember the pulminologist taking off the B-Pap mask and putting another mask on me. I panicked then because I felt like I couldn't breathe again. I bolted straight up and begged Dr. Atkinson for them to put me back on the B-Pap until I was out. He looked me in the eye and told me to relax. I remember telling myself to relax and give in to the sedation. I found out later they gave me enough Propofal (yes the stuff that killed Michael Jackson) to take down several grown men. This was around 11 Monday morning.
I have a few memories of being under. I remember being extremely thirsty and wanting a drink of sweet tea so badly it almost hurt. I remember trying to talk to Dr. Dorsett, my mom and Aaron. I remember the nurses talking over me. Thankfully, I don't remember a whole lot. I literally lost two days of my life.
The next thing I know, it's Wednesday afternoon and they were ready to remove the tube. Calvin, my favorite respiratory therapist, came in and pulled it out. It was then that I started finding out how sick I really was. I found out my diagnosis then was congestive heart failure. I woke up with a central line and was told that I was about to get two units of blood. (No I didn't look at the blood as it went in. I took great pains in not looking. The thought now still makes my stomach turn. However, I am grateful to whoever donated.) I was still one sick puppy. I remember begging to go to NICU but they wouldn't allow me because I was still too sick to go. I can't tell you how many of my nurses came to check on me. The nurses who tortured me after delivery came by and were almost in tears when they heard about all I'd gone through. Almost all the nurses that were on duty in antipartum at that time came by. I had no idea how many people I'd worried. To be honest, I'm still finding out 4 months later how worried people were.
Thursday morning they released me from ICU back to my antipartum room. I finally got to go see my girls. I finally felt like I was on the mend.
It was almost a week later before I ever got to leave Lakeside. Dr. Dorsett finally felt good about releasing me the following Tuesday. We were now in October and I'd been in the hospital for over two weeks. It felt surreal to walk into my house that night. It was nice to have all three of us back in the house, Michael, Aaron and I. Asia wasn't quite sure what to think of my being home after having been gone so long. I was so relieved to finally get to sleep in my own bed. I don't remember it being at all weird to come home without my babies. As horrible as it sounds, I was relieved. I was glad to have some time at home to rest and recuperate before they came home. I was quite aware of the ordeal I'd been through and knew rest was important.
I thought I was well on the way to recovery. I couldn't have been anymore wrong...
Monday, January 23, 2012
The Girls' Story
I wrote Michael's birth story on here pretty quickly after we got home. I thought then that whole experience was as traumatic as it could come. Who would've known that 3 years later that idea would've been proved wrong? I needed these 4 months to get some space between the events. I wish I could say that I'm totally at peace with it all now, but I'm not so I'm not going to pretend to be. So here goes nothing, I'm writing it down for all to know and hopefully bring awareness to a very rare pregnancy complication.
On September 14th, or so, I went to see Dr. Atkinson, my perinatologist or MFM. This was a weekly occurrence as I was having weekly non-stress tests since I had been having contractions since the end of June. I was also excited because I was going to get to "see" the girls again and probably for the last time before their grand arrival. They always start my visits there with checking my vitals. I don't remember exactly what my blood pressure was, but it was pretty high. You know it's bad when the doctor himself brings the blood pressure machine in to check it himself. It was higher then than it was the first time we checked it. Since I had a history of pre-ecclampsia none of this was a big surprise. Dr. Atkinson thought it best to get some tests ran and send me over to the antipartum unit to have my blood pressures watched for a little while. The blood tests then came back within normal limits and my blood pressure came down with me on my left side. Up until this point, I'd been on modified bed rest at home meaning I could still go and do a few things as long as I was spending more time down than I did up. Dr. Atkinson wanted to see me again in his clinic on Saturday morning.
Saturday, September 17th came and we headed up to the hospital and sent Michael to stay in Brownfield. I was hooked up to the monitor and blood immediately drawn. If you know me, you know that the blood draw is the worst part of my life. This time my blood work came back with my potassium levels dangerously low. Normal starts at 3.5, mine was at 2.6. This meant my heart could stop working correctly at any time and I was at risk of having a heart attack. They brought me a "yummy" potassium drink to choke down to see if it would raise my level any. It did, 0.1, not nearly enough for me to safely go home. That afternoon I was admitted.
Sunday, September 18th brought more blood tests that showed my potassium level had come back up to normal but my platelets were dropping fast. This put me into what is called HELP syndrome. Don't ask me to remember what all those letters stand for but know it's a serious complication of pre-ecclampsia. Dr. Dorsett came by that afternoon to tell me that they would be by first thing the next morning (read between 4 and 5 a.m.) to draw blood so that we could see where my platelets were. If they were to drop anymore, we'd be delivering babies that morning. Thankfully my platelets had risen slightly overnight and put off the girls' delivery. I was only 34 weeks at the time. These early morning blood draws continued for a couple more days until it was decided my platelets were righting themselves.
During all this, they were watching me very closely still because of how swollen I was. Dr. Atkinson's nurse practitioner no longer knew how to classify my swelling because mine was worse than what the classification system offered. It was awful. My skin felt stretched as tight as it could be on my legs. You could no longer see the bones in my ankles, which is great for shaving, but bad for your heart. My shin bones were no longer visible and my toes looked like Vienna sausages. It was disgusting looking and incredibly uncomfortable.
Thursday, September 22nd, it was decided that I would have my C-section the next morning. I'm not quite sure what brought about that decision except that I was fearful of delivering without Dr. Dorsett. He was leaving Friday afternoon for vacation and wouldn't be back until Tuesday. That would've left Dr. Atkinson in charge of my care and he was hell bent on delivering me. I spent that day mentally preparing to give birth the next day. I was excited, nervous, scared and beyond ready to have my girls here. That night I had a nice long shower and got prepped for surgery. I warned the nurse that was in charge of starting my IV that I'm not the easiest stick and, as far as I was concerned, she was only going to get one shot at it.
Friday, September 23rd, came all too quickly. My nurse took me at my word and had an ICU nurse come in and start my IV at 5 that morning. Aaron and my parents got there around 6:30ish. I was a basket of nerves and am still surprised I didn't cry the whole way to the operating room. At 7:30 my fabulous nurse came into get me and off we went. At 7:52 I got to meet my diva, Laura Elizabeth. She came into the world screaming (and hasn't stopped since), weighing 5 pounds 2 ounces and 18 1/2 inches long. At 7:53 I got to meet our princess, Allison Michelle. She came into the world weighing 5 pounds 5 ounces and 19 1/2 inches. Alli came into the world screaming, too, but has completely mellowed since birth. Dr. Dorsett then tied my tubes, stapled me back together, and sent me to recovery.
Then the complications began...
On September 14th, or so, I went to see Dr. Atkinson, my perinatologist or MFM. This was a weekly occurrence as I was having weekly non-stress tests since I had been having contractions since the end of June. I was also excited because I was going to get to "see" the girls again and probably for the last time before their grand arrival. They always start my visits there with checking my vitals. I don't remember exactly what my blood pressure was, but it was pretty high. You know it's bad when the doctor himself brings the blood pressure machine in to check it himself. It was higher then than it was the first time we checked it. Since I had a history of pre-ecclampsia none of this was a big surprise. Dr. Atkinson thought it best to get some tests ran and send me over to the antipartum unit to have my blood pressures watched for a little while. The blood tests then came back within normal limits and my blood pressure came down with me on my left side. Up until this point, I'd been on modified bed rest at home meaning I could still go and do a few things as long as I was spending more time down than I did up. Dr. Atkinson wanted to see me again in his clinic on Saturday morning.
Saturday, September 17th came and we headed up to the hospital and sent Michael to stay in Brownfield. I was hooked up to the monitor and blood immediately drawn. If you know me, you know that the blood draw is the worst part of my life. This time my blood work came back with my potassium levels dangerously low. Normal starts at 3.5, mine was at 2.6. This meant my heart could stop working correctly at any time and I was at risk of having a heart attack. They brought me a "yummy" potassium drink to choke down to see if it would raise my level any. It did, 0.1, not nearly enough for me to safely go home. That afternoon I was admitted.
Sunday, September 18th brought more blood tests that showed my potassium level had come back up to normal but my platelets were dropping fast. This put me into what is called HELP syndrome. Don't ask me to remember what all those letters stand for but know it's a serious complication of pre-ecclampsia. Dr. Dorsett came by that afternoon to tell me that they would be by first thing the next morning (read between 4 and 5 a.m.) to draw blood so that we could see where my platelets were. If they were to drop anymore, we'd be delivering babies that morning. Thankfully my platelets had risen slightly overnight and put off the girls' delivery. I was only 34 weeks at the time. These early morning blood draws continued for a couple more days until it was decided my platelets were righting themselves.
During all this, they were watching me very closely still because of how swollen I was. Dr. Atkinson's nurse practitioner no longer knew how to classify my swelling because mine was worse than what the classification system offered. It was awful. My skin felt stretched as tight as it could be on my legs. You could no longer see the bones in my ankles, which is great for shaving, but bad for your heart. My shin bones were no longer visible and my toes looked like Vienna sausages. It was disgusting looking and incredibly uncomfortable.
Thursday, September 22nd, it was decided that I would have my C-section the next morning. I'm not quite sure what brought about that decision except that I was fearful of delivering without Dr. Dorsett. He was leaving Friday afternoon for vacation and wouldn't be back until Tuesday. That would've left Dr. Atkinson in charge of my care and he was hell bent on delivering me. I spent that day mentally preparing to give birth the next day. I was excited, nervous, scared and beyond ready to have my girls here. That night I had a nice long shower and got prepped for surgery. I warned the nurse that was in charge of starting my IV that I'm not the easiest stick and, as far as I was concerned, she was only going to get one shot at it.
Friday, September 23rd, came all too quickly. My nurse took me at my word and had an ICU nurse come in and start my IV at 5 that morning. Aaron and my parents got there around 6:30ish. I was a basket of nerves and am still surprised I didn't cry the whole way to the operating room. At 7:30 my fabulous nurse came into get me and off we went. At 7:52 I got to meet my diva, Laura Elizabeth. She came into the world screaming (and hasn't stopped since), weighing 5 pounds 2 ounces and 18 1/2 inches long. At 7:53 I got to meet our princess, Allison Michelle. She came into the world weighing 5 pounds 5 ounces and 19 1/2 inches. Alli came into the world screaming, too, but has completely mellowed since birth. Dr. Dorsett then tied my tubes, stapled me back together, and sent me to recovery.
Then the complications began...
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