Stream of the Conscious

Back in the hospital for observation,
Sigh. It seems they’ve revoked my probation.
Expecting two boys that are twin,
Each extra week is a win.
Oh the things a mom will do for the next generation.

Sadly, there is a high likelihood you deciphered my ingenious limerick correctly. I’m back in the hospital. I returned to the clinic for a checkup yesterday. The doctor noted he was not terribly “concerned” but more “anxious” and would feel better if I checked back into the Spa Materniteé (also known as Baby Jail).

My jovial attitude vanished. One could potentially make the argument I try to cover awkward or nervous situations with witticisms or pithy statements (often amusing only to me, but that is not the point). No, as I was wheeled through doors of Labor and Delivery, it was only me – Bitter, Party of One.

I should take a step back in time here to note that I have never been the ideal hospital patient. And patience has never been one of my many virtues. So it’s no wonder I tend to do poorly in situations that require patience in the hospital.

At 18-months-old, I finished my plate of spaghetti (which I’m sure was just delicious Mom). I decided I was done with dinner and hopped up to leave the kitchen. Problem was, I was still strapped into my highchair, but nothing a little baby James-Bonding maneuver couldn’t handle. The escape attempt resulted with both the highchair and me flat on the ground complete with my chin split wide-open. Apparently, a straight jacket and Nurse Ratchet-type RN were required to hold me still enough to receive stitches. So, that went well . . .

A scant nine months later, my two-year-old self was watching my mom get ready for work and thought it would be a fabulous idea to ascend a wicker basket. That way Mom could get a break every 3-5 minutes so she could remove me from my perch and say “No, Tricia. We don’t climb on that.” As you can imagine, that wasn’t a terribly effective deterrent. I scaled my peak again; my mom turned to reproach me again. Gravity decided to lend a helping hand. If I hadn’t bitten off the tip of my tongue, the soft carpeting would likely have made this a non-issue. But alas, it was off to the hospital.

Family legend has it that I ripped out/off all the wires/IVs (see I’ve NEVER liked those) and went stomping down the hallway. (The two-year-old off to demand her own release, against medical advice I assume.) I can only imagine the intercom announcements blaring through the hospital corridors: “Code  . . . um . . . Would somebody please coral the naked wailing toddler marching through Ward 200?” I’ve been told that trip also required a straight jacket.

Back to the present day, I am certain I was not their favorite patient. Now, I know better than to be rude to the nurses since we all know they run these places. But I wasn’t particularly averse to changing the rules of the game either.

First, the medical assistant at intake informed me that I would have to fill out all the pre-registration/sign-in paperwork again. Why? Because they throw it out anytime you come in before 34 weeks. This information about the hospital’s non-efficiency policy did nothing to brighten my spirits. She then handed me an electronic signature pad and asked me to sign. I inquired as to what I was signing and learned it was the “consent form.” When I asked to see said form she said they’d give me a copy after I signed. She actually seemed surprised when I shared I wasn’t signing anything until I saw an actual document.

Approximately 72 pages later I was wheeled over to Observation Room B. (This room is not very different from Observation Room A where I was observed last week.) “You know the drill. Undress everything and put on the [drafty, worthless, covers nothing hospital] gown.” (Ok, I may have paraphrased that quote a bit.) She looked shocked and quickly left the nurses to deal with me when I sweetly replied “No thank you. I’ll wait in my sweats.”

A new doctor came in to begin the observation and monitoring process. I was, just as I’m sure you are as well, also shocked that there was any personnel remaining that we hadn’t met during the previous week’s institutionalization. They wanted to get me hooked up to the TOCO Machine (short for tocodynamometer – I did not make that up), which tracks contractions. I was fine with this, albeit NOT shocked by the results concluding that I was indeed having contractions since that was the reason I was being readmitted in the first (second since I already played this game once?) place.

Then the doc noted they’d probably want to get an IV saline lock started. This is not an actual IV with medicinal purposes. This is a giant stabby tube thing inserted into ones wrist “in case of emergency.” I declined. I can only assume that this caused much consternation among staff since they appear to be extremely fond of their stabby tube things.

I have since gone on to request a new bed, a non-beepy machine, and that they stop coming in to check vitals every hour in the dead of night. I have repeatedly assured them that my heart is still pumping and the blood is still flowing through my veins. And five hours of sleep will truly benefit everybody involved in this drama. And, I think Jon has only tried to explain his sad state of a wife to one nurse throughout this process.

Luckily, I have discovered that Dave Barry (my hero) released a new book yesterday. Jon has been sent to Barnes and Noble to get a copy. “I’ll Mature When I’m Dead” – how can that not be helpful?

Any one out there remember Ray Bradbury’s 1954 short story? The story is about a class of school children on Venus. It constantly rains there due to the planet’s thick atmosphere. The sun is only visible for two hours every seven years on the planet.

That is what life is like on hospital lockdown. (Granted, the Bay Area’s fifth “final storm of the season” didn’t help this analogy.)

Naturally, last weekend was gorgeous – perfect 75 degree spring days. I could kind of see the light outside my hospital window. Mostly it was just bored friends and family sauntering around a mini-garden the hospital developed on the third floor.

On day five in the sterile ward (albeit stable with a bluish/purple wallpaper border to make the rooms seem “homey”), my husband convinced our nurse that the little mental stability I had remaining was in danger. Several minutes later the nurse returned to my room with a wheelchair for what my chart now reads as “prescribed sunshine therapy” (I am not making this up).

For ten wonderful minutes I sat outside in direct sunlight. But then we had to roll back into the ward so my medications wouldn’t be delayed. I can only imagine the roller-coaster of exhilaration to desolation those children on Venus felt during their two hours.

This entire pregnancy became an intense whirlwind during my seven-day stay.

• I received a tour of Kaiser’s Labor and Delivery unit. This includes Observation Room A; L&D rooms 5, 10 and 11; Mom/Baby rooms 39 (twice) and 17; and OR 2. (Most people don’t get to see these rooms until baby birthdays.)
• I learned how to deal with uncomfortable questions that I assume meant well. When we arrived in the Mom/Baby unit the first time the nurse worriedly questioned, “Where’s the baby?” (As though we’d forgotten him in another room . . .)
• I took a glucose test for gestational diabetes. I made it an entire hour and five minutes before launching myself toward the restroom. My body did not take well to the sugar syrup “beverage.”
• I learned what a baby’s kick and a contraction felt like for the first time.
• I received a training period of what it’s like to get no more than two hours of sleep at a time.
• I fully realized how much it means to me to be a mommy.

All pregnancy in a week.

Several years ago, our chocolate lab Bailey required surgery on his little hindquarters. The veterinary assistant called me when he came out of general anesthesia to let me know he was doing “just fine.” Bailey was special.

While most dogs simply sleep it off in a kennel (or stumble around in a drunken stupor), our Bailey took it upon himself to accompany the vet on rounds, checking on the other pups in the hospital. Complete with the collar around his neck and dragging the IV along beside him.

This is how I have felt for the past four days.

Mostly, I am confined to the hospital bed. It’s not a comfortable place to be. Wires are attached to various machines. And other machines randomly beep – sometimes approaching hysterics. It can be very unnerving while trying to figure out if the frantic machine is attached to you or simply a general ward monitor.

As I was lying in bed, wide awake, trying to tune out the beeping machines and avoid entangling myself in wires, cords, hospital gown sheets, ties and various other accoutrements, I heard a newborn baby cry. This baby was NOT happy to have entered the world. I’m guessing it was a very healthy baby due to the size and strength of the child’s lungs. He made his opinion of birth extremely clear.

I had a little chat with the twins (over the angry machines and wailing children). Now, I don’t remember my life in-utero or my birth, but I let the boys know that – cramped as though they may be – their current home has got to be better than being shoved into this cold cruel world, attached to countless wires and spending months like a french fry under a Burger King heating lap in a small NICU plastic container.

I am hoping I encouraged them to stay put.

Yesterday afternoon got a bit better. My loving husband smuggled me in some wonderfully comfy contraband pajamas. (Good riddance to the blasted hospital gown! Oh, tangent – good project for the next season of Project Runway: hospital gowns that are slightly less miserable.)

The doctor came back to check in on me; the plan was to go home when everything checked out okay. Everything did not check out okay. The danger was increasing despite the forced bed-rest, IV meds and beeping machines. A minor surgery was the next step.

That was super fun. TMI to go into specifics. Needless to say, the surgery thwarted my chances of being sent homeward bound. Looks like I’ll be here about another week (in what feels like my homey little hospital prison cell).

All is well so far. The boys are still bouncing about and we’re all very hopeful for a future three months of bed-rest and boredom. As I have given up on the short-term quest to be released, I am now trying to pester the doctors into removing the IV stent. (“All patients have to have them as a precaution.” Yeah – well, babies are supposed to stay put for 40 weeks too.)

All movie and book recommendations are highly encouraged. As are visitors who entertain me. This blog has got to get more upbeat in the coming weeks! (And goodness knows I will now have LOTS more time to write.)

Mom was right. Life isn’t fair. Twenty-two (and a half!) weeks pregnant and I’m on bed-rest lockdown.

Thirty-six hours ago, I was a normal pregnant woman in mid-second trimester. Life was good and the boys were bouncing. Twenty-four hours ago I checked in to my very first “regular” doctor’s appointment. This one was going to be a cinch – weight and blood pressure check, verify babies are growing appropriately and be on my merry way. Continue reading →