Right after the c-section surgery and tying of my remaining tube I was sent to a recovery room. There, my blood pressure dropped to 70/35, but the anesthesiologist gave me some medication through my IV to get it back up again. Half an hour later it dropped again and the same medication was given. I was told that an epidural can cause your blood pressure to drop, so we weren't all that concerned about it, though I was monitored closely.
During my recovery time I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my right side, above where the c-section scar was. Whenever they touched on my uterus and got to that spot I would try to push whoever was doing the pushing away. They told me that was normal as I had just been through surgery, that there was alot of soreness there.
Two months leading up to the birth, I was *aways* pressing on that spot, trying to counteract the pressure of the baby and thinking it was just round ligament pain that would go away. It would for awhile, but then it would always come back. The night before she was born, Monday night, I couln't sleep, because that spot hurt so badly. It was stabbing through me like a knife.
Anyway, they brought me back to my room and I spent the better part of the day holding onto that spot and asking the nurse to please not press so hard on it. I told her I needed more pain medication; that what she was giving me wasn't enough, and I distinctly remember her saying, "No, the pain medication you're being given should cover it."
Being the pleaser that I am, I just assumed that this was normal c-section pain and I'd forgotten about it. I really wasn't paying much attention to the baby and hadn't even checked her over. I'd cried like I was a baby myself when she came out, unable to believe she was so perfect. She had the cord around her neck, but it was quickly unwrapped and her apgars were 8,9,9. I had been so relieved.
The next several hours were a blur. I was sweating so profusely that Scott had to sit by my face and wipe it down every 5 minutes or so. It was dripping off of my face. The nurse would come in to "palpate the uterus" and I shoved her hands away when she would get to that spot. She didn't seem to understand that that spot really hurt.
I think I have a very high pain tolerance because after both Lucy and Asher's c-sections I walked out of the hospital the next day without any by-mouth pain medication. In this situation, I don't think a high pain tolerance served me very well. Where someone else may have passed out from the pain, I was just highly uncomfortable but still able to think rationally that it may just be my c-section incision.
My mother in law came to visit around 4, and at that time I felt like a bigger knife was stabbing me. She was on the phone with someone and I yelled at her that I needed the nurse, now. She went yelling into the hall that I needed a nurse, and the nurse I had came slowly walking down the hall and told me again that the pain medicine she had me on was the only medicine she could give me.
At 6 pm that night, my father in law came to visit. As he entered the room I was bracing myself against the bed, trying to counteract or distract myself from the pain in my abdomen. I greeted him by saying I wasn't a very good hostess and would he please take the baby? He took her and then Scott came in. Scott told me my leg was falling off of the bed, and as he tried to put it back on the pain in my side got more intense and I screamed at him, "NO!" I still had my eyes closed.
He said to his Dad, "Dad, did she look this white when you came into the room?" I don't think his dad had really noticed one way or the other, but later Scott told me I had looked like a moving corpse. You couldn't differentiate where my lips ended and the rest of my skin began.
I heard Scott say, "This isn't right, I'm getting help." I was amazingly lucid this entire time.
When he came back in with the nurse, she looked at me and said, "Oh, my!" and then ran over to do my vitals. My heart rate was 132 and my blood pressure was 60/30. She picked up the phone. Scott told her the phone didn't work, but she fumbled with it anyway. The message finally got to her and she ran from the room, saying, "I'm going to get some people."
Before she left, I watched her pull the "Code Blue" switch.
I think it was one minute and the room was suddenly filled with people. Doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, they just kept pouring in. At one point the count was 17 people in our little room. The bed next to me was moved out of the room as everyone set up shop.
Phoebe had been forgotten. I watched her in her little bassinett, sleeping peacefully away.
The anesthesiologist took up residence at the head of my bed. He was literally pulling vials out of his pocket as soon as he came into the room. Scott was watching him the whole time and he said he would sort of sort them through his hand, choose one, and dump it into my IV. He'd look at my vitals for a minute, frown, and then try something else.
My bed was elevated at the feet so all of the intact blood in my body could keep my vital functions going. I wanted to panic but I don't think I had the energy. I looked at Scott, standing at the foot of the bed, hands in his back pockets, looking like he was ready to vomit.
I couldn't look at him again.
There were about 7 nurses surrounding me at this point, asking me where I hurt.
"I HURT RIGHT HERE!" I said, pointing to the spot that felt like it was being knifed. My nurse went in for the kill, determined to show her aptitude at torturing patients, I guess, poise and ready to press on the spot.
"I think she may be bleeding," another nurse said. "I wonder where?"
I shoved Nurse Rached's hand away and said, "I'm bleeding right here! IT'S RIGHT HERE!'
They kept pontificating, at which point the anesthesiologist said, "She's bleeding. She's bleeding. She's bleeding." At this point he was actually pushing the bed toward the door with his knees. Everyone was waiting for my doctor to get there and make the call for me to go to the OR. What seemed like 45 minutes was probably about 6.
Her partner arrived, and nurses were trying to talk to me and keep me distracted. They had pasted-on smiles and none of them told me I would be OK. I knew they didn't know that, and they were probably assuming I wouldn't be.
All this time I kept returning my focus to an outfit Phoebe's Grammy had given her, size 3 months. I imagined Scott dressing her for church all alone in that outfit, me never getting to see her wear it.
During my recovery time I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my right side, above where the c-section scar was. Whenever they touched on my uterus and got to that spot I would try to push whoever was doing the pushing away. They told me that was normal as I had just been through surgery, that there was alot of soreness there.
Two months leading up to the birth, I was *aways* pressing on that spot, trying to counteract the pressure of the baby and thinking it was just round ligament pain that would go away. It would for awhile, but then it would always come back. The night before she was born, Monday night, I couln't sleep, because that spot hurt so badly. It was stabbing through me like a knife.
Anyway, they brought me back to my room and I spent the better part of the day holding onto that spot and asking the nurse to please not press so hard on it. I told her I needed more pain medication; that what she was giving me wasn't enough, and I distinctly remember her saying, "No, the pain medication you're being given should cover it."
Being the pleaser that I am, I just assumed that this was normal c-section pain and I'd forgotten about it. I really wasn't paying much attention to the baby and hadn't even checked her over. I'd cried like I was a baby myself when she came out, unable to believe she was so perfect. She had the cord around her neck, but it was quickly unwrapped and her apgars were 8,9,9. I had been so relieved.
The next several hours were a blur. I was sweating so profusely that Scott had to sit by my face and wipe it down every 5 minutes or so. It was dripping off of my face. The nurse would come in to "palpate the uterus" and I shoved her hands away when she would get to that spot. She didn't seem to understand that that spot really hurt.
I think I have a very high pain tolerance because after both Lucy and Asher's c-sections I walked out of the hospital the next day without any by-mouth pain medication. In this situation, I don't think a high pain tolerance served me very well. Where someone else may have passed out from the pain, I was just highly uncomfortable but still able to think rationally that it may just be my c-section incision.
My mother in law came to visit around 4, and at that time I felt like a bigger knife was stabbing me. She was on the phone with someone and I yelled at her that I needed the nurse, now. She went yelling into the hall that I needed a nurse, and the nurse I had came slowly walking down the hall and told me again that the pain medicine she had me on was the only medicine she could give me.
At 6 pm that night, my father in law came to visit. As he entered the room I was bracing myself against the bed, trying to counteract or distract myself from the pain in my abdomen. I greeted him by saying I wasn't a very good hostess and would he please take the baby? He took her and then Scott came in. Scott told me my leg was falling off of the bed, and as he tried to put it back on the pain in my side got more intense and I screamed at him, "NO!" I still had my eyes closed.
He said to his Dad, "Dad, did she look this white when you came into the room?" I don't think his dad had really noticed one way or the other, but later Scott told me I had looked like a moving corpse. You couldn't differentiate where my lips ended and the rest of my skin began.
I heard Scott say, "This isn't right, I'm getting help." I was amazingly lucid this entire time.
When he came back in with the nurse, she looked at me and said, "Oh, my!" and then ran over to do my vitals. My heart rate was 132 and my blood pressure was 60/30. She picked up the phone. Scott told her the phone didn't work, but she fumbled with it anyway. The message finally got to her and she ran from the room, saying, "I'm going to get some people."
Before she left, I watched her pull the "Code Blue" switch.
I think it was one minute and the room was suddenly filled with people. Doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, they just kept pouring in. At one point the count was 17 people in our little room. The bed next to me was moved out of the room as everyone set up shop.
Phoebe had been forgotten. I watched her in her little bassinett, sleeping peacefully away.
The anesthesiologist took up residence at the head of my bed. He was literally pulling vials out of his pocket as soon as he came into the room. Scott was watching him the whole time and he said he would sort of sort them through his hand, choose one, and dump it into my IV. He'd look at my vitals for a minute, frown, and then try something else.
My bed was elevated at the feet so all of the intact blood in my body could keep my vital functions going. I wanted to panic but I don't think I had the energy. I looked at Scott, standing at the foot of the bed, hands in his back pockets, looking like he was ready to vomit.
I couldn't look at him again.
There were about 7 nurses surrounding me at this point, asking me where I hurt.
"I HURT RIGHT HERE!" I said, pointing to the spot that felt like it was being knifed. My nurse went in for the kill, determined to show her aptitude at torturing patients, I guess, poise and ready to press on the spot.
"I think she may be bleeding," another nurse said. "I wonder where?"
I shoved Nurse Rached's hand away and said, "I'm bleeding right here! IT'S RIGHT HERE!'
They kept pontificating, at which point the anesthesiologist said, "She's bleeding. She's bleeding. She's bleeding." At this point he was actually pushing the bed toward the door with his knees. Everyone was waiting for my doctor to get there and make the call for me to go to the OR. What seemed like 45 minutes was probably about 6.
Her partner arrived, and nurses were trying to talk to me and keep me distracted. They had pasted-on smiles and none of them told me I would be OK. I knew they didn't know that, and they were probably assuming I wouldn't be.
All this time I kept returning my focus to an outfit Phoebe's Grammy had given her, size 3 months. I imagined Scott dressing her for church all alone in that outfit, me never getting to see her wear it.
I thought of the weddings of my daughters and sons that I would not be attending. Maybe a rose on the altar instead of me in the front row. I thought of my nieces being given away by my brother Daniel and my not being there to ooh and ahh. It was too much, so I stopped.
Then, I started praying that I would be able to see her in that outfit, to go home to my kids, to live life with Scott. I started tuning everything else out and just kept praying.
My doctor's partner came in and the anesthesiologist gave her the rundown. One nurse said, "We need to do a sonogram to see if she's bleeding, and where." The sonogram technician came in, very leisurely-like, and said, "Well, this machine will take about 5 minutes to warm up."
The OB just looked at him and then at the anesthesiologist, who shook his head. She said, "She doesn't have 5 minutes." At this point I said, "I don't want a sonogram. I want to go to the OR."
I have never seen a medical team move more quickly once a decision has been made. There was already a male nurse behind my bed who was ready for the call to be made. He had braced himself so as to be able to push me towards the door, and there were about 10 people trying to get me out of the room. When we came back to the room later, you could see where my bed had actually damaged the wall and the door as they tried to ram me out of there.
At first everyone was walking, and then the nurse at the head of the bed said, "She's crashing!" Then everyone started to run, as in, sprint. I vaguely remember thinking that I thought this kind of thing only happened in episodes of ER. Scott and I always thought that was so cheezy.
Guess it really does happen.
We got to the prep room and by that time Scott had completely lost it. He was sobbing. His tears were hitting my cheeks and he said, "You can't leave me. You're my best friend. I love you. We haven't had enough time together yet."
I was surprised the critical care team was letting him be there until it hit me that they figured this was the last time he'd see me alive, and so did he. At this point the anesthesiologist was whispering things in my ear, I'm not sure what. I asked him if he knew what my blood type was, and he started chuckling and said, "Yes, sweetheart, I know your blood type."
I turned my attention back to my Scott.
"You have to pray," I said.
"What do I pray?" he said.
"Pray this," I said.
"Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live. Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live. Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live."
My doctor's partner came in and the anesthesiologist gave her the rundown. One nurse said, "We need to do a sonogram to see if she's bleeding, and where." The sonogram technician came in, very leisurely-like, and said, "Well, this machine will take about 5 minutes to warm up."
The OB just looked at him and then at the anesthesiologist, who shook his head. She said, "She doesn't have 5 minutes." At this point I said, "I don't want a sonogram. I want to go to the OR."
I have never seen a medical team move more quickly once a decision has been made. There was already a male nurse behind my bed who was ready for the call to be made. He had braced himself so as to be able to push me towards the door, and there were about 10 people trying to get me out of the room. When we came back to the room later, you could see where my bed had actually damaged the wall and the door as they tried to ram me out of there.
At first everyone was walking, and then the nurse at the head of the bed said, "She's crashing!" Then everyone started to run, as in, sprint. I vaguely remember thinking that I thought this kind of thing only happened in episodes of ER. Scott and I always thought that was so cheezy.
Guess it really does happen.
We got to the prep room and by that time Scott had completely lost it. He was sobbing. His tears were hitting my cheeks and he said, "You can't leave me. You're my best friend. I love you. We haven't had enough time together yet."
I was surprised the critical care team was letting him be there until it hit me that they figured this was the last time he'd see me alive, and so did he. At this point the anesthesiologist was whispering things in my ear, I'm not sure what. I asked him if he knew what my blood type was, and he started chuckling and said, "Yes, sweetheart, I know your blood type."
I turned my attention back to my Scott.
"You have to pray," I said.
"What do I pray?" he said.
"Pray this," I said.
"Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live. Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live. Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live."
I'm so eloquent.
My doctor arrived and told me it was probably a bleed in my uterus, and she may have to give me a hysterectomy. "Take it! Take it all! Throw it in the trash!"
Haha, that was my response. She smiled and said, "OK."
At that same point, I recall thinking that I would either wake up in a recovery room or looking at the face of God, and that neither place would be so bad. I heard one nurse say to another, "How is she still talking?", and I looked over to the corner of the room where my parents and Scott's dad all looked like they themselves were going to pass out. My mom stood on her tiptoes and waved to me and said, "Lots of people are praying for you!"
My mind flashed back the past 32 years and all the times my parents had been there for me, all the things they'd done for me, all the times they'd sacrificed for me, and now they were watching me getting ready to die. My dad looked as white as a sheet, and he attempted what I supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile.
My doctor arrived and told me it was probably a bleed in my uterus, and she may have to give me a hysterectomy. "Take it! Take it all! Throw it in the trash!"
Haha, that was my response. She smiled and said, "OK."
At that same point, I recall thinking that I would either wake up in a recovery room or looking at the face of God, and that neither place would be so bad. I heard one nurse say to another, "How is she still talking?", and I looked over to the corner of the room where my parents and Scott's dad all looked like they themselves were going to pass out. My mom stood on her tiptoes and waved to me and said, "Lots of people are praying for you!"
My mind flashed back the past 32 years and all the times my parents had been there for me, all the things they'd done for me, all the times they'd sacrificed for me, and now they were watching me getting ready to die. My dad looked as white as a sheet, and he attempted what I supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile.
My wonderful daddy. Ever the engineer, this is one thing he couldn't fix with a math equation or a logical explanation.
Then I heard, "She's coding," and lots of alarms going off.
Then I heard, "She's coding," and lots of alarms going off.
I thought, "I'll either wake up in God's arms or recovery!" and then passed out.
My eyes opened and it was like those shows where things are blurry and they're showing you the scene from the patient's perspective. I had tubes stuck down my throat but the only thing I could think was, "Thank you, God! I am alive!"
I heard one nurse (a man) who was caring for me say to the other, "I'm really good with my tongue." The other nurse laughed, and I said to the first nurse, who had his back to me, "You are SICK."
He turned around, shocked, and said to nurse #2, "Wow, I can't believe this girl! She's just been to the brink of death and she came through with a stellar sense of humor!"
and I said, "Good with your tongue? Really? Is that the line you use with the ladies?"
and he laughed and said, "I meant that I was witty. You sure know how to scare everyone, don't you. Let's not do that again, hmmm?"
I then asked them for their names so I could add them on Facebook. They both said they didn't do Facebook, but they probably just wanted to stay away from me.
My doc came in and had tears in her eyes. She told me it was close, that my abdomen was completely full of blood and there was no choice but to take the uterus. She said I had lost nearly 40% of my blood volume and was a very lucky girl.
I don't remember anything of the next 2 hours, but Scott tells me he came into the room and hugged and hugged me.
I *do* remember that night, waking up at various intervals, hooked up to all manner of machines and looking over at Scott in his bed, wide awake, just grinning at me.
"What are you looking at?"
"I am looking at my very alive wife."
:)
And then he would come over and give me a kiss, and one or the other of us would cry a little bit.
I asked him why he was crying and he said he just had something in his eye.
My eyes opened and it was like those shows where things are blurry and they're showing you the scene from the patient's perspective. I had tubes stuck down my throat but the only thing I could think was, "Thank you, God! I am alive!"
I heard one nurse (a man) who was caring for me say to the other, "I'm really good with my tongue." The other nurse laughed, and I said to the first nurse, who had his back to me, "You are SICK."
He turned around, shocked, and said to nurse #2, "Wow, I can't believe this girl! She's just been to the brink of death and she came through with a stellar sense of humor!"
and I said, "Good with your tongue? Really? Is that the line you use with the ladies?"
and he laughed and said, "I meant that I was witty. You sure know how to scare everyone, don't you. Let's not do that again, hmmm?"
I then asked them for their names so I could add them on Facebook. They both said they didn't do Facebook, but they probably just wanted to stay away from me.
My doc came in and had tears in her eyes. She told me it was close, that my abdomen was completely full of blood and there was no choice but to take the uterus. She said I had lost nearly 40% of my blood volume and was a very lucky girl.
I don't remember anything of the next 2 hours, but Scott tells me he came into the room and hugged and hugged me.
I *do* remember that night, waking up at various intervals, hooked up to all manner of machines and looking over at Scott in his bed, wide awake, just grinning at me.
"What are you looking at?"
"I am looking at my very alive wife."
:)
And then he would come over and give me a kiss, and one or the other of us would cry a little bit.
I asked him why he was crying and he said he just had something in his eye.
Thank you, God, for giving me more days on this earth.
