I could not sleep or rest on August 25th after coming home from the hospital. The pain kept coming and going. By dinnertime I couldn't even stand, sit or lay down without pain. I spiked a fever, which made my mom worry even more. Laura came to drop off dinner, and my mom told her about my fever. Being my friend and my "personal on-call nurse" (as I always joke with her) she urged me, along with my mom, to call the doctor again.
I called the OB on-call and briefly told her my situation. Her only words were, "Go to the ER, " and then she hung up. That's not what I wanted to hear. I had just spent ten hours there this morning and was sent home with nothing but frustration and anger. I knew that I needed to go back, though.
My mom could barely help me stand up from the recliner I was laying in. I was in so much pain. We even opted for calling an ambulance, but my mom ended up driving me in the end. I held onto the car handle for dear life as we hit even the smallest of bumps. My condition had grown extensively worse since 1am that morning.
When we arrived at the hospital, Laura met us in the ER waiting room. She said she was coming along as my advocate and to make sure I received the care I needed (she used to work at the hospital). Shortly after arriving, someone from the hospital came into the ER waiting room (it was packed) and announced that they were taking patients as quickly as possible but to expect a few hours wait. Knowing that I could not sit in a hard ER chair for several hours, Laura went back and forth to the receptionist several times asking for them to take me back, because I had just been there several hours earlier AND I was pregnant and we were concerned for me and the baby. They kept saying that I was next on the list to be brought back. Wrong.
When I finally made it back to triage, I asked the nurse if there was a bed I could lay down in because I was in so much pain. She checked briefly and reported back to me that there were no empty beds. All the while there was an empty bed right beside her, but she couldn't give it to me because she needed to use the room for other patients.
I waited in the ER waiting room for several hours. I thought I was in hell. I was cold. I was hot. I was in severe pain. I was pregnant. I was fearful. I barely recall The Bachelor playing on the TV above my head while Laura and my mom continued their casual conversation beside me. I sat there with my eyes closed while all the noises swirled around me in a huge fog.
They finally called my name. They took me back to a bed and, by God's great mercy, the ER doctor that I had seen more than 12 hours previously was still there! Since she already knew my case, she didn't have to start from scratch and order a bunch of tests to be done. She simply said, "I still believe it's an appendicitis. I'm calling the surgeon again."
Again, by God's mercy, the same surgeon who I had seen earlier was still on-call as well! Earlier that day he pushed on my right side, and I had no pain. Now he pushed on that same spot again, and I leaped into the air. He gave me an apologetic smile as he announced that I needed emergency surgery right away to remove my appendix. He further explained the risks involved in doing such a surgery on me at 15 weeks pregnant. The chances of losing my baby were real, but I had no choice because the other alternative was my appendix rupturing and me possibly losing my life.
He left and said I'd be taken up for surgery within an hour or so. My mom and I sat there crying while I asked Laura to pray for me and my baby. I turned to Laura and asked the question that I was dreading, "If I miscarry while having this surgery, am I far enough along that I'd have to deliver the baby?" She wisely said that we were not going to think about that right now. My baby would be fine.
Somehow in the next few hours Gene arrived at the hospital, Laura left to take care of our kids, I was taken up for surgery, and I awoke in the recovery room. It all happened so fast. The surgeon told me that my appendix was gangrenous and wrapped around my colon, and if I had waited just a half a day more, it would have ruptured.
It was now early Tuesday morning, and "sleeping" during my surgery was the first real sleep I had gotten since Saturday night. When I awoke, I discovered that my baby was safe, and the heartbeat had remained strong all throughout the surgery. I remained in the hospital for the next several days. Recovery was ROUGH. It literally took me several hours to get up enough courage to sit up on the side of my hospital bed, stand and walk to the bathroom. I was only allowed low dosages of pain meds because of the baby. The meds barely touched my pain, though.
Even though it meant missing the first week of school, Gene continued to remain by my side. "Through sickness and health..."
We were reassured that all I needed was some rest, and I'd be fine. The baby's heartbeat continued to be strong. The nurses that came to test the baby's heartbeat from the Labor and Delivery floor joked with me saying that they hoped to run into me again in February when I came to deliver. Yes, I was ready to go home. I didn't want to step foot into that hospital again until February.
No comments:
Post a Comment