On January 6, 2007, I went see my family doctor for neck and shoulder pain that radiated down my arm. Upon inspection, he sent me directly to a neurologist for an MRI due to the fact that I couldn’t have an x-ray because I was pregnant (31 weeks). I went to the neurologist the following Monday morning (Jan. 9, 2007) but made a call to my OB to let her know that my family doctor said my blood pressure was high. I left a message with the nurse and waited.
Upon arriving at the neurologist, he recommended an MRI, but because I was pregnant, he wanted to run it by my OB. He called her and she said I had already called about high blood pressure and wanted him to check it before anything else. The neurologist did and it came back 190/110. That is INCREDIBLY high for those of you that aren’t familiar with normal numbers (it should have been 120/80). My OB told the neurologist to send me directly to the hospital and forget the MRI for now.
Well, there was no going directly to the hospital…I had to get to my husband and have him drive me. So I met my husband at home and he drove me to the emergency room.
When I got into triage in the OB department, they tried to hydrate me with IV fluids, but I was so dehydrated they couldn’t find a vein. My husband, lovely creature that he is, doesn’t deal well with needles. After they had stuck me seven times and I was moaning in discomfort, he passed out. That left me freaking out on the bed and 4 nurses trying to revive my husband (at some point, one of the nurses said, “I can’t find a pulse,” referring to my husband. Of course, that was beneficial to my blood pressure…
Eventually they revived him and got me into a room and got IV fluids in me. They ran tests for 36 hours and eventually told me I could go home, but had to be on bed rest (no more than 10 minutes out of bed every hour). For those of you that know me, you will understand how hard that little task was…
The only reason I was allowed to leave the house was to go to twice weekly appointments to see my doctor. On the second visit (Jan. 19), my blood pressure had shot back up and it was time to admit me to the hospital and run more tests. With 36 more hours of tests, it was confirmed that I had pre-eclampsia and I would have to deliver the baby at 33 weeks. The ultrasound showed that little Cracker Jack was four pounds and head down…ready to go!
I was very insistent upon natural delivery, and my doctor humored me for 20 hours. I was on pitossin and magnesium (anti-seizure meds) and nothing was happening…so the doctor decided to break my water to get things moving. However, before doing that, she would do another ultrasound to make sure Cracker Jack was hunky-dory. He was fine, but now in my rib cage. Needless to say, you can’t deliver a child the natural way when he is swimming in the region of your sternum, so it was off to surgery.
I remember being scared out of my mind about the epidural and the surgery and the health and safety of the baby. I remember being wheeled into the operating room and being told to lift myself onto the operating table (which is only about 18 inches wide, I am convinced). I had already been given the epidural and the anesthesiologist said, “Your legs should be starting to feel heavy.” My response was, “I don’t know about my legs, but my butt feels quite heavy, though that’s normal.” There was an OR tech in the corner that laughed and said, “At least you still have your sense of humor,” to which I responded, “I am in naked in a room full of people I don’t know…the ONLY thing I have left is my sense of humor.”
Then Cracker Jack made his debut…at 3 pounds, 11 ounces on January 21, 2007.
I had had a friend tell me that her dad was one of the doctors in the NICU, but I had no idea what his name was. It all happened so fast. But here’s the cool thing. That friend’s dad happened to be the NICU doctor that was in the operating room with me. God is great! He knew I would be comforted by the fact that I knew someone there (kinda).
I spent one week in the hospital and Jack was there for another week, which was the hardest week of my life, I think. I was still recovering and on so many medications and trying to keep my blood pressure down that making the 25 mile trek to the hospital every day was not feasible. I got up there several times, but I didn’t want to leave, knowing that if I did, I likely wouldn’t be able to come back the next day.
But the staff at the NICU were amazing. And in no time, Jack came home.
He is now a healthy and happy 22-pound 15 month old child.
I write this for two reasons. One, to keep this story for my own memories and the accurate telling of this story for years to come. And two, to let others know what I have gone through and to give you some idea of why the March of Dimes and the families of premature babies have a special place in my heart. I can never relate to you the fear and anxiety and burden that I and my family carried for those 10 days before Jack was born and the months afterward, just worrying about how Jack would be affected by his early arrival. But I can identify with those going through it…and so that is where God has called me to be an instrument of His Grace to others.
