When I arrived at the new hospital, I was transferred to my room. For the first time, I would have a roommate, and I would share a room. Ugh, I was not looking forward to this, but tried to remember that this was only temporary, and I could get through a roommate. When I was situated, I remember eating lunch and re-telling my history of what was going on. I was getting sick of repeating this story. Then I met my roommate… one of her first questions was “Are you a light sleeper?” Oh boy, this was going to be a long couple of weeks was what I thought. She said that she snored pretty loudly, but that there were headphones if I needed them. Great, I already wasn’t sleeping well, now I would have to listen to this. She informed me that she was 32 weeks and had gestational diabetes. Wow, she was a good 9 weeks ahead of me, and if the baby was delivered, she would have a very good chance of being okay. I tried to think that I shouldn’t worry about other’s situations, but I had a hard time knowing that she was already far enough along, and that her baby was viable. I remember thinking it was odd that I was placed with her, and on the side without the bathroom. Here I was hanging on and in so much pain, and she was up walking around and only worried about her diet. I remember hearing her story five times, as she was on the phone literally the whole afternoon.
I was trying not to worry about the situation, and just went online and browsed the internet. After an hour, they told me they were going to take the catheter out of me, and that I would have to get up to use the bathroom. I hadn’t been out of bed for a week, and I was going to immediately have to get up and walk across the room. My first time out of bed was awful; I could barely feel my legs and had a difficult time walking. I had to rely on Aaron and the nurse to get me across the room. I was very weak, but most of it was due to the fact that I hadn’t walked in a week. My legs were being stimulated by the leg compression, so as to avoid blood clots. (I tried not to even think about that.) I seriously felt like an old woman, and truly appreciated how hard some people have it. I clung to the fact that this was temporary and that I was going to be okay, and in the end, I would have a little miracle to explain it. The first time in the bathroom was an extremely odd situation. I had gone from people changing me and taking care of that part for me (which was a relief in some sense) to being completely on my own. I was trying to drink so much water that I ended up having to get up almost hourly; it got easier as I got up, but I was still extremely weak.
About three hours after I arrived in the hospital, I was given a detailed sonogram. I saw the baby moving on the flat screen in the room; wow! The Chief of OB came in and said that my bleed was impressive. It had grown all along (I think it was 14 cm, at this point). I thought to myself, that is what we say about problem students, you are not fooling me. He said they would continue to monitor me, and I was in good care. I was very nervous, but trusted in the doctors to pull me through. As I had grown accustomed to doing, I didn’t ask any questions; I think for fear of knowing the answers. While I wanted to know the truth, I didn’t want to know; I wanted to remain hopeful. Thus, began the longest 36 hours of my life.
That night, I ate dinner… gross, the food was nasty. My sister, Melanie, came and brought me all these treats. She was so sweet and made sure I had a lot of food that would give me strength. She took such good care of me throughout this whole ordeal. She made me laugh, and helped me to the bathroom. Of course, we had to try not to laugh when my roommate was noisy and was snoring a little bit. We were like little kids trying not to laugh too hard. It provided some momentary relief as Aaron and I talked to her and just relaxed a little bit. Unfortunately, it was around 10:00, and both her and Aaron had to leave. I was devastated that I was going to be in the hospital by myself that night. This would be the first time I had stayed in the hospital alone, and since everything was changing so quickly, I feared that something would happen, and Aaron wouldn’t be there. I tried to be strong, but cried that night (one of the only times I did). I knew that the nurses would take care of me, but I was lonely and so scared. I tried to pray as much as I could. I took comfort with my prayer books and the rosary, and I kept the rosary close to me. It really did provide such comfort. Little did I know how bad the night would be. I texted Aaron several times to make sure he was okay and hope safely. At least, he would get a good night sleep, I thought.
I tried to go to sleep, but it just wasn’t happening. My roommate was so incredibly loud; making noises with food bags and with her television on. I got my ipod and tried to sleep. I took an Ambien; nothing was working. Then the snoring began, and it was awful. I have never heard a noise like this before. I began getting really anxious and knew that I was bleeding even more. I tried not to think about it; I rolled over and tried to switch positions. I texted Melanie and Aaron to just vent to someone. I finally called a nurse in, and told them that I couldn’t take it any more. I told them I was bleeding even more, and they tried to tell me to relax. I couldn’t relax, and my contractions were starting again. They felt bad, but said that all of the beds were full. One of the only rooms they had was with another snorer. At this point, it was 1:00. They said they would see what they could do, and I prayed that I would be transferred. They would come by and check on me, and I told them that the contractions weren’t going away. They finally turned the lights on, and put the contraction machine on me, and gave me some pain medicine. They then had to put yet another IV in me. There were about three nurses in the room, yet my roommate continued to sleep throughout all of this. By this point, it was close to 3:30, and I still had not closed my eyes. I tried to relax and they finally told me they were cleaning a room to transfer me. I just needed to get out of that room. By around 4:30, they finally came in and took me to my new room. I was relieved, but still in a lot of pain because I was having contractions. They weren’t terrible, but they were 2 minutes apart. I remember just watching the clock from 4:30-6:00, and just wishing for them to go away. I texted Aaron at 5:30 and told him he needed to come to the hospital. He said he would leave soon; so much for any sleep for him too.
At around 6:00, I texted Aaron again and told him I really needed him. He replied and said that his car had broken down on 66. Wow, just our luck…. L I told him to call my dad and that he would come and get him. In the meantime, I was anxious that the contractions would stop, but they were steady. I saw the resident at that point, and he felt terrible about my condition. He said they were going to take me for another sonogram, and that he would be back to check on me. I just hoped Aaron would get there before I had to go for a sonogram. I was exhausted at this point, and resigned myself to no sleep that night. Thankfully, Aaron got there within a half hour and he held my hand, as we waited for the sonogram. Yet again, I was taken in a wheelchair to the sonogram room. As I laid on the table, I was paralyzed with fear; I was really scared at this point. I was also so tired I just wanted to go to sleep. As she looked at the screen, I tried to see if there was any difference from the previous day, but I couldn’t tell. After about five minutes, she told me that she needed to go get the doctor, but she didn’t say if anything was wrong. I was scared and just didn’t feel like waiting on the table anymore. I was so sick of waiting: whether it was waiting in waiting rooms, waiting back in the doctor’s office, waiting on sonogram tables; waiting for results; waiting for answers. Remember, I am impatient, so all of this waiting was so difficult; yet, I had to remain calm. After all, what would panicking do for me?
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Austin's Story: Part Two: The First Hospital Stay
I had to get rushed to the hospital via ambulance, and it was the weirdest feeling to be in an ambulance all by myself. I was pretty calm when I was in there; I was nervous because they couldn’t find the baby’s heartbeat, but they tried to reassure me to say that 50% of the time, they couldn’t find it. Needless to say, that wasn’t very reassuring. We finally made it to the hospital, and I was taken to labor and delivery. For some reason, when you are at 20 weeks, you go there instead of the emergency room. Immediately, they found the heartbeat (a huge relief) and they hooked me up to the contraction monitor. It was shift change, and I don’t think they were paying very close attention to it. I think they figured that once they found the heartbeat, I would continue to bleed, and there was nothing they could do. I remember thinking as they checked me out within two hours that something was wrong. I felt like I was bleeding more, but who was I to question the doctor. As soon as I got home and was walking to the front door, I felt what would be the first of numerous clots that I would pass that night. I went to the bathroom where I found a clot the size of my palm, and I continued to bleed heavily. I was exhausted and very weak; I hadn’t eaten all day, but by this point I had no appetite. Aaron went out to get something to eat, and I continued to pass about ten clots that night. It was the scariest night up until this point, and I was really beginning to wonder what was wrong with me, and if I was ever going to be admitted to the hospital for good. (Here, I think I should have been admitted for good, but I don’t think they realized how much blood I was having). I was bleeding through the heaviest pads possible, and often more than one an hour. I was literally exhausted, but I think I had become immune to it, and was simply thinking, I have to get to 24 weeks.
At this point, I was on permanent bedrest. I stayed in bed all day, and got up several times to go to the bathroom. I was so bored and knew that this could possibly be the longest week of my life. I was trying to drink a lot of water, but that made me have to get up several times. I couldn’t do anything, and wasn’t even leaving my bedroom. I would maybe walk downstairs once a day, but that was a huge maybe. It was hard because the girls wanted to be with me when they got home, and I couldn’t even get out of bed. At week 21, I went to the doctor again because of the bleeding, but again, the baby was fine. At this point, I was feeling very weak; I think I was so used to feeling this way, that I probably didn’t speak up to my doctors as much as I should have. After all, they couldn’t tell that I was feeling as bad as I was. At this point, as long as they heard the heart beat, then they were satisfied and felt there was nothing that could be done.
With that being said, I bled that entire week, and finally that weekend, I was almost 22 weeks. It was a really bad weekend; I was so weak and had a hard time even making it to the bathroom. I remember that Sunday wanting to go to the hospital, but so weak that I didn’t even want to get there. I tried to shower and made it all of three minutes before I had to collapse on the bed. All night, I was having contractions, but I was so physically tired, I just didn’t want to go. Finally, that morning, I called my sister, Colleen, and told her I needed to go get checked out. I was so tired of going to the regular doctor’s office to get the same answer every time. I went to the hospital because I couldn’t stand long enough to shower. (One of the doctors said that should have been a huge indication that I was feeling really bad, but again, how was I to know?)
They checked me in, and found that my blood levels were extremely low. I checked in on a Monday morning (6/8). I was going into labor at this point too, but thankfully the contractions stopped later that night. Normal blood levels are between 12-16, and I was at a 7.5. They decided to admit me for what they hoped would be the remainder of the pregnancy. They wanted me to make it to 24 weeks, in which the baby would have a better chance of making it. When I was admitted that night, I had to receive two blood transfusions, which the doctors were baffled by. They said they had never had someone have to receive transfusions due to a SCH. Again, the baby was fine. However, this was the first night, I began to worry about my life. The doctor explained to me that there was a possibility of bleeding out, which could end up risking my life. This was the first night that I actually understood (or maybe even was told) that the only way for the bleed to stop was when the baby was delivered. For the first time, I considered delivering this little one. I was so scared; I wanted to be okay for Aaron; I wanted to be okay for my girls; I wanted to make sure I was okay for myself. I was so scared that something horrible was going to happen, and we seriously considered inducing the baby that night via c-section. I was a wreck; Aaron and I sobbed about the chance of possibly delivering and ending this nightmare.
Thankfully, our doctor thought about it a lot with her team of nurses and decided that we should wait it out and see what happens. At this point, she didn’t think that my life was in danger, and she knew that we would never wait until that point. I was on edge; she gave me something to sleep that night to ease my emotional and physical pain, and said that we needed to sleep on it, so that we weren’t as exhausted. I am so grateful that she was there that night, as she was the calming energy that we needed. She was so professional; yet so compassionate, as she knew we were facing some extremely difficult circumstances and decisions. I don’t regret not acting rash that night, and I am glad we put it in God’s hands to see what was going to happen. At this point in the game, we all were optimistic that this was going to be okay, and we were in it for the long haul.
The next day (Tuesday), I was moved to the ante-partum unit of the Women’s Health Center. They told me that I would be here for the remainder of the pregnancy, and to make my room like home. I immediately had pictures of the girls and Aaron in there, and it was like my little home. I began to know the nurses and I was as comfortable as I could be. Most of my day was spent getting my vital signs and the nurses checking to see how much blood I would have on a given day. If it was a significant amount of blood, I would be rushed to labor and delivery. Most days, it was average; I was bleeding less than I had been. I still wasn’t allowed to get out of bed; I had a catheter the first two days, which made life easy. Although, that was an issue in itself; at least I wasn’t having to move around too much. The next day, they took me off of that, and told me I would have to use a bed pan…. Hmmm… not the most favorable situation. I was exhausted, so even this was a lot of work for me. I quickly learned humility that day, as well as overcoming my fear of caring what people thought about me (looks wise, that is!) I will admit though, I never did get used to people having to help me do everything: go to the bathroom, clean up, help me bathe, make my bed, etc. It did give me a whole new perspective on the nursing profession, and patients that are in the hospital.
Throughout the week, I still bled the whole time. Some days were better than others. My days were spent visiting with the nurses, hanging out with Aaron, enjoying several phone calls and texts from family and friends, as well as visits. I also spent a lot of quiet time in prayer and reflection. We watched a lot of the NBA finals that week, and they actually were all pretty good games. I slept okay during that week, although I usually had to have them give me something to go to sleep. I also needed to overcome my fear of medicine, and realize that it was okay to take things to help you feel better. Most of the days, Aaron would leave for a little while and spend some time with the girls, or just have some time to himself. He never wanted to leave for too long, in case something would happen. Almost every night, the girls came to visit me, which was the highlight of my day. Alyssa loved going to the nursery to see the babies; at this time, she was in a major baby obsession. Hayley was much more reserved and quiet when she was in there; I think she missed me and was scared. I always managed to keep it together in front of them, although it was really hard. While it was good to have them come visit me, it was also extremely hard, as I couldn’t do anything, and I know they wondered what was going on.
That Friday night (6/12), I went into labor again. I started bleeding pretty heavy, and was starting to have contractions around 5:00. They decided to bring me back to labor and delivery, where I once again thought we were going to deliver. It was an agonizing ride back to the labor and delivery room, where again I met with the anestegiolist, as I thought we were going to be soon going into surgery. The same doctor was on call (thank God), and once again, it was a shift change, so nurses were in and out of the room. All of them were so wonderful and had tears in their eyes, as they explained the situation and saw me go through the intense emotions that came with the prospect of delivering so near. Again, they decided to hook me up to two IV’s in preparation for what was about to happen. By this point, my veins had been stuck several times, so they were having a hard time getting veins. They had to get a nurse from the ER, who was good at catching veins to put the other IV in. At this point, I was hooked up to two IV’s, as they wanted to make sure I was getting enough fluids. We were all ready to go, when the contractions somewhat slowed. Again, we waited the contractions out; I was dilated 1 cm, but again, the contractions stopped. Thus, began one of the longest nights. They decided to give me morphine to relieve some pain and the anxiety; I was to hit the button when I needed relief. Again, this scared me, as all I could think about was Ms. Dubose from To Kill a Mockingbird because she was a morphine addict. The thought of getting morphine seemed scary to me; needless to say, I only hit the button a few times. I didn’t sleep at all that night; I was scared. I prayed a lot, and was comforted knowing that my mom and Aaron were there. Aaron passed out for a little while, and I was definitely envious that he was able to sleep. I was just too scared to let my eyes shut.
Morning came, and I was feeling okay. I was finally able to eat something, and I ate a little bit of cereal. I knew I needed the energy, and forced myself to eat, even though I wasn’t hungry. Once again, I had to give blood to see where my levels were. They discovered that I was back down to 6. Ugh, I dreaded doing that procedure again. There was something about the blood dripping that just scared me so much. I just wanted it to be over. I said a prayer to myself right before they would start the transfusion and just prayed for the strength to get through it, and for the blood to be normal. I had to receive two more blood transfusions that night. That night, the girls came, and I knew I was about to get blood… the first round wasn’t even going to start until 9:00, and I was just in a bad mood. I cried when I saw Hayley; I just was so sick of dealing with this, and this was one of the first and only times I broke down in the hospital. I just missed them so much, and was so worried about what the future held. I had remained so positive this whole time, but I just needed to break that night. I was so overtired and so drained that I just needed to cry. I was able to pull myself together; after all, I had to. I needed to be strong for everything that was going to happen; I think in a way this was God’s way of preparing me for the long haul ahead.
I finally got some sleep, after the second transfusion finished around 1. I remember being woken up several times that night; I was so tired, but thankfully, I was able to go right back to sleep. The next day, Sunday, I felt better, and the hospital was working to get me into a higher level hospital, that would be better equipped to handle babies born at such a young age. I was hopeful, but also had gotten used to the excellent care and treatment I was receiving at this hospital. The nurses warned me what the chances looked like. My doctor came to visit me that day, and continued to hold out hope that our little Austin would make it through, and that we were all going to be okay. Sunday was an uneventful day; I rested a lot, and had a couple of visitors. I was exhausted from the previous day, and just tired to rest as much as I could.
Monday 6/15, I went into labor again in the morning. It was early morning, and I was having a lot of bleeding again… I was really sad that I was being wheeled down to labor and delivery again. I remember feeling so frustrated that this was happening again; couldn’t I make it one more week? Couldn’t I just hold out a little bit longer and at least make it to where the chances for survival were greater? Again, I was hooked to the contraction machine; I was so sick of this machine. Again, I was pricked with what little veins I had left, to yet another IV. Again, I had the awful pit in my stomach that this was it, and that I was going to deliver today. Again, the contractions stopped, and I received good news, I would get to go to the higher level hospital the next day. I was relieved, but also nervous for what the future held for me. After the contractions stopped that morning, I was moved back to my room… it felt good to be back. I loved the feel of my little room. I had a lot of visitors that day, and all of my sisters came that night, which was a relief. I needed to keep my mind off of everything, and it was a much needed distraction for the anticipation and angst I was feeling for the next day. Despite the anxiety, there was a feeling of excitement and hope, as I was really thinking the move to the next hospital was going to be a great help.
I remained hopeful that I could make it through another week to give this baby a chance. I was so sad to leave the hospital, yet I awoke with such hope. I put on makeup and straightened my hair (this is big considering that is something that means a lot to me… it felt good to actually look good, instead of the pale white that everyone had grown accustomed to seeing.) My nurse that morning was actually a graduate of Chantilly, and she recognized me as a Chapman. Of course, it was comforting to know someone by association. She took great care of me and made sure everything when smoothly to prepare for the arrival of the Physician’s Transport Ambulance. As I was wheeled onto the stretcher (such a weird feeling being transferred from a bed to another stretcher… they didn’t even get me out of bed; they transferred me over with the sheets), I said goodbye to many of the nurses. Some of the nurses wrote me cards of good luck and inspiration. They made a blanket and little booty socks for the baby, and they truly were so hopeful for my future. They all were in the hallway saying goodbye as I was wheeled out of the hospital. It was so sweet, and I truly felt so cared for while I was there. They were all so genuine and I was so appreciative of all they had done for me.
The ride over was much different than my last ambulance ride, which was filled with fear and sadness. This time, I was relieved and hopeful that I would be going to be okay. While I was scared and nervous about being in a new environment, I was so appreciative that Fairfax had taken me as a patient.
At this point, I was on permanent bedrest. I stayed in bed all day, and got up several times to go to the bathroom. I was so bored and knew that this could possibly be the longest week of my life. I was trying to drink a lot of water, but that made me have to get up several times. I couldn’t do anything, and wasn’t even leaving my bedroom. I would maybe walk downstairs once a day, but that was a huge maybe. It was hard because the girls wanted to be with me when they got home, and I couldn’t even get out of bed. At week 21, I went to the doctor again because of the bleeding, but again, the baby was fine. At this point, I was feeling very weak; I think I was so used to feeling this way, that I probably didn’t speak up to my doctors as much as I should have. After all, they couldn’t tell that I was feeling as bad as I was. At this point, as long as they heard the heart beat, then they were satisfied and felt there was nothing that could be done.
With that being said, I bled that entire week, and finally that weekend, I was almost 22 weeks. It was a really bad weekend; I was so weak and had a hard time even making it to the bathroom. I remember that Sunday wanting to go to the hospital, but so weak that I didn’t even want to get there. I tried to shower and made it all of three minutes before I had to collapse on the bed. All night, I was having contractions, but I was so physically tired, I just didn’t want to go. Finally, that morning, I called my sister, Colleen, and told her I needed to go get checked out. I was so tired of going to the regular doctor’s office to get the same answer every time. I went to the hospital because I couldn’t stand long enough to shower. (One of the doctors said that should have been a huge indication that I was feeling really bad, but again, how was I to know?)
They checked me in, and found that my blood levels were extremely low. I checked in on a Monday morning (6/8). I was going into labor at this point too, but thankfully the contractions stopped later that night. Normal blood levels are between 12-16, and I was at a 7.5. They decided to admit me for what they hoped would be the remainder of the pregnancy. They wanted me to make it to 24 weeks, in which the baby would have a better chance of making it. When I was admitted that night, I had to receive two blood transfusions, which the doctors were baffled by. They said they had never had someone have to receive transfusions due to a SCH. Again, the baby was fine. However, this was the first night, I began to worry about my life. The doctor explained to me that there was a possibility of bleeding out, which could end up risking my life. This was the first night that I actually understood (or maybe even was told) that the only way for the bleed to stop was when the baby was delivered. For the first time, I considered delivering this little one. I was so scared; I wanted to be okay for Aaron; I wanted to be okay for my girls; I wanted to make sure I was okay for myself. I was so scared that something horrible was going to happen, and we seriously considered inducing the baby that night via c-section. I was a wreck; Aaron and I sobbed about the chance of possibly delivering and ending this nightmare.
Thankfully, our doctor thought about it a lot with her team of nurses and decided that we should wait it out and see what happens. At this point, she didn’t think that my life was in danger, and she knew that we would never wait until that point. I was on edge; she gave me something to sleep that night to ease my emotional and physical pain, and said that we needed to sleep on it, so that we weren’t as exhausted. I am so grateful that she was there that night, as she was the calming energy that we needed. She was so professional; yet so compassionate, as she knew we were facing some extremely difficult circumstances and decisions. I don’t regret not acting rash that night, and I am glad we put it in God’s hands to see what was going to happen. At this point in the game, we all were optimistic that this was going to be okay, and we were in it for the long haul.
The next day (Tuesday), I was moved to the ante-partum unit of the Women’s Health Center. They told me that I would be here for the remainder of the pregnancy, and to make my room like home. I immediately had pictures of the girls and Aaron in there, and it was like my little home. I began to know the nurses and I was as comfortable as I could be. Most of my day was spent getting my vital signs and the nurses checking to see how much blood I would have on a given day. If it was a significant amount of blood, I would be rushed to labor and delivery. Most days, it was average; I was bleeding less than I had been. I still wasn’t allowed to get out of bed; I had a catheter the first two days, which made life easy. Although, that was an issue in itself; at least I wasn’t having to move around too much. The next day, they took me off of that, and told me I would have to use a bed pan…. Hmmm… not the most favorable situation. I was exhausted, so even this was a lot of work for me. I quickly learned humility that day, as well as overcoming my fear of caring what people thought about me (looks wise, that is!) I will admit though, I never did get used to people having to help me do everything: go to the bathroom, clean up, help me bathe, make my bed, etc. It did give me a whole new perspective on the nursing profession, and patients that are in the hospital.
Throughout the week, I still bled the whole time. Some days were better than others. My days were spent visiting with the nurses, hanging out with Aaron, enjoying several phone calls and texts from family and friends, as well as visits. I also spent a lot of quiet time in prayer and reflection. We watched a lot of the NBA finals that week, and they actually were all pretty good games. I slept okay during that week, although I usually had to have them give me something to go to sleep. I also needed to overcome my fear of medicine, and realize that it was okay to take things to help you feel better. Most of the days, Aaron would leave for a little while and spend some time with the girls, or just have some time to himself. He never wanted to leave for too long, in case something would happen. Almost every night, the girls came to visit me, which was the highlight of my day. Alyssa loved going to the nursery to see the babies; at this time, she was in a major baby obsession. Hayley was much more reserved and quiet when she was in there; I think she missed me and was scared. I always managed to keep it together in front of them, although it was really hard. While it was good to have them come visit me, it was also extremely hard, as I couldn’t do anything, and I know they wondered what was going on.
That Friday night (6/12), I went into labor again. I started bleeding pretty heavy, and was starting to have contractions around 5:00. They decided to bring me back to labor and delivery, where I once again thought we were going to deliver. It was an agonizing ride back to the labor and delivery room, where again I met with the anestegiolist, as I thought we were going to be soon going into surgery. The same doctor was on call (thank God), and once again, it was a shift change, so nurses were in and out of the room. All of them were so wonderful and had tears in their eyes, as they explained the situation and saw me go through the intense emotions that came with the prospect of delivering so near. Again, they decided to hook me up to two IV’s in preparation for what was about to happen. By this point, my veins had been stuck several times, so they were having a hard time getting veins. They had to get a nurse from the ER, who was good at catching veins to put the other IV in. At this point, I was hooked up to two IV’s, as they wanted to make sure I was getting enough fluids. We were all ready to go, when the contractions somewhat slowed. Again, we waited the contractions out; I was dilated 1 cm, but again, the contractions stopped. Thus, began one of the longest nights. They decided to give me morphine to relieve some pain and the anxiety; I was to hit the button when I needed relief. Again, this scared me, as all I could think about was Ms. Dubose from To Kill a Mockingbird because she was a morphine addict. The thought of getting morphine seemed scary to me; needless to say, I only hit the button a few times. I didn’t sleep at all that night; I was scared. I prayed a lot, and was comforted knowing that my mom and Aaron were there. Aaron passed out for a little while, and I was definitely envious that he was able to sleep. I was just too scared to let my eyes shut.
Morning came, and I was feeling okay. I was finally able to eat something, and I ate a little bit of cereal. I knew I needed the energy, and forced myself to eat, even though I wasn’t hungry. Once again, I had to give blood to see where my levels were. They discovered that I was back down to 6. Ugh, I dreaded doing that procedure again. There was something about the blood dripping that just scared me so much. I just wanted it to be over. I said a prayer to myself right before they would start the transfusion and just prayed for the strength to get through it, and for the blood to be normal. I had to receive two more blood transfusions that night. That night, the girls came, and I knew I was about to get blood… the first round wasn’t even going to start until 9:00, and I was just in a bad mood. I cried when I saw Hayley; I just was so sick of dealing with this, and this was one of the first and only times I broke down in the hospital. I just missed them so much, and was so worried about what the future held. I had remained so positive this whole time, but I just needed to break that night. I was so overtired and so drained that I just needed to cry. I was able to pull myself together; after all, I had to. I needed to be strong for everything that was going to happen; I think in a way this was God’s way of preparing me for the long haul ahead.
I finally got some sleep, after the second transfusion finished around 1. I remember being woken up several times that night; I was so tired, but thankfully, I was able to go right back to sleep. The next day, Sunday, I felt better, and the hospital was working to get me into a higher level hospital, that would be better equipped to handle babies born at such a young age. I was hopeful, but also had gotten used to the excellent care and treatment I was receiving at this hospital. The nurses warned me what the chances looked like. My doctor came to visit me that day, and continued to hold out hope that our little Austin would make it through, and that we were all going to be okay. Sunday was an uneventful day; I rested a lot, and had a couple of visitors. I was exhausted from the previous day, and just tired to rest as much as I could.
Monday 6/15, I went into labor again in the morning. It was early morning, and I was having a lot of bleeding again… I was really sad that I was being wheeled down to labor and delivery again. I remember feeling so frustrated that this was happening again; couldn’t I make it one more week? Couldn’t I just hold out a little bit longer and at least make it to where the chances for survival were greater? Again, I was hooked to the contraction machine; I was so sick of this machine. Again, I was pricked with what little veins I had left, to yet another IV. Again, I had the awful pit in my stomach that this was it, and that I was going to deliver today. Again, the contractions stopped, and I received good news, I would get to go to the higher level hospital the next day. I was relieved, but also nervous for what the future held for me. After the contractions stopped that morning, I was moved back to my room… it felt good to be back. I loved the feel of my little room. I had a lot of visitors that day, and all of my sisters came that night, which was a relief. I needed to keep my mind off of everything, and it was a much needed distraction for the anticipation and angst I was feeling for the next day. Despite the anxiety, there was a feeling of excitement and hope, as I was really thinking the move to the next hospital was going to be a great help.
I remained hopeful that I could make it through another week to give this baby a chance. I was so sad to leave the hospital, yet I awoke with such hope. I put on makeup and straightened my hair (this is big considering that is something that means a lot to me… it felt good to actually look good, instead of the pale white that everyone had grown accustomed to seeing.) My nurse that morning was actually a graduate of Chantilly, and she recognized me as a Chapman. Of course, it was comforting to know someone by association. She took great care of me and made sure everything when smoothly to prepare for the arrival of the Physician’s Transport Ambulance. As I was wheeled onto the stretcher (such a weird feeling being transferred from a bed to another stretcher… they didn’t even get me out of bed; they transferred me over with the sheets), I said goodbye to many of the nurses. Some of the nurses wrote me cards of good luck and inspiration. They made a blanket and little booty socks for the baby, and they truly were so hopeful for my future. They all were in the hallway saying goodbye as I was wheeled out of the hospital. It was so sweet, and I truly felt so cared for while I was there. They were all so genuine and I was so appreciative of all they had done for me.
The ride over was much different than my last ambulance ride, which was filled with fear and sadness. This time, I was relieved and hopeful that I would be going to be okay. While I was scared and nervous about being in a new environment, I was so appreciative that Fairfax had taken me as a patient.
Austin's Story: The Beginning
I found out I was pregnant around 5 weeks. It was a complete surprise. I remember coming home one day from work just not feeling right. I kept telling myself I needed to keep track of my cycle; however, I never seemed to remember the exact day. Needless to say, I remember being in the basement and the girls were playing with their toys. I announced to my husband that I thought he should get a test… his shocked expression said it all. He complied and twenty minutes later was back with a First Response test. Nervously, I peed on the stick, and within what felt like seconds, two pink lines appeared. I couldn’t believe it…. We weren’t planning on having another one this soon. I immediately started crying; how could this happen?? (Well, I know how it happened, but I just didn’t think it was possible.) I had to get out of the basement and away from everyone… I took the keys and went out for a drive. I remember getting gas and just thinking about how our life was going to change again. Selfishly, I thought about how back in shape I was, and how I had finally been satisfied with the way I looked, and I was in such a good workout routine. Silly, I know, but when you work out every day, you know how hard it is to maintain. I made a vow that I would continue to workout, and that this would be my healthiest pregnancy yet. I could continue to lift weights and use the elliptical, after all most pregnant women are able to continue working out.
Once the initial shock wore off, as with the girls, I was extremely excited… we would have a full car now. Aaron even measured the Honda to make sure three car seats would fit across the back seat. (Figures that is the first thing he thought of!) I remember thinking that I was going to keep it a secret for awhile… I have always tried to wait until the 12 week mark (the supposed “safe” mark.) I failed the next day, as I sat in my classroom crying to Sean. I continued to run for the next two weeks, but every time I ran, it just didn’t feel right. I always had a bad pain in my stomach; I just wrote it off that I had a bad stomach normally, and that it was nothing. I continued to lift weights, but stopped doing any stomach exercises. The cramping feeling got really bad one day, and I had to go in for a six week ultra sound because of it. Everything checked out okay, I just was really tired (more so than the previous pregnancies). I remember going upstairs as soon as Aaron got home from work to rest before dinner. Sometimes I would end up staying there the entire night. I just didn’t feel right, but I still didn’t want people to know. It was hard to keep it a secret; especially at work, when I needed to get sick or just felt tired. I finally spilled the news to my mom and sister while sitting at Starbucks one Saturday morning. They were really surprised, but happy for me. I told my dad later in the garage and he thought I was kidding (Pretty typical response… I think he thought that for the other two as well.) I guess it was a good thing I told them because I was 10 weeks, and the next day (Sunday night) I started gushing blood, and went to the ER with Aaron and my mom. I thought I was miscarrying, even though I had never had that experience before. I never even spotted with my previous pregnancies. I was so scared, but remained calm… after all, there was no use to get too upset. I remember getting to the hospital to get a very non-reactive response… they simply asked how many pads I had bled through (little did I know how often I would be asked this question in the coming months). I was shocked by how blasé they were about it; of course I didn’t have a pad on, I don’t even wear pads, so I didn’t have any of that in the house. Of course, I had to wait forever, as they took me back to triage to go over my symptoms and continued to ask how long I had been bleeding, which was maybe an hour. After endless waiting, they finally hooked me up to the sonogram, where they found the baby’s heartbeat, which immediately put me at ease. Everything seemed fine, and they treated me for a threatened miscarriage. I was scared, but reassured that diagnosis was “normal.” I remember feeling exhausted as I left, but relieved to be going home with our little one inside of me. I took the next two days off of work, in which I had to tell my bosses what was going on. I still wanted to keep it fairly quiet, as I knew I was not “out of the woods”. I went home, took it easy and just hoped I wouldn’t continue to bleed. I was not put on bedrest, but was told not to exercise or lift anything heavy.
The bleeding continued from 10-14 weeks; some days heavier than others. I went in for several ultrasounds; all were checking out okay. I was getting so sick of calling the doctor and going in to be checked. I always felt like an inconvenience, even if they didn’t mean to make it feel that way. They just made it seem like it was “normal” and that there was nothing could do. There truly was nothing they could do, but I guess I just wished they would talk about it more and treat me as more of a high-risk patient. I still felt like I was being treated as if everything was regular and normal. Clearly, it wasn’t. I am a usually very laid-back person, and am very passive when it comes to dealing with doctors. I know they are busy individuals, and I always felt like it was better to just listen to them and let them offer advice/opinions, and not really ask questions. I always seemed to forget the questions until after the appointment, and I am not very good at calling the office to have them answered.
By week 16 (the dates blur together), I finally went to the perintologist. My bleed was very big, about 9 cm, but again, I was told there was nothing that they can do. The baby looked healthy and was totally fine. He did notice two cysts on the baby’s brain, but then he said that it could just be that it was early in the pregnancy, and that the brain just needed more time to develop. Of course, he asked if I wanted an aminio and if I had the testing done for Down’s. Immediately, I worried that something might be wrong, but I had declined the testing like I did with the other two babies… I figured I would keep the baby regardless, so what good would the testing do. I remember leaving the doctor that day feeling worried… worried that the bleed wasn’t going to go away, worried that my baby might have “problems,” worried that this was going to be a long six months.
I continued to bleed for the next several weeks. I would call when I thought it was a lot, but by that point, I didn’t know what was a lot. I was soaking through pads, but again, they kept saying there wasn’t much they could do until I reached 24 weeks.
At week 18, I had another “bad” bleed; I am not sure what always prompted me to call. This was a Friday night; my bad days always seemed to happen on the weekends. At this point, I still had to go to the Emergency room, as I was before twenty weeks. I went to the ER, in which they did the tests that they always did. I remember going into the cold, dark room, where the radiologist spent a good half hour taking pictures and trying to find measurements of the bleed. I remember her saying that she was having a hard time with it. Finally, when the doctor saw us, he gave us the same grim news… there was nothing that could be done. The baby looked fine, and they would continue to monitor the situation, just take it easy. I was put on bed rest for the week, as the doctor wanted me to really get some rest that week.
When I was on bed rest that week, I just watched television and read. I still got up and down to do things, and walked around a little bit. I usually would come downstairs and at least stay on the main level for the day, so I wasn’t always in my room. They had told me that stairs wasn’t an issue, and that I was okay to move around the house. I continued to bleed, and it didn’t seem to be making a difference, but I complied. I felt okay, and wasn’t overly tired… I never was able to take naps during the day. I became pretty sick of tv in a couple of days.
The next week, I was cleared to go back to work. It was a really light week at work, so I wasn’t going to have to do much. I was able to go in late and leave early on most days. At this point, I was supposed to begin another graduate level class; I thought I would be fine. That day on 5/22, Aaron and I’s five year anniversary, I went home early to rest and was going to go to my class at 4:30. It was a very hot day, and stupidly I wore jeans. I remember getting to the building, and felt a little light headed, but I assumed it was the heat. At one point, I became really dizzy and I knew that I started to bleed again. I rushed to the bathroom, where one of my colleagues helped me up. I remember thinking, this is it, this is really bad. I finally left the bathroom, and thought I would be able to wait it out until Aaron could come get me, but it got too bad. I was in so much pain and I was so hot and light headed. I finally went out to my car, where my colleague called 911. I remember thinking that this couldn’t be happening; we had plans for dinner, and we were actually going to go out, in spite of everything going on.
Once the initial shock wore off, as with the girls, I was extremely excited… we would have a full car now. Aaron even measured the Honda to make sure three car seats would fit across the back seat. (Figures that is the first thing he thought of!) I remember thinking that I was going to keep it a secret for awhile… I have always tried to wait until the 12 week mark (the supposed “safe” mark.) I failed the next day, as I sat in my classroom crying to Sean. I continued to run for the next two weeks, but every time I ran, it just didn’t feel right. I always had a bad pain in my stomach; I just wrote it off that I had a bad stomach normally, and that it was nothing. I continued to lift weights, but stopped doing any stomach exercises. The cramping feeling got really bad one day, and I had to go in for a six week ultra sound because of it. Everything checked out okay, I just was really tired (more so than the previous pregnancies). I remember going upstairs as soon as Aaron got home from work to rest before dinner. Sometimes I would end up staying there the entire night. I just didn’t feel right, but I still didn’t want people to know. It was hard to keep it a secret; especially at work, when I needed to get sick or just felt tired. I finally spilled the news to my mom and sister while sitting at Starbucks one Saturday morning. They were really surprised, but happy for me. I told my dad later in the garage and he thought I was kidding (Pretty typical response… I think he thought that for the other two as well.) I guess it was a good thing I told them because I was 10 weeks, and the next day (Sunday night) I started gushing blood, and went to the ER with Aaron and my mom. I thought I was miscarrying, even though I had never had that experience before. I never even spotted with my previous pregnancies. I was so scared, but remained calm… after all, there was no use to get too upset. I remember getting to the hospital to get a very non-reactive response… they simply asked how many pads I had bled through (little did I know how often I would be asked this question in the coming months). I was shocked by how blasé they were about it; of course I didn’t have a pad on, I don’t even wear pads, so I didn’t have any of that in the house. Of course, I had to wait forever, as they took me back to triage to go over my symptoms and continued to ask how long I had been bleeding, which was maybe an hour. After endless waiting, they finally hooked me up to the sonogram, where they found the baby’s heartbeat, which immediately put me at ease. Everything seemed fine, and they treated me for a threatened miscarriage. I was scared, but reassured that diagnosis was “normal.” I remember feeling exhausted as I left, but relieved to be going home with our little one inside of me. I took the next two days off of work, in which I had to tell my bosses what was going on. I still wanted to keep it fairly quiet, as I knew I was not “out of the woods”. I went home, took it easy and just hoped I wouldn’t continue to bleed. I was not put on bedrest, but was told not to exercise or lift anything heavy.
The bleeding continued from 10-14 weeks; some days heavier than others. I went in for several ultrasounds; all were checking out okay. I was getting so sick of calling the doctor and going in to be checked. I always felt like an inconvenience, even if they didn’t mean to make it feel that way. They just made it seem like it was “normal” and that there was nothing could do. There truly was nothing they could do, but I guess I just wished they would talk about it more and treat me as more of a high-risk patient. I still felt like I was being treated as if everything was regular and normal. Clearly, it wasn’t. I am a usually very laid-back person, and am very passive when it comes to dealing with doctors. I know they are busy individuals, and I always felt like it was better to just listen to them and let them offer advice/opinions, and not really ask questions. I always seemed to forget the questions until after the appointment, and I am not very good at calling the office to have them answered.
By week 16 (the dates blur together), I finally went to the perintologist. My bleed was very big, about 9 cm, but again, I was told there was nothing that they can do. The baby looked healthy and was totally fine. He did notice two cysts on the baby’s brain, but then he said that it could just be that it was early in the pregnancy, and that the brain just needed more time to develop. Of course, he asked if I wanted an aminio and if I had the testing done for Down’s. Immediately, I worried that something might be wrong, but I had declined the testing like I did with the other two babies… I figured I would keep the baby regardless, so what good would the testing do. I remember leaving the doctor that day feeling worried… worried that the bleed wasn’t going to go away, worried that my baby might have “problems,” worried that this was going to be a long six months.
I continued to bleed for the next several weeks. I would call when I thought it was a lot, but by that point, I didn’t know what was a lot. I was soaking through pads, but again, they kept saying there wasn’t much they could do until I reached 24 weeks.
At week 18, I had another “bad” bleed; I am not sure what always prompted me to call. This was a Friday night; my bad days always seemed to happen on the weekends. At this point, I still had to go to the Emergency room, as I was before twenty weeks. I went to the ER, in which they did the tests that they always did. I remember going into the cold, dark room, where the radiologist spent a good half hour taking pictures and trying to find measurements of the bleed. I remember her saying that she was having a hard time with it. Finally, when the doctor saw us, he gave us the same grim news… there was nothing that could be done. The baby looked fine, and they would continue to monitor the situation, just take it easy. I was put on bed rest for the week, as the doctor wanted me to really get some rest that week.
When I was on bed rest that week, I just watched television and read. I still got up and down to do things, and walked around a little bit. I usually would come downstairs and at least stay on the main level for the day, so I wasn’t always in my room. They had told me that stairs wasn’t an issue, and that I was okay to move around the house. I continued to bleed, and it didn’t seem to be making a difference, but I complied. I felt okay, and wasn’t overly tired… I never was able to take naps during the day. I became pretty sick of tv in a couple of days.
The next week, I was cleared to go back to work. It was a really light week at work, so I wasn’t going to have to do much. I was able to go in late and leave early on most days. At this point, I was supposed to begin another graduate level class; I thought I would be fine. That day on 5/22, Aaron and I’s five year anniversary, I went home early to rest and was going to go to my class at 4:30. It was a very hot day, and stupidly I wore jeans. I remember getting to the building, and felt a little light headed, but I assumed it was the heat. At one point, I became really dizzy and I knew that I started to bleed again. I rushed to the bathroom, where one of my colleagues helped me up. I remember thinking, this is it, this is really bad. I finally left the bathroom, and thought I would be able to wait it out until Aaron could come get me, but it got too bad. I was in so much pain and I was so hot and light headed. I finally went out to my car, where my colleague called 911. I remember thinking that this couldn’t be happening; we had plans for dinner, and we were actually going to go out, in spite of everything going on.
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year: New Beginnings
2009... Scared. Panic. Relief. Excitement. Joy. Growth. Family. Family of Three. Love. Prayer. Belief. Patience. Rest. Sickness. Blood. Blood. Blood. Heartache. Grief. Sadness. Loss. Pain. Suffering. Emotions. Fear. Anxiety. Stress. Mourning. Sadness. Angels. Searching. Distractions. Unknown. Meaning. Journey. Awakening. Hope. Peace. Wisdom. Comfort.
2009: A year of intense emotions unlike any ever experienced before. A year in which I endured more pain and suffering than ever before in my 27 years. A year that began as a normal and typical year, that quickly changed into a year of the above emotions and various states of mind. A year in which I found out early that I was expecting our third child and was initially scared of another one so soon, yet quickly changed to happiness at the anticipated growth of our family. From there, the ever-changing emotions of hope and fear as I tried every day to make it for my little one to survive. A year of excruciating pain and heartache as I laid to rest the angel that was born, the angel that I never was able to know; my angel, Austin, my babybluelove. A year that I have learned more about myself, my faith, my family than ever before. A year that will forever be with me; a year that I wish I didn't have to live through, a year that I know has forever changed me.
January 1, 2010... a date I have been looking forward to for the past six months. 2010... a year, in which I long for promising things, new challenges, a sense of peace and comfort, as I continue to journey through the emotions of losing my little Austin. Part of moving on and healing is the decision to create this outlet for me to express what I am feeling, to share my story, to help others that may be on a similar journey, and to ultimately grow as a person. As a new year begins, I hope that I can continue to learn from the challenges that 2009 presented to me in every facet of my life: physical, emotional, and spiritual. While I know that 2010 will have its own ups and downs, I am also confident that the struggles and hardships I faced in 2009 have prepared me to be a better person. I am ready to move forward and to use the tragedy and traumatic experience of Austin to help make a difference in other's lives.
Here is to 2010... a year of hope, peace and comfort.... a year that is hopefully not marked with such sadness and grief, but filled more with the joy and happiness found in the simple things of life.
2009: A year of intense emotions unlike any ever experienced before. A year in which I endured more pain and suffering than ever before in my 27 years. A year that began as a normal and typical year, that quickly changed into a year of the above emotions and various states of mind. A year in which I found out early that I was expecting our third child and was initially scared of another one so soon, yet quickly changed to happiness at the anticipated growth of our family. From there, the ever-changing emotions of hope and fear as I tried every day to make it for my little one to survive. A year of excruciating pain and heartache as I laid to rest the angel that was born, the angel that I never was able to know; my angel, Austin, my babybluelove. A year that I have learned more about myself, my faith, my family than ever before. A year that will forever be with me; a year that I wish I didn't have to live through, a year that I know has forever changed me.
January 1, 2010... a date I have been looking forward to for the past six months. 2010... a year, in which I long for promising things, new challenges, a sense of peace and comfort, as I continue to journey through the emotions of losing my little Austin. Part of moving on and healing is the decision to create this outlet for me to express what I am feeling, to share my story, to help others that may be on a similar journey, and to ultimately grow as a person. As a new year begins, I hope that I can continue to learn from the challenges that 2009 presented to me in every facet of my life: physical, emotional, and spiritual. While I know that 2010 will have its own ups and downs, I am also confident that the struggles and hardships I faced in 2009 have prepared me to be a better person. I am ready to move forward and to use the tragedy and traumatic experience of Austin to help make a difference in other's lives.
Here is to 2010... a year of hope, peace and comfort.... a year that is hopefully not marked with such sadness and grief, but filled more with the joy and happiness found in the simple things of life.
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