Has it already been a month?

Guess so.  Happy One Month Birthday to Justine!

A Happy One Month Old

"Damn Paparazzi!"

"Yo, represent!"

A Scary Diversion

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I will make a brief statement regarding the events of the past few days, and then I will take a few questions from the audience. Those that communicate with us as well as follow the blog are probably aware that the blog lags about 2 weeks behind actual events. We will return to our first few days out of the hospital after this emergency update.

At approximately 9:15 PM last Friday night, while we were watching old reruns of Alf (the one where he gets caught in the neighbors house and the police come and there’s a hostage situation, etc.), Kim began to feel a sudden and acute pain in her lower back and shoulder which was exacerbated when she took deep breaths. After a few minutes the pain did not subside, and since Kim is not generally one to show as much as pain as she appeared to be experiencing, I cajoled and convinced her to go down to the emergency room to get her “checked out.” Sadly, we forgot to tape the end of Alf so I didn’t get to see the end.

We proceeded to a clinic in town called “PromptCare” which is usually anything but – it’s kind of emergency room light. After a few minutes (if you ask Kim I’m sure she can tell you since it was obvious that she was in a hurry) they took us back, and in less than 5 minutes determined that she needed to go across the street to the hospital for testing. Soon we were wheeled into a holding area which consisted of approximately five “bays” that were separated by curtains, all filled with a variety of folks waiting for care. Kim transferred to the bed and we began to wait.

And wait we did, for about 2 hours until a doctor finally came to talk to us. In the meantime we slowly began to piece together the stories of our various neighbors. The fellow closest to the door evidentally fell out of a golf cart when his buddy took a sharp turn when he wasn’t looking, and severely busted his hip. He seemed surprisingly coherent considering such terms as Perkaset and Morphine were being tossed around. The lady next to us had some sort of hand tremor and weakness in her limbs. Across the way, another lady did not “feel well.” And then there was the lady in the corner next to us.

She had some sort of chronic stomach issue, and had been here before many times. She kept asking if the nurses remembered her, because she sure recalled them “last time I was here.” Personally, I think she was just lonely – every time someone wandered into her area, she chatted them up like it was in the aisle at the supermarket. But when she was alone for five minutes, then the moaning began. Once she discovered we had a baby in tow, she kept trying to have conversations through the curtain. Kim, suitably freaked out by the whole situation in the first place, responded meekly, with that “ok, I’m going to stop talking now” kind of inflection.

In any case, eventually the ER doctor on duty, who was definitely not Noah Wiley nor George Clooney, finally acknowledged us and asked us various questions. (“Where does it hurt? How long has it done that? If you stop breathing, does it still hurt? How long can you hold your breath? Have you considered holding your breath all the time?”) Upon hearing the symptoms, he said he was concerned about blood clots, and ordered a CT scan of Kim’s chest to take a look at her lungs. Soon thereafter Kim disappeared to take the test and I was left with Justine, who, amazingly had been sleeping through most of this in her car carrier.

Kim returned later and we resumed waiting in the ER for the results of the test. Despite more of the “doctor googling” that we’ve become so fond of lately, we decided not to risk transmitting the contrast dye used in the CT scan to Justine through breastfeeding, so we had the ER acquire some baby formula for us to use in the short term – the consensus was 24 hours. We were a little concerned that she’d have trouble taking a bottle in such a strange location, for the very first time and with formula instead of breast milk, but in what would be a recurring miracle, she gave us little trouble.

The results of the CT scan came back negative we were told, although the reviewer mentioned that the scan didn’t do a great job of getting the ‘periphery’ around the lung, which happened to be where Kim was experiencing the pain. We also found that the “reviewer” was actually some guy in Australia, who reviewed CT scans all night for ERs in America while the American radiologists slept. Of all the things to be outsourced…

In any case, we assumed we were good to go. But the ER doctor was still concerned, and somehow convinced us that we should take another test. Our options were a lung scan, which would have required radiological junk and would render breastfeeding impossible for days, or an ultrasound of the legs to look for clots. We opted for the latter, only later learning the caveat was that that particular test could only happen in the morning, some 6 hours away. We settled in for a long night in the ER holding area.

Amazingly, Justine slept from 11 o’clock Friday night until 7 AM Saturday morning. When she awoke, she was hungry and had no issues taking formula from the bottle, and then went back to sleep for a few more hours.

Finally, after everyone else in the ER had gone home, Kim finally disappeared for her ultrasound, and I began gathering our stuff for our impending return home. Then the new ER doctor walked in, and told me that the local radiologist had awoken from his hibernation down in the cryogenics lab, and re-examined the CT scan and determined that Kim had indeed had a clot, a dreaded pulmonary embolism. When Kim returned from her ultrasound, I gave her the news. Shortly thereafter we were moved to an actually ER room where we were finally alone for a while, to let the gravity of everything sink in.

Over the next few hours, we learned that Kim actually had a few large clots (apparently yet ANOTHER radiologist reviewed the scan), that the treatment was a combination of a large, short term does of Heparin and a longer term, daily dose of a drug called Lovenox, both of which are blood thinners. We also learned, much to our chagrin, that she would be admitted for 1-4 days (depending on who you asked) to receive the heparin (via IV) and to be monitored. Eventually we were admitted and transferred to the Cardiac wing, and Kim was hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV and began the road to recovery.

We were, mercifully, given a single, which was probably more for the benefits of all the elderly, heart disease ridden folks who’d rather not spend their convalescence with a screaming baby next to them. We were certainly the darlings of the floor, for a variety of reasons, including 1) we were the youngest by probably 40 years, 2) we had an adorable 3 week old baby, and 3) my dashing good looks (a few nurses actually swooned at my presence). The nurses were absolutely wonderful, bringing us all kinds of things for Justine, including a bassinet from the NICU, bottle after bottle of formula, sheets, towels, a kitty cat, a swingset complete with slide, and a slip and slide to keep us having fun. Also, beer for me.

We spent the next three days in the hospital, with Kim eventually switching from the IV drip to belly shots, (not that kind), Justine from formula back to breast milk, and me from “seriously freaked out” to “less seriously freaked out.” I slept beside Kim on one of those comical “sleepchairs” – you know the one that looks like a plush chair but if you massage it just right it folds flat for sleep purposes. I thought that it would be extremely uncomfortable, but exhaustion instead knocked me out each night.

Finally, Tuesday morning came and we were discharged. We are home and resting comfortably. It was a scary few days.

—–

Anyone still here? Questions?

Q: What caused the PE (pulmonary embolism)?

A: We don’t know at the moment. The obvious answer is pregnancy, but there are also genetic concerns. Kim had blood taken that will be tested for genetic markers to determine if that may be the culprit. Her family has no history of it.

Q: How do they treat the clots?

A: In essence, they don’t. All the blood thinners are to keep the clots from expanding, and to prevent new clots from forming. The existing clots slowly dissipate over time, which is why the pain will linger for a few weeks until they are gone.

Q: What’s the long term affects of the issue/treatment?

A: Nothing terrible. She will be on the Lovenox (twice daily injections) for 4-6 months. When we have more children, she will have to go back on the Lovenox for the duration of the pregnancy and for several weeks after birth. Other than that, there aren’t many restrictions, other than to avoid “excessive cutting” and “blood sports” while on the Lovenox.

Q: What is the capital of Montana?

A: Helena

Q: Was it scary?

A: Initially, not so bad. After the words “pulmonary embolism” came out it became a lot more scary. That has subsided somewhat, but now we are both in that phase where every pain or tingling or difficulty in breathing immediately brings the whole issue to the forefront again. Anyone that has gone through similar issues is familiar with that.

Q: Is she still in pain?

A: Not really – she still can’t take a deep breath and she still has some shoulder pain, but it’s manageable with Tylenol.

Q: Now that you are home, have you looked up the ending of the Alf episode?

A: Actually yes. Willie Tanner snuck into the house, and had Alf hide in a hamper while he put a walkie-talkie in a window. Then he convinced the police that it was some prankster just radioing in the hostage situation. Everything ended happily – once again wise cracking ALF avoided the dreaded ‘alien autopsy.’

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. This concludes our briefing. Stay tuned for a return to our regular blogging entries.

A Baby Story: Part Three

Part Three:  The Hospital

We were wheeled into our “suite” after just a few hours in recovery.  We had hoped to have a single, but the aforementioned “baby bonanza” meant that beds were scarce, and single rooms even more so.  To our dismay, there was another patient occupying one of the beds when we came in – in all the post baby scenarios we had mapped out, this appeared to be worst case.  They quickly drew the curtain – they were sans baby and figured ours would no doubt be a screamer – and we were left to ourselves.  We quickly settled in and I was about to go retrieve the parents to finally let them meet their granddaughter when the nurse arrived to steal our baby away.  Apparently Justine had a date with a tanning bed.

A heat lamp is probably a more apt description.  Standard operating procedure for newborns to keep them warm and such.  She was also slated for her first bath, which I was sent to witness,  pulling along the new grandparents in tow.  We watched, transfixed, through the glass as some stranger splashed soap and water on my now screaming 2 hour old offspring much to the delight of everyone around.  Honestly, in a matter of minutes from being ripped from the womb unexpectedly, this baby had goo rubbed in its eyes, a large shot in the leg, been shoved into a breast, dressed in a silly hat and now sponged down and left naked under a glorified fast food heat lamp down the hall from the one person she actually can recognize and would feel comfortable with.  I can’t imagine how she’ll feel when she gets her first paycheck and sees how much FICA takes.

As Justine settled into her incubator, we all returned to my wife to reassure her that the baby was fine, and indeed now no longer covered in dried goo leftover from the c-section.  She had regained most of the feeling in her legs at this point and was still bubbly and upbeat as we chatted with the family.  We regaled them with more stories from the operating theater, and described the last few hours in the recovery room and our meager first attempts at breastfeeding.  Thankfully the hospital provided dry erase boards so that we could fully diagram the process so that everyone understood how it worked.

Eventually Justine returned from her sojourn, swaddled up tight again and in her little hospital cart.  Everyone took turns holding her (except me of course) and we took the requisite pictures.  At some point during this process I nearly fainted due to lack of food – we had assumed that they would provide light snacks during the procedure (a cheese tray perhaps, or perhaps ‘pigs in a baby blanket’) but they had not, nor was their champagne in the recovery room (apparently that is reserved for platinum club members).  All I had eaten today, in fact, was two pop tarts and a box of Mentos.  So I left briefly to visit the hospital cafeteria, flanked by my mother-in-law and her husband, leaving Kim’s father and stepmother to have some one-on-one time with the newborn.

When we returned from our sustenance quest (successfully),  Kim’s father and stepmother said their goodbyes and headed back from whence they came, promising a return visit within a day or so.  The rest of us took our positions in what would become a routine for the next couple of days – sitting around, staring at either a) the baby sleeping b) the baby attempting to feed or c) me attempting to stay awake.  With breastfeeding a near constant activity, it could’ve been a reasonably awkward situation, but thankfully, the other patient in the room had been discharged, and we were left in this double by ourselves.  We slowly began to annex the room, nabbing chairs, tables, and finally piling things on the other bed.

We spent the next few days in the hospital trying to come to grips with this squirmy little thing that was suddenly our sole responsibility.  Due to the proclivity of births on that fateful Friday, I was sent home late that night in the event that the bed was needed.  Did I feel bad about leaving my wife and child so soon after birth?  Of course.  Did I toss and turn, concerned about their welfare?  Uh.  No, not really.  I was tired.  I returned early the next morning and stayed overnight at the hospital the next two nights as the overcrowding had abated.

A few things started to become increasingly evident as we spent further time in the hospital during Kim’s recuperation.  First of all, little Justine proved to be quite the sleeper.  Good ol’ fashioned “poke her until she moves to make sure she’s ok” kind of sleeping.  There were a few times that we had to skip a feeding because she simply wanted to sleep. There were also several times we took advantage of the nursery, sending our sleepy child off to socialize with the other babies so we could get some sleep.  I’d love to say that when we went to retrieve her later on that we correctly picked her out of the crowd, but we did not. Thankfully they are pretty cautious about keeping track of whose baby is whose – I guess people get upset when they discover 18 years later their actual kid was the tennis star, rather than the one they raised, who ended up majoring in philosophy.

The second thing we quickly learned was that life in a hospital warrants the quick disappearance of all manners of dignity and privacy one has come to expect in life.  Between the feedings (with doctors, nurses, lactation consultants, parents, dietary folks, vending machine repairmen, hog farmers, etc. all watching and offering their opinions), incision checks, and having to call the nurse to come ‘inspect the emissions’ after Kim came back from the bathroom, it was certainly an ‘eye-opening’ experience, for all involved (and several folks just walking by).

Finally, I learned that my wife does, indeed, have ice water running through her veins.  Despite repeated offers by doctors, nurses, and a slovenly fellow who had a cardboard nametag with a hastily written ‘Doktor Feelgood’ adorning his chest, my wife refused all manner of narcotics to fight the pain of her surgery.  The drug du jour was Perkaset, and she wanted none of it, fearing that “arms would reach out from the walls and grab her,” or some other hallucination. Instead all she took was some walnut sized Motrin and she did just great with it. I was amazed, as was everybody else.

As we approached the end of our few days in the hospital, I think we were both starting to feel antsy about getting home, and having our new child try out all the various gadgets and contraptions we had accumulated in the recent months.  At the same time we were a little apprehensive to lose the safety and serenity of ‘the nursery’ and the guaranteed sleep that magical room offered, and the amazing help that the lactation consultants offered in trying to figure out the mystery of breastfeeding.

And then the pediatric orthopedist walked in…

A Baby Story: Part Two

Part Two:  The Recovery Room

I think I was in recovery for about 10 minutes clutching my swaddled newborn with a grip that must be unique to someone who just became a father mere minutes ago.  I couldn’t help but stare at the tiny little features of the creature that was sleeping in my arms – she was just like a miniature human.  Actually, I guess she IS a miniature human.  Weird.

I did occasionally break the staring contest with Justine to quickly glance over my shoulder in anticipation of my wife being wheeled into recovery.  I was anxious for her to actually hold what they had so gingerly ripped from her insides, and more importantly, for me to relieve the intense burning that comes with the aforementioned “newborn vise grip.”  My diligent watch was interrupted only once, when our OBGYN, still in scrubs, wandered in to take a quick look at the baby and to tell me that everything went great.  She certainly had cleaned up somewhat – the last I had seen her she was covered in baby/Kim goo.  After a brief chat, she left for another procedure and I returned to my silent reverie.

Finally, the nurses wheeled Kim into the room.  Ostensibly the point of recovery was to monitor Mom and baby, and so they immediately hooked her up to all sorts of gadgetry that monitored everything from her heart rate and breathing to her favorite color on a second by second basis.  (“Blood pressure is 120 over 80, color is currently fluctuating between ochre and mauve…”)  Once she was in and settled, I quickly dispensed of our newborn child into her mother’s waiting arms, and reached for my fancy new camera to snap a few photos of this momentous occasion.

The first few moments of a mother and her child are beautiful and heartwarming. I watched intently as they bonded in a way that only they could, specifically because it was her first attempt at breastfeeding, and, as previously mentioned, I do not possess the parts for that particular operation.  Apparently at this point in development, baby has the impulse to suck but Mom doesn’t have a ton to offer.  In a short time, Mom starts producing colustrum, which is a runny goo that contains a lot of antibodies and just a wee bit of chocolate ganache that’s a great start for baby.  Eventually, and we’re talking days here, Mom’s “milk” comes in and baby starts to gain weight.

Figuring out the process of breastfeeding is a learning curve both for Mom and baby, and in our case the road would be a bit steep.  In just an hour, we went from watching the Price is Right to trying to finagle this little human into the right position to feed.  Position is the key, we found out, and initial attempts at getting Justine in the right spot was tough considering a) the baby was minutes old b) the baby was swaddled tight because, left to her own devices, she’d suck on her toes c) I had no idea what to do and perhaps most importantly d) Kim had no feeling from her chest down.  I tried as best I could to help getting everything situated. At one point Kim asked me to move ‘this pillow’ – after a quick feel I replied that said lump was actually Kim’s right leg.

Our comical attempts at breastfeeding complete for a few minutes, I was sent down in stereotypical fashion to the waiting room to inform the waiting parents of the glorious news. I called my mother to tell her the standard info (gender, name, weight, political affiliation, etc.)  Then I proceeded to the waiting room to tell everyone else to much congratulations and high fives.  In retrospect I should’ve planned this out a bit more – walking in and passing out cigars for example, or running in with a swaddled bag of flour and then tripping and launching it across the room to the horror of everyone, and then whipping out my camera to take hilarious pictures of their powder covered faces.  And THEN passing out cigars.

Wow.  That’s messed up.  Even for me.

I showed the assembled folks the pictures I took during the birth, relayed the requisite digits, and told harrowing tales about how I had to step in to relieve the OBGYN while Kim lay open on the table at one point and how I later disarmed a madman who held our anesthesiologist at knifepoint.  They were captivated, if a bit skeptical.  Soon I felt compelled to return to recovery and back to my new, squirming child, and newly wounded wife.

We spent our last few minutes in recovery peacefully holding a tightly swaddled Justine, snapping pictures, and watching as Kim slowly began to wiggle her toes, her feet and finally her ankles.  And then our short time in recovery quickly came to an end as the nurse wheeled us out and toward our home for the next few days on the postpartum floor.  As we rolled out I left the newspaper that another new father had given me on his way out – there would undoubtedly be more new fathers today.

But for us, the road to recovery lay ahead.  Oh, and parenthood too.