After my surgery we went to one final appointment with Dr. R. I wished that he would have been an OB/GYN so that I could have stayed under his care for the duration of my pregnancy. Instead I had to find someone new. I wanted to use Dr. K because he had sent me for the CT scan when I had my PE and he had been a part of my surgery. Doug said the decision was up to me, even though he knew of another doctor that was very close to our house. Picking Dr. K is a decision I still regret.
At our first official OB appointment, I was 12 weeks pregnant. I had to fill out all the usual paperwork, which included questions like: "Have you taken any medications since you became pregnant? Have you undergone any medical procedures in the past 6 months that required hospitalization?" I nearly laughed out loud. After the paperwork was turned in, we went to the room where I first met Dr. K. That had only been 6 weeks before, but so much had happened, it felt like a lifetime ago. Dr. K walked in and made a few jokes about me and my complicated pregnancy. Then he pulled out the doppler and we got to hear the melodious sound of our baby's heart beat. Then he invited us to join him in his office. He gave us some information on how many deliveries he does, and a few other things that I only half-listened to. I brought up some questions that I had. One related to the night sweats that still plagued me. He told me that was due to my overstimulated ovary. He
finished up the appointment and sent us on our way.
When I was 17 weeks pregnant, Doug and I went in for an ultrasound. It was of course, the big one. We would find out if we were having a boy or girl. I had said all along that I didn't care at all what the gender was, I just wanted a baby. A healthy baby would be a bonus. We decided, since Dr. K's office didn't do an ultrasound until 24 weeks, that we would pay the money and have a 3D ultrasound done. It was a lovely place with pictures of babies and pregnant bellies on the walls. The sonographer took us back to the room, and I laid on the table. Then before she had me raise my shirt, I quickly explained that I had to undergo surgery and had a large scar. She was much more gentle than Dr. K had been as she searched to find our baby's heartbeat. She recorded the sound of the heartbeat and then it was time to look at our baby. I was somewhat worried about what I might see, as I had doctors tell me about the potential of birth defects due to my surgery. But I saw a perfect baby. And the sonographer saw something too. "It's a boy!" She exclaimed. I looked at Doug's face. He had tears in his eyes. I had tears in mine. It was a wonderful moment that I'll remember forever.
The second half of my pregnancy was very different than the first. It was uncomplicated. I finally got to enjoy being pregnant. I got to decorate the empty room in our house and turn it into the nursery that I had been dreaming of. I spent as much time with Meredith as I could. She had been my only baby for so long, and I wanted to cherish every minute of it. We took walks together, we played together, colored together, danced together, cuddled on the couch together. My little baby girl was going to be the big sister and I could wait to be a family of four.
Surviving In-Vitro
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Bittersweet
I awoke in the recovery room to the sonographer ripping the bandage off my stomach. I listened intently. It was nearly impossible to focus because I was in so much pain. But I heard it. The sweet melody of my baby's heart beating. "We have a fetal heartbeat," she said. I said a prayer thanking God. I asked one of the nurses standing over me if I could have something for the pain, and he informed me that he was injecting my IV with Morphine. Then I passed out.
I woke up just as the recovery cot was being wheeled into my hospital room. Doug stood up and hurried over to me. He said some encouraging words, but all I really remember is that he kept repeating "I'm sorry" over and over again. His eyes watered up as he looked over my body. I was whimpering in pain and trembling uncontrollably. The recovery nurse set up a Morphine pump next to my bed and patted my foot before leaving the room. Doug told me everything Dr. R had told him. They had taken my right ovary and the fallopian tube. My ovary had, in fact, torsed and had begun bleeding into itself. It had grown to be the size of a softball by the time they had removed it. In order to remove my giant blood-filled ovary, they had to make a 6 inch vertical incision down my abdomen. But, we still had our baby.
After my oophorectomy, I began having night sweats. I had never had surgery, so I didn't know if it was something associated with the recovery process. The day after surgery, I slept more than I ever have in my life. The only time I woke up was to vomit. The nurses kept coming in and asking when I wanted to take my shower for the day, but I didn't know where I would get the energy to just get out of bed. I passed on the shower that day and the food. The next day was somewhat the same, except the nurses told me I had to get out of bed at least a few times and walk down the hallway. I was high risk for blood clots, so I needed to avoid being completely sedentary. Each time the nurse would peek her head into the room, I would try to find the motivation to sit up, but it just wasn't there. The thought of walking all the way down the hallway, seemed almost as absurd as running a marathon. I decided I would wait until Doug returned to the hospital after work that day to take my first walk. When he arrived, he helped me from the bed and my legs almost collapsed beneath me. I was in a full blown sweat before we even reached the door. When I peered down that hallway I felt completely overwhelmed. I decided I would take it one step at a time. Just the way I had taken everything so far. One step at a time, with Doug by my side, holding my hand. Reaching the end of the hall, I almost expected a medal. Doug and I turned around to go back to my room and my legs gave out again. Doug held me while I regained my strength to keep going. One step at a time.
On the day I was supposed to be discharged, I actually didn't want to go home. The place that had been like a prison before, had become my haven. Doug worked long hours, which would mean I would be alone to take care of Meredith and myself. I was terrified. I couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed, let alone tend to someone else's needs. I would also have to begin giving myself shots. I had somehow avoided it up until that point. I had also avoided eating for the past week, as everything that passed my lips, came right back up. I had been on numerous anti-nausea medications, which had helped me to keep down water, but that was all. Not only that, but I didn't have a stool to sit on in the shower and I would need to stand the entire time. This seems insignificant, but at the time, it was unimaginable. That day, I stayed in bed up until the last possible minute, before I crawled into the wheelchair to head home.
The first day home was rough, even with Doug's help. I had planned on taking a shower as soon as I got home, but I was worn out from the discharge process and the drive home. So instead, I thought I would take a short nap and shower later. It was 10 o'clock at night before I finally made it in. I felt much better after, but that didn't last long. I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Much worse than what I had experienced with the pulmonary embolism. I couldn't even go back to sleep because I felt so gross. The sheets and my clothing were stuck to my body. Each time I would drift off, I would wake up shortly after in a puddle of sweat. I googled "night sweats after oophorectomy", but all the results were from women who had both ovaries removed and were thrown into early menopause. "Maybe my body is going into menopause," I thought. "Maybe my other ovary isn't doing what its supposed to do. Maybe I have another PE. I better Google that. Or could this still be a result of the OHSS, since my remaining ovary is hyperstimulated?" So I typed "night sweats after unilateral oophorectomy pulmonary embolism OHSS". No matches. When I found out that we would need to undergo IVF, I found numerous websites, message boards, support groups and medical websites. I found information about the procedure and its risks. I found comfort in reading message boards and blogs written by other people who were going through the same thing I was. They all had the same feelings I had. These people knew exactly what it was like to deal with negativity from "friends" during such a difficult time. It made me feel good to know that other people out there were also being stabbed with needles on a daily basis. And instead of conceiving our child in the privacy of our bedroom, our baby had to be put together in a lab, then given a safe place to grow inside my uterus. This time I couldn't find comfort. Nobody online was discussing having to do shots for a year longer than planned. No one was talking about seeing a pulmonologist for the rest of their life. Or the strange feeling of loss knowing that an ovary was missing. I felt alone. And as much as I tried to be thankful just for having my baby growing inside, I was feeling angry and sad. I felt angry that instead of a normal pregnancy, I had to go through IVF. And instead of getting to celebrate my positive pregnancy test or seeing my baby's heart beating the first time, it was all overshadowed by complications. I felt sad when I thought about everything my little tiny baby had endured. A tiny person was counting on me for everything. To provide a safe home. To give nourishment. I felt I was failing miserably.
I woke up just as the recovery cot was being wheeled into my hospital room. Doug stood up and hurried over to me. He said some encouraging words, but all I really remember is that he kept repeating "I'm sorry" over and over again. His eyes watered up as he looked over my body. I was whimpering in pain and trembling uncontrollably. The recovery nurse set up a Morphine pump next to my bed and patted my foot before leaving the room. Doug told me everything Dr. R had told him. They had taken my right ovary and the fallopian tube. My ovary had, in fact, torsed and had begun bleeding into itself. It had grown to be the size of a softball by the time they had removed it. In order to remove my giant blood-filled ovary, they had to make a 6 inch vertical incision down my abdomen. But, we still had our baby.
After my oophorectomy, I began having night sweats. I had never had surgery, so I didn't know if it was something associated with the recovery process. The day after surgery, I slept more than I ever have in my life. The only time I woke up was to vomit. The nurses kept coming in and asking when I wanted to take my shower for the day, but I didn't know where I would get the energy to just get out of bed. I passed on the shower that day and the food. The next day was somewhat the same, except the nurses told me I had to get out of bed at least a few times and walk down the hallway. I was high risk for blood clots, so I needed to avoid being completely sedentary. Each time the nurse would peek her head into the room, I would try to find the motivation to sit up, but it just wasn't there. The thought of walking all the way down the hallway, seemed almost as absurd as running a marathon. I decided I would wait until Doug returned to the hospital after work that day to take my first walk. When he arrived, he helped me from the bed and my legs almost collapsed beneath me. I was in a full blown sweat before we even reached the door. When I peered down that hallway I felt completely overwhelmed. I decided I would take it one step at a time. Just the way I had taken everything so far. One step at a time, with Doug by my side, holding my hand. Reaching the end of the hall, I almost expected a medal. Doug and I turned around to go back to my room and my legs gave out again. Doug held me while I regained my strength to keep going. One step at a time.
On the day I was supposed to be discharged, I actually didn't want to go home. The place that had been like a prison before, had become my haven. Doug worked long hours, which would mean I would be alone to take care of Meredith and myself. I was terrified. I couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed, let alone tend to someone else's needs. I would also have to begin giving myself shots. I had somehow avoided it up until that point. I had also avoided eating for the past week, as everything that passed my lips, came right back up. I had been on numerous anti-nausea medications, which had helped me to keep down water, but that was all. Not only that, but I didn't have a stool to sit on in the shower and I would need to stand the entire time. This seems insignificant, but at the time, it was unimaginable. That day, I stayed in bed up until the last possible minute, before I crawled into the wheelchair to head home.
The first day home was rough, even with Doug's help. I had planned on taking a shower as soon as I got home, but I was worn out from the discharge process and the drive home. So instead, I thought I would take a short nap and shower later. It was 10 o'clock at night before I finally made it in. I felt much better after, but that didn't last long. I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Much worse than what I had experienced with the pulmonary embolism. I couldn't even go back to sleep because I felt so gross. The sheets and my clothing were stuck to my body. Each time I would drift off, I would wake up shortly after in a puddle of sweat. I googled "night sweats after oophorectomy", but all the results were from women who had both ovaries removed and were thrown into early menopause. "Maybe my body is going into menopause," I thought. "Maybe my other ovary isn't doing what its supposed to do. Maybe I have another PE. I better Google that. Or could this still be a result of the OHSS, since my remaining ovary is hyperstimulated?" So I typed "night sweats after unilateral oophorectomy pulmonary embolism OHSS". No matches. When I found out that we would need to undergo IVF, I found numerous websites, message boards, support groups and medical websites. I found information about the procedure and its risks. I found comfort in reading message boards and blogs written by other people who were going through the same thing I was. They all had the same feelings I had. These people knew exactly what it was like to deal with negativity from "friends" during such a difficult time. It made me feel good to know that other people out there were also being stabbed with needles on a daily basis. And instead of conceiving our child in the privacy of our bedroom, our baby had to be put together in a lab, then given a safe place to grow inside my uterus. This time I couldn't find comfort. Nobody online was discussing having to do shots for a year longer than planned. No one was talking about seeing a pulmonologist for the rest of their life. Or the strange feeling of loss knowing that an ovary was missing. I felt alone. And as much as I tried to be thankful just for having my baby growing inside, I was feeling angry and sad. I felt angry that instead of a normal pregnancy, I had to go through IVF. And instead of getting to celebrate my positive pregnancy test or seeing my baby's heart beating the first time, it was all overshadowed by complications. I felt sad when I thought about everything my little tiny baby had endured. A tiny person was counting on me for everything. To provide a safe home. To give nourishment. I felt I was failing miserably.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Oophorectomy
I received a call from Dr. R on Saturday evening. He had been notified of the results of my most recent blood work and my condition was continuing to worsen. He let me know that it was imperative that we move through with the surgery and that it would take place the next morning. It was also crucial that I receive a blood transfusion and the placement of an inferior vena cava filter prior to the surgery. I was terrified. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep that night. Throughout all my complications, Doug had been by my side. Every night I had spent in the hospital, he had been with me on a tiny pullout chair. He was my rock. I needed him that night more than ever. I needed him to hold my hand. I needed him to talk to me about insignificant things so I wouldn't have to think about the insurmountable hurdle that lay ahead the next day. And he did.
The next morning, the first thing that needed to happen was a blood transfusion. The nurse told me that my fever would break shortly after the transfusion. I also started feeling better. Next I would be wheeled down to have the inferior vena cava inserted. An inferior vena cava filter (IVC filter) is a type of vascular filter that is implanted into the inferior vena cava to prevent fatal pulmonary emboli. The process of placing the filter was pretty frightening, because the doctor had to slice into my jugular vein and feed the metal filter into place. Then another x-ray was performed to be sure it was where it should be. My little tiny baby was only 8 weeks old and had already been through so much.
Soon after I arrived back at my room, Dr. R and Dr. K both came in to discuss the surgery. The surgery was considered exploratory, because they were pretty sure that the ovarian torsion was causing the problems, but couldn't be positive until they got a look inside. Most likely they would be doing a unilateral oophorectomy, which is the removal of one ovary. They told me that there were significant risks involved with doing this surgery. I had just had a pulmonary embolism a week before, but there was no other option but to operate. The anesthesiologist came in shortly after and told me that doing anesthesia on a pregnant woman puts the baby's life in jeopardy. He told me that it could cause the baby's heart to stop. Dr. R told me that he would have a sonographer in the recovery room to perform an ultrasound to check for fetal heartbeat immediately after surgery. I was about to undergo a procedure that could stop my baby's heart and there was no way for me to avoid it. I had to just sit with Doug in a hospital room for an hour before the surgery knowing that it might be the last hour I ever got to be pregnant. I wanted to talk to my little baby and say how sorry I was for what was about to happen.
I was wheeled down stairs with Doug by my side. I prayed and I prayed. And then I prayed more. I didn't care what happened with anything else, I just wanted my baby to survive. I handed Doug my glasses and he gave me a kiss. As they wheeled me towards the operating room, I felt so alone. I wanted my husband holding my hand walking with me down that hallway, but instead it was just me watching him disappear into the blurry backdrop of the hospital. The anesthesiologist started to administer medication into my IV, and he told me to count back from one hundred. Instead I said a prayer for my little tiny baby.
The next morning, the first thing that needed to happen was a blood transfusion. The nurse told me that my fever would break shortly after the transfusion. I also started feeling better. Next I would be wheeled down to have the inferior vena cava inserted. An inferior vena cava filter (IVC filter) is a type of vascular filter that is implanted into the inferior vena cava to prevent fatal pulmonary emboli. The process of placing the filter was pretty frightening, because the doctor had to slice into my jugular vein and feed the metal filter into place. Then another x-ray was performed to be sure it was where it should be. My little tiny baby was only 8 weeks old and had already been through so much.
Soon after I arrived back at my room, Dr. R and Dr. K both came in to discuss the surgery. The surgery was considered exploratory, because they were pretty sure that the ovarian torsion was causing the problems, but couldn't be positive until they got a look inside. Most likely they would be doing a unilateral oophorectomy, which is the removal of one ovary. They told me that there were significant risks involved with doing this surgery. I had just had a pulmonary embolism a week before, but there was no other option but to operate. The anesthesiologist came in shortly after and told me that doing anesthesia on a pregnant woman puts the baby's life in jeopardy. He told me that it could cause the baby's heart to stop. Dr. R told me that he would have a sonographer in the recovery room to perform an ultrasound to check for fetal heartbeat immediately after surgery. I was about to undergo a procedure that could stop my baby's heart and there was no way for me to avoid it. I had to just sit with Doug in a hospital room for an hour before the surgery knowing that it might be the last hour I ever got to be pregnant. I wanted to talk to my little baby and say how sorry I was for what was about to happen.
I was wheeled down stairs with Doug by my side. I prayed and I prayed. And then I prayed more. I didn't care what happened with anything else, I just wanted my baby to survive. I handed Doug my glasses and he gave me a kiss. As they wheeled me towards the operating room, I felt so alone. I wanted my husband holding my hand walking with me down that hallway, but instead it was just me watching him disappear into the blurry backdrop of the hospital. The anesthesiologist started to administer medication into my IV, and he told me to count back from one hundred. Instead I said a prayer for my little tiny baby.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Ovarian Torsion
First thing Monday morning, I called Dr. R's nurse Beverly and told her my symptoms. We made the trip back up to his office so that we could have an ultrasound. Dr. R told me that most likely the pain I had been having was due to my uterus and my enlarged ovaries fighting for space inside my body. As he prepped me for the ultrasound, I prayed that I would see my tiny baby's heart flickering, letting me know everything was ok. Just seconds later I saw it. I also got to see my little tiny baby kicking and moving. I breathed a sigh of relief like never before. Dr. R had been right. He gave me a new ultrasound picture and I stared at it the whole drive home.
I continued having intermittent pain throughout the next few days, but now that I knew the cause, it hardly bothered me. I enjoyed being home and spending time with my daughter. She gave me lots of hugs and constantly told me how much she had missed me when I was in the hospital. But she also told me she had enjoyed getting to spend time with all her grandparents. I was thankful to have had such wonderful family to take care of her.
I woke up at 4am on Thursday morning with the worst pain I'd ever had in my life. And that's an understatement. In fact, when I was 14 I had been in a car accident where a minivan had literally rolled on top of me, shattering my pelvis. At this point, a van rolling on me sounded quite pleasant. On a pain scale of 1 to 10, I was easily at 100. I was trembling and vomiting and whimpering on the side of the bed. I contorted my body into every possible position I could just to try and get some relief. I tried taking Tylenol, but vomited it up just minutes later. Doug tried asking me questions, but I couldn't even get the words out to answer him. I propped pillows behind my back and found a position that made the pain bearable. I must have been exhausted because I actually fell back asleep in the strange upright position I had gotten myself into. Hours later I awoke to an even greater pain. I writhed and whimpered on the bed. It was morning by this time and Doug paged Dr. R. I started vomiting again. Doug looked panicked. "Let's get you in the car, we're going to the emergency room," he told me. By some strange luck, Meredith had stayed the night with her grandparents that night. I grabbed a pair of pants and hobbled down the hallway to the garage, stopping to throw up every few feet. Doug rushed around the bedroom looking for his keys and wallet. His phone rang and it was Dr. R. He was in the middle of an egg retrieval. Doug explained the situation. "I'm taking her to the women's center or the ER. Which one do you want it to be?" Dr. R asked Doug to take me to his office. "I don't think you want her there looking the way she does," Doug said. Dr. R told Doug that taking me directly to the women's center at the hospital wasn't feasible at this point, and that the ER could be a very long wait. Doug said he would take me into the office.
We had driven the hospital dozens and dozens of times before. I had memorized every landmark, every sign, every building and I knew exactly how long that drive took. Throughout the IVF process, the egg retrieval, the transfer, the blood tests, the OHSS and the pulmonary embolism I had gotten to know that 15 mile stretch of road. This day felt different. It felt infinitely longer. Every stoplight felt like an eternity. I practiced the breathing I had learned at my labor class when I had been pregnant with Meredith. Doug pulled into the valet area in front of the hospital and loaded me into a wheel chair. Sweat dripped down my face onto the trash bag I was holding. He quickly wheeled me to Dr. R's office, where I was met with stares from frightened onlookers. Beverly walked through the door and called a patient name. She saw me and waved me back. The patient started in shocked as I writhed in pain and hunched over my trash bag to vomit. Beverly looked very alarmed. She quickly got me back to a room and asked me if I could sit on the exam table. I crawled up and started vomiting and shaking. She tried taking my pulse but I could hardly stay still. Dr. R came to evaluate and quickly realized how severe my condition was. I could barely form a sentence, but I begged for him to admit me to the hospital so that I could have some sort of pain medicine. He called the women's center and let them know what was going on. He was fairly certain that one of the cysts on my ovaries had ruptured. He told me they would be ready for me at the women's center and Beverly wheeled me over.
When we got there, I saw familiar faces. The nurses that had taken such good care of me were there waiting. They had told me after the PE, that the next time I came back it better be for the birth of the baby. That had been just over a week ago. Doug and Beverly helped me into a hospital gown and the nurses hurried to start my IV. Once they gave me the Morphine the pain faded away for a short time. I was scheduled to have the Morphine every 2 hours, but it only seemed to last about an hour and a half. Then I was back to where I was before, trembling, vomiting, whimpering. Dr. R came to visit and told me he thought I most likely had a ruptured ovarian cyst, but that there was also the possibility that it was ovarian torsion. Ovarian torsion is the twisting of an ovary, which can result in a loss of blood flow to the ovary. For that reason, Dr. R scheduled an ultrasound. The ultrasound would show if there was appropriate blood flow.
It wasn't long after Dr. R left before someone came to take me down to radiology. The ultrasound showed that blood flow was still evident. However, each time the Morphine wore off, I was still in significant pain.
The next day the pain had subsided enough so that I could be on a lower dosage. Dr. R let me know that he would like me to switch over to an oral pain reliever if my condition continued to improve. That would mean that I wouldn't have to drag my IV pole with me to and from the bathroom. That was good because I was having enough trouble just getting in and out of bed as it was and I didn't need anything else slowing me down.
Over the course of the next day, I felt better. I had started taking Lortab, and was able to move around slightly faster. I didn't need Doug's assistance when getting in and out of the bed either. Dr. R was convinced it must have been a ruptured cyst and was even discussing the idea of me being discharged within the next day or so. That night, I woke up to use the bathroom and I felt feverish. I called my nurse, Elizabeth, and asked if I could have some Tylenol. She took my temperature and seemed alarmed when she saw the reading. She left the room for a minute and let me know she had paged Dr. R. When he called back, he ordered some blood work and another ultrasound of my ovaries.
The next morning I felt feverish again and a general malaise that I hadn't had before. I also noticed a raised lump on the right side of my abdomen, beside my belly button. This time, instead of being taken down to radiology for my ultrasound, someone came to my room with the machine. The technician told me that the blood flow to my right ovary was almost non-existent. It wasn't long after the technician left, before Dr. R arrived. He explained that the values from my blood work were dangerously far from where they should be. He examined me and felt the bulge on the right side of my stomach. He told me that he was going to consult with Dr. K and I was most likely headed for emergency surgery.
I continued having intermittent pain throughout the next few days, but now that I knew the cause, it hardly bothered me. I enjoyed being home and spending time with my daughter. She gave me lots of hugs and constantly told me how much she had missed me when I was in the hospital. But she also told me she had enjoyed getting to spend time with all her grandparents. I was thankful to have had such wonderful family to take care of her.
I woke up at 4am on Thursday morning with the worst pain I'd ever had in my life. And that's an understatement. In fact, when I was 14 I had been in a car accident where a minivan had literally rolled on top of me, shattering my pelvis. At this point, a van rolling on me sounded quite pleasant. On a pain scale of 1 to 10, I was easily at 100. I was trembling and vomiting and whimpering on the side of the bed. I contorted my body into every possible position I could just to try and get some relief. I tried taking Tylenol, but vomited it up just minutes later. Doug tried asking me questions, but I couldn't even get the words out to answer him. I propped pillows behind my back and found a position that made the pain bearable. I must have been exhausted because I actually fell back asleep in the strange upright position I had gotten myself into. Hours later I awoke to an even greater pain. I writhed and whimpered on the bed. It was morning by this time and Doug paged Dr. R. I started vomiting again. Doug looked panicked. "Let's get you in the car, we're going to the emergency room," he told me. By some strange luck, Meredith had stayed the night with her grandparents that night. I grabbed a pair of pants and hobbled down the hallway to the garage, stopping to throw up every few feet. Doug rushed around the bedroom looking for his keys and wallet. His phone rang and it was Dr. R. He was in the middle of an egg retrieval. Doug explained the situation. "I'm taking her to the women's center or the ER. Which one do you want it to be?" Dr. R asked Doug to take me to his office. "I don't think you want her there looking the way she does," Doug said. Dr. R told Doug that taking me directly to the women's center at the hospital wasn't feasible at this point, and that the ER could be a very long wait. Doug said he would take me into the office.
We had driven the hospital dozens and dozens of times before. I had memorized every landmark, every sign, every building and I knew exactly how long that drive took. Throughout the IVF process, the egg retrieval, the transfer, the blood tests, the OHSS and the pulmonary embolism I had gotten to know that 15 mile stretch of road. This day felt different. It felt infinitely longer. Every stoplight felt like an eternity. I practiced the breathing I had learned at my labor class when I had been pregnant with Meredith. Doug pulled into the valet area in front of the hospital and loaded me into a wheel chair. Sweat dripped down my face onto the trash bag I was holding. He quickly wheeled me to Dr. R's office, where I was met with stares from frightened onlookers. Beverly walked through the door and called a patient name. She saw me and waved me back. The patient started in shocked as I writhed in pain and hunched over my trash bag to vomit. Beverly looked very alarmed. She quickly got me back to a room and asked me if I could sit on the exam table. I crawled up and started vomiting and shaking. She tried taking my pulse but I could hardly stay still. Dr. R came to evaluate and quickly realized how severe my condition was. I could barely form a sentence, but I begged for him to admit me to the hospital so that I could have some sort of pain medicine. He called the women's center and let them know what was going on. He was fairly certain that one of the cysts on my ovaries had ruptured. He told me they would be ready for me at the women's center and Beverly wheeled me over.
When we got there, I saw familiar faces. The nurses that had taken such good care of me were there waiting. They had told me after the PE, that the next time I came back it better be for the birth of the baby. That had been just over a week ago. Doug and Beverly helped me into a hospital gown and the nurses hurried to start my IV. Once they gave me the Morphine the pain faded away for a short time. I was scheduled to have the Morphine every 2 hours, but it only seemed to last about an hour and a half. Then I was back to where I was before, trembling, vomiting, whimpering. Dr. R came to visit and told me he thought I most likely had a ruptured ovarian cyst, but that there was also the possibility that it was ovarian torsion. Ovarian torsion is the twisting of an ovary, which can result in a loss of blood flow to the ovary. For that reason, Dr. R scheduled an ultrasound. The ultrasound would show if there was appropriate blood flow.
It wasn't long after Dr. R left before someone came to take me down to radiology. The ultrasound showed that blood flow was still evident. However, each time the Morphine wore off, I was still in significant pain.
The next day the pain had subsided enough so that I could be on a lower dosage. Dr. R let me know that he would like me to switch over to an oral pain reliever if my condition continued to improve. That would mean that I wouldn't have to drag my IV pole with me to and from the bathroom. That was good because I was having enough trouble just getting in and out of bed as it was and I didn't need anything else slowing me down.
Over the course of the next day, I felt better. I had started taking Lortab, and was able to move around slightly faster. I didn't need Doug's assistance when getting in and out of the bed either. Dr. R was convinced it must have been a ruptured cyst and was even discussing the idea of me being discharged within the next day or so. That night, I woke up to use the bathroom and I felt feverish. I called my nurse, Elizabeth, and asked if I could have some Tylenol. She took my temperature and seemed alarmed when she saw the reading. She left the room for a minute and let me know she had paged Dr. R. When he called back, he ordered some blood work and another ultrasound of my ovaries.
The next morning I felt feverish again and a general malaise that I hadn't had before. I also noticed a raised lump on the right side of my abdomen, beside my belly button. This time, instead of being taken down to radiology for my ultrasound, someone came to my room with the machine. The technician told me that the blood flow to my right ovary was almost non-existent. It wasn't long after the technician left, before Dr. R arrived. He explained that the values from my blood work were dangerously far from where they should be. He examined me and felt the bulge on the right side of my stomach. He told me that he was going to consult with Dr. K and I was most likely headed for emergency surgery.
Road to Recovery (Or so I thought...)
We headed down to Texas for an exciting weekend of football and relaxation when I was 8 weeks pregnant. The fluid that had filled my abdomen, making me miserable for weeks, was finally gone. I now was at risk for blood clots and had to be on Lovenox shots every 12 hours for the rest of my pregnancy. I had also been told that because of the pulmonary embolism, I wouldn't be a candidate for any type of hormone therapy for the rest of my life. I definitely couldn't go through IVF again. So the baby I was carrying was it for us. But I had always wanted a family of 4, and now we would have it.
We stopped every 30 minutes to get out of the car and walk around on our drive down. I felt good. I had spent over a week in the hospital for my pulmonary embolism, and I was so glad to be out in the world again. I was like a prisoner who had been freed.
We got to our hotel and checked in. We were notified that a lavish suite was available and we graciously accepted. The room was incredible. For almost 2 weeks my husband and I had slept in a tiny hospital room. Me in my hospital bed and he on a pull-out couch next to me. I had barely eaten due to the nausea from the ascites, but when I did, it had been your typical hospital food. Now we had a luxurious king size bed, a giant flat screen tv and room service.
We went to dinner and watched as the Oklahoma football team arrived. Excitement filled the room. People cheered and snapped pictures. I noticed as I watched this scene, that I began having minor cramping. By the time we retired to our room, I was only able to take a handful of steps at a time. Doug was concerned and offered to carry me up to our room. I declined and assured him that I would be fine once I got into the giant bed that awaited.
By the time I was in the room laying down, I felt fine. The cramping had ceased. We decided to stay in for the night and watch a movie, then fell asleep soon after. I woke in the night with cramps more severe than those I had at dinner. All I could think about was the "M" word. Miscarriage. It wasn't the pain that kept me up that night, but the worrying. I told Doug the next morning and he asked if I wanted him to sell the tickets to the football game. I told him that I would be fine, as the cramping had stopped, yet again. I got out of bed to get ready, and the cramping commenced, followed by nausea. Doug told me he was going to go to the stadium and sell the tickets and we would watch the game from our room. The only problem was, I needed him to administer the Lovenox. We had done at least a hundred shots so far, starting with the hormone therapy, and Doug had done them all for me. I had tried to do a few myself when I was in the hospital but I couldn't make myself follow through. I decided I would ride with Doug as he went to sell the tickets, so that he could give me my injection.
On the way there, I started feeling better. No cramping. No nausea. I was going through an emotional ping- pong, trying to decide whether or not I should try to go to the game. It wasn't that the pain of the cramping was that bad, it was the thought of a miscarriage. Every time that cramping would start, my heart would sink and I could no longer think about anything but my little tiny baby.
We looked for a place to park the car and Doug did my shot. He got out to sell the tickets, and I told him I felt good enough to walk with him. We got to the street corner and I felt fine. I told Doug I wanted to go to the game. After all, I could always sit down if I needed to. Doug hesitantly agreed to this.
It wasn't until we were inside the stadium looking for our seats, that the cramping began again. We sat down. I was panicking. The cramping was much worse. I was sweating and nauseous. I looked at all the people around us. All smiling, happy and excited. The only thing these people were worrying about was who would win the game. I wanted to be one of those people. I didn't want to be sitting there thinking I was about to lose my baby.
I almost didn't realize the game had started. I stayed seated at kickoff. My husband told me we needed to just leave. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be sitting in a hotel room with all these thoughts. I wanted to be one of these people who only cared about football. Oklahoma made a touchdown and half the stadium went wild. I stayed seated. Doug looked over at me. "We're leaving," he said. "We can't stay here." I didn't even fight him. I just got up and walked out of the stadium with him behind me. Doug pulled the car around and picked me up and took me back to the hotel. As we made our way back home, I wondered what laid on the road ahead.
We stopped every 30 minutes to get out of the car and walk around on our drive down. I felt good. I had spent over a week in the hospital for my pulmonary embolism, and I was so glad to be out in the world again. I was like a prisoner who had been freed.
We got to our hotel and checked in. We were notified that a lavish suite was available and we graciously accepted. The room was incredible. For almost 2 weeks my husband and I had slept in a tiny hospital room. Me in my hospital bed and he on a pull-out couch next to me. I had barely eaten due to the nausea from the ascites, but when I did, it had been your typical hospital food. Now we had a luxurious king size bed, a giant flat screen tv and room service.
We went to dinner and watched as the Oklahoma football team arrived. Excitement filled the room. People cheered and snapped pictures. I noticed as I watched this scene, that I began having minor cramping. By the time we retired to our room, I was only able to take a handful of steps at a time. Doug was concerned and offered to carry me up to our room. I declined and assured him that I would be fine once I got into the giant bed that awaited.
By the time I was in the room laying down, I felt fine. The cramping had ceased. We decided to stay in for the night and watch a movie, then fell asleep soon after. I woke in the night with cramps more severe than those I had at dinner. All I could think about was the "M" word. Miscarriage. It wasn't the pain that kept me up that night, but the worrying. I told Doug the next morning and he asked if I wanted him to sell the tickets to the football game. I told him that I would be fine, as the cramping had stopped, yet again. I got out of bed to get ready, and the cramping commenced, followed by nausea. Doug told me he was going to go to the stadium and sell the tickets and we would watch the game from our room. The only problem was, I needed him to administer the Lovenox. We had done at least a hundred shots so far, starting with the hormone therapy, and Doug had done them all for me. I had tried to do a few myself when I was in the hospital but I couldn't make myself follow through. I decided I would ride with Doug as he went to sell the tickets, so that he could give me my injection.
On the way there, I started feeling better. No cramping. No nausea. I was going through an emotional ping- pong, trying to decide whether or not I should try to go to the game. It wasn't that the pain of the cramping was that bad, it was the thought of a miscarriage. Every time that cramping would start, my heart would sink and I could no longer think about anything but my little tiny baby.
We looked for a place to park the car and Doug did my shot. He got out to sell the tickets, and I told him I felt good enough to walk with him. We got to the street corner and I felt fine. I told Doug I wanted to go to the game. After all, I could always sit down if I needed to. Doug hesitantly agreed to this.
It wasn't until we were inside the stadium looking for our seats, that the cramping began again. We sat down. I was panicking. The cramping was much worse. I was sweating and nauseous. I looked at all the people around us. All smiling, happy and excited. The only thing these people were worrying about was who would win the game. I wanted to be one of those people. I didn't want to be sitting there thinking I was about to lose my baby.
I almost didn't realize the game had started. I stayed seated at kickoff. My husband told me we needed to just leave. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be sitting in a hotel room with all these thoughts. I wanted to be one of these people who only cared about football. Oklahoma made a touchdown and half the stadium went wild. I stayed seated. Doug looked over at me. "We're leaving," he said. "We can't stay here." I didn't even fight him. I just got up and walked out of the stadium with him behind me. Doug pulled the car around and picked me up and took me back to the hotel. As we made our way back home, I wondered what laid on the road ahead.
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