VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

Saturday, May 16, 05:26:12pm [ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, [2], 3, 4, 5, 6 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 21:30:51 12/30/03 Tue
Author: lynece
Subject: For those who haven't read it here is my story. LONG

I always expected to be sick during pregnancy. My mother had 5 children and was progressively sicker with each one. As I was 15 during her last one, I watched her suffer and realized that me like my mother and her mother before her, would be one of those women for whom pregnancy is not
easy.

I was married in August of 1994 at the age of 25. Although I wanted some time as a couple, my biological clock started ticking very loud and I got very baby hungry. Conception came very easy to us (something that later would be more of a curse) and 3 weeks shy of our first anniversary
my husband and I found we were expecting. I was not sick yet but had been very tired and assumed it was due to the new house we were finishing up and the process of moving. The first time I threw up I actually was excited as it felt like a right of passage and I knew now that I was "really" pregnant. I also took it as a good sign because my
mother had three miscarriages and was never sick with any of them. I knew that it would me more all day sickness, rather than the understated morning type, but did not fear it.

Things got bad fast. I wasn't even scheduled to have my first OB apt until 12 weeks, but by August 11 (after finding out on July 26) I ended up in the ER for rehydration. I had called my Dr that day as I couldn't keep even a sip of water down and was told by the nurse (I hadn't even met my Dr yet) that I should try Emetrol or the motion sickness OTC drug
Bonine. My mother took me shopping as I was to weak to drive and after finding out that Emetrol was just basically a sugar water concoction, I tried the Bonine. It had the effect of a smartie medically and so I begged my husband to take me to the ER. The Dr was so wonderful and assured me that soon I would be feeling fine. I got 2 liters of fluids
and benadryl and phenagren to help ease the nausea. The Phenagren gave me a horrible feeling of anxiety, so I was given more benadryl and sent home. I did feel better the next day, but it didn't last long.I was teaching 4th grade at this time and everyone assured me that it would be over soon and I received much advice on remedies, none of which
worked. There were 6 of us pregnant on the staff at the time and although I felt a lot of support, it was getting very hard to teach while feeling nauseous all the time and running across the hall to vomit
in the students' bathroom. I taught at a year round school and went off track the beginning of Sept. I was about 10 weeks by now and was told constantly that once I hit 12 weeks I would magically become better. It didn't of course and although I was thrilled to hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time at 12 weeks, the joy was overshadowed by my
never ending vomiting. I tried anything and everything I could to make me feel better and to keep food down. Some days a popsicle would stay and one day french fries and a shake did. I had started to lose weight, which brought no normal satisfaction as I knew it wasn't a healthy way
of doing it. By this time as well I had the excessive saliva condition known as Pytalism. I didn't know what it was called, but my spit cup went everywhere. We went to see the Broadway show Les Miserable when I was just barely 12 weeks and the usher was so strict in her "no food or drink allowed, even water" speech. I showed her and said it's not water! She didn't say another word.
This was also the first day I was given Zofran. My home health nurse who had been doing short term IV fluid
therapy for me for a few weeks, convinced my very traditional Dr to let me try it. So after a dose in my fluids, I headed out hoping to feel better as I was told this was the strongest anti- emetic drug out there.
I didn't and felt awful the whole 3 hour performance. Aside from being a little sleepy, the so called wonder drug had no effect on me whatsoever!

Soon my three week break from school was up and it was time to go back to teaching. I started coming home at lunch most days and was not at all productive while there. I believe I was 13 weeks the first time I was admitted to the hospital. The poor night crew tried so hard to find something to ease my suffering, but I had tried all the drug arsenal they had in the hospital. Compazine, Phenagren, Anapisne (which like
Phenagren gave me horrible anxiety attacks), Tigan, the US version of Dilectin-basically Unisom and B6, and of course Reglan and Zofran. Nothing helped in the slightest! Luckily I was in a good hospital, but the lead perinatoligist was a very opinionated man who had the God complex that many powerful Dr's do. He decided that it was my thyroid causing me problems and started me on meds for Hypothyroidism. I
couldn't keep the pills down though and so I was given Thorazine suppositories to put me almost a sleep and then I would be given the pill which then did stay down. Once again however, this theory did not work and my Dr threatened me with long term IV's with TPN (Total parenatal nutrition) and his so called better option, an Naso Gastric or NG tube. This procedure looks easy on ER, but is one of the worst things I've ever had done to me. They numb your nose and mouth with a spray and then stick a tube down your nose into your stomach. It was done under x-ray to make sure it was placed together and you just have to swallow as they push it down. This would be bad enough if you weren't nauseous,
but was horrible with my over active gagging reflex. I barely made it back to my room when I violently caughed/sneezed/vomited the thing up and out! I remember a nurse saying "now look what you've done, they'll
just have to put it back again!" I was in a panic and called my husband sobbing. He was furious having been told it was just an option and had gone home to change clothes. I refused to have it done ever again and he supported me.


The IV fluids, plus the combination of bed rest got me able to drink liquids again and so I was able to go home. However I was not home for more than 4 days before my husband insisted I be admitted again. I vomited at least twice an hour and because I couldn't eat or drink anything without it coming back up, I was now dry heaving or vomiting up
blood and bile. This time I had a picc line inserted in my right arm and was started on TPN. It made a wonderful difference and by Halloween I was back to teaching and feeling a lot better. I still could eat only select items and not a lot of fluids, but I started to believe my
nightmare was almost over. After being on TPN for about a week, my line was removed and I did OK for another month.

We found out that the baby was a boy and I remember how crushed I was because after being the only girl with 5 brothers in my family, I so wanted a baby girl of my own. This selfishness still continues to haunt me years later. I was off track again starting the beginning of December
and was very sick again. The vomiting and nausea and spits had returned with a vengeance and I quickly ended up back on IV fluids, once again not being able to put anything in my mouth. I begged for TPN again and after 2 weeks waiting while my OB "saw if it got better on its own with
time" I finally got it. This time the miracle did not happen and I was a miserable on it as I had been without. The holidays that year are a blur to me as I laid in bed too sick to read or watch TV.

The new year came and I was starting my 3rd trimester. I dreaded going back to teaching. I had a very difficult class that year and because of my long term absences and abundance of substitutes, I did not feel very connected to these students. I had long used up my 10 sick days and was
paying for subs out of my paycheck, but still trying to teach. On January 16 1996 my principal asked me as I was leaving at lunch once again, if I had considered quitting. I sensed it really wasn't a choice for me as she had my replacement all lined up! The next day I cleaned out my classroom and went home to concentrate on surviving until March 23, my little boys estimated due date. The next 2 weeks are too foggy to remember until the day that I realized that I couldn't remember when my baby last moved. I went to my OB the next day and although he found a heartbeat he sent me to the hospital for an ultrasound. We arrived at
the perinatoligist office where they hooked me up to the belly monitor. The nurse said "I'm having trouble finding the heartbeat" I remember actually hoping that he was in distress and that I would need to deliver him and save myself two more months of illness. I was taken to my
regular ultrasound room and laid down on the table. Within seconds, my ever uncaring Peri said, "I'm sorry but this baby has passed away." I was so shocked an just started bawling as my sweet husband helped me get dressed and get down off the table. Right then the phone rang and it was
my OB. He had obviously known that he had heard my heartbeat and not wanted to confirm it without an ultrasound said nothing to us. It was Friday January 26 at 5pm and my life had just shattered. My OB was going to be out of town for the weekend and wanted me to wait until Monday to deliver so after calling my parents and telling them my baby was dead,
we went to their house. I remember still being sick and
knowing it was for no reason now. I still looked pg. but my baby was gone. That night as I lay vomiting and still on TPN, my husband got a phone call from his Brother in law asking what we were doing for Superbowl weekend, I remember hearing Jon answer "delivering a dead baby". That is the first and the only time he broke down and really cried. I slept fitfully as usual and woke up to my big belly hoping it had all been a bad dream. The sickness was still there, my belly was still big, but I knew it was all real and that I carried my dead son in my womb. My mother came over
and together with Jon decided that we should try to get me delivered sooner than Monday as there was no reason to be so sick now. After arguing with an intern, my husband was eventually told to bring me in. So I left for the hospital, not in labor and knowing my baby wouldn't come home with me. They gave me the vaginal insert and then later the pitocin. I had my epidural put in at my first cramp so never felt a
contraction, until the final ones when my left side had worn off. After 18 hours of laboring, most of which I don't remember as I was sick and in so much shock, my son, Jon Paul Rowntree, named after his father Jonathan Paul was born at 8:08 am on January 28, 1996. He weighed 4 pounds 4 ounces and was 18 inches long. . As soon as he was born he was
put down on a cart, covered up and rolled out of the room. I did not see him until the nurses had cleaned him up. By this time my parents were there and so was Jon's sister Becky and her husband Shawn. I remember holding my son and hanging on to Jon as if for dear life. Becky gently said "let's unwrap and look at him" and so we did. We counted toes and fingers. He was so tiny and so still. His skin was very red and was
already flaking off in areas as he had been gone for a few days before I realized it. We were advised not to take off his cap and so I never saw if he had my red hair or not and
of course his eyes were closed. I don't think we spent more than 30 minutes with him and then he was taken away.
I never saw him again. I didn't know I could have asked for him to come back to me. I didn't know that I could have held him as long as I wanted. No one told us. I was transferred to a room on the oncology floor far away from the usually happy maternity ward. We never discussed funeral services and the only question we got was from our very first
nurse at the beginning of my labor. She said "What do you want done with the body". I had no idea and was in no shape to make any decisions. So they sent our baby's body off to the Children's Hospital to be autopsied and then he was to be cremated. I was told his ashes would be spread at
a local cemetery's baby garden but I don't know if it ever happened. We had no grief counselor, only a packet from SHARE that sat unopened until weeks later. I do remember the nurse that came on shift right before he was born. She was so wonderful and so caring. She said she had never
felt such a peaceful feeling as the one that she got from preparing and dressing our son. She also said that she felt like he had completed his earthly mission of getting a mortal body, but was so perfect that he did not need to be tested in this world and was now home with his father in
Heaven. Jon and I watched the SuperBowl from my room that night. What a surreal feeling it was. I was no longer sick, I could eat and drink and there were actually times I forgot why I was there, but then it would come crashing down and I would sob "My baby is dead". Why?

I left the hospital the next day at a loss of what to do with my life. All I'd ever wanted to do in life was to be a mother and a teacher. I'd lost my teaching job 2 weeks before and now I had no child to be a mother to. All I knew was that I wanted another baby so much and even though I dreaded it, I had to be pregnant again soon. We were advised
not to try again both because my body was too weak and because my thyroid was still acting up and both surgery and radiation treatments were discussed. I refused to listen and when my thyroid problems mysteriously disappeared, I was determined to try and conceive immediately. For the next 3 months I returned to work at my local movie theater where I had worked in my teens and throughout college. I told no
one of my loss except for a few close friends with me in management and acted like I was just a newlywed who wasn't ready for children yet. On the private side though, my emotions swung like a pendulum. One day all I wanted was to be pregnant again and the next I was scared spitless
about even trying. Jon and I used birth control sporadically depending on my mood. He was so sensitive to my needs and would do anything to see me happy again, even if it meant me being sick again also.

After only 1 period, I discovered I was pregnant again on May 9, 1996. I decidedto use my same OB again, because I naively thought that since he knew my history, things would be easier. And of course with my HMO, I would use the same perinatoligist team including my much hated Dr. Branch. Within 2 weeks of finding out, I was once again getting
rehydrated at the Drs. office. The Hyperemisis returned with a vengeance and my poor, weak body was in no strength to fight it. I quit my job again and was put back on TPN and thorazine. The TPN kept my body alive and the Thorazine helped me survive the endless days and nights of
eternal nausea and vomiting. As bad as I thought I had it the first time, it was much worse this time. The months passed in a fog as the Thorazine kept me too doped up to do anything. I remember hearing people talk around me, but could not answer them. I spent a lot of time at my
parents now because of Jon's shift work. I had enough energy to change my IV bags when I absolutely had to do it myself, but could do nothing else without help. My husband washed and brushed my hair and even my teeth for me when I could stand it. He cleaned up after me when I lost control of my bodily functions and held me while the waves of nausea
crashed upon me. He dressed and undressed me as I could not physically do it myself. Day after day this living hell dragged on. I don't remember hearing this baby's heartbeat for the first time, but I do remember learning it was a girl. Somehow it didn't matter as much this time around. I did not consider this thing inside me a baby. It was an
alien force that had abducted my health. I could not get excited for this baby to come as my early Jan 1997 due date seemed beyond my reach. I did not know how I would survive until then. I never worried about this baby because it wasn't one to me. I was not scared of losing it,
because I did not believe I could have a living baby.

The night of August 3, 1996 my sweet Jon was at work and I was at my parents' house. I remember feeling funny twitches in my pelvic and vaginal area, but did not realize what they were. I was also coughing and wheezing heavily. My mother recognized that something was wrong and we called the on call OB. I was told that my sensations were normal, and
not too worry unless they got worse. Minutes later during a coughing fit, my water broke. My parents put a towel between my legs and rushed me to the hospital. Jon called their home only to be told my my youngest brother that I was at the ER. I was rushed to a back room and examined right away. I was alone when they told me my temp was 104 and my pulse
was skyrocketing as well. I remember hearing the words uterine infection and "if it is, the baby will have to go". I was soon in a Labor and delivery room with my parents when good ol' Dr Branch walks in. In his oh so knowing way he tells me that my baby is still alive, but because
my amniotic fluid is gone, she won't be for much longer. Because my temperature was so high and my pulse rate too they did not want to risk my health by waiting for the baby to be delivered naturally. My wonderful husband arrived just in time to help me sign papers for the D&E that would take my baby from me, but hopefully save my life. I had
no idea how serious the situation was. All I knew was that it was happening again. I was losing another baby. I can still hear the pain in my voice as I told Jon "We're losing our little girl!" My parents went home and Jon and I were left alone in what I remember as a very dark room. I suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom and as I sat down on the toilet my baby fell out of my body into my hands. I screamed "Jon she's here" and struggled back to the bed still carrying her between my legs. I do not remember if she was alive or dead and only have a very fuzzy memory of a tiny baby whose head was still so much like a fetus. I
was only 18 weeks along. We called for a nurse and before I knew it my little girl was whisked away and they were delivering my afterbirth. I never saw her again and can only guess where my products of conception ended up. Months later when I got my hospital statement, it billed me for my abortion. I was furious at the description and more so that I had been charged at all since I had done all the delivering myself with only my husband in the room!

Once again I was taken to the 8th floor oncology and miscellaneous ward to recover. It was only then that they discovered how sick I really was. My uterine infection was most likely caused by my central line getting
contaminated. This also lead to a heart valve infection called endocarditis. I was also found to have a case of bacterial pneumonia that alone left untreated could have killed me. I obviously had no idea that I had all these conditions on top of the Hyperemeisis Gravidarum.
No one did. I had been too sick too long to notice any change, even a bad one.

After three weeks recovering from my many complications, including fluid drains from my back and a chest tube to also clear the fluid in my lungs, I was finally able to go home. I had another picc line inserted so I could continue my IV antibiotic Gentamyacin Once again I left the hospital without my baby and with no hopes of ever having another. My Dr's had told me that if I valued my life I would
seriously never try to conceive again, and my husbandagreed. So I went home and worked on recovering my health. I'd had two horrendous pregnancies in just over a year and my body was so weak I could barely walk. I faithfully did my IV "balls" as I called them every 6 or 12
hours. They were little tennis size plastic containers that held my medicine. I could stick them in my pocket and with a long sleeved shirt they were hardly noticeable. Jon and I had a wonderful few months reconnecting with each other and helping each other to heal. Within a month though I become increasingly dizzy and mentioned it to my home health nurse that came weekly to change my IV line bandages. She
immediately called the Dr and I was told to be taken off the Gentamyicin that moment. I had been given routine blood work and hearing tests as these were common side effects of this very strong, last resort antibiotic But what no one had told me, or even had expected was that sometimes, usually in the elderly, the inner ear is affected. Usually by
the time this side effect is noticed, it is too late and the damage has been done. I was referred to the Hearing and Balance clinic and after 2 hours of frightening tests, I was told that the part of my inner ear that controls balance had been damaged by 75%! I was so angry, how could
something that supposedly saved my life now turn on me and why hadn't I been told about this possible side effect. We thought about suing but unfortunately never did. I started rehabilitation therapy but did not like it and quit after a few months When the bill came for that and coverage was being denied because I had not pre authorized it, I did
threaten to sue and sure enough, everything was covered.

While I was in the hospital recovering my mother had me filling out adoption paperwork. So while I recovered and enjoyed being well again we pursued our "Plan B" as Jon called it to start our family. We changed agencies right before Thanksgiving and on January 2, 1997, only days
before the due date of my lost little girl, Hannah Breauna Rowntree came into the world and into our lives! The next few years flew by and although I was always haunted by the desire to TTC again, I was too busy teaching school part time to worry about it. As our new neighborhood
grew in family size, so did our desire as well and by the time Hannah was 18 months, Cameron Paul Rowntree had joined our family as well. I quit teaching and was kept very busy with my little ones so close in age, but could not stop
thinking about trying one more time. I honestly
believed that if I could finally have a biological baby, then my demons would go away. We had also been researching Hyperemesis on the internet and now knew so much more about it and its treatments that ever before.
I no longer felt alone and had developed some long lasting friendships whose lives had been shattered because of this disease as well. Steroid therapy was now available and I was anxious to try it, although as usual, hoped I wouldn't need to.

On July 12, 1999, one day after Cameron's first birthday I tested
positive. I was thrilled and yet scared to death at the same time. Jon
and I felt like we had made a right decision, but my friends and family
were angry and resentful that I would put them through this again. I had
a glorious 3 weeks where I was not sick at all and had only the "normal"
symptoms such as tender nipples and extreme tiredness. I did all I could
and ate all I wanted as I knew it wouldn
't last forever. I had
my first
Dr's apt at 6 weeks. I had chosen a younger perinatoligist in the same
office, who I'd met only once before but was impressed at his
compassion, something Dr Branch had nothing of. Dr T. Flint Porter was
my knight in a sparkling white lab coat. I was able to be one of the
practices few private patients and never had to deal with a regular OB
again. He did not remember my face or even my name, but he remembered my
case history. Because of me he refused to do long term IV's with any of
his patients, and preferred hospitalization over home health fluid therapy.

My first apt took a turn that I wasn't prepared for. The transvaginal
ultrasound showed only a sack, but no heartbeat. Dr Porter was blunt in
telling me that it could be just too early to see anything, or it might
be a blighted ovum (empty sac) and I would soon miscarriage. So here I
was ready to do battle with my monster and there might not even be a
fight. I had my blood dr
awn to see my HCG levels
, but before I ever
heard the results, I had started vomiting and felt confident that the
baby was staying. I saw Dr Porter again 1 week later when the HG monster
had fully appeared and I was too sick to even lift my 1 year old out of
his crib. I was immediately admitted as the peri's office is in the
hospital and the cycle of meds and fluids began again. The good news was
that my next ultrasound showed a beating heart and that my HCG numbers
were high and climbing.

I went home after 3 days on Zofran and Reglan. For the first time the
Zofran actually worked and early on I felt well enough to actually go to
the store and eat a little soup. This effect didn't last long and
although I took the Zofran the whole pregnancy and got some relief, it
never had that first effect again. Although I still vomited too many
times to count, I felt well enough usually to make it to the toilet or
sink, instead of my garbage can. I also craved cucumbers in
vinegar and
salt and ama
zingly could keep them down more than half of the time. My
Dr thought this was very strange, but didn't argue. My ice shaver came
in very handy now and I managed to stay hydrated through the flavorless
snow cones and bullion broth. Sprite actually stayed down most of the
time too, as long as it was very cold. The hardest part of the early
months this time was the fact that I had a 2 1/2 and a 1 year old to
take care of as well as myself. Unfortunately for them, mommy was always
sick and they watched a lot of movies while Daddy was at work. Somehow I
managed to keep them fed and change their diapers. Like all good things
though, this ability to stay hydrated did not last and at 11 weeks I was
hospitalized again. And like before the combination of lots of rest and
no work along with constant IV fluids, brought me back up and kept me
from the downward spiral that had plagued me with my previous
pregnancies. My Dr insisting on admittal for r
ound the clock care made

all the difference. His treatment was pro active, unlike my OB; wait and
see attitude and it worked. Within 1 day I felt better again and my Mom
joked that I actually liked being in the hospital. She was partly right.
Another major factor in my ability to bounce back was that I was quite
overweight. In the first 12 weeks I lost 40lbs, but this time I had them
to lose. I didn't stress about the baby or me not having enough
nutrition as I had plenty stored for both of us.

All of these good factors though didn't keep me from returning to the
hospital yet a third time at 14 weeks. Once again I recovered quite
quickly and kept my first real meal down in over 3 months! I'll never
forget how good that turkey sandwich and chips tasted! From 14 to 18
weeks I managed to keep at least one meal down a day and could move
around my house enough to take care of my children. Unlike the other 2
times, I could watch TV and read which helped pass the endl
ess days. I
needed no Thor
azine this time and never had a long term IV inserted. We
did try home health rehydration once, but I was such a hard stick I
ended up coming into the Dr's office anyway. Although I was still
vomiting daily and lived with constant nausea, I felt blessed that this
time was so "easy". But once again, I became worse and would go hours
without even being able to keep my ice chips down, not too mention the
cucumbers or anything else I tired.

When I reached 18 weeks I became very depressed and nervous that I was
going to lose this baby, a little girl as well, just like I had 3 years
before. I was once again vomiting everything up and even my old
cucumbers in vinegar standby. When my Dr saw this and I discussed my
mental state with him, he then decided to use the steroid therapy and
put me on a tapering high to low dosage of methylprednisalone. I took
the first pills before I left his office that day and by the time I got
home I felt well en
ough to eat a bowl of soup a
nd more importantly keep
it down! It was so exciting to know that they actually worked and that I
had finally found "my miracle drug".

The rest of this pregnancy was not as bad physically as the others, but
mentally more stressful. I had plenty of time to worry as I was not
doped up with the Thorazine. I still felt awful enough that I was
usually in bed or on a couch, but I could take care of myself and my
children. The vomiting never did go away, and although most of my
appetite returned, that didn't mean my stomach accepted it! I was famous
for going out to eat, thoroughly enjoying it and then losing my meal
before we even paid the checks. I even was able to joke that I could
really get my money's worth at buffet restaurants as I could come back
for a second round with my empty stomach.

My biggest setback came the week after Christmas when I caught the flu.
The whole family got sick, but with my weakened and highly sensitive
stoma
ch, it hit me the worst. Whil
e the kids got better in a few days, I
only got worse and suddenly at 30 weeks found myself back in the
hospital for rehydration again. I was given another round of the
steroids and went home after only 1 night, able to eat and drink once
again. Although I didn't want a preemie, I did fantasize that I was
actually there to have my baby.

I somehow made it through my dreaded 32 week mark and the 4 year
anniversary of My Little Jon's death. The fact that I was due within 2
days of his due date did not make it easier. We actually flew back east
to visit Jon's folks on that day so I was too busy and stressed to
mourn. The last 8 weeks were filled with incredible anxiety that
consumed me more than the physical symptoms of which I still suffered. I
had expected that once my milestone had passed that I would be able to
enjoy the rest of the pregnancy, but knowing all too well that there is
never a safe date, I just stressed more.

As this p
regnancy finished, I of course
was more than ready to give up
being sick for ever and made arrangements to have my tubes tied on
delivery. I had three beautiful children and did not want to ever face
Hyperemisis again. I was sad knowing that it would be the last time I
held a child within my but anxious to finally meet the little person
that had been living there.

Calista Rowntree was born at 10:56 am on March 15, 2000 after an
emergency c-section. She was delivered at 39 weeks 1 day and weighed
6lbs 10 oz and was 18 and 3/4 inches long. I had been scheduled to start
induction the night before, but L&D was full so I was sent home. When I
arrived the next morning it was discovered that her heart rate was going
up rapidly. There went my plan of a perfect birth and it didn't help
that I was still throwing up. Just over an hour after I arrived my
wonderful Dr told us that she was coming out NOW and I was rushed to
surgery. She was beautiful and both Jon and I c
ried tears of relief and
joy a
s we heard her first cries. Although she was monitored in the NICU
for awhile, they never found a reason for her increased heart rate which
had skyrocketed to over 200 bpm. I say it was because I was in a state
of panic, the Dr just said that she was anxious to meet us all and Jon
still teases me that she did not want a cone head and so forced the
cesarean. My tubes were tied on the table and the chapter of my life
that had been consumed by sickness and loss was closed.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

[ Contact Forum Admin ]

Forum timezone: GMT-7
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.