Journal - First Indy Bleed

It is 4 am and I can’t sleep. I’m in the hospital, trying to keep my 27 + 2 week gestation little Tatu safe in my womb. And trying to keep me safe too.

I started bleeding yesterday morning. I woke up for a common pregnant pee, and felt something fall out of me instead. A ball of blood. A clot of red lying there in the toilet. Immediately my heart started to pound. Was that all of the blood or was that just the dam letting loose?

Fortunately, and I think providentially it was the weekend and Jeffrey was home. He helped to calm me down while we called the OB’s emergency number. They told me to head straight to the emergency room then up to the OB unit where they would be waiting for me. Even at our fastest, it would still take 20 minutes to get the kids up and out the door. So we decided that I should head to the hospital right away and Jeffrey would get the kids ready.

I wished that I was still a small child, relying on my daddy to take care of me. But I’m not. I’m a grown woman. A mother. So I gathered up my courage to make the drive alone with the hopes of collapsing into the capable hands on the OB doctors.

The signs on the road lead me to the ER. Once inside, the triage nurse sent me straight up to the OB unit. I sighed with relief that I’d made it to hospital and was finally safe.

But relief was far, far away. As I trooped up to the OB front desk, instead of meeting the care of a nurse, the nurse pointed to a clock and said, “you’ll have to wait until 8 am, this is not a 24 facility.” What!!? Here I stood, potentially hemoraging and the tell me they won’t see me until 8 am? Then he said that unless I was 20+ weeks I would just have to wait. I stammered that I’m 27 weeks! He laughed at my belly that had been partially hidden behind the counter. I did not laugh. He lead me back to registration waiting room.

Next came questions about my insurance and registration. I thought it was a bit strange that I wasn’t wisked off to be examined and hooked up to an IV. It was also odd that they didn’t ask me any questions about my symptoms or why I was there. But I figured that they had said over the phone that they would be expecting me, so maybe they didn’t need any more information yet.

Finally a nurse called me to her office. We started to chat, and in the midst of our exchange of information, she gave me a funny look and said, “Why honey, I think your at the wrong hospital!” Huh? How could I be at the wrong hospital? I followed directions that the nurse had given me over the phone, and I knew that I was at the right campus – Jeffrey works here.

Um, well, she was right. I was at the wrong hospital. There are 4 different hospitals on the same campus. I’m just fortunate I didn’t end up at the VA hospital! But instead of the university hospital, I was at the county hospital.

It got worse from there. She then said, “Well if your contractions aren’t too bad, you can walk the 2 blocks to the right hospital.”

What contractions?

It hits me. Not only do they have no idea of the danger I’m in, but I’ve just wasted a precious hour while my bleeding could be getting worse and threatening the life of me and my baby.

Through my tears I stammer that I’m not in labor, I have placenta previa and I’m bleeding. She seems to begin to grasp the seriousness of the situation and informs me that the certainly cannot allow me to leave now in my precarious condition.

So there I was, longing to be safe but instead I was stuck in the wrong hospital with people who hadn’t even bother to ask my why I showed up at their front desk.

I was still on my own. On the phone with Jeffrey, I explain through my tears the mess that I’m gotten myself into. I stammer apologies, fearful that our insurance company won’t cover my stay. He hushes my worries and just wants to know if the bleeding has stopped, if I’m okay, and if our baby is okay.

I am okay. And so is the baby. A listen to his heartbeat and an exam of me reveal that he is healthy and my bleeding has almost stopped. Physicians from both hospitals agree that I’m stable, but that I should be transferred to the university hospital where I’ll be closer to the MFM specialist.

But even though I’m stable, they still won’t let me walk or ever ride a wheel chair over to the university hospital. Nope. I have to ride in an ambulance. Once again I groan and imagine the bill for this mess.

But now there seems no way around it. So I ride the 2 blocks to the university hospital in style.

And even my worst fears of the bill almost seem worth the relief I found when I was welcomed into the university hospital OB unit. Here they did have a bed waiting for me and doctors ready with questions and exams.

Sweet relief! Quality care. Comfy conditions. I was as safe as I could be under the circumstances. And I was hungry. It was 2 pm now, and I hadn’t been allowed to eat anything that day – just in case I was rushed to surgery. I hadn’t even been able to grab a quick bite to eat before leaving my home because my personal physician, Jeffrey, wouldn’t let me. Ugh. What a morning.

But the doctor’s didn’t care that was exhausted and hungry. They just pushed that aside and focused on other things – like whether or not I this baby would be born too early or make it a bit longer. And so I pushed aside my hunger and my intense desire to collapse and cry and instead answered questions and submitted to IV needles and exams.

Even after Jeffrey arrived I couldn’t fall into his strong arms because they were holding onto the hands of my kids. I didn’t want my kids to be scared or worried, so I held it together a little bit longer. I put on a smile and held them in my hospital bed. But when nighttime drew near and they had to go, or course Jeffrey had to go with them. So I never got to be held. To be protected. To let go of this burden and cry with the man that I love.

In fact, I haven’t really cried yet. I suppose that’s why I am passing the early hours of the morning recording narrative and events instead of sleeping. I’m wondering where this all will lead, and slowly accepting that we are headed farther and farther away from the smooth, healthy pregnancy and baby that I was anticipating. But I don’t know yet whether his will be a fairly healthy 36 week baby and big surgery for me, or the birth of a premie with high risk to me and permanent damage to my internal organs.

They might let me go home today. ********************************