The REST of The Story....

Here goes....

Sunday night I started having contractions but it was nothing major - not very painful and not regular. So I figured something might be starting to happen, but I still thought we had plenty of time, maybe even days. Around 11:30 they started getting pretty regular and intense but I didn't want to get turned away by the hospital like we did with Zoe so I decided to tough it out a while longer. At 1 am - after contractions had been 3 minutes apart and hard to talk through for hours- I decided we should probably head to the hospital. We packed up the last few things and started calling our friends to take care of Zoe. We jumped in the car not knowing what to do with her, but we figured we should better get on the road.

Instead of stopping by our friends' house unannounced in the middle of the night (and delaying our arrival at the hospital) we decided to go straight to the hospital and figure things out there. We got in around 2 am. The first nurse that checked me told me I was at a "fingertip." I nearly slapped her. Then she had another nurse check me because "something seemed strange." The second nurse told me I was a six and asked if I knew that the baby was breech. QUE??? Absolutely no idea on that one. So that was my ticket to an automatic C-section. By the time they got me prepped and the epidural in I was completely dilated and ready to push. But of course I couldn't so I just waited "patiently" on the table for them to yank the kid out of me. At this point Zoe was who knows where and James was trying not to faint at the sight of my blood.

Soon enough Owen was here (at exactly 3 am). Only no one bothered to tell me he was out. They were too busy trying to control massive amounts of bleeding and repair a pretty gnarly tear in my uterus. Owen was so far down (because I was ready to deliver) that they literally had to pull him up and out and my uterus tore perpendicular to the incision. Owen was in pretty bad shape himself - folded completely in half, bruised, covered in prenatal poop, and having some problems breathing. After a while we were both feeling better and James took Zoe home to catch up on some sleep.

So that's enough trauma for one delivery, right? Oh it gets better. The next day was fine. I was feeling great and I had all the nurses wowed at how well I was moving around. I had an IVP (an x-ray for your kidneys) to make sure that my bladder hadn't been affected by the tear and I wasn't leaking urine anywhere. By this time I had decided that C-sections were the way to go because my recovery had been so smooth after only a day.

The results of the IVP were inconclusive so the next day I went back for more. They took pictures at every angle but still seemed a little perplexed. The day went on as normal. I was feeling great and even got a shower. That's when it all went sour. I had been out of the shower for about 2 minutes when the nurse was pounding down my door telling me that my doctor wanted to talk to me pronto. Dr. Gordon told me that there was an obstruction in my ureter and a urologist was coming to talk to me about "options." I felt like I had been side swiped. Before the doctor came the anesthegiologist already had me signing consent forms. I waited and waited for the doctor and eventually my mom came to keep me company (she drove up that day). Finally a nurse informed me that the doctor would be there in a half hour and then I would be transferred. TRANSFERRED? Yes, I was going to another hospital. To have surgury. For some unknown reason. And the nurse wasn't sure if I could take Owen with me. Of course I was livid and I had a pretty major melt down.

Eventually (hours later) the doctors came by - the doctor who delivered Owen and the urologist - and that did nothing to set my mind at ease. Apparently the block in my ureter was a suture from the repair job on my uterus. The doctor didn't want to operate at Orem Community so I had to transfer hospitals. Fortunately I was able to bring Owen with me and my mom got to take us there - otherwise I would have had to pay for an ambulance. Meanwhile, my doctor had told me not to eat in case I went into surgery that night so I hadn't eaten anything for about 9 hours. One good thing about the transfer is that I made them give me a new IV. My original one was in a tender spot and had casued a lot of bruising.

So now the adventure continues down the road at UVRMC. We were off to a bad start when my mom pulls in to unload me and the staff tells her, "Oh no, she's coming in an ambulance." And they had no idea Owen would be with us. And they had different addresses for me and James. And no admit papers for Owen. What a delight. I got a crusty sandwich and then couldn't eat again since I would be "on call" for surgery (read: they would cut me open whenever they had a few minutes to spare). James made it to the hospital the next morning just before I went under the knife. The scariest part was that the doctors didn't really know what they were going to find or how exactly they were going to fix me - though they had their theories. They ended up cutting my ureter above the stitch and reimplanting it on my bladder. Otherwise they would have had to undo the stitching on my uterus, which would have meant lots of bleeding again.

The worst part of the surgery was that the recovery nurses and orderlies completely ignored me when I woke up and I literally had NO pain medication. It took me an hour to convince anyone that I wasn't getting the right amount of medication and then another hour for the nurses to fix it. Then there were a few miscommunications between the two surgeons involved resulting in some more unneccessary discomfort. It was pretty much a nightmare all around.

Again recovery went quickly and smoothly and I was determined to get out of that place by Friday. I did, with the forces of the entire hospital working against me - forgetful nurses, multiple pharmacy mixups, etc. Now I have a few follow-up appointments with both surgeons and an increased risk for kidney infection, but at least I'm home. And the nurses gave me some lovely guilt, I mean GIFT baskets. I'm thinking we might adopt from here on out....