The CCU

This is the conclusion to my complications story.

Waking up Wednesday morning after the first night in my own bed was wonderful.  I woke up that morning ready to start what would be our new routine until I could drive myself or the girls were released. That would consist of getting up, getting dressed, getting Michael ready, all of us piling into a car, dropping Michael off at school, dropping me off at the hospital, and Aaron going to work.  I would spend the morning at the hospital and Aaron would come for the noon feeding then take me home.  Aaron planned on going back up there for the 6 and possibly 9 o'clock feedings.  We were going to play those by ear.  That morning, however, I didn't get to have a shower.  The day before they had removed my central line and a pressure dressing was on it.  I couldn't get the dressing wet and I couldn't remove it for a few more hours.  They told me I could remove it first thing that morning but, being the wuss I am, I didn't want to risk removing it and then bleeding to death.  (Yes, I know that's an exaggeration, but that's where I was mentally and I didn't want to end up back in the hospital.)

That morning in the NICU was quite emotionally taxing.  Allison had not been eating well.  They had taken out her feeding tube a few days earlier and they were now threatening to put it back in.  I knew that when I fed her that morning.  I begged and pleaded with her to eat.  I prayed and prayed and prayed that she would eat.  Nothing worked. I think some of that would've been easier to handle had one of her regular nurses been there, but we had a floater that day.  She was a little harsh when she told me they were going to have to put the tube back in.  I literally ran (ok, I wasn't capable of running but I left as quickly as I could) out of the NICU.  I went downstairs to get Starbucks and try to calm myself.  It didn't work.  I sat in the NICU waiting room crying.  Then I felt really stupid.  The only problems my babies had was not wanting to eat.  I sat and listened to another mom on the phone talk about the seizures her baby was having.  About that time, some of my nurses from antipartum came in to get coffee.  They sat with me and let me cry.  They told me that it would all be ok and that I wasn't stupid for being upset.  It was finally noon and Aaron came.  I felt a little better when he got there.  It also helped that Julie, another NICU mom, was there with her son, Cade.  Somehow her hugs that day got me through.

Aaron brought me home after our visit.  I ate lunch.  I promised everyone that I would take a nap after the long morning I'd had.  I called both grandmothers with an update on the girls.  I cried through both phone calls.  I hung up with Brenda and went to bed.

I woke up two hours later with a start.  Once again, I couldn't breathe.  I called Aaron and my mom in a panic.  I called Dr. Dorsett's office and was told to call my pulmonologist.  I called and left a message for his nurse.  I called my mom again and told her to head to Lubbock.  She'd call Aaron on the way here and figure out what to do about Michael.  She also called Carol Strahan, a very close family friend and R.N.  Carol came running to my house with a stethoscope, pulse oxometer, and a blood pressure cuff. She also brought Sam with her.  Sam was one of my ICU nurses so she obviously knew what all was going on with me.  When they got here my oxygen level was at 85 and I had crackles in my lungs.  They picked up the phone and called 911.  We called Aaron, who was on his way to get Michael, and filled him in on what all was going on.

The ambulance showed up along with a fire truck.  My neighbors apparently thought this was an oddity of nature since many of them were standing in their front yard staring at me.  They started an IV before we left and started me on oxygen.  Then we were off to Covenant.  This time I would be in a different hospital than the girls.

Once at the ER, the tests started getting ran.  I sent immediately (ok almost immediately) for a chest x-ray and CT scan with contrast.  The contrast would keep me from breast feeding for several days, that should've been a fair warning that I was done with that.  I got back to the ER exam room where a respiratory therapist was waiting to take a blood gas.  No, I didn't almost punch her out like the last one, but I did say a few choice words that I won't repeat on here.  I was given lasix and potassium.  They also ran an EKG and yet another blood gas.  Apparently the machine ate the first sample.  This time I cussed some more and almost threw up.  I told Aaron that if the machine ate that one too, she was absolutely NOT sticking me again.  If you've never had one of those, let me enlighten you on how they do it.  They feel for your pulse and then aim for it.  At least that's how it felt on my end.  They usually get to dig a little while before they get what they're looking for.  This would be why I almost puked and said so many ugly things.  I do remember after that first dose of lasix that my breathing was almost immediately better.

Let me take a minute to talk about something.  At this point, I was almost two weeks postpartum.  I was still bleeding from having the girls.  At Lakeside/Women's and Children's/St. Mary's/whatever you want to call it, they are VERY good at knowing this and treating you accordingly since this is where all the babies are delivered.  At the main campus of Covenant, not so much.  Since I had been catheterized yet again, I was unable to wear any undies which meant I was not allowed a pad.  That also meant that every single blasted time I was moved off my gurney or out of my bed, I had to tell people that I had postpartum bleeding.  This seriously lasted until well into Thursday afternoon.  I can't say I've ever been so humiliated in my life.  I couldn't believe that a woman that was two weeks postpartum with bleeding could be treated that way.  When they came to change my gown at one point in time, you would've thought I had something worse than bleeding from the way the nursing staff acted.  It didn't help any that my doctor had put me on a blood thinner to prevent blood clots which made the bleeding worse.  You also would think they would've given a lactating mom a female nurse.  Wrong again!!  I had a male nurse my first night there and I think it was a little embarrassing for both of us when he walked in on me pumping.  This was all beyond humiliating.  I don't know how to change it, but maybe putting it on such a public forum will help.

Back to the story...

Around midnight, I was put in a room.  Not just any ordinary room, but a room in the CCU (Cardiac Care Unit).  This wasn't any CCU either.  This was the CCU that my grandfather had almost died in 17 years earlier.  You can imagine the thoughts going through my head.  As they wheeled me in, the thing that hit me first was the smell.  The place smelled like a nursing home and death.  It was awful.  The doors to most of the rooms on the floor were open so the next thing I noticed were all the lights on the machines and the age of the people in the beds.  I'm shocked I didn't have a panic attack at this point.

The nurses came in to get me settled.  This took another 30 minutes or so.  Aaron and I were then alone in the room.  We started discussing whether he was going to stay or go home.  I knew he needed to rest so I put on the bravest face I could and told him to go home.  I did tell him that I was scared out of my mind to be left there alone, but that I would be watched well.  So he went home and I cried after he left.  That place scared the hell out of me.  Plus, I was really being faced with the reality of my own mortality and never seeing my children, friends and family ever again.

Bright and early around 6:30 that morning, Dr. Bradley came by.  This was after being woke up at 3 a.m. for an EKG, at 4 a.m. for another chest x-ray, and at 5:30 to be stuck for the upteenth time.  (I was wishing at this time that they had never pulled my PIC line.)  He had told me while I was in the ICU at Lakeside that he wanted to do a stress test.  I said no at that time because it was 100% necessary and it would keep me out of the NICU.  Now I was being kept out of the NICU anyway and it was necessary.  Plus he wanted another echo.  The nuclear stress test is up there with things that I never want to experience again in my lifetime.  The echo wasn't so bad.  The rest of the day was rather uneventful.  I had the worst headache ever and I couldn't seem to quit crying.  Dr. Dorsett came by and ordered me an anti-depressant.  I'm not afraid to admit I have postpartum depression.  If you had been through what I had, you would too.

Dr.  Bradley came by that night to tell me that my diagnosis had changed.  Yes I did have congestive heart failure but it was being cause by peripartum cardiomyopathy.  Never heard of it?  Neither had I.  Neither had some of the girls' nurses.  It's something that 1 in 4,000 women have after giving birth.  He also told me that 1/3 of women with it completely heal and go about life like it never happened, 1/3 of women live the rest of their lives with the problem but it is under control with medication, and 1/3 of women don't survive.  Right now, I'm in the first 2/3 of women.  The other scary part of the news he brought me was that my echo showed my ejection fraction had gone from 40 to 35 in two weeks.  That's not a good thing.  Normal is 50.  I was also told that even if I wanted to, I was no longer allowed to have any more children.  If I were to get pregnant again, it could kill me.  We had already decided the twins would be it, but knowing that there was absolutely no way I could have any more was a hard pill to swallow.

All I could think about, and still think about a lot, is how did all this happen.  I'm 33 years old and in relatively good health.  All I did was give birth which is supposed to be a routine thing.  Guess what??!!  There's nothing "routine" about giving birth.  I've talked to several nurses who told me that they never let on the families how life threatening to women giving birth can be.  My cardiologist even told my mom that pregnancy in itself is toxic to women.  I'm 33 years old and have a cardiologist and have spent time in the CCU.  This has all been very hard to deal with.  It has made me miss my grandmother in ways I never knew possible.  I keep wanting to pick up the phone to ask her how my grandfather dealt with his diagnosis, how did she change the way she cooked, does she have any advice for Aaron, etc...

I was released on Saturday morning.  I had now been the hospital one night shy of three weeks.  Between the two stays and extra lasix they prescribed me to take home, they pulled around 50 pounds of fluid off of me.  I told Aaron my legs looked like chicken legs because they'd gotten so skinny.  He told me they weren't chicken legs, they were back to normal.  How sad that I didn't know what normal legs looked like?  I was also sent home on a beta blocker, an ace inhibitor, anti-depressant, a prescription strength iron supplement, and a prenatal vitamin.  I'm 33 and on cardiac medications.  How did this happen?

I am forever thankful that I get to have time with my girls, Michael, and Aaron.  I can't help but wonder why God spared me.  Especially after losing two dear friends last year, I can't help but wonder what's in store for me.  I worry almost daily about my heart.  If I start having the least problem breathing, I start to panic and worry that my heart's failing again.  I check my oxygen levels several times a day.  I check my blood pressure quite a bit, not daily, but several times a week.  This is my new reality.

We still don't know that I'm ok.  I go in for my first echo in February since the ones I had in the hospital.  I can't help but worry about what it's going to show.  We won't truly know it'll all be ok until September.  It can take the heart a year to fully heal if it's going to.

That's it.  That's the whole story of three of the craziest weeks of my life.