When Things Go Wrong

In December of 2008, I was expecting to deliver my second daughter. The pregnancy was almost like being pregnant for the first time since my first daughter was nearly 17 at the time. I was confident, but terrified at the same time since my body had been through a major trauma shortly after my first daughter's birth. I wasn't sure to begin with whether I would be able to carry my second child to term.

When I found out that I was expecting, I was ecstatic. At my previous yearly exam, my doctor had told me that I needed to decide within the next two to three years whether or not I wanted to have any more children because of the increased risk factors once a woman reaches thirty-five. It was actually time for me to schedule my yearly exam when the home pregnancy test, and blood test at my regular physician, said "positive."

While I was ecstatic, I was also terrified because of the risks involved due to my physical condition. Back in 1992 I suffered a gunshot wound as the result of a negligent (now ex) husband. The injury shattered most of one side of my pelvis, and cracked my L5 vertebrae, among a long list of other things. I had been told by my orthopedic surgeon, as well as my OB/GYN , that, as a result, I may not be able to carry a child to term. You can imagine the worry that settled upon me when I found out I was pregnant.

My OB/GYN had injured his arm and was out as a result, which should have been my first sign to search for another doctor, as things began to fall out of place from the beginning. Once I was finally able to get in to see my doctor, I was nearing the end of the recommended time-frame for the your initial visit. And, when we addressed, he stated that my previously shattered pelvis would not be an issue, and that he felt that I would be able to deliver naturally.

As time progressed, and as my check-ups became more frequent, he paid little attention to some of the problems I complained about. I was vomiting for the entire duration of my pregnancy, but he kept me well stocked with an anti-nausea medication. As a result of my previous injury I had been taking a medication for pain from nerve damage, but was unable to continue using it while pregnant, so he kept me stocked with alternating prescriptions for pain relief. But when I complained of non-chronic pains, he wrote them off as the normal aches and pains that arise during pregnancy.

He ordered an ultrasound at 4 months, but this was the only ultrasound ordered. When I wasn't gaining enough weight, he considered ordering a test to see if the baby was in distress, but decided to wait until my next visit, when he chose to not order the test because my weight was good at that visit. Of course, I had lost 7 pounds at the previous weekly visit.

Time passed, and my discomfort with my doctor's performance increased. And, upon the arrival of December, my stress level exploded. I was filled with questions and experiences that he chalked up to normal pregnancy issues that were nothing to be worried about. I wondered if she was in the right position, why she was moving less, why she seemed to stay toward one side of my belly, etc.

No tests were run. No ultrasound, other than the initial one, was performed. Nothing.

I went into labor on December 21. I had gone Christmas shopping with my sister that night, and when we returned to our mother's house I lost my mucous plug, but something wasn't right. Everything has a "greenish" tint to it: the mucous plug, my urine (which also consisted of amniotic fluid). I promptly called the doctor to let him know that I had lost my mucous plug, that I was having contractions that lasted around 1 minute every 5 minutes, and I told him of the green tint. He told me to sit back and relax, but if the pain became more intense that I should go on to the hospital.

At midnight my significant other and I decided that it was time to go to the hospital. We were experiencing the signs that he had stated indicated that it was time to go: rhythmic and hard contractions, plus the loss of my mucous plug. Once we got there, I was admitted and they strapped these monitors on me. I was told that I was dilated to approximately .5 cm. I laid there for 3 hours before they came back in to tell me that I was being released because it wasn't time.

My partner and I drove the twenty-plus minutes back to our house and sat there for maybe an hour before deciding that we needed to lie down. My contractions, though, had worsened on the way home. We stretched out for a nap since we had been awake entirely too long. My partner went straight to sleep, and I started to drift off. That's when it hit me like a freight train! The contraction took my breath away, and with it some of my amniotic fluid was expelled. I reminded myself that the doctor had just sent me home, and apparently this was how it started, and that it would progress. You see, with my first daughter, I was sent to the hospital to be induced due to the fact that I was slowly leaking amniotic fluid, and, with that pregnancy and birth, I never experienced labor.

Each time I would begin to doze, I would be ripped from the edge of sleep by a contraction. I got up to go to the restroom and to change my clothing, but I couldn't get off of the toilet. Every time I went to move, a contraction would seize me body. Fortunately our home telephone had the ability to call one of the other handsets in the house. And, fortunately, I had taken one of the handsets to the bathroom with me, and there was one on the table beside the bed. I called the other handset to rouse my partner from sleep. I told him that it was time to go back to the hospital.

When we returned to the hospital, one of the nurses made a remark that I was anxious to have the baby. While this wasn't untrue, her tone led me to believe that she thought I wasn't really in labor. Hours passed in the birthing suite. The pain intensified seemingly with every contraction. They finally gave me something to help me handle the pain, and then checked to see if I had dilated any more. The exam revealed that I had dilated only a little more and hadn't even made it to 1cm!

Now, I was in excruciating pain, and the doctor made the remark that I was in stage one labor, but was acting like I was in stage 3. He basically told me that I needed to suck it up because the pain only got worse. He was about to send me home when, as a result of my family members saying that something just wasn't right, he ordered an ex-ray. The ex-ray revealed that my daughter was breech, and he ordered that a Cesarean be performed immediately.

Upon opening my abdomen, he found that not only was she breech but there were two knots in her umbilical cord. He made the statement that, if she had been born normally, she would have died. It was also found that my amniotic fluid was stained with meconium (the first bowel movement of an infant), which explained the green tint.

My mother and the nurse took my daughter to her father, and, while in the nursery, they began to examine her. My partner was terrified and knew something was seriously wrong when he was asked to leave. Later we were told that she had aspirated some of the meconium stained fluid, and that she was going to have to be transferred to a Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit across town because they were better equipped to care for her should she need something like a respirator. There it was, mere hours after her birth, and I had yet to even touch her, and they were whisking her away to another hospital. At least they gave me a few moments to say "bye" to her before taking her to the ambulance transport.

I spent the next three days in the hospital without being able to see my daughter. My partner would make the drive across town to spend time with her, and then back to the hospital I was in to give me updates and spend the night. He wouldn't tell me much at first, but I finally convinced him to bring me pictures of her on one of our digital cameras. At the sight of the first picture I understood why he was so reluctant to talk about her condition. She, at one point, had a "dome" of sorts over her head delivering oxygen, then, finally, the respirator was introduced. She wasn't doing well at all.

Being stranded in one hospital while your newborn is in another is one thing, but to know, even though they didn't say as much, that she may not make it is another. I couldn't sleep. I barely ate. And even though I wasn't supposed to be over-doing myself, I was staying busy and constantly leaving the room to go on the patient's smoking balcony to chain-smoke.

Then it was Christmas Eve, and I fully expected to be released. I was anxious to get across town to the other hospital and see my daughter. Both my mother and partner were in the room that morning when the doctor came in. He tells me that I need to stay one more night, and off he went. He didn't say why, just that I needed to stay another night. That's when I lost it. All the stress and worry coupled with my lack of sleep had taken their toll on me, and I broke down. My nurse came in and we asked why I wasn't released. She said it was due to my having spiked a fever at some point in the night. I told her that one of the nurses insisted on taking my temp even though I told her I had been drinking coffee. There was nothing that could be done because it is apparently illegal to release someone from the hospital if they have had a fever.

I was just about ready to lose my temper and walk out of the hospital. At that point I really didn't care if I died because of some freakish problem that may arise from that fever. My mother, having known me all of my life, knew how I was feeling and told the nurse that my doctor either needed to release me or give me something to calm my nerves and help me to rest, as I hadn't slept since my in and out moments in recovery. My nurse agreed with the idea, and, when she came back from calling my doctor, brought me a 5 mg Valium.

Later that night my partner, his parents, and a long-time friend of mine attempted to distract me from my worries by bringing a small, table-top Christmas tree, decorations, and a few presents. Their plan worked for a few hours at least. They kept me engaged in conversation, and tried to keep me smiling, but it didn't take long before the worry took over again.

Christmas morning arrived, and, despite the Valium, I hadn't slept all night. My partner and I had packed all my belongings, and even loaded them into the car. The doctor arrived and said that I was ready to go, and that a nurse would be in shortly with my discharge paperwork. It was lunch-time when I finally got out of there, and I was so exhausted that, instead of rushing across town to see my daughter, we went home for a quick nap.

My daughter spent three weeks in NICU. Most of that time she was sedated and on a respirator. The meconium had bound up her lungs, and all we could do was sit and wait. Initially it was excruciating to visit with her. She laid there completely sedated, and we weren't allowed to even touch her. We were told that if she hadn't shown improvement within three days that things would get bad. Once they finally took her off of the respirator, they continued to give her oxygen, and we impatiently awaited permission to touch and hold her.

After she had spent two weeks in NICU, we went to see her and were asked to wait. There was a "sick baby" in the room, and the family was in with him. However, we were also told by the nurse who had come outside of NICU to see us that she was excited to let us know that once we could come in we could hold her. My partner had been able to hold her shortly after her birth, but I had only placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before she was taken from the operating room, and had her grasp my finger for a few seconds before she was transported. However, we weren't able to enter NICU until the next afternoon.

All of this could have been prevented had my doctor listened to my complaints, or if he had even ordered a second ultrasound. Another ultrasound would have revealed that she wasn't in position, and it would have also shown that the umbilical cord was knotted. An emergency Cesarean could have been ordered, and her distress could have been circumvented.

My six-week checkup will more than likely be my last visit to this doctor. I have lost all respect for him, and, frankly, don't trust him to do his job. His "whatever" attitude is unprofessional, and the quality of his care is lacking.

My daughter is happy and healthy now. While she weighed only 6 lbs. 3 oz. when she was released from the hospital, she was a whopping 7 lbs. 7 oz. a mere three days later. The problems she had have, however, increased her risk for SIDS, and, in these last 3 weeks I have not only studied SIDS with a passion, but also researched Meconium Aspiration Syndrome (MAS).