Friday, June 19, 2009

Pregnancy of The Boy

No, The Boy isn't pregnant and he does not have a tale about how he was. What I meant was that this is the story of my pregnancy of The Boy. It will probably be a pretty long post, but since this is my blog and I can type what I want to, then I guess it really doesn't matter, huh?! I plan to tell the story of The Boy because it actually is kind of interesting. Of course that may just be in my mind, but again, this is my blog and I can say what I want to say, right?!

With that said, here it goes:

I got married in 1992 to my son's father. That is a whole other story! On my birthday in February 1994, I discovered that I was pregnant. I was absolutely ecstatic. I love kids and always wanted at least 3 or 4 and felt that I was on the way to making my dreams come true.

It was a hard pregnancy, but I loved every second of it. I was sick from the time the sperm knocked on the egg's door! I had odd food cravings...Big Macs, green onions, and anything hot and spicy. The worst one was green beans though. I cried everytime I ate them because I truly do not like the taste of green beans! But, I had to have them.

We left the area after I graduated from college in May. My then husband was a member of the army and had decided to go active duty instead of reserves. We moved 13 hours away to Fayetteville, North Carolina. This was the first time that I had ever been really away from my family...and I did not like it!

I was 16 weeks pregnant when we left, but I was only measuring about 15 1/2. Nobody was overly concerned at that point. When I got pregnant, I was only about 100 pounds and of course I was suffering from all day sickness, so nobody made any comments about my measuring off a little.

As time went on, I started to fall farther behind in my measurements. I don't know about anyone else's experience with Army docs, but mine was not the greatest. They wrote in my chart that at 20 weeks, I had just presented for the first time for medical care, even though I had hand carried my medical records that showed my first appointment back home at 5 weeks. They didn't listen to what I had to tell them and told me that I was not eating, although I was still gaining weight and kept a food diary for them. (I ended up gaining a total of 33 pounds for the pregnancy.)

At 30 weeks pregnant, they finally sent me for an ultrasound. They refused to allow me any pictures to bring home, or to tell me what the sex of my baby was. That didn't matter too much since I 'knew' from day one that I was having a boy. At this ultrasound, they did say that everything looked fine.

When I reached 36 weeks, I was transferred to the care of an amazingly caring man. The first day I met him, he measured me and said that I was only measuring 30 weeks. He asked how long I had been measuring 'off'. When I told him, he couldn't believe that nobody else had any concerns about this. I told him that the rest of the doctors thought I was just refusing to eat and that it was my fault. He disagreed because I was gaining the appropriate amounts of weight. He wanted a "stat ultrasound".

We went to schedule a "stat ultrasound." Being a nurse, I know that stat means now or at the very least extremely soon. They gave me an appointment date of October 26th. My due date was October 25th. They wanted to schedule my stat ultrasound in 4 weeks! Finally, after a bunch of string pulling by the doctor, my stat ultrasound was schedule in one of the civilian hospitals (read that as being civilized, or off post, or a hospital with sense or however you want to look at it...) for two weeks away. What could I do but wait? So, wait I did.

Two weeks later, I went in for my stat ultrasound. The tech was very nice. She started to talk while she looked. And man could she talk! Barely took a breath it seemed! But then, she started to slow down. She just started to talk less and less and finally she completely stopped. She wouldn't look at me. She wouldn't say a word even when I asked her a question. I knew there was a problem. And from the way she acted, I knew it was a major one.

I started to cry when she just got up from her chair and left the room without a word. The next thing I know, there is a doctor beside me and he is cleaning my belly off and telling me that my regular doc would be calling me sometime later in the week to let me know the results. He wouldn't look me in the eye either. I had to be carried out because I was so upset.

I went home to lay down. I happened to have made a friend who worked at that hospital. She knew that I was having an ultrasound that day and printed out the report for me. She brought it by that afternoon when she got off work.

After reading it, I put my shoes on and started for the door. I was asked where I was going and all I could say was "to talk to the doctor, come if you want to."

My report gave a due date of November 26th. It also said that my baby had asymmetrical intrauterine growth retardation. This meant that his head was growing, but the rest of him was not. I had severely low fluid levels surrounding him. They couldn't see all of the parts that they normally looked for, so they didn't know if he had them, let alone if they were working the right way.

When I reached the clinic, I demanded to see the doc. He came out, took me straight into his office and asked how I had gotten a report of the ultrasound. When I told him that the only thing that mattered was the life of my child, he said that he had scheduled me with the high risk clinic the next day.

I went to that high risk appointment. And swore I would never go back. The doctor there did an ultrasound, looked at me and told me, "Your child will not live. IF it makes it to delivery,
it won't live very long outside your womb. All you can do is go home, make plans to bury it and plan for the next pregnancy. Your baby doesn't have any kidneys and that is why there is no fluid. By the way, it is a girl. I don't need to see you anymore." She then gets up and walks out.

I was in shock. I was not going to let anyone tell me that this child was a girl and that 'she' was going to die. I went immediately to my regular doctor, told him what had happened and within 24 hours, the high risk doc had been transferred off the post. I don't know where she went, but I apologize to anyone else that ever came into contact with her as a physician.

The final two weeks of my pregnancy, I saw the doc every other day and the days I didn't see him, I was at the hospital for an ultrasound and non stress test. Not one time did they give me a picture. Not one time did anyone give me any type of hope.

The day before I was due, the doc decided that he was done waiting and wanted my baby in the outside world. As he said, "I would rather worry about him (I convinced him it was a boy, no matter what the ultrasound said) where I can see him rather than worry about him where I can't."

I was forced into labor on October 24. I remember that the floor was full with laboring moms. When one mom came in and there was no bed for her, they sent her to a neighboring civilian hospital with a level 3 nicu. She was having no complications with her pregnancy. I was very upset that they didn't send me instead, but they had decided that my baby was going to die anyway, so why send me somewhere else?

When the resident doc broke my water at 10pm, out came a hand and arm...all the way to his little elbow! The doc gasped and shoved that little appendage back where it came from. Wow! That was scary and painful!

Finally, at 8:03am at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, my little BOY came into the world screaming! He was named Kolton and he weighed in at 6lbs 9ozs and was 21 1/2 inches.

He was beautiful. But most importantly, he was healthy.

No comments:

Post a Comment