Tempestuous Weather pt. 1

On Thursday, March 1st 2012 I woke up to the moans of my wife, Lindsay Hine Schroeder (award-winning artist extraordinaire).  She described to me a pain that started in her upper abdomen and wrapped around to her back.  She said it was like someone was stabbing her with a red hot, searing knife.  The pain was constant.  The pain was not going away.  My wife was 29 weeks 2 days pregnant with our first child.

It was 6am by the time I woke up.  Lindsay informed me that the pain had started around 4:30am and hadn't stopped.  We immediately called our midwife to seek advice.  She suggested that we call our OB, and she asked us to keep her updated of any new information and developments.  Lindsay instructed me to call into her work and tell them that she would be unable to come in today.

By 8:00am I had called her work, and I was waiting for the doctor's office to open.  However, much to all of our delight and surprise, Lindsay's pain suddenly stopped.  Lindsay was exhausted and laid back down to sleep.  I started my day running errands.  I was recently fired from my job (another blog, another time perhaps), and I was following up on job leads, going to the bank, and going about my day as usual.  I returned for lunch, and Lindsay was awake.  We ate lunch, watched some tv, and I left to go to a doctor's appointment.  On my way to the appointment, I called the midwife to update her on our situation.  She was pleased that Lindsay was feeling better.  She suggested that perhaps the root of the problem could be Lindsay's gallbladder--especially considering all of the severe heartburn and acid reflux issues she experienced throughout the pregnancy.

I went to my appointment, and while in the waiting room I called to check in with Lindsay.  She said she was still exhausted.  Lindsay told me that she was going to lay down for a while.  I told her that I would be home soon.  I returned home around 6pm and started dinner.  Since I've been unemployed I've really enjoyed my increased domestic duties (cooking, cleaning, etc.).  It helps ease the time while I check my emails, job websites, and anxiously wait by the phone to hear about job interviews.  I made oven roasted potatoes, lima beans (for Lindsay--I'm not a fan), mac 'n' cheese (for Lindsay--I am a fan, but she specifically requested it), green beans (for me), and sausage (for me--Lindsay's a vegetarian).  Lindsay and I curled up on the couch, ate out dinner, watched 4 episodes of Amazing Stories on Netflix, and had a normal evening.  As usual these days, Lindsay said, "Baby wants some ice cream!"  Baby confirmed this with a kick.  I would put money down that our baby will know the words "ice cream", "sugar", "syrup", and "pancakes" when he makes his debut.  I wouldn't be surprised if his first word came from that list as well.

Lindsay got up, went to the bathroom, and went to the kitchen to start cleaning up.  Suddenly without warning the pain was back.  She returned to the living room and sat down on our couch.  It was the same upper abdominal pain as before.  I rubbed her back to give her any relief that I could.  At this moment, I remembered what the midwife had told me and I relayed the "gallbladder" theory to Lindsay.  In her pain and frustration, she berated me for not telling her sooner.  We went to our computer to look up more information.  Upon finding a website describing a gallbladder attack, Lindsay was convinced that this was the problem.  We immediately called our OB.  Lindsay described her symptoms and informed the doctor that she believed this to be a gallbladder attack.  The doctor said that if she wanted to wait until morning and go to an emergency clinic that would be okay.  However, if the pain got worse or did not stop, she should go to the ER.

Lindsay got off the phone with the doctor, went upstairs, got into bed, and called a friend of hers who recently had her gallbladder taken out.  Lindsay described her symptoms to her friend who agreed that it indeed sounded like her gallbladder.  "Friend" (as they like to call each other) told Lindsay to "go to the hospital.  Even if they can't fix you, they can make you feel better."

Lindsay and I spent the next 10 minutes having a conversation that, more than likely, happens a lot in our country.  Is a potentially expensive ER visit really necessary?  Lindsay, true to her nature, pointed out the ridiculousness of the fact that we were even having this debate with a string of expletives.  I told Lindsay that if she feels that she needs to go to the ER, the debate is over and we will go.

We arrived at Bloomington Hospital at 12am Friday morning.  Lindsay was taken to a room, admitted, hooked up to an IV, and blood was drawn to do labs.  Baby monitors were connected to Lindsay to monitor the baby's heart.  His heartbeat was strong the entire time as it had been throughout the pregnancy.  Lindsay's blood pressure registered at 180/110.  She was in a lot of pain.  Our OB arrived at the hospital, reviewed the labs, and informed us that it was not Lindsay's gallbladder.  It was severe preeclampsia (hypertension and high blood pressure due to pregnancy).  According to the lab results, the pain was stemming from Linday's liver.  Those levels were six times where they should be.  They informed us that an ambulance would be sent from Indianapolis to transport Lindsay as soon as possible to St. Vincent's Women's Hospital.  He said, "I'm not going to sugar coat this.  If you would have waited 4 more hours you might have lost the baby and the mother as well."  The doctor said that there was a good chance that when Lindsay arrived at the hospital, they would deliver the baby by c-section.  My wife burst into tears.  This was NOT part of our birthing plan.  We where scheduled to take birthing classes next month.  Our nursery wasn't completely put together--we needed to make curtains, hang a shelf, paint knobs on the dresser.  Lindsay and I were just discussing that she didn't want to use a birthing tub anymore--she thought that giving birth on our bed might be best.  Emergency c-section at 29 weeks 3 days was NOT part of the plan.  I told Lindsay (and I would repeat this throughout this weekend), "I think part of being a parent is accepting that things don't always go as planned."
I made all the necessary phone calls that I felt were needed.  I called family and friends--I found it pleasantly surprising the number of people who answer their phones at 2am.  I made all of these phone calls in the bathroom in Lindsay's hospital room 10 feet away from her as the nurses prepared Lindsay for transport.  During this time, they gave Lindsay medicine for the pain and a steriod.  They explained that it was the first of two that would be administered.  They said that this steriod would help with our baby's lung development.

I finished my phone calls and entered the room trying to mask my utter fear, dispair, and puffy red eyes.  Lindsay was no longer in pain and appeared relatively calm.  I did my best to reassure her.  I was told by the nursing staff that I would be unable to ride with Lindsay in the abulance since I was not a medical professional and there was not enough room.  They said that the ambulance would be running their lights and sirens all the way up to Indianapolis.  I was instructed not to run the lights with the ambulance, but I could meet them at the hospital.

I told Lindsay that when the transport team came, I would immediately go so I could get to the hospital as quickly as possible.  I planned on going back to our apartment to pack a bag, take care of our cat Momo (a gray manx), and tie up whatever loose ends I could think of.  I spent the rest of time with Lindsay trying to hold it together.  She was much calmer than I was--probably due to the medications, but I couldn't even begin to fathom the idea that this was our new shared reality.

When it was time for transport, Lindsay had stabilized and the baby was doing great.  The EMT's said that they would not be running the lights and sirens since mom and baby were stable.  I kissed Lindsay goodbye.  I told her that I would meet her at the hospital.  I turned to the EMT's and told them, "You take good care of this woman."  I walked out of the room physically and emotionally breaking down with each step.  I passed a young, blonde woman as I got to the elevator.  She smiled at me.  Being the ever polite, cheerful person I always am, I smiled as my tears started to run down my cheeks.