Herston's birth story and subsequent hospitalization 5 weeks later are still difficult for me to talk about. I still can't fathom being a victim of medical errors within my own medical community. This is his birth story.
When Grant and I got married, we always said we would have three kids and discuss more later. When Larissa was one year old, I laid out my five year plan. Even with obtaining a Master's degree, I felt there was room for one more.
We conceived in the winter as planned to have another summer baby.
I had the same mild morning sickness I had with Ethan. I didn't like it, but it was doable. And just like textbook, it disappeared around 13 weeks.
Because I had preterm labor before 34 weeks with my last two kids, I was started on progesterone shots in the second trimester to keep the pregnancy going. It was the thickest stuff I have ever injected, and I had to do it to myself. For the first time, I felt bad for all of my victims/ patients I have ever had to give medicine to through their muscles. It was horrible, and I couldn't continue the injections to 37 weeks like I promised.
One night around 35 weeks, I had a difficult time breathing. I couldn't lay flat. I assumed I was getting sick with possibly pneumonia. I tried to go to bed on the recliner down stairs. Not only could I not breath, but it was the first time I was going to sleep away from my husband in my own house. I decided I needed to go to the ER. Grant stayed home with the kids, and I drove myself. In the ER, my heart rate was in the 180s. I couldn't breath because my body thought I was running a marathon.
I was never hospitalized with preterm labor with Herston, but at 35 weeks I was hospitalized for heart arrhythmias. The best guess for my supraventricular tachycardia was that due to my tilted uterus, Herston was laying on my vena cava (the large vein that carries de-oxygenated blood back to the heart for oxygen). My body was literally trying to fight back to get oxygen to all my important organs, including the baby. My heart rate would not improve with medication or position changes. Finally the doctor said, if you go into labor, we won't stop you, and I was sent home to anticipate the birth of my child.
At 36 weeks, at my magic time of 2-3am in the morning, I began having regular contractions. Excited and prepared, we made it OB triage. It was go time.
The epidural was amazing, and I anticipated another great deliver like Ethan.
Then the nurse walked into the room and put me on a full face oxygen mask. I knew that meant the baby's heart rate must be getting low, but I wasn't worried because I felt fine. Then I vaguely remember them saying we had to get the baby out now. I was able to deliver right then.
I heard counting. 1...2...3... that was how many times the cord was wrapped around his neck, and then they handed me my bruised baby. My mom and I were shocked and later took pictures. He had been nearly strangled to death, and he had the bruises around his neck to show for it.
He stopped breathing in my arms. That was the first time. "Can you take him he's purple?"
The nurse took the baby to the other side of the room to assess, weigh, and measure. 36 weeks. 6# 2oz. 20 inches.
They returned him to me because it was time to feed him. As soon as he started feeding, he gagged and stopped breathing for the second time. I initiated treatment and asked the nurse to take him because he temporarily stopped breathing again.
They finally decided to take him to the NICU for observation.
The nurse and the NP came to my post-partum room to give me the plan of care. Watch blood sugar levels, monitor his oxygen level, and give any extra oxygen as needed. They encouraged me to take a sleeping pill because he would be all mine in the morning.
I slept like a charm with no interruptions, and in the morning, I walked to the NICU to get my baby.
I couldn't find him.
The nurses must have noticed by increased anxiety and directed me to my baby... but that couldn't be him. He had tubes in his nose, tubes in his chest, and lines in his arms. No one had told me his condition had turned for the worst while I was sleeping.
He was given oxygen too fast and too hard, and it "popped" his lung. He had a pneumothorax and had a chest tube to equalize pressure in his chest again. I would never leave his bedside again.
I called Grant to come to the hospital, but I was too emotional to explain. When he came into the room, we didn't say anything. We didn't need to. He grabbed me, and we cried and hugged for what felt like an eternity. We knew this wasn't good.
The next days were long and hard. However, we counted each small victory. The day they took him off oxygen; the day they pulled out his chest tube; the day I was able to feed him again; the day he passed his carseat test; the day we were able to take him home.
We took our baby home with much trepidation... scared for what the future might hold.
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Sometimes I think I had a high heart rate because my body knew Herston was in distress. I can get comfort thinking that my high heart rate was actually getting Herston more oxygen.
We do recognize the blessing and miracle of delivering Herston at 36 weeks. I believe that if I would have carried him for one more day, we would have lost him.
There were additional miracles in Herston's life. I am grateful for a righteous husband always by our side, and for the priesthood blessings Herston has received.
The "brain damaged baby" that would surely have "mental retardation" is looking pretty good these days.
