The ICU doctor finally gave us a diagnosis around dinnertime on Day 5: pulmonary edema. Pulmonary edema happens when your lungs fill with fluid. The doctors did not know why this was happening to me, but they knew how to treat it.
The doctors kept me on a continuous stream of oxygen and made me continue to wear the bipap machine at night. They also continued Lasix in my IV. The Lasix and bipap machine were meant to help push the liquid out of my lungs and replace it with fresh oxygen. It was working. I had to pee every hour or so. Since my fainting incident, I was forced to use a bed pan so I had to call a nurse's aide every hour to put me on and then help me off the bed pan, 5 minutes later.
At one point, Rob was walking downstairs to get something to eat and overheard the aide complaining about all the calls from Room 22. He didn't say anything, he just walked past the nurse's station and went downstairs. When he returned, he was really angry and planned on yelling at the aide. We never saw her again. It was pretty early in her shift and we assumed they saw Rob and moved her to a different ward. How lucky for her.
Early in the afternoon of Day 7, I was transferred out of ICU and back onto the 2700 wing. It was all business without the baby there...breathing treatments, blood pressure checks, plus the added excitement of having to measure ALL fluids going IN and OUT of my body. I had to record every ounce of liquid I drank and had to record every ounce leaving my body, whether through breast milk or peeing. I took my "Whizz Chart" very seriously. I have a degree in Chemistry, I knew I needed data to prove that more liquid was coming out of my body than was going in.
Throughout my entire hospital stay, I pumped breast milk and the nurses froze it for us. Every three hours, Rob would dutifully walk it down to the Nurse's station and have them put it with our other frozen milk. Each tube had a bar code on it that said "Baby Girl Yurga". I was determined that Lucy would get that milk. I was relentless. I pumped night and day.
Day 7 (post-op - Day 8 overall) was a long day. I thought I would be discharged for sure but learned very early in the day that I was not leaving for what might be a few more days. I was distraught. I cried. I pouted. I slept as much as I could. I answered questions with one word sentences. I refused to eat. (I am cheap to the core, so I ordered meals, but let Rob eat them). I was miserable and determined to make everyone around me miserable until they sent me home to my kids. I was a world class asshole.
I was such an asshole that I drove my husband to tears and he took the cell phone and called my friend, my mom and his sister and told them that we needed visitors. I was so depressed I couldn't even think straight - I was just torturing this man who had slept on a couch by my side for 8 days. His sister arrived first, happy to blow off work early and happier to yell at me to knock off my shit and start eating. I ended my hunger strike after about 14 hours and ate a late lunch with Rob and his sister.
I had an exercise Oxygen test, where I had to walk the halls at a very slow pace, without oxygen on and a tech followed me and wrote down my oxygen levels as I slowly walked the halls. I was triumphant when we made the complete circle that I had done it without oxygen, until the tech informed me he had turned it on about 5 minutes in because my numbers dropped severely. Not good news, but the tech informed me that some talk was going around that I might be eventually released with an oxygen tank.
Later that evening, our friend Kelly brought my mom, Abby and Lucy for a visit.
I think you can tell we all missed each other. My favorite picture ever. Thanks, Mom for capturing this moment. Thanks, Kellye for driving them to us. (Look at poor Rob - I think he was more tired than me at this point)
We visited as long as they could as it was a school night. Abby was thrilled to share my dinner (magically, I had ordered all of her favorite things - what luck!)
Overnight, I was hooked up to a machine that recorded my Oxygen levels as I slept. I heard the tech come in around 2 and turn the Oxygen back on. I thought I might never get out of there.
Day 9 - I was awoken bright and early by Lung Specialists who told me that I failed all of my tests during the previous day. But there was a chance I could be released if they were assured that I would wear Oxygen at home. I assured the doctor I would cooperate and be a golden patient and was happy that Rob was the only one who knew about my previous hunger strike.
The lung specialist released me.
The blood pressure doctor released me with a handful of prescriptions.
I was ready to go, as soon as my OB-GYN signed the papers. And no one could get him to answer a page. We sat for hours, staring at the TV. Suddenly, reports started coming in of a mass shooting only blocks away at Western Psychiatric Hospital. Rob got up and shut our door. I have a dear friend who worked there at the time, and I immediately got on Facebook and sent him a message inquiring if he was OK.
The happiest day for me, finally going home to be with my family, and 2 people were dead and 7 more injured just minutes away from us. I thought of how selfish I was, when 2 sets of parents wouldn't see their children again.
My OB finally showed up. He said "You know what - you told me 8 months ago that you didn't do pregnancy well. I should have believed you." I was released.
The oxygen was on order and being delivered and installed at our house before we got there.
We grabbed our bags, our frozen breast milk collection and headed home to our kids.
I was on oxygen for another month at home.
No one has ever been able to explain why I got the pulmonary edema.
And yes, our baby making days are over.
Feb 29th, 2012 -March 8th, 2012 or How it took me 9 months to have a baby, then 9 days to get home
Thanks for reading.
Sarah
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