The One With The Intensive Care Unit, Part One

My hospital stay ended up being eight days - two before having the baby and the six after. I didn't necessarily want to go home and leave my baby, but I did miss my bed. I wasn't really able to eat much because, even though I was on a regular diet, I had to keep my blood pressure under control. If my levels went too high, I wasn't able to see the baby because it put too much stress on my body. 

Though I didn't have any symptoms throughout my pregnancy, I was diagnosed with very severe preeclampsia. The medical definition is high blood pressure, often with high protein levels and fluid retention. If it’s not treated, the organs will begin to fail and both the mother and baby are put in danger. Because my case got so severe, so quickly, Flynn had to be delivered as soon as possible. There are situations where the blood pressure can be kept down with medication and the baby can be brought to term, but mine was not one of them.

I learned that when you deliver a baby early, your body doesn’t realize that you aren’t pregnant anymore. This means that all of your hormones are still all over the place, and it also was the reason that my blood pressure could still not be kept under control, even while medicated. This was mostly frustrating because it didn’t matter if I was in a room full of twenty people or by myself, everything would skyrocket without any warning. The only reason I knew was because I was still hooked up to monitors and my blood pressure cuff went off every half hour. Without any warning, I couldn’t go see my baby that day.

I also was recovering from my c-section. The pain wasn’t as bad as I had thought it was going to be, but I tend to fear pain and anticipate the worst. I wasn’t able to sit or stand without help and had to use a wheelchair. I was on pain medication, but not the heavy stuff, just Motrin for the most part. I still wasn’t sleeping very well, but at least I was in a room with windows for the couple days following Flynn’s birth. I knew the difference between night and day again.

My fear was also dissipating. The baby was doing really well and was a little superhero at what had become one pound, fifteen ounces. I was able to hold his hand and touch him. They even did let me hold him, but he couldn’t be out for more than a few minutes at a time because when a baby is born early, they are unable to regulate their own body temperature, which is why they are kept in incubators. He was no longer than my forearm all stretched out and I could fit his head in the palm of my hand, but he was perfect. I didn’t even see all of the wires and tubes when I looked at him. I just saw all that I ever wanted in one tiny, little body.

Leaving the hospital on that eighth day was really difficult for me, both physically and emotionally. I went to go tell Flynn that mommy and daddy were going home, but that I would be back as soon as I could. It was going to be difficult to get back and forth because I couldn’t drive, but I did have tons of people that helped me get there. The only thing was that, at this point, the baby wasn’t allowed any visitors aside from us and I felt bad asking someone to drop me off, leave, and come back later or to wait for me while I sat and stared at him for hours. I cried through the NICU doors, down the elevator, while waiting for the car, driving to get my prescriptions, and then it got worse when we had to cross the bridge. I could see the hospital from certain spots. I pictured him all alone and crying and there was nothing I could do to help him. I was broken and I lost it. I also thought that listening to Adele was a good idea and it was most definitely not. I could hardly breathe. Leaving him was probably the most difficult thing that I’ve ever had to do. It was harder than anything I had to go through at this point put together and multiplied by a million.

Going to sleep that night was also difficult, but they did give me some medication to help. There were a lot of tears, but the feeling of home comforted me. My family and friends were no longer hospital visitors, but they were people who loved me and never let me be alone who could come and go on their own time. The NICU nurses were also very helpful; they sent us home with a direct phone number to call at any time to check on Flynn, which I took advantage of and used at least four times a day. It was exhausting going back and forth from our house to the hospital, even though it was just twenty minutes away it took a lot out of me. Plus, at this point, I was pumping breast milk, which was very difficult because my milk hadn’t quite come in yet. I was determined to bring Flynn what I could, but it wasn’t very much. Plus, I always had a headache.

I was on so many medications and I was so stressed that I just chalked my headache up to that. I ignored it. Pain medication took it away so that I was able to close my eyes and sleep. The baby wasn’t home, so I was taking full advantage of the medication that I was given. It was hard for me to live a life without him home, so I did what I needed to get some rest and not feel guilty. Plus, the headache wasn’t getting in the way of my daily routine because I didn’t have one; I was pretty much stuck at home unless I was at the hospital. It was, however, getting more difficult to hold my head up because the pain was right behind my eye and stretched down through my neck.

On February 28^th, it got really bad. During the day, I was having trouble distinguishing faces. It’s hard to explain, but I couldn’t recognize people. There were things that I could no longer remember, I was dizzy, and I couldn’t see properly. It passed though and I went to bed that night without even mentioning it. I thought that maybe I wasn’t getting quality sleep and was just tired and I hadn’t been eating much and figured I was just hungry. Around 1AM, my headache woke me up and I couldn’t see. I made my way to the bathroom and took a pain pill and sat down – no change. I hopped in the shower thinking that the hot water would help me because it was just a really bad migraine. Nothing. I woke up my husband and had him call the doctor on call. I thought it was maybe a reaction to the medication because I was taking so much (not more than I was prescribed, but a lot for a twenty-four year old without prior health issues). He told her that I was having trouble seeing and that I had a headache behind my right eye and it woke me up out of a deep sleep. She asked to speak to me and told me that I should head to the emergency room.

Five days after getting discharged, I headed back to Vassar. In my head though, it wasn’t a big deal. They were going to hook me up to an IV, give me some fluids and medication, and send me home. I checked in with the desk, sat down, and waited for my name to be called. After about a half an hour, it was. They brought me back to a room with florescent lights that hurt my eyes, took my vitals, and asked me some questions. From there, my memories become spotty. I remember them asking me about the baby and I asked if I could see him, they told me that I needed a CAT scan. They told me that it had to be with contrast, so I couldn’t pump/give the baby my milk for at least 24 hours. I vaguely recall telling my husband to call my parents because I didn’t feel well.

I have full memory of being in the CAT scan machine and the technician saying, “I have to call the neurosurgeon,” and definitely asking if they were going to shave my head. Let’s think back and I’ll remind you, I always cling on to what’s important. I will never, ever forget them telling me that I had a clot and a bleed in my brain – that I had a stroke and was being admitted to the ICU. And even on my happiest days, I think about when I was wheeled onto the ICU floor, hearing the yells and cries, being so afraid when they told me that I couldn’t have my family with me, and begging for my husband to stay because I was afraid that I was going to die alone and be lost among all the other patients who were screaming for help. The rest, I don’t remember. I just remember thinking that this was the end, that I was leaving my son without his mother, and that he would never know who I was and how much I loved him. The fear that had dissipated was back, and it was worse.

I heard a lot during this whole ordeal that my case was rare: healthy twenty-four year olds don’t have strokes, it’s not common to have a clot and a bleed at the same time, and it’s not likely that a person will survive it. But I did. People tell me all the time that I am very lucky, and I am. Not only did I survive it, my motor skills and coordination remained in tact and I never lost the ability to walk. If the clot and bleed were on my left side, I wouldn’t even be able to tell this story myself, but it was on my right. I am extremely fortunate, but I don’t feel it because I had to live through it. The anxiety and memories are with me every day.