Anna's surgery from my perspective

If you're here reading my post, then you've probably already read Anna's post about the ectopic pregnancy, her surgery, and recovery process. Anna told me that she found it very helpful to blog about what had happened, and she encouraged me to do the same. It's been a while since my last post, but I figure that this is an important enough event to start again. For not posting in a while, this is going to be long, so thanks for bearing with me.

To start, you may or may not know that Anna and I headed to the Pigeon Forge/Sevierville area of Tennessee this past weekend in order to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary a little early--it's actually in July of next year. We knew there was a good chance (when we booked the cabin rental) that we would have a new baby (or two--apparently) next summer. So we packed up the car, headed to Pigeon Forge, and we made it to our cabin after dark (Anna never got to see the view from the deck).

We'd been at the cabin for less than two hours when Anna started feeling pains in her stomach. Given the morning sickness she'd had with the twins thus far, we were concerned but not worried, because the pains were worse--and in a different location--than usual. I asked Anna if she wanted to call our OB, but she said she was feeling better, and we went to sleep.

Anna woke up around midnight, darting to the bathroom, calling out to me to ask where the light switch was. She barely made it (after getting the light on) before she threw up. Again, Anna told me that she was feeling better, and that the throwing up helped, but she needed me to go get her some Gas-X. We had passed a Walgreens on our way to the cabin, so I headed back there. It took me about twenty minutes to get back down to the drugstore, and then about ten minutes inside, because, being that it was about 12:30 in the morning, there was only one employee working, and it took her a while to get to the front when I was ready to check out.

Up until this point, I was thinking that Anna either had bad nausea from the twins, or she had picked up a stomach bug. I called Anna when I left Walgreens, and she said that her OB had told her she should go to the ER to get some fluids. My worst thought at the moment, was that we might have to take our weekend a little easy to let her get better. I headed back, and a few minutes later, Anna called me and said--barely audible over the phone--that we needed to call an ambulance. I was still ten minutes away; I didn't know where to tell a 911 operator where we were; I didn't remember the keycode for the front door of our cabin. I started to get very nervous, and I started to drive faster than I should have on the winding mountain roads.

I made it back to the cabin, and as I alluded to above, I struggled with the keycode. I started to freak out, and I had to calm myself down so that I could get my fingers to obey the numbers in my head. It finally clicked and unlocked the door, and I ran downstairs to the master bathroom. Anna was sitting, back against the wall, on the bathroom floor. Her cellphone was in her hand, her eyes were closed, she mumbled to me, and--this I will never forget--she was white as a sheet. I got 911 on the phone, and they GPS'd our location and had an ambulance on the way in almost no time.

The paramedics arrived about ten minutes later, and they came down to the bathroom. I think, based on the description given to them by the 911 operator, that they were pretty sure Anna was dehydrated before they actually saw her. As soon as he saw Anna, Andrew (we learned the paramedics names later, as they came to see us in the hospital, and are absolutely great guys) told me to go upstairs with Aaron and get the step chair that allows them to carry a patient up stairs easily. I think he asked me to go with Aaron because he didn't want me to see how concerned he was--I appreciate that now.

Andrew and Aaron got Anna loaded into the ambulance, and Aaron told me to keep up, as I would be following him to the hospital. In a day full of disconcerting events, following the ambulance through strange, mountainous terrain was one of the worst. If you've ever had to follow an ambulance that has your loved one in it, you'll understand what I mean. I could see Andrew working on Anna--but I couldn't hear anything he or she said, so I could only guess as to what they were saying, either good or bad. I wished for nothing more than to know what was going on--it was an incredibly helpless feeling. And, just as an FYI--I couldn't ride in the ambulance, because it wasn't yet considered a life threatening emergency, and we didn't know anyone in town who could come and get me from the hospital after the fact.

After what felt like an hour in the car (it was actually twenty minutes, mostly because of the roads in our cabin's subdivision) we made it to the hospital. I checked Anna in, and I was immediately whisked to the ER, where they gave me a seat next to her. She was in a bed, and she didn't look good--but she looked much better than she had when I last saw her. She had had a liter of fluid started via IV, and it helped to increase her blood pressure. This would not be long lasting--and if you want to keep score, Anna ended up having eight liters of fluid pumped into her by the time of the surgery.

The next couple of hours were what you would expect for a patient with abdominal pain and dehydration. The ER nurses and doctor gave Anna fluids; they gave her protonics (proton pump inhibitors, like Prilosec); they gave her anti-nausea meds--but nothing really worked. Her pain started to spread. I still wasn't too worried. The ER staff were very reassuring. "It's probably just food poisoning," "It's probably just a bug," they said. Yet, out of everything they threw at this, nothing worked. Her blood pressure would go up, and then it would drop again. I could tell by their faces that they were getting concerned as to why she wasn't completely responding. And that made them start to worry about the twins.

So on we went to get an ultrasound to look at Anna's gall bladder--nothing. Urine samples--nothing. Stool samples--nothing. Thoracic cavity x-ray--nothing. Ultrasound to look at the twins--something. Wiggling babies with great heart rates. And some free fluid. Normal stuff, the imaging tech said. But when we got back to the ER--they were still unsure why was her blood pressure dropping despite the fluids they kept giving her.

The nightshift ER doctor (Dr. H.) consulted the dayshift ER doctor who had come in early for Anna. They were worried, but not too worried. They called the surgeon on-call. They wanted to do an abdominal CT with contrast in order to determine what was wrong. They called the OB on-call. They wanted to be sure that anyone who could provide input on the safety of an abdominal CT would be able to.

The surgeon and the OB arrived, and this is when I knew things had taken a turn for the worse. Anna was shivering (we found out later because she was going into shock due to blood loss), she was wracked with pain that shot up her right arm. Her abdomen could barely be touched by the doctors due to the intense pain. The surgeon clearly stated that there was no time for contrast (it would take thirty minutes), they would do an emergency CT scan--now. The emergency CT scan was discomforting enough by itself, but as we left the ER, I noticed how many people came with us. Anna was being wheeled by our ER nurse who was accompanied by our OB, our Surgeon, our two ER doctors, and two imaging techs. You don't draw that kind of attention if you're due for a routine exam. I knew something was seriously wrong.

Due to regulations--I couldn't go into the CT room with Anna. Dot--one of the imaging techs was my proxy--she held Anna's hand when I couldn't. I had to sit in the hall and wait for them to finish. And while I sat there, I heard Dr. P.--our surgeon--talking on his phone. This is not verbatim, but he said: "I don't care that [the surgical team] isn't on tonight. Tell them to get here now." This was said in a tone of voice that I can only describe as gravely serious. I started to cry, but I knew I had to hold it together for Anna. As we walked back to the ER (jogged is more like it), I asked Dr. B.--the dayshift ER doctor--if Anna was going to be okay. I'll never forget this. He couldn't say "Oh, sure. She'll be fine." He had to say "Sir, we're going to do everything we can." I'd never thought words could knock the wind out of me--I was wrong.

Within minutes, we were back in the ER, and after having a chance to review the CT scans, we were being told by Dr. A.--our wonderful OB doctor--that there was blood in Anna's abdomen, and a lot of it. And they didn't know where it was coming from. They knew that they had to operate in order to determine the source of the bleeding. They told me from the start that this would not be a laprascopic surgery--she would have a major scar. What they thought--however--was that the bleeding was related to Anna's reproductive system. The doctors suspected that there was an ectopic pregnancy that had burst.

Dr. A. explained to us that Anna could lose a fallopian tube, an ovary (or ovaries), or her entire uterus depending on the extent of the damage. Again, I tried to hold it together for Anna. But the dominant thought running through my mind was: "Are we going to lose both twins, and then any chance of having any more children of our own?" Anna took the news in stride (I continue to be amazed at the peace the Lord gave her), and she communicated with me in the way that husbands and wives do--with looks and touch. She never said a word, but the way she held my hand said "I'm going to be okay."

Dr. P. was making it abuntantly clear that we didn't have time to waste, and it was time to get Anna to the pre-op room. Almost like running into a brick wall, the concept that Anna was dying slammed into my mind. I wanted to see and hold Addie. I wanted to take the pain from Anna and make her better. I wanted to protect the twins. But I couldn't do anything. It was the most helpless I've ever felt in my life.

As the surgical team prepared Anna for surgery, I sat next to her, choking down sobs so that I could try to be strong for her. Dr. A. rubbed my back, and I knew she was praying for us. Will--our ER nurse--told me I had to drink something because I hadn't had anything in hours, and I had to get some energy be there for Anna. I've heard the expression that something can taste like ashes in your mouth. I experienced that first hand.

The last thing we did, before I was taken to the OR waiting room, was to remove Anna's jewelry. I wished more than anything that I could let her wear her wedding ring. Everything else, I was willing to hold, but I wanted her to know that I was with her in surgery. But I knew she couldn't keep any jewelry--and I know that our bond is much stronger than a ring--but it broke me to take the physical manifestation of our wedding vows from her finger and put it in a personal effects bag.

An OR nurse walked me to the waiting room, where I sat by myself, as the room was empty. I called Anna's mother and her two best friends to get them to pray and let them know that Anna was in surgery. When I hung up with Anna's mother, I looked to see if anyone had called or sent a text to Anna's phone, and I saw Addie's picture (as her wallpaper). I wanted my wife to see her little girl again, and I broke down. I sobbed--pretty much uncontrollably--for several minutes. I missed Addie so much--I would have given anything to hold her at that moment. I wish that I was as ready with scripture as Anna was, but since I wasn't, I simply prayed for strength for Anna, and strength for our twins. And I remembered the psalms. "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou art with me."

After about half an hour, an OR nurse came into the waiting room. I sprung up as if the waiting room door was attached to my chair. She told me that there had been a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, and that we had lost that baby in the course of the surgeons stopping the bleeding. She also told me Anna's vitals were holding steady. I was stunned. At the time, I thought we had lost one of our twins. I started to cry again--and I consoled myself with the fact that we still had one. I called Anna's mother and her two best friends. I asked them to continue to pray.

After about another half an hour, Dr. A. came into the waiting room with a smile of relief on her face. She sat next to me and told me that Anna was okay. A wave of exhaustion came over me as I released a huge amount of pent up stress. But there was still the matter of the ectopic pregnancy. Dr. A. started to explain that there was no damage to the uterus. There was no damage to the ovaries. She even drew me a picture to show me what had been done--I needed it because I was so tired, I didn't understand that Anna had only lost some of her left fallopian tube until Dr. A. drew it out for me. I was thankful that Anna was mostly intact. "But here's the thing," Dr. A. said. And, I don't know how, but I knew before she said it. The ectopic was our third baby. The twins could still be there.

My exhaustion turned into absolute, directed energy. I started making phone calls, and I started people praying for Anna and the twins--but now that they would still be healthy after the surgery, and that Anna would recover as fast as possible. That's about where my story ends and Anna's continues. She tells her part better than me. But I appreciate you reading this, because it was important for me to write it.

The emotions are still raw--I've had tears come to my eyes several times while writing. I've yet to really comprehend the fact that I found out about a baby and lost it at the same time. I've been in survival mode over the last five days, and I don't think it's set in how close I was to losing Anna and the twins. Forgive my rambling and my inclusion of too many details. But I want to keep this, for myself, for Anna, for Addie, and for the twins. I want it to be a testament to God's power and His ability to work through the most broken of vessels. I would have never made it through this with Him, working through the staff at the hospital, our tremendous family and friends, our church, and the countless others who have prayed for us based on blog viewings and Facebook statuses. Thanks to you all. You'll never know how instrumental you were to me and my family. God has worked through you in a powerful way, and I hope you never forget that. Thanks.

A BrickBreaker's lament

As I mentioned in a recent post, my old phone died not too long ago, so I picked up a Blackberry Curve. So far, I've been pretty pleased with it. It's not too different from my previous phone, so it hasn't taken me too long to get familiar with the phone. So, besides the occasional inadvertent sending of what could be construed as a threatening picture to a local energy conglomerate, the only other thing worth mentioning about the Curve is BrickBreaker.

BrickBreaker, if you're unfamiliar with Blackberrys, is a simple game that comes included with the phone's software. It's a pretty standard break-the-bricks-using-a-ball-that-you-hit-with-a-paddle game; except for the fact that it is akin to crack in its addictiveness. I first played it when I found it on my phone while I was exploring all of the features--nothing special, I thought. Then I tried it again, then again, and soon I was playing at many a random moment. It hasn't interrupted my normal/business life (although apocryphal stories online say that it has for some people)--It's not like I'm ignoring Addie to break some bricks--but I can't help but wonder: What am I gaining from this?

I can't figure out why I play this stupid game, but it's just so easy to get pulled in when you have a moment. What's even more galling about BrickBreaker, is that I'm terrible at it. I've yet to break the ten-thousand point mark, which I originally thought was okay...until I saw the high scores online. My best effort, I surmise, would put me someplace between a person who's been dared to sit on his hands and play with his tongue and a would-be psychic who is trying to play solely with her mind. I'm that bad. I just hope that BrickBreaker isn't some Last Starfighter-esque test to determine who is worthy to fight the alien hordes that are plotting for galactic domination using cleverly placed bricks that can only be destroyed by paddle-jockeys who have nothing to lose. If that's the case, we are definitely in trouble.

Then why--I ask again--do I keep playing? Maybe BrickBreaker, and all of the other cell phone time-wasting games are the real plot by the aforementioned brick afficionado aliens. Maybe said aliens are trying to lull us into submission through the use of mindless mobile games. Well, it's time for revolt. Give up your BrickBreaker, your Solitaire, your Tetris, your Pac-Man! Join the resistance, lest our society be dismantled brick by brick (so to speak).

The beach!

Well this past weekend, Anna and I packed up the car and headed for Gulf Shores and the beach to visit Anna's father. And when I say packed up the car, I mean the Beverly Hillbillies would have thought that we went a little overboard on the packing. Somehow we managed to get two suitcases, the pack-n-play, Addie's toy bag, a full beach bag, both laptops with all the cables, a full-sized wagon, the jogging stroller, a large cooler, Miles the diabetic cat and her litterbox, and--somehow--our child. Anna pretty much hit the nail on the head when she said that had we not had a carseat permanently in place, Addie would have had to ride on top like Granny.

Despite the fact that we could have filled an over-size U-haul with all of our stuff, we made it to Gulf Shores early Friday afternoon. Anna, who is normally quite laid back about our travels out of town, was quite geared up for the beach. We basically got inside her father's condo, changed our clothes (I'm abbreviating here--have you ever tried to get an infant ready for the beach? It only takes like three or four hours.), and made our way outside. Well, then the fun begins. We loaded up Addie's brand new Radio Flyer wagon with more beach stuff then you could possibly imagine (including Addie herself)...no harm there, as it rolled pretty easily. But then we reached the sand--oh the sand, bane of my existence!--and the wagon went from easily rollable and not that bulky to I-have-to-drag-it-over-the-sand-like-it's-a-wheeless-dune-buggy heavy. After what felt like hours, we finally got Addie down to the beach.

And boy, did Addie love the beach. She hated the surf and the waves, but she loved the sand. The second we sat down, she took off--crawling all over the place--and she didn't stop for hours. She pretty much didn't slow down at all the whole first day. By the time we got back to the condo, she had bright red patches on her knees from all the crawling, and as far as Anna and I can tell, Addie ate her weight in sand. So it was a good weekend for us. I think it was equal parts relaxing and stressful as Addie would go from extremely happy and sand-eating to incredibly agitated and weepy (but still sand-eating). But I guess those are the breaks of the beach--sand is a fickle foodstuff.

Etiquette at the gym (a.k.a. farts-a-plenty)

I've recently started a new workout program that has me doing cardio intervals three times a week. I prefer to use the elliptical machine at the local YMCA because it's low impact, and I hate running. I could write a missive about how dumb I think running is, but at least you get somewhere. I recognize that the elliptical machine is dumber, as you are fake running without actually getting anywhere--so I'll leave that one alone so that I don't get angry glares from people who get a runner's high (which I'm convinced isn't real, but an El Dorado-esque motivational tool--but again, I'll leave that be).

Anyways, I missed going to the gym this morning because Addie slept poorly last night, so I went this afternoon after I got home from work. I don't know if you've ever done intervals, but they're pretty intense. They get your heart rate up, and I definitely start sucking wind toward the end of the minute-long "on" periods that I do. Well, you know what makes intervals harder? When someone farts nearby. Don't get me wrong--sometimes it happens, and I'm willing to forgive the occasional mishap. But these were terrible, I-can't-breathe, sentient farts--it's like they were trying to punish me for having a sense of smell. I mean, there I am, trying my best to huff and puff through my workout, when all of the sudden it's like I'm trying to breathe through a surgical mask that's been hanging out in Addie's diaper pail. It was that bad.

What stinks (awesome pun alert!), is that it's impossible to know who's taking care of business--so to speak. And what's worse, people could be assuming it's you. For instance, I noticed the woman on the machine next to me start to glance around her shortly after the first "incident." The problem is, was it a "I can't believe the guy next to me is farting" look, or was it "I hope nobody knows that it's me that's farting right now" look? You know that look because we've all been there--looking around to see if we've gotten away with the crime. Thankfully, I finished up my workout shortly thereafter, so I didn't have to keep fake-running through a cloud of ick. I guess the advantage of running would be that I could have run away; so that's one in your column running--just don't count me as a convert

The Dentist

No, Addie's not quite ready to go to her first dentist appointment yet. Today was Anna's and my turn to have our gums stabbed repeatedly...er, I mean, have our teeth cleaned. We've started scheduling our dentist appointments back-to-back as it allows us both to get our appointments out of the way, while the other keeps Addie in the lobby. Normally, you would think this post would be about Addie's lobby freakout; however, she was great today. We brought plenty of toys, which kept her happily occupied. I'm glad that I was able to distract her, because the dentist had the Disney Channel playing on their "kids area" TV.

I don't know if you've watched the Disney Channel lately, but when did Disney go from light-hearted cartoons to targeting pre-teens with soap opera facsimilies that are somehow dumber and more poorly acted (and that's saying something)? I don't really think Addie cares much about what's on TV right now, and for that I'm glad. Anna and I walked in toward the end of an episode of some show (although it might have been a movie) where some girl was apparently trying to be queen of some sort of dance, or something. Nothing too far afield there--that could practically be Teen Wolf. But here's where things get weird, that same girl trying to be queen or whatnot, was apparently being advised by herself, as a separate character--meaning there were two of her on the screen at once. Therefore, I am led to believe that this poor girl is either a) mentally ill or b) pursued by a devious doppelganger who is making constant mischief in her life. Why would I want to subject my child to such horrors? Why can't we just watch Sleeping Beauty or The Rescuers?

Fortunately, I didn't have too much time to think about why that Disney show ended with the girl--now doppelganger-free--dropping a host of "Save the Whales" flyers on her fellow dance goers (it really was that weird...if I saw this late at night I would have sworn I dreamed it) because I got called back for my appointment. And who doesn't love a good dentist appointment? Seriously, does anyone not absoultely hate going to the dentist--does anyone leave the office thinking, "now that was refreshing?" Because there I am, laying on a chair while my hygenist is--as far as I can tell--trying to drill for oil in my gums, all the while asking me the most unrelated, random questions possible. It was like she had a Wheel of Fortune wheel in her head that had a subject of conversation on each slice...."Internet security," to "rural Montgomery," to "my mother won't take her medicine" all in the span of two minutes, with me being unable to reply as I'm face deep in dental instruments.

At least my appointment came out clean. No cavities, and not another appointment for six months. And if you're anything like me, as soon as you leave the dentist with a clean bill of health it's like you got a stay of execution from the Governor. So, now I don't need to brush for at least three months....I'm kidding, I probably won't go for more than two weeks.

A little cheerleader?

I was watching Addie this afternoon, and as we were sitting on the floor, playing with her Little People Noah's Ark, I had the TV news on in the background. Nothing unusual there, as Anna and I typically try to catch the local news. First, to stay informed, and second to be incredibly entertained for all of the wrong reasons. Local news in Montgomery is a study in nigh-continual, unintended hilarity. At least once every two weeks, our local news will devote an entire telecast to discussing how to prepare for severe weather. Not because there is severe weather in the area, but because there MAY be severe weather in the future. I don't mind prepping for the unforeseeable, but Montgomery news outlets revel in chicken-littleism to the highest degree--and there are only so many times you can be told not to stand near windows during a storm. And it's not just the weather that's great about the news--it's also the bungled headlines (my favorite is "Humane Skeleton Found"), anchors who believe their reading of health department scores will change the world, and frequent misuse of the term irony.

All that is awesome about the news aside, that's not what brings me to today's blog entry. While Addie and I were playing, I heard our local weatherman announce that he was on the road in Tallassee (a town shortly outside of Montgomery). So--intrigued by the weather being read from the sprawling metropolis of Tallassee, Alabama--I started watching the news. As soon as the weather was done, our local weatherman introduced the Tallassee High School cheerleaders, who did a cheer for the benefit of the viewing audience. As soon as those peppy teenagers started in with "Go...Big...Purple," clapping all the while, Addie turned to the TV, completely entranced. She stared at the cheerleaders, slack-jawed, completely hypnotized by the upbeat cheering on of the Tallassee Tigers (but, go big purple?...seriously?). "Uh oh," I thought. Perhaps I have a little cheerleader in the making.

As soon as the cheer was done--and the cheerleaders did their requisite wooing, jumping, clapping, and other general merry-making--Addie clapped for a second, lost interest in the news, and went back to playing. But I'm concerned the cheerleading seed has been planted. What's going to happen next? Will Addie become a cheerleader? Will the local news freak out about upcoming weather and interrupt every TV show I like to watch in order to describe a particularly menacing cloud? Will said weather freakouts be, in some way, ironic? Stayed tuned to future blog entries to find out.

Squirrel bits

Rather than try to explain away my multi-month absence from blogging, I thought I would just go about things like I've never been gone. It's kind of like the time between seasons of a television series. What was many months for you was only days for your favorite characters. It's the same--but different. So, last season on Blogsted...Paul had a six-month-old daughter. Now she's 13 months old. There, you're caught up.

So, today while I'm at work, I got a lovely picture message from Anna. She hasn't ever sent me a picture message before, so I was quite intrigued. Well, the picture that graced my Blackberry screen was that of a recently deceased squirrel laying on our front porch. Unfortunately (for the squirrel) it was only a head, tail, and feet. No legs--just feet. It appears that Fuzz, our most savvy, hunting-prone cat, perpetrated this crime against tree-dwelling rodents. Don't get me wrong--there is no love lost between myself and squirrels, but you have to feel bad for any animal that gets partially devoured by a house cat.

So, I'm looking at the picture in disgust, and then I try to reply to Anna. Well, the Blackberry that I mentioned above is new to me, as my previous phone recently died. Normally, with my Blackberry, I would press the track ball, roll to "Reply" and click the track ball again. However--and if you have a Blackberry, you will recognize this--I accidentally scrolled to "Forward" and pressed the button. The "Forward" button took me to my address book, and as I was flustered by my misunderstanding Blackberry functionality, I somehow forwared the picture of our newly dead rodent friend to Alabama Power (the first entry in my phonebook). I haven't heard yet what they thought of the picture...but Alabama Power has raised their rates recently, so I would imagine they've received worse.

Well, that's not quite the end of the story. I get home, and Anna informs me that she has left the dead squirrel for me to clean up. No big deal--I decided that I would take care of it after a few minutes. That was before I accidentally stepped in the recently thrown-up, partially digested squirrel parts that Fuzz had deposited on our foyer rug (at least I was wearing shoes). I wish Fuzz was smart enough to know that squirrel is rough on the digestive system. I also wish that the throw-up bug didn't spread to Addie, who just threw up in her bed tonight. At least Addie didn't throw up any squirrels.