Friday, April 19, 2013


It's so amazing how music can soothe a soul.  As I sit day after day, exhausted after walking around minimally, my soul is restless and looking for an outlet.
I'm angry.  I want to feel better.  I'm sick of being sick.  Almost every morning waking up and mentally readying my mind for the physical pain I am going to deal with because I can't take any painkillers that will interfere with some of the tests.  Wanting so badly to be healthy again that I am willing to endure the pain rather than delay the tests.  Holding on to my emotions with an iron fist.  Determined to get well.
Each night as the pain becomes unbearable, I turn on the music and sing along to music and try to lose myself.  I listen to the lyrics...

Ever worried that it might be ruinedAnd does it make you wanna cry?When you're out there doing what you're doingAre you just getting by?Tell me are you just getting by by by
Where there is desireThere is gonna be a flameWhere there is a flameSomeone's bound to get burnedBut just because it burnsDoesn't mean you're gonna dieYou gotta get up and try try tryYou gotta get up and try and try and tryYou gotta get up and try and try and try
(Try by Pink)
The days are flying by yet crawling.  I'm almost three weeks post-op and today was the first day that I cried.  I'm tired, bored and completely unable to focus.  I'm weak and scared that this is the new me.I want to be able to work.  I miss the mental aerobics.  I miss the purpose.  I miss the strength.  Every time I reach for a wall or rail to steady myself, I take a deep breathe to control the rage, sadness and fear that I feel.   
  You gotta get up and try and try and try
You gotta get up and try and try and try

I'm trying.

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Mommy's Miracles: A Defining Moment

Mommy's Miracles: A Defining Moment: November 2007- "Your uterus is under extreme stress.  It may hemorrhage.  We may not be able to save it.  You may not be able to have...

A Defining Moment

November 2007-

"Your uterus is under extreme stress.  It may hemorrhage.  We may not be able to save it.  You may not be able to have any more children.  I want you to understand what you are doing to your body.  I can't promise you that years later, you may lose your uterus because of the damage.  If we continue the pregnancy, it will be for the betterment of the girls but to the detriment of you.  They have a good chance of surviving at this point."

"Will they have issues?"

"The chance for developmental delays and lung issues are still a great risk."

"Then continue with the pregnancy.  Whatever is God's will, will be.  If I lose my uterus, it's worth it for their health."

December 2007-

"The girls are doing fantastically.  They are the first triplets in the hospital's history that did not need NICU.  Great job, Mom!  We were also able to save your uterus."

February 2009-

"You have a son.  You had a tough time there.  You lost a lot of blood.  We were able to keep your uterus but it was close."

January 2013-

"My heart hurts.  Oh my God.  Help me."

"Ma'am, your hemoglobin is dangerously low.  Are you bleeding?  Ma'am, we need to do a blood transfusion."

I stared at the doctor, baffled.  I didn't understand what he was saying.  He gave me a paper and I signed it.  I was quickly moved out of the ER hallway into a semi -private room.  Both arms had IVs.  The nurses were talking about side effects and allergic reaction.  I nodded without understanding.

The blood began to flow into me.  It was such an odd feeling-endorphins were pumping.  I felt high and my confusion started to abate.  I felt good.

Hours later, after blood tests confirmed that my levels were still too low, I began the next transfusion and listened to the nurse explain the risks and reactions again.  I sleepily nodded.  I felt the fullness of the blood.  I took a deep breathe and heard myself snore.  My hands began to twitch.  My feet began to twitch.  I felt my blood cells explode. My eyes instantly opened.  I focused on a nurse in front of me and let out a piercing wail, "Fred! Help!"

My body was contorting in pain.  I was rubbing whatever I could reach against the wall.  I felt insane.  I wanted to ram into the wall to knock myself out.  I started hearing a rasping noise, my breathing sounded funny.  My words were garbled.

"Can you breathe?"

Focusing with all my might, I looked into the nurse's eyes and shook my head no.  A mask was placed on my face before I passed out.

March 2013-

I felt blood gush out of my body.  I put my hand to my head to make sure that I didn't pass out.  I walked briskly to the bathroom.  I felt the blood pouring down my legs.  Something is very wrong.  My instinct was screaming to go to the hospital but I was afraid to stand up again.  I sat at my desk debating my next step.

I finally worked up the courage to go home.  I made it into the house before I passed out from exhaustion.  I was suddenly so tired.  No, I didn't want to go to the hospital, I just needed to rest.

Two hours later, doubled over in pain, I made my way to the ER.  Doctor after doctor checked my abdomen.  CAT Scans, X-rays, exams later...

"I'm sorry.  We know that you are in pain but we've ruled out all life threatening situations.  We're clearing you to go home."

"What am I supposed to do about the pain?  I can't live like this.  I can't stand up."

"Take some Ibuprophen."

I sat in the room and cried.

I went home and cried.

Two days later, I sat crying with my primary doctor.  I was at wit's end.  It was my birthday and I was so sad and in so much pain.  I told him about the exhaustion but things looked like they were getting better.  We talked about me going back to work.  I was relieved.

I slowly sat in the car service.  I didn't trust myself to drive anymore.  I arrived home and made it up to the second floor before the waves of pain started washing over me again.  I crawled up the last flight of stairs.  I laid on the bed and fell instantly asleep.   My husband woke me later so we could celebrate my birthday.  The kids were so excited.  I sat dazed on my favorite chair while my family sang the Happy Birthday song.  I smiled and hugged them all.  I was struggling to stand again so I sat and smiled until everyone was gone.  I looked at my husband and reached out my hand, "I need your help."  He walked me to the bathroom-the next room over and then walked me back to bed.  "Something is not right."

Twenty minutes later, I ran to the bathroom, slamming into walls to get there.  It was so bad.  I felt so weak.  The next two days continued in the same vain.

"I just need to get to Monday so I can go to the doctor again.  The hospital didn't know what was wrong."

"It's Dr. R.  I'm aware of what's going on.  You need to go back to the ER."

I hung up.  Grabbed my charger and kissed my husband good-bye.  I knew I wasn't going home quickly.

"I'm here because I feel my hemoglobin decreasing.  I'm getting symptomatic. Please check my levels."

Three hours later, two women were moved out of the OB rooms so that they could check more patients. A woman sits in the chair across from me, crying in pain.  "I was just getting comfortable, why did you move me?  I'm not well enough to be sitting up." My patience is thin.  I don't want to hear the bitching.  A resident comes to me and tells me to follow her.  I stand up and blood splashes on the floor. A woman grabs me as my legs give out.  A wheelchair brings me into the room I had been in earlier in the week.  I hear the same woman, scream.  "Oh my God!  That woman is dying in the chair in front of me!  I'm going to sue for mental anguish."

I'm struggling to keep my eyes open.  I need to go to sleep.

"Ma'am, you need to stand up.  I'm going to help you." A nurse slips an orange band on my arm.  I'm a fall risk. Blood splatters on the floor again.  I begin to fall forward.  Someone grabs me hard and lifts me on the table.  I turn and see 8 doctors staring at me.  They are pulling at my clothes.  I hear an alarm go off in my room.  STAT. OB room 43.  STAT. Rapid Response room 43.  I grab a nurse near me.  "What room is this?"  She looks at me with concern, "Room 43."

Another group of doctors walk in.  Everyone was talking over my head.

A paper was shoved in my hand.  A consent for blood transfusions.

"I had an allergic reaction!  I need benedryl."

A nurse added a second line.  "My name is Lou.  Don't go to sleep.  Talk to me."

"I'm so tired."

"Do you have children? How old are you? What's your name?"

"My name is Priscilla.  I'm 35.  My birthday was Friday.  I have four children."

I hear someone say, "At least, she already has children."

Lou asks me if I want any more children.  I quickly respond, "Yes.  I always wanted one more."

A doctor steps up to me, "We'll do what we can."

I fall asleep exhausted.

I wake up a while later and see a nurse camped out at my bedside.  I reach for my phone and text my husband to come to the hospital. It's never good when a nurse is assigned to sit with you.

I'm being admitted.  As the days pass and 4 more transfusions, numerous failed interventions. I wait for surgery.  This is the last hurrah before we have to proceed with a hysterectomy.

I smile at my doctor before I'm put to sleep.  "Let's do some damage!"

I wake up hours later.  The resident that I have nicknamed Spiderman, comes to talk to me.

"I'm sorry.  The surgery was a failure.  Your doctor will discuss the next steps with you."

Two days later, I sat at home in agony.  My whole body hurts from the surgery.  I slept most of the days away.  I saw my doctor a week post-op.  I wanted to go back to work.  I was so bored.

He did an exam and shook his head.  "I can't clear you to work. You need a hysterectomy as soon as possible."

I looked at my husband.  We knew we had to do it.  It was a matter of life or death.  My dream of having another child died in that office.

As I sit here, two days before the procedure,  I'm in so much pain that I feel relieved that it will be over soon.  And in the next breathe, I start to tear up.  I close my eyes and remember the way it felt to hold my newborns.  I remember the joy in my husband's face as he looked at his new children.

I look at my sleeping children and remember the doctors words, "I can't promise you that years later, you may lose your uterus..."

I made the right decision then and it's the right decision now.