So what in the world happened 3 weeks ago? It all began one Friday afternoon in late August, the 31st to be exact. It was then that I had scheduled my abdominal surgery, for with the new baby due on 9/30 I had to be ready and fit to take care of Richel and the new munchkin.
So the surgery was performed without incident (I assume - I don't remember anything after they wheeled me down the hallway). Waking up in the recovery room, though was quite amusing. I could hear and I was aware of what was going on around me; I just couldn't open my eyes or move very much.
"Am I in the delivery room?" I asked, half aware of what I was actually saying. My question was met with laughter as the nurses told me where I was - in the RECOVERY room. Oh yeah, that's what I meant. I was then wheeled back in to my room where Richel sat waiting for me. Understanding hit the nurses as they saw Richel, going on her 9th month of pregnancy.
"Ah, NOW we know why he thought he was in the delivery room. Mrs. Hume, he thought he was in the delivery room!" Alright, already. No need to beat a dead horse. Next, I thought they were going to start joking about my hairy legs.
We were given ample time for the effects of the anesthetic to wear off before the hospital discharged me. And they were quite gracious about it, too. As the nurse wheeled me out to the main entrance at about 11am for Richel to pick me up, I felt like the biggest invalid. I was quite surprised of how painful the surgery was and how debilitating the pain could be. I could barely move without causing some level of extreme discomfort. But that was okay, for Richel would be taking care of me until I could recover.
After we got home, I didn't do much. I went straight for the sofa and took a long interrupted nap for the next 7-8 hours or so. I was feeling a little better, but still being post-op without even taking any pain medications was rather uncomfortable. (Now, what kind of a nut doesn't take any meds post-op? Me. I guess it's all a matter of bull-headed pride. I have always been seen as the underdog, the lame duck that barely made it, the last guy who gets picked when dividing up teams for whatever team sport. But if I could get by after surgery without taking any pain meds short of Tylenol or Motrin, wouldn't that prove that I'm tough and strong enough? Dumb, but tough nonetheless.)
It all went wrong around midnight when I started developing a cough, which was excruiciatingly painful since I had just had abdominal surgery not even 24 hours ago. It was around that time that when Richel started having abdominal pains herself. Oh, it's probably nothing, she thought. It'll go away in a few minutes. I, on the other hand, was not as optimistic. With our luck or with my luck, I should say, Richel is probably going in to labor. I tried to be optimistic about it, though.
12:30am - Richel was still reeling from the pain. My worst fears were coming true: Richel was going in to labor right after I had surgery and I was helpless. I told her to start timing her pain episodes, and if they were less than 5 minutes apart for over an hour, then it was time to call her OB. And so she did, but she had waited 90 minutes and her pain did not subside.
"Call your OB," I told her.
"Oh, it's probably nothing. It'll get better by the morning," she replied in agony.
"Call your OB," I repeated. It wasn't a request. So she called and her OB told her to get to the hospital. Great. And HOW in the world are we to do that? I couldn't drive much less walk and Richel sure couldn't drive. Our friends who were close by were in Chicago, and it was 2am. Way too late to bother Kev. So we resorted to the last and dreaded alternative: a cab.
Now, I don't mean to bad mouth cabs at all. When it's 2am and you're stranded in the middle of some neighborhood you had no idea how you got to and you're drunk as a skunk and you can't find your car keys, cabs are awesome. IF they show up and if they take you to the right place.
So I took out the phone book, which believe it or not was actually painful to lift up, and called for a cab. 20 minutes later, still no cab. This is ridiculous! I called another cab company and at least they were able to arrive within 10 minutes or so. And we couldn't even rush out to the cab once he got there. Richel was still having considerable pain and that had slowed her down. But despite the fact that she was having labor pains and was walking on her own, unsupported and carrying her own luggage, she was still faster than I was. They cab driver and Richel were actually both sitting the cab waiting for me to hobble and limp down the walkway and get in to the cab. The cabbie must have thought, Sir, there is a pregnant woman about to give birth in my cab. Could you please hurry your sorry butt up? Easier said than done, pal.
So I finally got in and off we went. I prayed that the driver, knowing what was happening, wouldn't drive like a maniac so that he could get rid of us before we made a mess of his cab. I could feel every little bump and turn, and I'm sure Richel could as well.
2:30am - We arrived at the hospital and made our way in to the reception. And I must say the receptionist didn't appear very helpful at first. Richel was in no condition to walk all the way up to the L&D department and neither was I.
"Well, we have some wheelchairs here if you need to wheel her up, sir." Uh...you don't get it. I can barely walk and I'm not allowed to lift over 5 pounds. How am I going to push 135 pounds on a wheelchair? Forget it, if you don't want to call transport we don't need your help, we'll make it on our own as we have so far, I thought with digust.
"That's okay," I said, "we'll make it on our own. Let's go, Richel." And so down the long empty hallway we went like two wounded soldiers after a hard fought battle struggling to make it back behind friendly lines. As we limped along we heard a voice call out behind us,
"Excuse me, you guys need some help?" Unbelievable. There is a God. A transporter had come and was heading straight for us with a wheelchair.
"Thanks so much for your help. Please take her up to L&D," I said. The three of us started down the hallway, again, but it was apparent that I could not keep up.
"What about you, sir? Are you going to be alright?" asked the transporter.
"I'll be fine. Just take her and go. I'll meet you there. 3rd floor L&D in triage." And so away they went. Boy, what I'd give for a motorized wheelchair at this point. I continued down the hallway towards the East elevators, each step causing a sharp stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. Now I know what my pain patients go through, I thought. But half the time, they're walking better than I am right now. And I'm not even taking Advil, I've only used ice so far. My thoughts and concentration on walking were interrupted by the return of the transporter.
"I'm back here for you, sir," she said pleasantly.
"That's okay, I can make it on my own." Translation: I don't want to be wheeled in to the L&D department.
"No sir, your wife wanted to make sure you made it up there and so I'm here for you. She told me you just had surgery," she said. Well, okay. I'm not going to argue. So I got in the chair and away we went. As smooth as the hospital floors were, I could still feel every little bump and imperfection in the floors, and going in to the elevator was agony. By this time, my cough was getting slightly worse.
As they brought me in to the triage unit, the secretary couldn't help but look at me. Actually, I felt like everyone in the whole department was staring at me, a male holding his stomach in pain being wheeled in to the L&D department. What is this guy doing here? I thought about bowing my head low and so maybe I could slip by unnoticed. Fat chance in a hospital. So I just held my head up high and took it in the chops.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked the unit clerk.
"My wife is here. She was just wheeled up not 5 minutes ago."
"Oh yes! She's in #3. That's right around the corner."
"He just had sugery yesterday" explained the transporter. Geez, I'm sure Kev would be laughing his butt off right now if he were here. Although, in about a week I'll be looking back on this day and I'll probably be laughing, too.
I limped over to bed #3 in triage where I met Richel. The triage nurse came over and checked her.
"Oh, you're about 1-2cm dilated," said the nurse. Once again, my worst fears realized. With frequent and consistent contractions and cervical dilatation, the baby was coming. Maybe not within the next 2 hours or so, but he was coming and coming soon. "The doctor will be here in a few hours so you'll have a chance to talk with her then." A few hours? It was about 3am at this point. The nurses realising the wait time we had made Richel as comfortable as possible. As for me, I was destined to sleep in a hard plastic chair next to Richel's bed, coughing and hacking in the dry hospital air.
It seemed like an eternity passed with Richel moaning and groaning in pain, with me coughing and reeling from the after-effects, and both of us drifting in and out of a restless sleep. Finally, 6am rolled around and the OB arrived. She proceded to check Richel, again.
"You're about 3-4cm now. So you are progressing. I think we're going to have to admit you to the L&D ward." Okay, so at least they'll take good care of Richel. I just hoped they weren't going to admit me, too. That would be the ultimate embarassment.
So then we were wheeled (yes, both of us) over to the L&D department where they hooked up Richel and the baby to the monitors and I actually got to lie down on one of those covertable sofa beds. We were both having considerable pain, but at least we had a little more privacy, less noise, and more rest.
And so it continued on like this for hours. Both of us having pain spells, both restless, neither could sleep. At one point the doctor commented that she wasn't sure who the patient was, me or Richel. It was also during this time when there was a flurry of phone calls. My brothers called, Mom called, my friends called, all wondering how I was doing after surgery. I was doing okay but not as badly as Richel, who was in labor. With that information out, the calls kept coming from Mom, my sister, my friends, etc.
It was about 3pm or so when the OB finally came back in to do a reassessment. But this time she was 6-7cm dilated and 40% effaced. Great. At this time, there was no stopping it and we were past the point of no return. We were offerred ptocin to speed up the birth process and at this point in time, since it was inevitable that the baby was coming, we went for it. Why prolong the agony?
A few minutes later the anesthesiologist came in to give Richel her requested epidural. Normally, they didn't allow the husband to watch, but I explained to them that I myself was a physician, that I've seen many epidurals and nerve blocks in my time, and most importantly, I couldn't make it to the other side of the room since I was post-op day #1. Fair enough, I was allowed to stay. Thank goodness they didn't make me walk to the other side of the room. I had a pleasant chat with the anesthesiologist, he did his job, and was on his way. And Richel had instant relief. Hey doc, while you're at it can I have one, too?
Now that the baby was coming for sure, I needed some help. I had not eaten since the day before, I was in no condition to get to the cafeteria to buy food, I had no pain medications, and most importantly I had no camera! In dire need, I called up Kev and he didn't let me down. He showed up around 4:30pm or so with some snacks, a camera, and some Advil. He then went down to the cafeteria to get some food, and as my luck would have it they were serving tomato soup, my favourite. So Kevin stayed for about half an hour but then he had to go, which I could understand. He had his own things to take care of. I scarfed down the food, took some Advil (which worked great, by the way. Better than codeine or Vicodin without all the crappy side-effects), and rested a bit more.
Not even an hour later, the OB came back in and checked Richel. At this point she was fully dilated, 100% effaced, and was actually at station +1 or +2.
"Oh my, the baby is on his way. Let's get the team together." At about 6pm, everyone was assembled. Everyone was in the room, the OB, the nurse, the peds resident and a couple of the NICU nurses.
"Dad, why don't you come over here and help Mom hold her...oh, you've just had surgery? Okay, why don't you just relax and take it easy, then." I never felt more ineffective and derelict in my duties as a husband than at this point. But oh well, forget me. Let's concentrate on Richel.
So she pushed for 3 rounds and she did a great job before our baby boy came out at 6:13pm. But when he came out there was all this dark fluid that came out with him, something that I never remembered seeing during my OB/GYN rotations as a student. And his cry was someone weak.
"And what the heck is that?" asked the OB, referring to the dark fluid. They cleaned him and brought him over to the baby warmer where the peds resident checked him out. I stayed with Richel, not wanting for her to feel abandoned as I was already ineffective in my role during this whole birth process.
"Do you have a name for the baby?" asked the OB.
"Dryden," I answered, expecting the same blank stare I usually got in response to that question. But this time I was pleasantly surprised.
"Oh, like John Dryden, the English poet. Very nice." Thank the Gods! SOMEONE on this Earth knows who Dryden is! I liked this OB.
On a seperate note, however, things weren't going very well for our new son. Dryden had aspirated a fair amount of blood, and although the peds resident was able to suction a lot of it out, he was still tachypneic. I saw that he did have an increased respiratory rate, but I saw no intercostal retractions, no nasal flaring, no straining of neck muscles. I was told that his pulse ox was fine. But that was only my observation and I was by no means a peds expert. That being the case, he would have to go to the NICU, the one place that I prayed repeatedly that he would never end up in. So they allowed Richel a short time with him but then they took him away. We were told that we would be updated on his progress.
In the meantime, the OB proceeded to examine the placenta and sure enough, there were 2 places where it looked as though it had ruptured and bled out. That was what all that dark fluid was, old/venous blood. It was a good thing for Dryden that he came out when he did, as who knows how much more blood he would have swallowed or aspirated. And what if that old blood coagulated while in his lungs? He was actually a very lucky baby.
The room eventually cleared out and Richel and I were left alone once again, with our nurse coming in quietly every hour or so to check up on Richel. At this point, Richel was doing great. In fact, she was doing the best out of all 3 of us. After 3 hours or so, we asked the nurse for an update on Dryden but unfortunately, she didn't have any new news.
A little while later I received a phone call in the hospital room. It was the peds resident and she basically told me everything that they were doing and what was going on. Dryden had a chest x-ray done, which showed what they suspected to be either pneumonia or atelectasis or TTN (transient tachypnia of the newborn). He was still tachypneic and actually had a couple of episodes where his O2 sats dropped in to the 70's but came back up nicely. Boy, you better be a senior resident. Sadly, our son would not be able to join us in the recovery room that night. Which was probably for the better, as my cough did not improve.
