When I had my son 4 years ago, it was by far the best (and scariest) experience of my life. It was the best for obvious reasons, but there were a couple of scary moments sprinkled in there.
I have PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) which is linked to diabetes – sort of a chicken and the egg deal … nobody knows which one causes the other. I was dx with it when I was 18 after never having cycles (maybe one or two a year) and have all the other classic symptoms. My dr put me on birth control and I was on it for years and years. When my hubby and I decided to expand our family it took a while but we finally got the good news in May 2007.
I pretty much sailed through my pregnancy. I only gained 17 lbs total. I was seen regularly by my endo, and I was seen by a cardiologist for the first time (not because I was diabetic, but because I was a “brittle” diabetic – meaning I’d had it for 17 years by that point.) And the best part was I saw a Perinatologist and got to have lots and lots of sonograms and heart beat sessions (where they put the band around my tummy, so I can hear his heart beat.)
On February 12, 2008, we welcomed our baby boy. He was perfect. He and I did it- we made it through with no complications. Almost. I had gone in that morning at 7:30 am to be induced. They started the IV drip and we waited. And waited. And waited some more. I never dilated past 2 cm, so the dr was called around 8:45 pm and made the decision to take him c-section. Before I knew it, my husband was sent out of the room to tell my family in the waiting room that I was going in for surgery. They started prepping me, and gave hubby his scrubs. Off we went into the OR.
At 9:06 pm, A was born. This was a Tuesday. I was still on my epidural and every four-ish hours the nurse would come in and ask me what my pain level was, on the scale of 1-10. I said 7 almost every time. I was nauseated from the meds, so they gave me Phenergan. And Percocet, and Percodan for the pain. And again, still had the epidural in my back. Around 4am Thursday morning, the nurse came in to check on me, and I did not respond. After several times of “Shannon? Shannon? Shannon?” my husband woke up from the uncomfortable couch he’d been
sleeping laying on.
My husband said it all happened very quickly, but apparently the nurse made a phone call and before he knew it, my room was full of emergency personnel. Their initial thought was my blood sugar must be low (but they never checked it?) so they forced orange juice down my throat. Then they tried to get an IV in my right hand (they had taken out the port the night beforer) and apparently I was fighting them even though I was unconscious.
What we found out later, was the group of people in the room were called the CAT team. Critical Assessment Team. It’s basically one representative from every major trauma unit, and the one person that stands there with a clipboard writing down what everyone is saying, so he/she can finally connect the dots. That person finally realized “She’s OD’d.” So by now they’d gotten the IV back in my hand (with a BIG a** needle I might add) and juiced me up with some Narcan (what they apparently give drug addicts when they’ve OD’d) and then someone in the room says, “Does anyone know how to turn off this insulin pump?”
I said, “I do.”
Then I hear, “She’s awake!”
They all turn to look at me and I of course am looking back at them thinking “What the what????” Why are there so many people in my room? Why are they all staring at me, looking so relieved? And why does this nurse have blood all over her??” (the one trying to put my IV in a few minutes earlier) Then I see my husband standing to the back of the group, as close as he was allowed, white as a sheet. My OB was standing there in her purple Tweety Bird night shirt, with sweats and her dr’s coat. I had no idea what had happened.
Then the violent shaking started. This is apparently what happens in detox.
They had to turn the heater on high (my poor hubby) and lay a thick foil type blanket over me to control the shaking. I wasn’t cold, but I felt like I was shaing to my bones/core. I kept asking where A was – I wanted him. But they told me he was sleeping in the nursery, and he was fine.
That was a scary day. I am so glad that it turned out okay. Looking back, my friends have told me that when they visited on Wednesday, I was out of it. I was falling asleep in the middle of conversations, etc. They just assumed I was tired from having a baby/surgery.
Maybe I should have said “4″ instead of “7″.
But in the end, we were all fine and had a beautiful, healthy baby to show for it.