This story makes me mad. I hope it makes you mad too.
I feel like I'm a product of the medical system. I wasn't born with Type 1 diabetes, Hashimoto's, and Celiac. These 3 autoimmune diseases developed when I was 8 years old, after I had been fully vaccinated. Due to my MTHFR gene mutation, I believe they are vaccine injuries. Now I'm trapped in the medical system, dependent on man-made pharma drugs - insulin and thyroid pills - in order to stay alive.
I also hate how these conditions force me to be labelled "high risk." I feel like this tries to steal my hope of having the birth I want. I don't like having to depend on the system in order to have a healthy baby. But I know another loss when we've suffered one is more than we want to endure. Especially since we were so close. So close to the end. So close to the beginning...
They wanted to admit me, saying I had pre-eclampsia (swelling, high BP, high protein, which oddly didn't register on my tests at home). I HATE hospitals so that was the last place I wanted to be.
They said policy required either a COVID test or wearing a mask 24/7. I told them I didn't want either. It made me mad that they made me choose - it felt like an ultimatum (test came back negative, which I learned a week later). I signed papers stating I refused an episiotomy, vacuum, and forceps (I crossed them out).
Sunday Night
5:35pm - Ultrasound could not pick up heartbeat. They said I had high blood pressure and protein in my urine - pre-eclampsia. We decided to stay the night. They moved us to a labor and delivery room shortly after.
7:49pm - 1 cm, 50% effaced. Baby was at -2 station. Chose COVID test over mask (only for me because I was being admitted. Hubby didn't have to do either but wore a mask when going in and out of the hospital - totally stupid).
9:25pm - Hooked up to magnesium IV and catheter; had natural contractions through the night.
Monday
9:45am - The doctor I was under told me that my natural contractions had gotten me to 2 cm.
10:10am - They broke my waters to get things moving. There was some blood in the amniotic fluid.
1:43pm - Pitocin increased intensity of contractions. Dr. agreed to keep it at the lowest dose needed. It was only increased once after starting.
3:12pm - The nurses helped me breathe through contractions as they got stronger and more frequent. They also gave me a cotton ball with lavender essential oil on it to help me relax. Hubby kept trying to get me fed, fearing that I wouldn't have enough energy for labor and birth. The nurses said I could only have popsicles and ice chips since they were smaller in volume than liquids. I still managed to drink the water from the melted ice chips throughout the day with no problems. Doula was not happy they wouldn't give me broth to drink. I had 3 popsicles with crappy ingredients.
4:15pm - I was at 7 cm, 90% effaced.
6:28pm - Contractions reached 8/10 intensity; slightly calmed down but sorta felt like pushing.
6:49pm - 8.5 cm
8:17pm - New nurse Sherry suggested stadol to help me sleep through the next 2 hours before pushing. She said it would make me sleepy, take the edge off, and then I'd have more energy to push once I reached 10 cm upon waking. She also said I'd need oxygen with it, but not before I consented to it. I ended up agreeing to it, even though I failed to take the time to look it up for myself. She didn't inform me that it was actually an opioid, which I was trying to avoid. I was given the dose and ended up jolting awake every now and then. Come to find out she had increased the pitocin by 2 without telling me, even though we weren't looking to do so. It caused my contractions to become unbearable and I asked for the doctor to confirm that we were still following the plan. We were informed that the doctor was busy with 2 other laboring moms and it would be a while before she could come. I had to have my husband tell nurse Sherry that it needed to be dropped back down to what it was as I was unable to handle the intensity. I couldn't sleep much; the stadol tried to wipe me out but I kept going in and out of sleep. We also informed her that we were not doing antibiotics, as it seemed she was missing a few pieces of our care plan and was following standard operating procedure.
8:48pm - I reached 10 cm. I started pushing on my back.
9:06pm - Baby's head was in position. I asked to be on hands and knees. Mom tied my hair back. Hubby gave me ice chips as I asked for them. My mouth was so dry.
10:13pm - They made me switch back to laying on my back with my legs in stirrups and holding hand grips because they were convinced that was the best position for getting baby out (since she kept going in and out while on my hands and knees and I couldn't seem to push hard enough to get her out). I hated it! I felt like I was on display for everyone to see. I'm a very private person and feel so violated.
I pushed with contractions, breathing in between. My mom and hubby counted while I pushed, trying to reach 10 each time. I got 2-3 pushes in per contraction, and my mom was a huge help in coaching me through them. Toward the end they claimed that baby was stuck and started prepping for an episiotomy. I told them right then and there, "No, I don't want that," and they told me baby wouldn't come out due to shoulder dystocia. Can a dead baby, who can't move or maneuver herself to help things along, really have shoulder dystocia? So they cut me against my TWICE-STATED desire to not be. At one point, they told me to look down - I did and there was her dark-haired head!
10:50pm - She was finally born. They wrapped her in a blanket and placed her on my chest. They prepped the cord for cutting and hubby cut it. I held her with DP standing next to me, and we admired her little face, fingers, and toes. The nurse confirmed she was a girl. She had a full head of dark hair. Some of her soft skull on top was indented. She had peeling on her face, hands, and feet. Her skin was bright red. She had my button nose.
The nurse stitched me up while we were holding her. Even with the lidocaine for numbing it still hurt. They all gave my stomach a few firm pushes to deliver the placenta, which I never felt or saw coming out. (I wish they had not done this and will make sure it doesn't happen again.) They whisked it off to the lab for pathology. After all that was done, they took her to be weighed and measured, then dressed her in a beautiful baby-sized dress made from a donated wedding gown. I held her some more and also gave DP a turn while Mom took pictures of her and us.
We started thinking of saving our original boy and girl names for children that would join our family in the future. The night before she was born, I saw a rainbow in my mind and felt God impressing the name Noah in case of a boy, since we were saving the gender reveal for birth. Even though we don't know the name of Noah's wife, He gave me a different name that was perfectly suited for our firstborn if she was a girl: Sarah.
I believe God will give us more babies in the future, because babies that come after a miscarriage or stillbirth are known as rainbow babies and it seemed as though God was reminding me of His covenant, His promise. DP agreed that he liked Sarah and, knowing that God had spoken to me in the past, felt that Sarah was the right choice for her. The issue then became coming up with her middle name. Should we keep the middle name Grace, or come up with a different one?
After some time with her, we let them take her and started getting settled for the night. A new nurse let DP sneak me a few pieces of deli turkey breast to get some protein in me. We slept off and on in the room until about 4 or 5 am, when they needed to move us to the room next door so another mom could take our spot. They monitored my blood pressure every half hour to make sure it was going down and my urine output to make sure it met their minimum. Everything was looking good.
Tuesday
We spent Tuesday resting. We slept off and on with me being on strict bedrest (catheter = no getting up). Around 11am (12 hours after giving birth), they removed the magnesium IV and catheter. Shortly after, my mom came back and DP ran home to take a shower and get some food. I had a nice long talk with her about all kinds of things. When DP returned, we discussed some preliminary funeral plans. Would the pathology report give us answers as to what caused her to pass? Or would we need an autopsy? Could we afford one? Would the hospital do one for us? We finally started getting some answers. The hospital would need her death to fall under certain criteria, and it didn't seem to. A private autopsy would cost $6,200. That put it way out of reach for us.
We opted to just hope the placenta pathology report would yield some answers, and we took whatever opinions we could get from the doctors. A partial placental abruption seemed possible due to some blood in the amniotic fluid when they broke my water. Pre-eclampsia (edema and high blood pressure). Diabetes. Who was to say for sure what caused her to pass?
Wednesday
DP prayed about her middle name and came across 1 Peter 5:10. After sharing the verse with me, we both agreed that her middle name would stay Grace. It would be something she could share with her sister Aurora. We told the staff so they could update their records.
After monitoring my BP all day and night to make sure it was improving, they discharged us at noon. It was so good to finally leave. I was told to come back in a week for a short follow up appointment to make sure my BP was still looking good.
In closing:
I obviously had some issues with nurse Sherry.
The pitocin increase and the episiotomy were my big ones. I also didn't like them stitching me up or the stomach pressing to deliver the placenta.
I hated having to choose between wearing a mask and the COVID test! I am the patient. Screw stupid, nonsense policies. No means no. I'm the boss!
I didn't like being stuck in bed with no way to move around. I didn't get to deliver in the position I wanted.
No food or energy through labor left me exhausted. I'd had less than 2 hours of sleep the night before.
Is shoulder dystocia a fair label to give a dead baby? It doesn't seem right to me.
Dr. Ballard and Dr. Thompson agreed to keep pitocin at the lowest dose needed.
This was not communicated to all of the nurses who cared for me, specifically nurse Sherry. I had wanted to avoid opioids and she did not give me informed consent about the fact that stadol is an opioid, nor was I told I would need oxygen before it was given. I was only told it would take the edge off and help me sleep. I ended up jolting awake every so often. Come to find out she had increased the pitocin by 2 without telling me, even though we weren't looking to do so. It caused my contractions to become unbearable and I asked for the doctor to confirm that we were still following the plan. We were informed that the doctor was busy with 2 other laboring moms and it would be a while before she could come. I had to have my husband tell nurse Sherry that it needed to be dropped back down to what it was as I was unable to handle the intensity.
I signed paperwork refusing an episiotomy, but toward the end of labor and pushing they started prepping for one. I told them right then and there, "No, I don't want that," but they cut me against my TWICE-STATED desire to not be.
The nurse stitched me up while we were holding our baby. Even with the lidocaine for numbing it still hurt. They all gave my stomach a few firm pushes to deliver the placenta, which I never felt or saw coming out. I wish they had not done this and will make sure it doesn't happen again. It felt very rude as I was not given any warning and was trying to hold my dead baby. Insensitive on their part.
I hated having to choose between wearing a mask and the COVID test! I had no symptoms and was not sick. Besides the fact that I am the patient. Screw stupid, nonsense policies. No means no. I'm the boss!
I didn't like being stuck in bed with no way to move around. I didn't get to deliver in the position I wanted. Nothing went the way I wanted. I did not feel heard, understood, or respected.
No food or energy through labor left me exhausted. I'd had less than 2 hours of sleep the night before. This was not right.
I hate hospitals and doctors because I have always been mistreated. It's because of the medical system that I have the 3 incurable autoimmune diseases that I have. I do not trust any doctor that follows the mainstream medical system and its teachings.
