Not How We Planned to Spend the Day

August 29, 2008 @ 4:34 pm | Filed under: Family Adventures

We had a bit of an adventure yesterday. Not the good kind. But before I go on, I’ll hasten to say that the baby is fine, and I’m okay, and all will be well.

Whew.

I seem to have contracted some kind of stomach bug or food poisoning. No one else in the family is sick (a good thing). I woke up early yesterday and the vomiting started right away, along with other kinds of g/i nastiness. When Scott got up and saw what kind of shape I was in, he called his office to say he’d be taking the day off. Which turned out to be a very good thing.

Jane had an early-morning orthodontist appointment scheduled. This was going to be a big day for her: she was supposed to get braces. Scott decided to take her himself since I clearly wasn’t up to it. He dropped the other three girls off at a friend’s house, as planned, and took Wonderboy with him. But: no braces after all: not this day. The orthodontist had decided, upon reviewing Jane’s X-rays, that a consult with an oral surgeon is necessary. Why this information couldn’t have been transmitted over the phone instead of requiring a long car ride and an hour and a half of my husband’s time is a mystery: but that’s a subject for another post.

At any rate, home came Scott, Jane, and Wonderboy about an hour ahead of schedule. This, too, turned out to be a good thing. I had spent their absence alternately lying on the bathroom floor and hovering over the toilet. I had put in a call to my OB to make sure this illness wasn’t putting the baby in any risk and was awaiting the promised callback.

It took two more phone calls before we finally got the doctor on the phone. By this point it was about noon. In addition to the g/i misery, I had begun having contractions. I was also having stomach cramps, but the contractions (which included the kind of burning lower-back pain I have only ever experienced during labor) were real and unmistakable, and they were coming every seven or eight minutes. I am only 22 weeks pregnant, so needless to say this was a bit alarming.

Also, by the time the doctor finally called, my hands and feet were tingling. Pins and needles. Very strange sensation.

The doctor did not believe they were contractions: stomach cramps, he insisted. Since I was having both, I knew the difference. He wasn’t buying it. Said colon cramping might feel similar to uterine contractions. Advised me to drink lots of fluids (I told him I couldn’t keep anything down, not even Gatorade) and get some rest, and said it would take at least twelve hours of throwing up before I got so dehydrated that it would be problematic. But, he added appeasingly, if you get scared enough, just head over to the hospital and check in at Labor and Delivery. Even if all I needed was hydration, I’d have to check in at L&D instead of the ER because I am past twenty weeks.

We didn’t wait anything like six more hours (I had at that point been throwing up for six already): between the contractions and the tingling extremities, Scott wanted me to get some i/v fluids right away. So we arranged for Rose, Bean, and Rilla to stay at the friend’s house for a while longer, dropped Jane and Wonderboy off at another friend’s house, and drove to the hospital.

By then things were getting kind of scary. The contractions were fierce and regular, the stomach cramps were brutal, the tingling had extended to my arms and legs, and—scariest of all—my fingers were contracted into claw-hands, and I couldn’t get them to stay open.

Scott told me later that I was somewhat incoherent during the car ride. All I remember is the pain, and not being able to open my hands.

He pulled up to the entrance of L&D and left me in the car while he ran in to ask for a wheelchair. My leg muscles were cramping too, by that point. I threw up into a bowl balanced precariously between my claw-hands. He came back with no wheelchair (none available) and helped me hobble into the lobby. Wicked contractions. Don’t much care to remember them.

The nurses took me into triage and first made sure that I wasn’t in labor. All good there: no dilation or anything. Baby’s heartbeat sounded great. They hooked me up to a monitor, and sure enough, I was having uterine contractions. The nurse even felt one with her hand on my belly. So: not in labor, but suffering from extreme dehydration or something else severe enough to cause muscular contractions all over my body including the place we don’t want contractions to occur for another 18 weeks. The nurse prepared to hang a bag of i/v fluid.

Just then, another nurse came into the room, or maybe she was a resident. She had just gotten off the phone with my OB. He said that since I was definitely not in labor, they needed to send me to the ER for hydration. He had said, and this new person relayed, that the claw-hands and everything else were probably caused by erratic breathing, and that I should remain calm.

I pointed out that any erratic breathing was because of the pain and the fact that I couldn’t straighten my fingers: not the other way around. In severe pain, you pant, you breathe funny. I hadn’t started hyperventilating and then developed muscle contractions. The contractions came first. I was trying to breathe slowly, but then another contraction would grip me.

At any rate, the verdict was that I needed to be taken to the ER. Also, I should be given some Tums. This will come into the story later, in an unimportant but mildly amusing way.

My nurse wanted to just get the i/v started first but she was told no, they would do that in the ER. They got me into a wheelchair and an aide took me on a fifteen-minute journey to another check-in desk. Scott was right behind her with my bag. Sitting in the chair, my contractions were even more intense. I had four of them on the way to the ER, and two more at check-in.

Before we got to the ER, while we were waiting for an elevator which Scott told me later turned out to be the wrong elevator, and we had to come back and find another one, I felt myself growing dizzy and lightheaded, as if I were going to pass out. I knew I need to get my head down and I would be all right. I leaned forward in the wheelchair, but the kindly aide thought I was slumping over from the pain, and she took my shoulders and pulled me back upright. The room swirled. I made myself as sideways as I could in the chair, and the dizziness subsided a little. Then another contraction hit, and that was all that existed in the universe.

“Your doctor says they aren’t contractions; they’re stomach cramps,” said the ER supervisor who was checking me in.

“He’s wrong,” I gritted out. “I’m having stomach cramps too. I have had—five children—and I know—what a contraction feels like!”

He typed “patients says she is in labor” into his computer. I saw it on the screen and said, “No, I’m not in labor. I am having contractions. I want you to make them stop.”

He made the change, which was the last thing I paid attention to before another contraction took over. After a while they got me into a curtained room, and a bed, and all the ER docs and nurses began to freak out because they thought I was in labor. “Why did they send her down here?? Do we have a delivery kit?”

“You don’t need one,” I said, or at least I think I did. “I’m not having the baby now. It’s too early. You have to make the contractions stop.”

Scott asked if we could get i/v fluids going immediately. There was some hesitation: they needed a doctor’s orders for that. I don’t remember things clearly from this period because by then the contractions were two or three minutes apart, and they were REAL, and all of a sudden my hand was on fire like it had been dipped in acid, and I was yelling “My hand is burning!” and no one seemed at all concerned about that, they were so busy tracking down the gosh-darn delivery kit. Finally Scott figured out what was wrong and murmured that it was okay, they were just taking my blood pressure (for the third time that day), and I understood through the fog of pain that the burning was just what happens when your tingling hand gets tinglier from the squeezing of the blood pressure cuff.

And then there was some blood-drawing for labs and a brief catheterization for urine, and by brief I mean an eternity of pain, and the ER doctor checked me again to confirm that I was not in active labor, cervix high and closed as it should be at 22 weeks, and they got the i/v running, beginning the hydration at last. I still couldn’t unclaw my hands.

“I bet you’re a natural childbirth person, aren’t you,” said the very nice tech who was doing a lot of the bustling in the room. I nodded: contraction: couldn’t speak. “I thought so. Your breathing is so good.”

Which made me realize I was doing my Bradley breathing techniques and that was probably the opposite of what I should be doing at that moment, because the Bradley method is all about relaxing into the contraction and letting the muscles pull your cervix open. So then I almost wanted to laugh, because panicky pain-breathing was wrong and calm breathe-through-it breathing was wrong, and holding my breath was wrong. I couldn’t do the math.

About halfway through the bag of fluids, word came that I was to be transferred back to Labor & Delivery. The ER was uncomfortable dealing with a pregnant woman who was having contractions. But they kept the i/v running, and that was the important thing.

The nice tech wheeled me back to L&D and they got me back into the same triage bed as before. “You again!” exclaimed the nurse.

Lots of chatter back and forth above my head. Scott was called away to deal with more paperwork. We learned later that three separate accounts had been opened for me: first L&D admission; ER admission; 2nd L&D admission. This would cause all sorts of confusion and delays before long.

I was on my second bag of i/v fluid. My hands were beginning to uncurl a little. It seemed to me the contractions were coming farther apart now: a very good thing. The baby’s heartbeat still sounded good. I was still dry-heaving occasionally but even that was less violent. Still a lot of pain, but getting better, I hoped.

Scott and I were left alone in the triage room for long stretches of time. Eventually my OB paid us a visit. Really dreadful stomach cramps, he commiserated, again pooh-poohing my insistence that there were also real contractions. The nurses believed me; the entire ER staff was in terror over them; but the doctor never did buy it. But, he said, clearly I was dehydrated and in pain too severe to let it go, and he ordered a medication to ease the effects of the stomach virus or food poisoning or whatever it was.

So that’s how they discovered that there were three separate accounts for my name, and since my bloodwork had been initiated by the ER, the lab results were stuck under a now-closed account. The L&D nurses had kept pulling up my file on the computer to see if my labs were back, and being surprised that it was taking so long, when in fact the labs had been sitting there for hours by this point: in another account.

When they finally figured it out, they were all somewhat dismayed to discover that my potassium level was low. Dangerously low, in fact.

Hey, guess what? This morning I looked up symptoms of low potassium. Muscle contractions, tingling extremeties, weakness. You don’t say!

Anyway. My OB was hastily consulted and equally hastily ordered a very large dose of high-concentration potassium. This was to run via i/v over the course of four hours. He also ordered: Gatorade, to be given immediately. I was throwing up less often, so everyone hoped I’d be able to keep it down.

It took about two hours for the Gatorade to arrive. It was a small bottle, the same kind you buy at 7-11. I laughed and wondered why we hadn’t just had Scott run down to the vending machine hours ago. At least then I could have picked out a tolerable flavor instead of the horrible red punch they brought me. Not that anyone expected the Gatorade to help with the low-potassium problem. It was just to test whether I could keep anything down yet.

Two hours, but still the Gatorade beat the potassium. These were very long hours with all the contracting and cramping continuing, though growing steadily less severe than they had been. I could tell the hydration was helping a great deal. But my nurse was worried about the potassium taking so long to show up. She’d been given the impression that it was urgent they bring my potassium level up immediately.

Finally she tracked it down: I think it had been sent to the ER.

The first bolus was hung and began to drip into my i/v. Suddenly a line of fire shot up my arm from elbow to shoulder. It felt like army ants were marching up the tunnel of my vein, chewing as they went. I was gasping and writhing, and the nurse said, “Oh, does it hurt?” and told me she’d never administered potassium at this concentration before, had never even heard of it being done, and maybe it was painful in that concentration. She connected a line of saline to the tubing, and after a while the army ants ceased their munching, and merely crept up the tunnel on pointy little feet.

But my contractions had completely stopped by now, and I didn’t care about much else. Baby was going to stay put. That’s why I’d come.

I said I didn’t care about much else; there was one other thing I cared about intensely and had been caring about for quite some time. I was freezing cold, shivering, even sometimes shaking from the cold. In the ER they had discovered that I had a fever. Back in L&D, my temp was 101. Not a high fever, but high enough. The nurse would not let me have a blanket. I begged for one, but she laughed indulgently as if I were a naughty child and said, “Not until that fever comes down!” I asked for some Tylenol, but the doctor hadn’t ordered any, so I couldn’t have any until they tracked him back down. I never did get anything for the fever, although I asked a couple of nurses. “Is there any chance the fever could harm the baby?” I asked, and my nurse said, “Oh, let’s check your temp again and see how you’re doing,” and stuck a thermometer in my mouth, and said merrily, “Look at that! You’re down to 99.7! If you hit 98.6 I’ll let you have a blanket!” and whisked out of the room before I could tell her I had just taken a drink of ice water (this was before the Gatorade arrived) and that’s probably why my oral temp was so much lower, so quickly. But she was gone, and then I had to lie there debating whether to make her understand about the fever so I could have some medicine for it, or whether to suck on some ice so that she would give me a rassafrassin’ blanket.

The first bag of potassium was hung around 6:30. Shift change was at seven. When my i/v beeped at 7:30, ready for the next bag of potassium, the nurse who came in was not assigned to me and therefore didn’t know I was on blanket restrictions, and when she saw me shivering she said, “Oh honey! Are you cold? Why didn’t you ask for a blanket?” and bustled out and came right back in with two blankets—warm ones, fresh from the blanket-warmer, the kind they give you in Labor and Delivery when you have actually had a baby instead of just being a pesky, dehydrated, potassium-depleted, ER-staff-terrifying stomach ailment patient. I snuggled down under my deliciously warm blankets and finally, finally began to feel human for the first time all day.

Scott had left around six to collect the children from our friends’ houses, but after he got them ready for bed, he arranged for yet another friend to come over and stay with them while he came back to see me. (And yes, we are exceedingly blessed in the friends department. I don’t know what we’d have done without them yesterday. I’ve also been given to understand that yet another friend is bringing dinner for the rest of my family tonight. I am still subsisting on a diet of Gatorade and chicken-and-stars soup.)

It was still up in the air as to whether I would get to go home last night or stay until morning. They had me on a 23-hour watch but said if my potassium levels came up high enough, I might get to go home. After 3 1/2 bags of potassium, a lab tech drew more blood. I think it was around 10:30, just after the last bag of potassium was finishing up, that we got the news that I was just barely over the line into the low end of acceptable, and if I wanted to go home, I could.

I did. I have spent more nights than I care to remember in hospitals, and one thing I know is that they are not a place for rest. The i/v beeping, the blood-pressure checks, the banging open of doors, the loud voices and bright lights in the halls. And after everything that happened yesterday, I needed rest. I needed my own bed, with blankets or not, at my discretion.

The nurse went to print up my discharge papers. She returned laughing, waving a tiny plastic-wrapped package of Tums.

“The doctor ordered these for you!”

Um, yes, eleven hours ago.

It was funny at the time, because Tums (or lack thereof) were the least of my concerns yesterday. Became somewhat less funny today, when I checked in with the doctor by phone, as ordered. Turned out he’d ordered those Tums right away because he thought a calcium deficiency was what was causing my hands to turn into claws.

His diagnosis had been wrong, which, as it turns out, is kind of a good thing. Because if I’d really needed that calcium to correct what was going wrong with me, eleven hours would have been an awful long time to go without treatment in such critical circumstances.

At any rate, I eventually got the fluids and potassium that my body was evidently in desperate need of. And I came home, and I’m doing much better, no more contractions, no more claw-hands. Still battling the original g/i unpleasantness, but have managed to keep some toast and Gatorade down. I have a killer headache and I feel achy all over as if I’d been hit by a truck. But I’m happy to be home with my family. I’m glad the baby is fine. I’m glad I can have whatever I need right away instead of hours later. I’m glad yesterday is over.

Scott wanted me to write it all down before I forgot it, so I did. And now I’m going to take another nap.

Whew.


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Comments

62 Responses | | Comments Feed

  1. Phew! What a crazy story! Thank God you and baby are ok. I hope you feel better soon.

  2. I’m so sorry you had such an awful day. But thank God the baby is okay and they you are doing better. Prayers going out to you!

  3. Whew is right!! And I hope to high heaven you’re shopping for a new OB, NOW!!! Hugs and all that sweetie, hang in there tonight and hoping you’re MUCH better tomorrow! Love,

  4. That sounds awful. I hope you are feeling better now. Eat more bananas. Keeps the potassium up (though maybe it was just dehydration that had it down).

  5. I’m glad that you started out with you and the baby are fine, because I would have been holding my breath throughout this otherwise.

    What a HORRID comedy of errors. I’m so glad that they figured it out eventually.

    I don’t know how much you like this doctor… but I would be wary of one that didn’t believe I was having contractions while dehydrated. I’m so thankful for you and your baby that it was fixable. Take it easy!

  6. I’m so glad you and the baby are all right. What a horrible series of missteps on the part of your OB and the hospital. Thank God everything was figured out in the end. Sending prayers for you, the baby, and your family.

  7. We’re praying for you and the baby. You just sleep.

  8. Thinking of you and wishing you the rest and TLC you need!

    ~Christina in MA

  9. Oh Lissa! Bless you, I am SO glad you are both OK. What an awful ordeal. I am praying for you sweetheart.

  10. Oh, how wretched! Hope you are back to normal as soon as can be.

  11. I am so glad you and the baby are ok. I think that it is horrible that you had to be shuttled around so much. I wish that Doctors would learn that they need to TRUST mother’s intuitions. That a mom knows way more than they do. Especially one who has had so many babies.

    Hugs to you!

  12. Oh my goodness! You sure did have to write that all right down because a week from now it would seem completely unbelievable! I’m so sorry you received such dreadful care and so glad you are still here and your sweet baby is still in there where baby belongs and that the Lord is kind and merciful!!! Deo Gratias!!! I hope you and your dear Scott can get some much deserved rest. What an ordeal.

  13. Wow! What a story you’ll have to tell your little one. When I was pregnant with my second child, about 24 weeks along (at Christmastime) I caught a nasty stomach virus that sent me into pre-term labor. (My doctor said it was very common–so I don’t know what your OB was thinking!!) The events weren’t as crazy as yours, but I remember feeling like I was going to die. And then–the stomach bug passed through our ENTIRE family. (My husband’s family and my side, too!) Our family members were passed out all over the house. We now call it the “Christmas we’d rather forget.”
    I’m glad everything is well with your tiny babe–the most important thing, of course! Feel well soon.

  14. My goodness, what an ordeal. I would be shopping for a new OB, although at 22 weeks, it will be harder to find one to take you on as a patient.
    Anyway, thank you for the warning at the beginning, praise God for blanket warmers and darn if things can’t be easier to get treatment!
    Take care, I hope you feel better soon.

  15. Oh my goodness! I’m so glad all is well and you’re home now — you’re right, hospitals are *not* restful places. Drink lots of water nd eat some bananas…

  16. I caught a horrible stomach virus with my 6th baby too, but I actually gave birth. We were early, but it all turned out okay. Don’t you just hate L & D triage? What kind of mean person thought to put laboring women in cold, stall-like rooms where you can hear all the personal information of all the other laboring women? Keep resting and drink lots of water. I hope you feel better soon.

  17. Oh my, you poor thing! I’m so sorry you received such terrible treatment, but thank God you and the baby are healthy.

    You know, as far as hospitals go you have rights. Lots of ’em. Should you have to spend the night in one in the future, know that you can tell the docs/nurses that you don’t want to be disturbed at night for bp checks and routine stuff. And insist on a blanket if you’re cold. You have amazing endurance – I think I would have lost my temper with those people! Bless you, Lissa!

  18. Oh my. I wanted to hug you and Scott and the kids and punch the doctor and a couple of nurses.

    Feel better soon1

  19. Oh no, how dreadful! I am so sorry you went through this and certainly pray you feel better very soon. Thank goodness you were reassured about your baby’s safety.

    ((Hugs))

    And I hope things work out pkay with Jane’s dental treatment.

  20. So glad that ordeal is over!!! We at IHM were praying up a storm. I agree with Meredith – time to find a new OB/GYN!!!

  21. I’m so glad that you and the little one are alright, but sorry that you had such an ordeal. I hope you’re feeling much better soon and that the rest of the family avoids the stomach bug.

  22. Oh, boy (or girl)! Glad to know that you’re home and the baby is doing fine. I’ll be in line behind Susan Taylor Brown, just in case they try to duck when she swings.

  23. Melissa,
    Wow! What an absolutely crazy and deficient hospital experience. I was a float nurse before staying home to HS our duaghter,, and there was so much wrong with that account that I cnnot even begin to list it all! I am just glad that their hari-brained antics didn’t huurt your baby. A Potassium I V dose often burns on the way in, BTW, and they could have hung it with a “chaser” of Normal Saline to dilute it a bit. But who could have expecte dthat they’d do THAT i they had already screwed up so many other things. The TUMS at the end had me howling and crying at the same time.
    I’m glad you are better.
    Forte

  24. Wow, that sounds like most of my experiences with military medicine. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that without the excuse of it being “free health care.” But most importantly, I’m glad you and baby are home and fine and I hope you continue to feel better.

  25. wowsers! I am so glad you are okay. BTW:I have been enjoying your blog as linked by Amy and Kim. 🙂

  26. What a nightmare! You poor thing! Glad you and baby are okay.
    I think I would be giving that OB a good kick and then a goodbye.
    I’ve experienced the “oh you’re just being a paranoid pregnant woman” treatment before and it is ridiculous! I spent an hour GUSHING water all over a hospital bed before some nurse finally chose to believe I was in labor.
    You deserve to have someone who will listen to you and take you seriously.

  27. Dear Lissa,

    We have all been keeping tabs via Alice Gunther’s reports on the IHMHomeschooling group and I’m so happy I’m in tears that you and your baby are okay. Wow, what an adventure (ordeal!). We’re so happy and grateful that you’re both safe and resting. Thanks to Alice for keeping us posted. God bless you and your hubby and little ones, especially the wee one inside.

  28. wow, it’s a blessing you and baby are ok. and you have friends to help with taking care of the other kids. hope you feel much better soon.

  29. I’m so glad you’re doing better, Lissa. Whew!

  30. Oh my goodness!!! So glad that you and baby are okay, but what an ordeal! I hope you send a copy of this to the hospital and your doctor.

  31. Oh my!! God bless you all as you recover. These hospital stories never cease to amaze me.

  32. I am so glad that you and the little one are home and safe. Please take care of yourself, and take it easy this weekend!

  33. Wow!
    I’m glad I was able to find your blog again to read that story. What an epic!
    I hope you feel better soon.

  34. I’m so sorry you went through all that, Lissa! Thank God baby is okay, and you soon will be,too.

    Nancy

  35. What an ordeal! Sorry you (and baby) had to go through that.

    I hope you are feeling better soon.

  36. Glad to hear that you and baby are now all right! What a nightmare! I’ll be keeping you in my prayers.

    And I’ll also be praying that you find a better OB soon…

  37. Oh MY GOSH!

    There was so much wrong with the care you recieved that my jaw is still on the floor!

    I’m so glad all is now well but seriously, you should also write to the hospital. I’ve worked in Risk and Governance (admitidly in the UK, in the National Health Service)
    And they all are in SERIOUS trouble!

  38. Glad you and the baby are okay. Hope you’re feeling better. 🙂

  39. I am so, so sorry you received such incompetent care! Thank god you and the baby are okay. I hope you are fully recovered asap.

    A new doctor? That one would scare me.

  40. PLEASE send me your doctor’s name and phone number so I can give him the tiny piece of my mind I still have left. What a goon. I’m so glad you’re okay. Wish I could give ya a hug.

    :* Mmmwah.

  41. Someone just told me that watermelon has more potassium than bananas… just for future reference! Sure hope you get lots of good rest and are feeling well again soon.

    And – I agree with the others, please find a new OB!

  42. So glad you and baby are okay and that your are home! We’ll keep you in our prayers.

  43. Ditto. I’m glad you are doing OK and wish you the best.

  44. Goodness me! What an ordeal! Good thing you and baby’s guardian angels were on the case…

  45. Whew. What a tale of incompetence (except on your part of course) – I’m glad everything turned out well, and I hope the rest of your pregnancy goes perfectly.

    Sending you all hugs!

  46. Ouch. Find a new OB. I HATE it when they won’t listen to you; after you’ve been through several pregnancies, you should know something about your own body and what it’s feeling.

    I’m thankful you’re all better. Are hospitals getting worse or what? I have had numerous bad experiences in hospitals in the past two years with various family members.

  47. I’m so sorry for you. Your experience in the ER mirrors EVERY experience I have had at the ER (at 3 different hospitals in 3 different states). I’m SO glad to hear that you are starting to feel better… Hugs from your loyal readers.

  48. So sorry you had to go through that, and so glad all is now well…

    I’ll be praying for a very uneventful rest of your pregnancy (and delivery too!)

    ((xxoo))

  49. Oh I’m so sorry! My father-in-law ended up in the ICU for 4 days this summer due to low potassium level. So not fun! We’ll be offering up lots of prayers and suffering for you this week. Thank heavens that sweet baby stayed put!

  50. Sigh. Thank God you are all okay! Here’s hoping your back to Suzy-Q’s real soon!

  51. Is there a free standing childbirth center in your area? When it became clear to me that my OB and I were living in two different and not-quite-parallel universes, I switched to midwife care and never looked back.

    Feel better!

  52. Oh.my.word.
    Enough medical mysteries, glad this is over and hope you find a new Dr ASAP!
    Just unreal Lissa!! So happy you and bbay 6 are healing properly!! (and out of incompetant Drs. hands)

  53. L – so glad to hear you’re doing much better. JSP II

  54. o my gosh Lissa…you are the model of patience…I would have been screeching at someone at some point…oh my.

    M~

  55. […] quiet blog must make it obvious I’m still taking it slow and easy after last week’s excitement. We’ve kept mostly to home, except for piano lessons. Our old high-tide mood is upon us, has […]

  56. I never did understand why they won’t give you a blanket when you have a fever. They say shivering makes your temperature go up higher. Why would you want that to happen?

  57. I’m so glad you and the baby are okay and so sorry you had to go through such an ordeal! I just want to shake that doctor and that hospital staff for you. I am actually worried about their apparent incompetence. Are you really fond of your doctor? I would be concerned by his refusal to believe you, but even more concerned about his inability to admit he was wrong in the face of all the evidence.

  58. […] in the way. I guess it had been a few weeks since I wore her—I haven’t been out much since the food poisoning nightmare. All of a sudden toddler-wearing is impossible. And because Wonderboy’s developmental […]

  59. […] start getting worried letters from kindhearted readers who want to make sure you aren’t back in the hospital or something. No worries; we are all well; I’ve just not been feeling very talky. Am spending […]

  60. […] I had a little hospital adventure. […]

  61. Lissa,
    I didn’t see this post when your originally posted it. I was on a blogging break back in August. 🙂 Your experience was horrifying and I’m so glad y’all are OK. My favorite OB in the whole wide world and the only one with whom I’ve had a true “Bradley Birth” moved home to San Diego after he delivered my second child. I would be happy to give you his name if you are ever interested in finding a new OB. He was so respectful, listened to me, trusted my instincts, and told the hospital staff to chill out and turn all those lights down when he came in for the delivery. Love him!

  62. Oh, and I first knew I loved him when he could put his hands on my belly and feel the orientation of the baby. He didn’t rely so much on the machines that he couldn’t trust his hands. It was nice.