Sunday, March 8, 2009

Why Me?

A few hours had passed since the Benadryl. I was relieved that my throat hadn't closed up, but still felt funny. The mag-sulfate, which was keeping me from going into labor, had been off for about three hours. The terbutaline pump, however, was also out because of my reaction. So, for the first time since December, my body was not receiving any medication to stop contractions. The doctor on call had coined me as "toxic" and said it was too risky to administer any more drugs to stop labor. The outlook was not good:

I was 26 weeks pregnant.
My doctor was out of town.
I was still alone.
And I STILL couldn't breathe.

I had paged my nurse four times at this point complaining about not being able to breathe. Each time, she listened to my chest and said "You're clear!" I didn't believe her anymore. I could hear myself wheezing and I felt like I was smothering. I was desperate and about to ask for a new nurse if she didn't help me this time around.

I paged her again.

This time I got a different result. I told her that I had tried to lay on my left side, my right side, my back, I sat up, I layed down, and I even stood up beside my bed to relieve any crowding of my lungs. AND I STILL CAN'T BREATHE! One last time, she brought her stethoscope over and listened to my chest. In her broken accent, she looked at me and said "Honey, your lungs are filling up with fluid! I must page your doctor right now!"

I was beginning to lose it.

She left my room for about five minutes and came back in with a look of panic. About this time, my mom had finally arrived. My mom came in as they were wheeling me out. Seeing that they were rushing me out of the room, she asked the nurse if I was in labor and why they were moving me so quickly? The nurse looked at her and said "Mom, we have to take the babies now if we are going to keep your daughter alive. And we have to go now!"

Alive?

The word pierced through every fiber of my body. Was it that bad? I went from a little pre-term labor to fighting for my life? Panic. Sadness. And even more heaviness. I remember saying this to God:

"So, this is how it's going to be? I am going to be one of those moms that die in childbirth and never get to see my babies alive? THIS is how it is going to end? My children, that YOU gave me, are going to have to have THIS story as their own? All this work to get them here and I will never know what it feels like to hold a child and call it my own? Why me?"

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