I went back to work last week. I wasn’t excited about it, mostly because I greatly enjoyed the routine I was in while staying home. We found an excellent daycare provider for Robbie and we know that McKenna will adjust in due time.
The first week went by without a hitch. Kids were great, I was right back into the routine and before I knew it, it was Friday. When I arrived at daycare to kick off the weekend with my kids, Robbie was in Miss Gretchen’s arms, smiling at me as he normally does when he sees me or Rob. He looked happy, though a little tired. She told me that he had a great day for the most part, but there was “an incident”. She proceeded to tell me that a two and a half year old accidentally backed up and tripped over him, landing on him. She said Robbie got really mad, had a little blood from his lip, but stopped crying rather quickly. “He’ll be tougher for it. I’ve backed up and tripped over McKenna. It happens and he seems fine.” She proceeded to tell me yet again what an easy going boy he is. I agreed. We said our goodbyes and I put Robbie in the car. He chatted with me for a few minutes before he started to show signs of sleepiness. Before I knew it, he was fast asleep.
After 45 minutes, I got to McKenna’s school. It was quite dark outside because it was already 5:05. I got a spot right in front of the door to the room where McKenna has aftercare and McKenna came out, jumped in the car and we went home. She and I were talking as I picked up Robbie with him asleep on my shoulder and we went inside. I quickly placed him down while I ran into the bathroom. Once I finished my business, I went to go pick up Robbie. I looked down and there was blood everywhere! On his hands, his face, dribbling down his chin, all over his shirt, some on his jacket. He was a mess!
My shocked reaction was met with a smile, a bloody, twisted smile. “What happened to you?” was all I could muster up. Is something wrong with me? I thought. Why I am not in total panic like I was with McKenna? Am I so enamored with his big eyes and beautiful red hair that I’ve become complacent? I cleaned him up and tried to find where the blood was coming from. Definitely his mouth. Lower…no…upper…no…lower…no…upper. He doesn’t even have any teeth! What the heck happened? After about 20 minutes of blood pouring out, a good amount of which he swallowed, I called the Ms. Gretchen.
Me: Hi…it’s Shelley Moore, Robbie’s mom.
Gretchen: Oh, hi! How are you?
Me: (nervous laugh) Well, I can’t get Robbie to stop bleeding and I…
Gretchen: WHAT?! (no doubt picturing a lawsuit).
Me: Well, I’m just trying to find out, where exactly did this kid fall on him?
Gretchen: (stumbling) He just backed up…and landed on his face. I mean, he bled a little, but it was done in about five minutes!
Me: Well, I have him sucking on a wet washcloth. I think it’s coming from the upper part of his mouth but I can’t tell.
Gretchen: I couldn’t see anything either, but he stopped bleeding pretty quickly, so I didn’t investigate more.
Me: Okay…listen, he seems fine so don’t worry. I just wanted to see if maybe the kid landed on his stomach and he was spitting up blood.
Gretchen: No, it was definitely his face…oh my gosh…did you call his doctor? You should probably call.
We quickly said our goodbyes and I look down a Robbie swallowing some more blood. He LOVES blood! Oh my God…he’s Hannibal Lechter! I’ve given birth to a cannibal!!! I then quickly called the doctor’s office. After talking with the late night staff, we determined it was best to go to the hospital. I quickly clipped his nails (bad mommy) and off we went. Sort of…
McKenna: What about my dinner?
Me: If you were covered in blood and Robbie didn’t want to go with me to get you fixed up because he wanted dinner, how would you feel?
McKenna: (pause) But…what about my dinner?
Me: Here…
McKenna munched on tortilla chips all the way to hospital. Of course, by the time we got found a parking spot and physically got to the E.R., Robbie was once again covered in blood.
The security guard yelled for help, fellow E.R. patients offered up seats, and I just said, “Really, I think it’s worse than it looks.” Once everyone saw him smiling, with blood coming out, people relaxed. This includes the guy in triage who signed us in while speaking in a perfect Donald Duck voice. He got wide eyes from McKenna and blood gurgling giggles from Robbie. The doctors (yes, we had two of them!) saw us fairly quickly and informed us that Robbie had ripped open his frenulum, the little thing that hangs down from the upper gums in the mouth. The kid who fell on him probably started it, but because I hadn’t clipped his nails, he continued the damage every time he put his hands in his mouth. Bad mommy, indeed…
We were in and out of the hospital in less than two hours. I called back Ms. Gretchen, who had called for an update (and a little comfort which I provided), and McKenna and I finally had dinner at 9:00. Our usual Friday night movie was watching Barack Obama’s victory speech (her choice...she loves the line when he says his girls get a puppy). Thanks to the nail clippers, some antibiotics and time, he is fully recovered. As for me, well…I will enjoy a nice glass of chianti while waiting to have a friend for dinner.
Showing posts with label doctor's appointments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctor's appointments. Show all posts
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Robbie's Arrival: July 23, 2008!
THE RUN DOWN:
1) My dad called the night before the induction and sang, "The sun (son) will come out tomorrow/bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow/there'll be sun (son)...Just thinking about/tomorrow..." etc., etc.. I needed the laugh.
2) 5:30am: Drove through viscious storms to arrive at L&D at 6am.
3) 7am: 1cm dialated. Received pitocin.
4) 7:30: Still no pain but now at 4cm. Because things are progressing quickly, Doc orders epidural.
5) 7:50: Anesthesiologist begins epidural procedure. Due to excessive swelling (yes, even in my spine) he struggled.
6) 8:25: Epidural complete. To his credit, anesthesiologist states he's worried because I felt tingling too quickly.
7) 10am: No change in dilation. Disappointed.
8) 10:30: Doc breaks water to move things along. Doc chit chats with hubby telling him what a saint he is to be married to me. "No matter what wrong you do in your life, you're going to heaven because you're married to her. From the moment she walked into my office, she let me know who was in charge...and it wasn't me." Okay...maybe I've been too proactive.
9) 12:00pm or so: Six cm.
10) 1:30: Turn on Yankee game to help pass the time. Doc and hubby sit and watch the game.
11) 2:45: Doc tells me I'm fully dialated and asks if I can wait until the game is over before we begin pushing. He and hubby laugh and then proceed to sit down to watch the game.
12) 2:50: I ask Doc and hubby if I needed to turn off the TV to get the show on the road.
13) 2:53: Pushing began.
14) 3:06: Robbie arrives!
15) 3:15: I about vomit as I watch the doctor sew what seems to be a quilt down below. He later states it was "just a couple of stitches". So much for perineal massage.
16) 5:00: Spinal headache began do to epidural going "too far". The worst migraine I've ever had. Drugs didn't work, hydration didn't work. Was informed of a last ditch effort to relieve the pressure build up. Have to make decision whether I should "ride it out because it may go away in a week or so" or to do the procedure.
11) 35 hours after Robbie's arrival (1:30amThursday night/Friday morning): a different anesthesiologist and a nurse arrive to do what is called a blood patch. They withdrew 18CC's of my own blood, went back into my spine and injected me with blood to try to create a clot to stop the leakage. I seriously wouldn't wish a blood patch on my worst enemy. It really sucked.
12) Discharged Friday afternoon and I've arrived home to enjoy a family of four!
1) My dad called the night before the induction and sang, "The sun (son) will come out tomorrow/bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow/there'll be sun (son)...Just thinking about/tomorrow..." etc., etc.. I needed the laugh.
2) 5:30am: Drove through viscious storms to arrive at L&D at 6am.
3) 7am: 1cm dialated. Received pitocin.
4) 7:30: Still no pain but now at 4cm. Because things are progressing quickly, Doc orders epidural.
5) 7:50: Anesthesiologist begins epidural procedure. Due to excessive swelling (yes, even in my spine) he struggled.
6) 8:25: Epidural complete. To his credit, anesthesiologist states he's worried because I felt tingling too quickly.
7) 10am: No change in dilation. Disappointed.
8) 10:30: Doc breaks water to move things along. Doc chit chats with hubby telling him what a saint he is to be married to me. "No matter what wrong you do in your life, you're going to heaven because you're married to her. From the moment she walked into my office, she let me know who was in charge...and it wasn't me." Okay...maybe I've been too proactive.
9) 12:00pm or so: Six cm.
10) 1:30: Turn on Yankee game to help pass the time. Doc and hubby sit and watch the game.
11) 2:45: Doc tells me I'm fully dialated and asks if I can wait until the game is over before we begin pushing. He and hubby laugh and then proceed to sit down to watch the game.
12) 2:50: I ask Doc and hubby if I needed to turn off the TV to get the show on the road.
13) 2:53: Pushing began.
14) 3:06: Robbie arrives!
15) 3:15: I about vomit as I watch the doctor sew what seems to be a quilt down below. He later states it was "just a couple of stitches". So much for perineal massage.
16) 5:00: Spinal headache began do to epidural going "too far". The worst migraine I've ever had. Drugs didn't work, hydration didn't work. Was informed of a last ditch effort to relieve the pressure build up. Have to make decision whether I should "ride it out because it may go away in a week or so" or to do the procedure.
11) 35 hours after Robbie's arrival (1:30amThursday night/Friday morning): a different anesthesiologist and a nurse arrive to do what is called a blood patch. They withdrew 18CC's of my own blood, went back into my spine and injected me with blood to try to create a clot to stop the leakage. I seriously wouldn't wish a blood patch on my worst enemy. It really sucked.
12) Discharged Friday afternoon and I've arrived home to enjoy a family of four!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
My Fantasy Rant to OB/Gyn
Welcome to my blog. After some encouragement from friends, I've decided to begin publishing some of my thoughts and attitudes regarding my pregnancy. Considering I'm due anyday at this point, I guess it's a good way to pass the time. I'm completely over the whole "nesting" concept. Screw it...let my house look like crap.
This was written in my second trimester of pregnancy.
Doctor: How’s it going?
Me: How is it going? Well, it depends on how you are feeling today. If you are in the ‘I really can’t wait to listen to my patients today’ kind of mood, I’ll tell you. If you are in the ‘The weather’s getting warmer and I can’t wait to hit the links. Patients are such a pain in the ass’ kind of mood, I’ll tell you I’m fine. So which is it, doc?
Doc: (pause…pause) Tell me what’s going on.
Me: Well, sir, I’ll tell you. After lying in bed for eight hours, only four or five of which I was actually sleeping, I run to the bathroom hoping not to leak on the way. Once I’m done, I follow your orders and lie back down in bed to put on clean underwear and slip on my vulva supporter…you know, that sixty dollar not-covered-by-insurance contraption that’s basically a jock strap for women, which was no doubt created by a man because all it really does is chafe my inner thighs. The thing doesn’t prevent the blood flowing to varicosities whatsoever; it just rests there looking like a transvestite’s dream. At least they took the time to put decorative lace on the front so I can tell if it’s inside out or not. Once it’s tightly adjusted, I reach over and slap my husband for laughing and I painstakingly get out of bed. I get dressed, but only after I use the body adhesive glue you suggested to keep my compression stockings from falling down. Did I tell you that when I take them off it’s more painful than getting a Brazilian bikini wax, an act I can’t even imagine doing right now? Think about if you had chest hair removed, sir. I finish getting dressed, then I get my six year old ready for school, drop her off and drive 45 minutes to a job where I’m on my feet all day. With each step, the veins remind me that I’m going to be 40 this year. Not just the veins in the legs…I’m talking about the ones in my vulva. Quite frankly, sir, I feel like I have a pinched nerve in my pussy. Imagine if every step you took, every time you got up from a chair or every time you rolled over in bed, someone grabbed your testicles and twisted them. That’s what it feels like. Oh! And lately, that feeling has been entering the walls of my vagina. Not like, “Oh baby, that’s close to my G-spot,”…no. It’s more like “Holy crap, I want my epidural now!” By noon, my ankles have turned into cankles. I’ve taken off my wedding ring, because my fingers are beginning to swell and I don’t want them chopping it off. Lucky for me, I now get the “Oh, look at her. She’s pregnant and single,” look from strangers at Starbucks. Yes, Starbucks. I’m drinking caffeine. One small latte a day, that’s it. I need to, you see, because caffeine is my only vice left. Usually, I drink wine or masturbate, but with the pinched nerve in my pussy, masturbation is not exactly an option and I’d like to wait until my third trimester before I start kicking back some wine every night. Anyway, after I teach a bunch of 13-year olds all day, I race home to pick up my daughter because my husband just started his second straight season of coaching and he doesn’t get home until 8:30 or so. She and I go over homework, I make an attempt at dinner, and I have to remind her why I can’t chase her outside or play tag or baseball. She says, “Oh yeah…the pain in your poonie”. That’s what we call it. It’s Caribbean and it’s much better than ‘vagina’. Once she’s in bed, I lose some more skin cells by ripping off my stockings. I take off my jock strap and stare in wonder at my newly engorged breasts that are spilling out of my bra. I shower, since I’m not allowed to do it in the morning, per your orders. Oh! I once made the mistake of using my compact mirror to look at my vulva. It looks bruised…it’s no longer rosy pink. It’s purple. I then lie down in bed, stuff a small pillow underneath my lower back and sleep for an hour or two before I wake up to the pinching-pussy because I need to switch positions. Furthermore, every Friday I break into tears because I’m exhausted and quite frankly, sir, if I have to work until the end of June, I’ve estimated that I will have drunk about six bottles of wine, denied my husband sex for ten straight months and sue your ass for causing our divorce. So, that being said, may I please go on bedrest?
I did end up having a very similar conversation with my doc. He laughed to a professional level and our relationship has not been the same since.
This was written in my second trimester of pregnancy.
Doctor: How’s it going?
Me: How is it going? Well, it depends on how you are feeling today. If you are in the ‘I really can’t wait to listen to my patients today’ kind of mood, I’ll tell you. If you are in the ‘The weather’s getting warmer and I can’t wait to hit the links. Patients are such a pain in the ass’ kind of mood, I’ll tell you I’m fine. So which is it, doc?
Doc: (pause…pause) Tell me what’s going on.
Me: Well, sir, I’ll tell you. After lying in bed for eight hours, only four or five of which I was actually sleeping, I run to the bathroom hoping not to leak on the way. Once I’m done, I follow your orders and lie back down in bed to put on clean underwear and slip on my vulva supporter…you know, that sixty dollar not-covered-by-insurance contraption that’s basically a jock strap for women, which was no doubt created by a man because all it really does is chafe my inner thighs. The thing doesn’t prevent the blood flowing to varicosities whatsoever; it just rests there looking like a transvestite’s dream. At least they took the time to put decorative lace on the front so I can tell if it’s inside out or not. Once it’s tightly adjusted, I reach over and slap my husband for laughing and I painstakingly get out of bed. I get dressed, but only after I use the body adhesive glue you suggested to keep my compression stockings from falling down. Did I tell you that when I take them off it’s more painful than getting a Brazilian bikini wax, an act I can’t even imagine doing right now? Think about if you had chest hair removed, sir. I finish getting dressed, then I get my six year old ready for school, drop her off and drive 45 minutes to a job where I’m on my feet all day. With each step, the veins remind me that I’m going to be 40 this year. Not just the veins in the legs…I’m talking about the ones in my vulva. Quite frankly, sir, I feel like I have a pinched nerve in my pussy. Imagine if every step you took, every time you got up from a chair or every time you rolled over in bed, someone grabbed your testicles and twisted them. That’s what it feels like. Oh! And lately, that feeling has been entering the walls of my vagina. Not like, “Oh baby, that’s close to my G-spot,”…no. It’s more like “Holy crap, I want my epidural now!” By noon, my ankles have turned into cankles. I’ve taken off my wedding ring, because my fingers are beginning to swell and I don’t want them chopping it off. Lucky for me, I now get the “Oh, look at her. She’s pregnant and single,” look from strangers at Starbucks. Yes, Starbucks. I’m drinking caffeine. One small latte a day, that’s it. I need to, you see, because caffeine is my only vice left. Usually, I drink wine or masturbate, but with the pinched nerve in my pussy, masturbation is not exactly an option and I’d like to wait until my third trimester before I start kicking back some wine every night. Anyway, after I teach a bunch of 13-year olds all day, I race home to pick up my daughter because my husband just started his second straight season of coaching and he doesn’t get home until 8:30 or so. She and I go over homework, I make an attempt at dinner, and I have to remind her why I can’t chase her outside or play tag or baseball. She says, “Oh yeah…the pain in your poonie”. That’s what we call it. It’s Caribbean and it’s much better than ‘vagina’. Once she’s in bed, I lose some more skin cells by ripping off my stockings. I take off my jock strap and stare in wonder at my newly engorged breasts that are spilling out of my bra. I shower, since I’m not allowed to do it in the morning, per your orders. Oh! I once made the mistake of using my compact mirror to look at my vulva. It looks bruised…it’s no longer rosy pink. It’s purple. I then lie down in bed, stuff a small pillow underneath my lower back and sleep for an hour or two before I wake up to the pinching-pussy because I need to switch positions. Furthermore, every Friday I break into tears because I’m exhausted and quite frankly, sir, if I have to work until the end of June, I’ve estimated that I will have drunk about six bottles of wine, denied my husband sex for ten straight months and sue your ass for causing our divorce. So, that being said, may I please go on bedrest?
I did end up having a very similar conversation with my doc. He laughed to a professional level and our relationship has not been the same since.
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