“My Story… ” Monday: G — Getting Out of There

(You can catch up on G‘s story right here: A Third Baby, Fighting Panic, Connecticut to Oklahoma, You’ve Got the Job, The Birth Story, 95 Degrees, She struggles to breathe, I struggle to walk., The Liquid Diet, Not Enough Oxygen)

Things had gotten considerably better for me at the hospital where G. was born. My pain was managed. They were feeding me. My little daughter was nursing well. My older children had met their baby sister.

 

Now, the order of business was simply getting OUT of there.

 

A few things needed to happen before that could take place. First of all, they needed to get that blasted “pain patch” out of me. I had endured that leaky mess that accomplished nothing for three days, and I was more than done with it. Annoyingly enough, I had been told all along that I would need to wait for the specific lady who was monitoring this trial to remove it. Let me reiterate: I had never been asked if I wanted to participate in this trial, so I was rather ticked off that I had to go along with all these silly requirements when the whole thing went terribly wrong.

 

Perky blonde ponytail lady in bright blue scrubs came bopping in my room to remove the tubing. I don’t know if no one had told her what happened or if she needed to hear it from the horse’s mouth or what, but she gave me a bright smile and asked, “So what did you think? Isn’t this fantastic?”

 

She got a raised brow out of me. And, if I remember correctly, a muttered “not exactly.” The nurse hurriedly whispered a few things to her and she backed off. I had feared it would hurt to have the tubing pulled out of my skin but, I must admit, it did not. And I was so happy to be done with that.

 

They checked me out and I was cleared for discharge. My normally rock-steady low blood pressure had climbed, but it wasn’t worrisome yet, so they just told me to check it again in a few days. Now we just needed to G. cleared, as well.

 

G’s breathing was totally fine at this point. She didn’t need any O2 supplementation and the pulsox was gone. Bright-eyed and eating like a champ, our little girl– while indeed kind of little (5 1/2 pounds)– looked fantastic. The nurses suspected no issues in ¬†our getting out of there right away.

 

Until the on-call pediatrician made rounds that day.

Now, this is where it’s a little odd. My OB had privileges at a different hospital from where our pediatrician was. We lived in an itty bitty tiny town smack between two larger ones. We usually headed one way– for errands, doctors’ appointments, even the kids’ preschool. But, for my doctor and, thus, this delivery, we had gone the other way. As a result, no pediatricians from OUR office made rounds there. So we had to take what we got.

 

What we got was a woman who seemed extremely concerned about G’s jaundice. She examined her. She fretted. She ordered blood work. Finally, she agreed to discharge G, but only if we used a biliblanket with her. And got her blood checked the next day. And saw our own pediatrician.

 

Fine, sure, whatever. We agreed to it all and packed ourselves up lickety-split. I was more than ready to get home.

 

After all, I had to start packing. I was moving cross-country in less than two weeks…

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