Nummies 911

Where Have I Been???

Well, it was a crazy summer with all the kiddos together.  It was great   fun, until, on the last event, a trip to Myrtle Beach, I got very sick. It wasn't until we were on our way home, that I decided the pain was severe enough to stop at an ER. We stopped at McCleod Memorial in Florence, SC.

After admission, they found my abdomen (below my diaphragm) was full of air, meaning that there was a break somewhere in my digestive system. I was sent for a CT scan and scheduled for surgery, only to find out that the CT scan showed no obvious breaks.  The contrast didn't leak out anywhere.  Thank goodness I had the best surgeon I've ever met since my gastric bypass surgeon. He was patient enough to wait and every day something weird would happen, I'd spike a temp, or drop 3 points in my hemoglobin, things like that. Still he wanted to wait, and so did I. We kept waiting until finally after five days a barium swallow showed no leakages. I was allowed to eat and once I did fine with that, I was released.  It has been assumed that most probable cause was an ulcer in my post gastric surgery stomach that was probably thinning the lining and finally allowed a break during an episode of throwing up (which I did just previous to going to the ER.) Both the hospitalist and surgeon have told me my likely survival would have been dim had I not gotten to the hospital when I did.

Now you guys know I'm a nurse and my sister is a Medical Tech, and we don't make the best of patients.  But these guys, the staff at McCleod were absolutely the best I've ever seen.  At one point I was taking morphine every two hours and even on a busy day, at shift change or the middle of the night, I NEVER had to wait. The doctors worked together and never entered the room empty handed when it came to test results and plans for action. The nurses and docs never balked at our questions or suggestions and if they disagreed, they politely explained why and we understood their reasoning. The surgeon even went so far as to contact my gastric bypass doctor in North Carolina. On my day of discharge, I leisurely ate my small breakfast and we joked that maybe we would be out of there by noon or 1pm, knowing how busy things are.  I was released about 10am and that was mainly because WE were not ready. So all and all, if you have to get sick on the road, Florence, South Carolina is a very good place to do it. Their customer service rivals that of Disney. I even got a follow up call from the nursing staff a few days after my discharge. Not the doctor, but the head of nursing staff for the floor on which I stayed.  She said, "Call us anytime if we can help or answer a question for you.  We hope you are feeling well." 

Thank you McCleod, for some of the finest medical care I could ask for. Thank you Lisa and Dean for coming to sit with me when it was still early and I didn't have a clue what was going on. Thank you for taking my three children to Fayetteville. Thank you Liz and Kevin for taking care of Camille while I was in the hospital despite the challenges you had going on that week. Thank you Stacy and Amanda for driving way to far just to be with me in the hospital and making me laugh when I had abdominal pain (thank goodness for the morphine.) Thank you for driving me to pick up Camille and driving me home.  And lastly thank you Anna, for believing me when I said I needed help and for taking care of everything else that needed attention while I was away. And for everyone else who kept in touch via text and calls, thank you for your concerns, thoughts, and prayers. 

I'm still recovering and you know my impatient self is frustrated with that. But it will come, it will. I just need to believe and spend this time healing. I need to learn to accept the help, and it has come in so many forms, from so many people that I'm sure I would leave someone out if I tried to name them all, but you know who you are and believe me, I think of your kindness almost daily now. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

 

 

Operating on the Kitchen Island

Disclaimer: This story contains medical details that may be overly graphic for some readers. I am long past the shock factor, so I can no longer tell what might be too much. Read at your own risk.

It's always something, isn't it. Anna left Wednesday on a business trip to Florida.  Her dog, Chloe, is never happy when she's gone, and subsequently, there is always a good chance of drama.  She was only outside for about an hour when she came back in and settled in her bed without so much as a sideways glance in my direction. About 30 minutes later, I pass by and notice she has a two inch gash on her side.

Now it's 8pm and of course the vet is closed. The cut is long, but not bleeding and upon further inspection it is only the skin. These little greyhounds have skin that just splits open at the least little nick. It looks as if she got it caught on something like a nail and it ripped downward a couple of inches. It closes up perfectly and the wound is clean.  So the wheels start to turn quickly in my head and I go next door to my neighbor who assists an oral surgeon on mostly pediatric cases. I ask her if she would help me hold the dog, if I stitched up the wound. I really expected her to decline, but she never even paused to consider it, she just said sure and grabbed some gloves she had.

So we set up on the kitchen island because it was high with good light and as my neighbor, Jessica said, it was as cold as an OR.  I numbed the site with lidocaine and waited for it to set up. We cleaned the wound and then I stitched her up. It looked great!

However, as I was cleaning up, I started to think that she should probably be on some antibiotics. All I had was amoxicillin and I was thinking that she might need something a little more. So I decided to take her to the vet the next morning.

I steeled myself as the vet walked in the room. I was prepared for a tongue lashing about stitching up my own dog on the kitchen island.

"Before I show you, I want to let you know I stitched it up myself. I'm a nurse."

"OK," he said.

After looking at it, he said, "What do you want me to do? It looks good."

"I was thinking antibiotics."

"Sure," he said and sent the tech out to get them.

He asked, "She (the dog) let you do this?"

"Yes"

"That's the hardest part, not getting bit. Really the stitching is simple."

"Well, I was thinking of bringing her in, but ..."

"You did a very good job, I wouldn't bring her in if you can do it yourself."

"Thank you for not admonishing me about this."

He just laughed. I reminded him that not all doctors would feel that way. He nodded in agreement. 

So in the end...

MONEY SAVED: $hundreds

VET VISIT    : $80

Smile from a vet (and a great story to tell): PRICELESS

Oh, and don't forget, a healthy dog, which is the best of all!

 

Fill Me Up

There are days that drain you and days that fill you. The other day at work I had a fill day.

There was a woman who was thought to be in preterm labor. If the estimates were correct, she would deliver a baby that would most likely require a stay in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for weeks. While the nurses and doctors prepared, I was in the unique and rare position of being able to give all my time to this patient. She was young and scared and very tired. This was her first baby and she really didn't tell anyone she was pregnant until just a few weeks ago.

I was a doula for about six years, so I jumped into that mode and helped her breathe, move and cope with her labor. She had not slept the night before. She kept her eyes closed most of the time. She kept saying she had no idea it would be this hard.
"None of us do," I told her.

As I helped her and felt her baby moving around and down lower and lower, the thoughts of a premature baby seemed further away. This baby seemed more like a near term, if not full term baby.

She labored harder and harder, moving and groaning, and then finally she said, "I CAN'T do this!" Music to my ears! When a woman is laboring naturally, and she says this, it is almost certain that she is in transition and is about to start pushing. I checked her and I could feel the baby's head low, and what I thought to be a ton of thick hair. I encouraged her. I told her soon she would hold her baby and see that thick head of hair.

She was so strong.  As the team of nurses and doctors filed in the room for the delivery I was separated from her as I assumed my position at the infant warmer, but I could hear her grunts as she delivered her baby, which turned out to be over seven pounds and full term, with the thickest set of curls on top of his head.

After she and the baby were cleaned up from the delivery and all the staff had left the room, I leaned down close to her. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. I lightly touched her shoulder and whispered, "You did it."

Without even opening her eyes, she smiled the biggest smile I'd ever seen. That one smile, from her very soul reached far into mine. I continued to tell her that she had just done the hardest thing ever and now she could feel confident in her ability to handle whatever life threw her. "You are strong, and now you know it."

I handed her the baby. With her eyes still closed, she pulled the baby's face to nuzzle into her neck and gentle held and rubbed the baby's hand. At that moment, they were beautiful beyond belief.

I may have helped her, but she helped me far more.

Birth Philosophy

Charlotte is a stray cat that Molly brought home a few weeks ago. I, of course, do not need another living thing in this house, so I kicked her out at least five or six times, but she always found her way back.

After a couple of weeks of this, I realized she was pregnant. So we became Charlotte’s foster home. The last time I had a pregnant cat I was 8 or 9 years old, so I did some reading.
•    Cats can become pregnant as young as 4-6 months old.
•    Cats can become pregnant as soon as 48 hours after giving birth.
•    Cats are very needy and moody when they are pregnant.
Sound familiar? (By the way, a six-month-old cat is the equivalent of a 10-12 year old human.)

I’ve learned some other things along the way.

Turns out there is an old technique in birthing kittens that if the mother does not lick the kitten to stimulate it to breathe, you can “gently” swing the kitten downward between your legs to force out the fluid and clear the airway. WHAT!?! Seriously, that sounds as barbaric as some of the things we do to women in labor and delivery. Science only gets us so far. Doing things the way they’ve always been done, will get you all the way to crazy.

One information source made the declaration: There are no consistently safe and effective ways of inducing labor in a feline. Amen to that, and ditto for women! If only THAT was printed on every little thing a pregnant woman receives from her clinic, than maybe, just maybe, it would have sunk in by the time she reaches 36 weeks. I’m gleaning a little from the next lesson.

My kids have forgotten everything I’ve ever taught them about birth and babies. Being a childbirth educator, doula and finally nurse, I have always talked plainly and truthfully to my children about sex and birth and breastfeeding. However, this experience has taught me that unless you talk about it everyday, most of what you may have considered “covered” is actually “forgotten.”

Leaving things alone is the best way to get things right. In birth anyway, it has a design that works, if only we would let it. Almost everything I read encouraged the pet owner to NOT interfere with the cat's labor and delivery, but to be there as a "lifeguard" if something goes wrong. And yet, when we as humans have just as good a design on labor and birth, we REFUSE to believe in it. We judge it, question it, doubt it. Are there no wise women left who believe that birth is right, natural and best left alone? Are there no women who want swim with lifeguards? I could go on and on about this one, but I'll leave it for now.

While most sources say that a cat prefers seclusion, Charlotte wanted my attention in labor, so I sat with her, and petted her and tried to support her. But as any good doula knows, you cannot possibly prepare a female for what happens at the moment of birth. Charlotte became wide eyed as her first kitten emerged and she literally tried to climb up my arm. It was a familiar sight, one I’ve seen so many times as young, first time mothers climb to the top of the birthing bed to “get away” from the pain. The next time is better because while it hurts the same, we know what to expect and the panic is not as bad. By the third kitten, Charlotte didn’t even make a sound.

 

The children’s reactions to the kittens just exemplify how very different each child is. Cullen is squeamish and Camille is not. Cullen touched one of the kittens and then felt the umbilical cord. He freaked out and ran to the bathroom to wash his hands. Camille laughed and at 3½ years old, she mocked him with waving hands and laughing, said “I’ve got to wash my hands!” Camille picks up earthworms with her bare hands.

While Molly is imaginative, Camille is rather concrete. Molly is projecting personalities onto the kittens, determining little scenarios and trying to find names that fit.
Camille asks, “Is my kitten sick, or is he OK?”
She says, “I’d like my kitten to be a girl.”

Later, Camille thinks we should sing a song to the kittens.
“Do you know any kitten songs, Mommy?” she asks.
I reply, “No, that would be Molly’s department. Go ask her. I’m sure she can make up a kitten song for you.” And she will.

 

I can see clearly now

I am a nurse, a newborn nursery nurse. I have had some wonderful teachers before, during and after nursing school. I LOVE my job! These little babies have crept into my heart and I love taking care of them. I am excited each time a new little person appears and takes her first breath. I feel the adrenaline rush when that breath doesn't come and I know what to do. I read a lot about my field of nursing. I keep current of research and trends. I like learning and I take my job very seriously. I know the trust people place in my hands when their newborn is healthy and I take care of them. How much more so when their newborn is sick and I take care of them. I want parents to know that I am a mother as well as a nurse, and I will treat their precious babies with as much respect as I can.

Having said that, some days are very frustrating to me. I was called to a birth where we expected trouble. From my station in the room, I could not view the actual birth. When I asked if there was meconium present (so that I could provide the appropriate care), the doctor delivering the infant asked "Are you blind?" This was witnessed by at least seven staff members, another doctor, and of course the patient and her significant other.

Am I blind? No, doctor. I am not. Nor am I deaf or stupid. I am, however, angry and disappointed. I gave you the respect I thought you deserved. In return you belittled me to make yourself feel better. I do not care what kind of day you are having, as you obviously do not care about mine.

My first experience in the field of birth was to support women through their experience as a doula. In our training, we learned to be carekeepers of a woman's experience. We learned to be careful about each and every syllable uttered during a birth, because while women may forget many things during a lifetime, they never forget their birth experiences. They remember everything.

Well, I hope this woman's birth memories are not marred by callousness. I hope she instead remembers the moment I held her newborn close to her face so that she could kiss him for a brief moment. I hope that is what sticks in her memory long after the smells of birth are gone and she is home snuggling with her baby.  

So, am I blind? No, I think I'm seeing more clearly now than ever.

Six Months = 80lbs

Here are some photos of me 80lbs lighter.

This was taken after 13+ hours of work, and I'm still smiling, mainly because Meg was taking the picture. I miss working nights with Meg. Meg says eventually she is going to quit nursing and work at the beach selling frozen lemonade and margaritas. When the going gets tough, we start taking orders.

This was taken by Molly on our way out to run errands. We had to take about 15 shots, which explains my fake smile trying to hide my impatience.

I am still feeling great! I can pretty much eat whatever I want, just in small amounts. I still miss soda, but I cannot drink it. The bubbles are just too much.

I bought a few new clothes for the summer, all size medium. I have to tell you that the color and style choices for medium are much greater than for the 2-3XL sizes, but then that's a whole other rant.

Mainly I remain grateful for my renewed energy, less back pain and for being able to move with much greater ease. My thanks to everyone who has supported me this far in my recovery and for those who have been so kind as to send compliments. It means more than you know.

Hello Kitty!

Hello alarm! (My you’re early!)

Hello Moon!

Hello Nursery!

Hello Holly! (Thank God!)

Hello Baby on oxygen!

Hello other Baby on oxygen!

Hello Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby…and more!

Hello mothers in labor!

Hello doctors making rounds!

Hello vital signs, labs, tests and treatments!

Hello breastfeeding mothers! And those who wish they could!

Hello monitors and things that go beep!

Hello mother of twins!

Hello blue scrubs!

Hello Baby and Baby!

Hello Babies that feed, and those that don’t!

Hello preterm labor potentials!

Hello transport team!

Hello coffee!

Hello more Babies!

Hello aching feet!

But most of all today!

HELLO ONCOMING SHIFT!