A Baby Story, Part 4: And Then All My Dreams And Illusions Were Shattered...

...and I got track marks like an addict. 

(By the way, if you aren't caught up, you might want to go back and read this, this, and this.)

This is where the story gets weird and really starts the downward spiral. Warning to women of childbearing age who have not yet done so: you can skip this one, and if you don't, PLEASE keep in mind that I'm a really rare exception for all that is about to go down. The next few posts/sequence of events does not happen very often at all (the individual parts of the next few days happen with a little more regularity, but they basically never all happen to the same person. How special am I?) Do not panic. But, consider yourself warned.

At the end of my last post, it was close to midday on Tuesday (although I had no hope of lunch...seriously?? How awful. You know, awful in addition to the whole molten lava situation.) I was still on the mag, but thankfully, it had calmed down enough that I wasn't wishing for death every moment. I was still incredibly hot and sick feeling, and the towels kept coming with some regularity. Brad got permission to feed me ice chips a little more often than usual; I'm not sure how I would have made it otherwise. What with the the flames coming up my throat. I'm positive everyone could see them. :)

My doctor had told me that I could have my epidural any time I wanted it (even though they usually have a certain number of centimeters that they want you dilated before starting the epidural). I wasn't in particularly dreadful pain, but I was pretty tired and exhausted from contracting and the mag and not sleeping; I went ahead and asked them to order my epidural so that I'd get on the schedule and wouldn't end up waiting for a super long time, you know, until I was in too much pain. I really don't like pain. 

I didn't end up waiting too long for the anesthesiologist (and a resident; I'm a magnet for those in training) to show up. Maybe 30 minutes? By the time they arrived, I still wasn't feeling too dreadful from the contractions (if you must know my pain level from that stupid hospital pain scale, I'd put it at a 6...or a 7? Who even knows how to determine that?), but I was feeling super sick from the mag. Sidenote: I found out later from one of my nurses that she has been in chemo therapy for the past several months, and mag is part of her treatment. She was the only person who could genuinely say, "I know how you feel, and I know it makes you want to die" and I believed her. Unfortunately, while she was telling me these sweet words of solidarity, I had to stop her and grab a bucket to vomit into. It was classy. At least she understood, right?

The anesthesiologists showed up, and shooed Brad out of the room. I knew they weren't going to let him stay with me (sterile environment), but it made me terribly emotional, since I was feeling so badly. Very unreasonably and very uncontrollably, I started crying and didn't stop for the full half hour it took. I'm not naturally a cry-er, so it annoyed me to no end  that I was so emotional about not having Brad to hold my hand and that I was crying over being sick.

I got into the side-of-the-bed-arched-back position that they need and tried to bow my back out as far as they wanted me to (although, I'm not sure it's possible to do it as far as they want you to when you're 9 months pregnant...but they sure are insistent). My nurse, Peggy, sat on the other side of the table and held my hands while the blood pressure cuff crushed my arm every three minutes, making it impossible to stop crying. By the way, do they do that for all epidurals? Or just for people with preeclampsia who are already prone to high blood pressure? 

The anesthesiologist and resident explained the procedure to me and taped off my back, saying that I would feel a "big pinch" and a "big sting." I've learned that the people who say things like that don't seem to have experienced said "big pinch" and "big sting" for themselves. It hurt a lot, but I just squeezed Peggy's hands and tried not shake while sobbing about missing Brad and feeling nauseous.

I knew the procedure would take a few minutes, so I wasn't expecting it to be over quickly or anything. I wasn't expecting, though, to hear running commentary from the attending anesthesiologist and the resident. I heard phrases like this:

Attending: (annoyed voice) Um, yeah, you just went through the vein.

Resident: Oh.

(a few minutes later, more annoyed) Attending: And that's bone you just hit. You also just touched that sterile needle while not sterile. You can't do that.

Me: (thinking) What?? Why would you say that out loud while I'm a foot away and obviously upset? Did you think that would calm me down? Breathe in, breathe out.

All the while, the nursing students are standing nearby, enjoying their opportunity to observe "cool" medical stuff. They got to stay in there, but the doctors sent my husband away. I needed him. Could definitely do without the students. 

Attending: Ok, Erin, we weren't able to get it that time, so we're going to take it out. You can relax your back and stretch for a moment.

I took several deep breaths, wiped my eyes and nose, apologized for crying so much, and stretched. 

They returned for the kill and started again with the "big pinch" and "big sting" (I probably would have thought it hurt a lot more if I hadn't had the mag already. Silver lining?) It hurt again, and I squeezed Peggy's hands. This time, I heard:

Attending (who was actually doing the procedure herself this time): Hm. I just got a wet tap. We'll have to start over.

I had no idea what a wet tap was (don't worry: I found out. I'll fill you in.), but her voice sounded ominous, and she told me I could rest again because it didn't work. Again.

My nerves were starting to get a little frazzled. It had been about 20 minutes of getting nowhere, and my arm was continuously throbbing from the constant checking. Still trying to be a big girl; I'd rather endure 30 minutes of discomfort than try natural delivery. I'm definitely that girl. Try not to judge. 

We got to it again, and they finally got the needle in. I felt it, as well as them threading the back catheter, but I was just so thankful that they'd been successful. They finally released me from my mandatory statue-like pose, and I started feeling numb relief...finally. They waited around for a few minutes to check and make sure it was working, and eventually, I was left to try to get comfortable and enjoy the lack of feeling. 

Ahhh. Victory. But the spinal puncture count is up to three. Let's all keep count.

You know, for now. Because lasting relief would be way too convenient. Obviously.