VIERNES, 10 DE MARZO
Queridos todos,
Les escribo desde mi cama, no en la casa sino en el hospital. Esta mañana me hicieron la ecografía de las 19 semanas y en ella vieron que el feto había fallecido. Por las medidas que tomaron, piensan que probablemente murió pocos días después de la eco del 14 de febrero. Nadie se explica qué pasó pues, al parecer, la placenta esta vez estaba funcionando como debía. Por esta razón y para evitar complicaciones relacionadas con sangramiento excesivo, hemos decidido una vez más ir por la ruta de la inducción de parto. Es la menos invasiva y, dado que necesito volver a mis anticoagulantes lo antes posible, es la más rápida.
SÁBADO, 11 DE MARZO
Anoche pasamos una buena noche dentro de todo. Los médicos nos dieron una pastillita a cada uno para la ansiedad y con eso nos dormimos hasta la mañana. Despertar fue un poco duro pues igualito teníamos un granito de esperanza que todo hubiera sido un mal sueño. Pero nos dimos de cabeza con la realidad y la pena empezó a brotar de cada poro de nuestro ser. No podemos hacer nada más que respirar profundamente y poner un pie delante del otro otra vez. Las lágrimas y las preguntas nos seguirán por un rato pero eventualmente llegará la aceptación. Por ahora, aquí estamos, a la espera de dilatarme para empezar a pujar. Todavía no siento mucho dolor pero mi útero está como una roca. Difícil pensar que un entorno tan amable pudiera convertirse en uno tan hostil.
Si no me dilato de aquí a 2 horas me darán otra dosis de las tabletas dilatantes y probablemente empezarán las contracciones. Sentir este tipo de dolor ayuda a curar el espíritu de alguna manera – es como cerrar el ciclo con un broche. Muchas personas optan por la anestesia general y la operación porque no creen tener la fortaleza de pasar por un parto a sabiendas de que no habrá un final feliz. En mi experiencia, y creo poder decir esto con algo de autoridad, es más difícil recuperarse de la operación que del parto – no sólo física sino que también emocionalmente. Además, así los patólogos podrán examinar los restos intactos y ver la causa (ojalá) de esta nueva pérdida. Aún si decidimos no volver a intentar otro embarazo, esta información nos podría ayudar a cerrar este capítulo y a ir hacia delante con lo que llaman “closure”, con una conclusión. Se me cierran los ojos de sueño. Sigo luego…
9 PM
Hace unas 3 horas, acabó todo. No fue tan doloroso físicamente como recordaba había sido la experiencia de hace más de tres años. Salió intacta, en su saco, chiquititita pero con muchas señales de trauma. El doctor que hará la patología vendrá a verla y nos dirá qué ve a simple vista. Al principio me sentí muy desconectada de ella pero cuando la tomé en brazos la emoción se desbordó dentro de mí y sentí una mezcla de pena, rabia, ternura, impotencia y amor. Andrés y yo nos dormimos un ratito con la bebe en brazos y cuando despertamos sentía no poder dejarla ir, que quería que se quedara conmigo siempre. Una forma de hacer esto, creo, es nombrarla así que le pusimos Isabel porque es nombre de reina y su cabeza tenía forma de corona. Recién después de darle un nombre pude dejarla ir. La enfermera me lo explicó así: antes de poder decir adiós, hay que saber decir hola.
El doctor está convencido de que se quedó un poquito de la placenta adentro así que me han puesto oxitocina, esperando que el útero la termine de expulsar solo. Así podremos evitar hacer un curetaje con anestesia general. Lamentablemente me muero de hambre y sed pero no puedo tomar ni comer nada hasta que no estemos seguros de haber expulsado todo, por si necesitan darme anestesia general. Luego queda esperar 6 horas hasta poder darme el anticoagulante. Voy a cerrar los ojos un momento y sigo luego…
DOMINGO, 12 DE MARZO
Anoche el doctor, para evitar tener que hacer un curetaje después de todo lo que habíamos pasado, exploró mi útero a pulso. No hay palabras para explicarles cómo duele; es como agonizar. Por más que estaba medicada, el dolor fue abismante y lloré amargamente por un rato largo después. Dicen que las emociones las almacenamos en nuestra pelvis.
Total que el doctor no encontró nada así que me inyectaron el anticoagulante y dos horas después la enfermera me trajo tostadas y té. Me logré quedar dormida pero el efecto del fentanil (como una morfina) es tan fuerte que a ratos me dormía sentada y a ratos me despertaba fresca como lechuga y no lograba conciliar el sueño. Además me preocupaba la posibilidad de sangramiento. Pero no hubo tal y todo volvió a la normalidad con bastante rapidez.
Andrés me trajo hoy mis cosas para poderme duchar, la enfermera ya me ha dado la siguiente dosis del anticoagulante y me han desenchufado de la línea intravenosa pero dejándome la vena con catéter por si las moscas. Finalmente me darán de alta mañana para poder ver a mi hematóloga y al patólogo antes de partir.
LUNES, 13 DE MARZO
Volver a casa fue el balde de agua fría que faltaba. De alguna manera el hospital es un entorno protegido, donde todo se habla en términos científicos y seguros. Mientras que en la casa uno regresa al entorno emocional, a los pasillos y rincones donde el sueño estuvo vivo por 4 meses y medio. Pero es la realidad y qué bendición poder expresar nuestro dolor y temores el uno al otro. Antes de irnos del hospital, cada uno de los médicos que me han cuidado me vino a ver. Primero el patólogo que había ya visto a la bebe y estaba optimista de poder obtener de ella la información cromosomática necesaria. A simple vista era dificil ver mucho pues había pasado mucho tiempo en el útero sin vida. Los rasgos faciales ya no eran tan claros como para determinar nada. Pero lo bueno es que dijo que nuestro caso tenía prioridad para él y que trataría en lo posible de sacar el informe de la autopsia en menos de un mes. Mucho mejor que los 3 a 6 meses que demora en general… Nos despidió con un abrazo paternal y se fue sacudiendo la cabeza, tan incrédulo como nosotros. Después vinieron los obstetras de alto riesgo que me vieron durante mi estadía. Los dos doctores amorosos se quedaron bastante rato conversando con nosotros, haciéndonos preguntas y asegurándose de que yo supiera que tenía el apoyo del hospital para lo que necesitara, incluyendo los sicólogos, etc… Terminamos hablando de cosas no relacionadas y uno de ellos tenía amigos en común con Andrés, de Montreal. La hematóloga no alcanzó a llegar pero me llamó por teléfono y conversamos largo rato sobre el procedimiento con el anticoagulante. Quiere que me siga inyectando por un par de semanas más, antes de volver al otro anticoagulante oral. Estaremos hablando esta semana y la próxima para ver cuándo hacer el cambio.
Ya estábamos listos para irnos cuando llegó mi obstetra y perinatólogo, el Dr. Kingdom. No nos esperábamos su visita pero estábamos felices de verlo porque es un hombre tan a todo dar y tranquilo que te deja esa tranquilidad de que todo va a terminar bien. Al igual que el patólogo, nos dijo que nuestro caso tenía prioridad para él, que quería llegar al meollo del asunto. Él es investigador además de doctor y tiene mucho interés invertido en nuestro caso. Me ha dado cita para el 31 de marzo para verlo, para examinarme y ver que todo esté de regreso donde tiene que estar. De repente para entonces tengan ya algo de información sobre la placenta, la bebe, quién sabe. Tengo ahora que pedir cita con el patólogo para el mismo día.
MARTES, 14 DE MARZO
Unas últimas líneas para decirles a todos cuánto agradecemos todo vuestro apoyo y cariño. Tenemos la bendición de tener una familia de primera y amigos que son como familia. En tiempos como estos, es esencial sentirse acompañado y todos ustedes nos han hecho sentir que no estamos solos. Muchas gracias.
Los tendremos al tanto de cualquier novedad.
Un abrazo fuerte,
Patty y Andrés
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
SAD NEWS
FRIDAY, MARCH 10
Dear Friends and Family,
I’m writing you from my bed at the hospital. This morning we went to the 19 week ultrasound and were not able to detect the fetal heartbeat. From the measurements they took, the doctors think the baby probably passed away soon after the February 14 ultrasound. No one understands why this has happened, as the placenta seemed to be working perfectly well. In order to investigate in depth and also to minimize the risk of excessive bleeding for me, we have decided to once again go the route of inducing labour. It’s the least invasive and, since I need to be back on my anticoagulants as soon as possible, it’s the fastest.
SATURDAY, MARCH 11
Last night was a calm night, all in all. We each took an Ativan before bed and slept through the night in our hospital beds (Andrés got a cot next to my bed). Waking up was a bit rough as I guess somewhere inside our minds we thought there might still be a chance it was all a bad dream. But no such luck. Reality and sadness set in quickly. We can do nothing more than take a deep breath and, once again, put one foot in front of the other. Tears and questions will follow us for a while, but eventually acceptance will come. Right now I’m waiting to dilate and push. Not much pain yet but my uterus has hardened like a rock so shouldn’t be too long. I’ll be getting another dose of the cervical tablets in another two hours if I’m still not ready and contractions should follow shortly after. This kind of pain helps heal the spirit in some strange way – it provides some sort of closure. I guess many people opt for being put under and getting a D and C because they don’t think they could bear going through labour knowing that it won’t have a happy ending. I think I can now say from experience that recovering from a D and C is harder than recovering from labour and delivery, not just physically but also emotionally. Besides, this way the pathologists will be able to examine the intact fetus and (hopefully) find a cause for this new loss. Even if we decide to not attempt another pregnancy, this information will still help us attain some closure and be able to think about the future with a clearer head. Falling asleep… will continue later.
9 PM
I delivered 3 hours ago. Physically, it wasn’t as rough as I remembered it being the last time, over three years ago. The baby came out intact, inside her sac, so tiny and with so many signs of trauma. The pathologist will be by to see her and may be able to give us some info just by taking a look at her. At first, I felt truly detached from her but as soon as I held her I felt she belonged to me. The pain, sadness, and anger came gushing out, mixed with love and tenderness. Andrés and I fell asleep with her on our laps and when we woke up I really had a hard time letting her go. I felt I couldn’t let her go without naming her. So we named her Isabelle, because it’s a regal name and her head was shaped like a crown. The nurse explained it to me like this: before you can say goodbye, you have to be able to say hello.
The OB is convinced that some of the placenta didn’t come out so I’m on oxytocin, waiting for the uterus to push it out. This way we can avoid having to put me under for a D and C, after everything we’ve been through. Unfortunately, this means no food or drink and I am so thirsty and hungry it’s like torture. Then I still have to wait 6 hours until I can get my anticoagulant. I’m just going to close my eyes for a few seconds and will continue later …
SUNDAY, MARCH 12
Last night, to avoid putting me under, the doctor had to explore my uterus manually. I can’t tell you how much this hurts, it felt like I was being ripped in half. Even with the fentanyl (like morphine), the pain was too much to bear and I couldn’t stop crying for a long time. They say we store all our emotions in our pelvis.
After all that, the doctor couldn’t find anything and so they gave me my anticoagulant and two hours later the nurse brought me toast and a hot cup of tea. I was able to fall asleep but the fentanyl was so strong it either made me fall asleep in the middle of a conversation or wake up and not be able to fall asleep again for a while. Eventually it made me really nauseous and sick so we stopped it. I was concerned with bleeding but everything went back to normal quite quickly.
Andrés brought my things so I could shower and the nurse gave me another dose of the anticoagulant this morning. They disconnected me from the serum and locked my line, just in case. They’ll be discharging me tomorrow so I can see the hematologist and the pathologist.
MONDAY, MARCH 13
Coming home was a bit harsh. The hospital is so protected, so scientific; home is an emotional environment, where you walk the same hallways and hang out in the same spots where you dreamed and speculated for 4 and a half months. But, such is reality, and it’s a blessing to be able to speak about our emotions and fears openly. There’ll be a lot of this in the coming months.
Before we left the hospital, all my doctors stopped by to see me. First the pathologist, who had seen the baby and was optimistic about being able to extract the chromosomatic information he’d need. He said that it was hard to tell just by looking at her because she had passed away such a long time ago her facial features weren’t clear enough to know. He did promise to give priority to our case and that he’d try to get the final report out in one month. This is way better than waiting 3 to 6 months, which is what it usually takes… He gave us a big paternal hug and left the room shaking his head, in the same disbelief as us. Then the two high risk OBs who had seen me during my stay came by and stayed a while to chat and ask questions, make sure I was ok. We ended up chatting about other stuff and as it turned out, one of the OBs was from Montreal and knew some of the same people Andrés did. The hematologist couldn’t make it in but we chatted on the phone for a while and will be chatting quite a bit in the coming weeks to switch me back to coumadin. We were almost ready to leave when Dr. Kingdom, my OB and perinatologist, stopped in. We weren’t expecting him to come but it was great to see him. He’s such a great doctor and has the ability to really set your mind at ease. Like the pathologist, he said our case was at the top of his list of priorities and that he intended to get to the bottom of why this had happened. He is also a researcher with a special interest in placental dysfunction so he has a vested interest in our case. He set up an appointment to come see him on March 31, to get me examined and make sure everything has gone back to its original place. Maybe by then they’ll have more info on the placenta or the baby, who knows… Now I’m supposed to make an appointment to see the pathologist that same day.
TUESDAY, MARCH 14
Just a few lines to tell you how much we appreciate your support and love. We are blessed with a great family and with friends who are like family. In times like these, it’s so important to feel supported and you have all made us feel like we are not alone. Thank you.
We will keep you up to date on any developments.
A huge hug,
Patty and Andrés
Dear Friends and Family,
I’m writing you from my bed at the hospital. This morning we went to the 19 week ultrasound and were not able to detect the fetal heartbeat. From the measurements they took, the doctors think the baby probably passed away soon after the February 14 ultrasound. No one understands why this has happened, as the placenta seemed to be working perfectly well. In order to investigate in depth and also to minimize the risk of excessive bleeding for me, we have decided to once again go the route of inducing labour. It’s the least invasive and, since I need to be back on my anticoagulants as soon as possible, it’s the fastest.
SATURDAY, MARCH 11
Last night was a calm night, all in all. We each took an Ativan before bed and slept through the night in our hospital beds (Andrés got a cot next to my bed). Waking up was a bit rough as I guess somewhere inside our minds we thought there might still be a chance it was all a bad dream. But no such luck. Reality and sadness set in quickly. We can do nothing more than take a deep breath and, once again, put one foot in front of the other. Tears and questions will follow us for a while, but eventually acceptance will come. Right now I’m waiting to dilate and push. Not much pain yet but my uterus has hardened like a rock so shouldn’t be too long. I’ll be getting another dose of the cervical tablets in another two hours if I’m still not ready and contractions should follow shortly after. This kind of pain helps heal the spirit in some strange way – it provides some sort of closure. I guess many people opt for being put under and getting a D and C because they don’t think they could bear going through labour knowing that it won’t have a happy ending. I think I can now say from experience that recovering from a D and C is harder than recovering from labour and delivery, not just physically but also emotionally. Besides, this way the pathologists will be able to examine the intact fetus and (hopefully) find a cause for this new loss. Even if we decide to not attempt another pregnancy, this information will still help us attain some closure and be able to think about the future with a clearer head. Falling asleep… will continue later.
9 PM
I delivered 3 hours ago. Physically, it wasn’t as rough as I remembered it being the last time, over three years ago. The baby came out intact, inside her sac, so tiny and with so many signs of trauma. The pathologist will be by to see her and may be able to give us some info just by taking a look at her. At first, I felt truly detached from her but as soon as I held her I felt she belonged to me. The pain, sadness, and anger came gushing out, mixed with love and tenderness. Andrés and I fell asleep with her on our laps and when we woke up I really had a hard time letting her go. I felt I couldn’t let her go without naming her. So we named her Isabelle, because it’s a regal name and her head was shaped like a crown. The nurse explained it to me like this: before you can say goodbye, you have to be able to say hello.
The OB is convinced that some of the placenta didn’t come out so I’m on oxytocin, waiting for the uterus to push it out. This way we can avoid having to put me under for a D and C, after everything we’ve been through. Unfortunately, this means no food or drink and I am so thirsty and hungry it’s like torture. Then I still have to wait 6 hours until I can get my anticoagulant. I’m just going to close my eyes for a few seconds and will continue later …
SUNDAY, MARCH 12
Last night, to avoid putting me under, the doctor had to explore my uterus manually. I can’t tell you how much this hurts, it felt like I was being ripped in half. Even with the fentanyl (like morphine), the pain was too much to bear and I couldn’t stop crying for a long time. They say we store all our emotions in our pelvis.
After all that, the doctor couldn’t find anything and so they gave me my anticoagulant and two hours later the nurse brought me toast and a hot cup of tea. I was able to fall asleep but the fentanyl was so strong it either made me fall asleep in the middle of a conversation or wake up and not be able to fall asleep again for a while. Eventually it made me really nauseous and sick so we stopped it. I was concerned with bleeding but everything went back to normal quite quickly.
Andrés brought my things so I could shower and the nurse gave me another dose of the anticoagulant this morning. They disconnected me from the serum and locked my line, just in case. They’ll be discharging me tomorrow so I can see the hematologist and the pathologist.
MONDAY, MARCH 13
Coming home was a bit harsh. The hospital is so protected, so scientific; home is an emotional environment, where you walk the same hallways and hang out in the same spots where you dreamed and speculated for 4 and a half months. But, such is reality, and it’s a blessing to be able to speak about our emotions and fears openly. There’ll be a lot of this in the coming months.
Before we left the hospital, all my doctors stopped by to see me. First the pathologist, who had seen the baby and was optimistic about being able to extract the chromosomatic information he’d need. He said that it was hard to tell just by looking at her because she had passed away such a long time ago her facial features weren’t clear enough to know. He did promise to give priority to our case and that he’d try to get the final report out in one month. This is way better than waiting 3 to 6 months, which is what it usually takes… He gave us a big paternal hug and left the room shaking his head, in the same disbelief as us. Then the two high risk OBs who had seen me during my stay came by and stayed a while to chat and ask questions, make sure I was ok. We ended up chatting about other stuff and as it turned out, one of the OBs was from Montreal and knew some of the same people Andrés did. The hematologist couldn’t make it in but we chatted on the phone for a while and will be chatting quite a bit in the coming weeks to switch me back to coumadin. We were almost ready to leave when Dr. Kingdom, my OB and perinatologist, stopped in. We weren’t expecting him to come but it was great to see him. He’s such a great doctor and has the ability to really set your mind at ease. Like the pathologist, he said our case was at the top of his list of priorities and that he intended to get to the bottom of why this had happened. He is also a researcher with a special interest in placental dysfunction so he has a vested interest in our case. He set up an appointment to come see him on March 31, to get me examined and make sure everything has gone back to its original place. Maybe by then they’ll have more info on the placenta or the baby, who knows… Now I’m supposed to make an appointment to see the pathologist that same day.
TUESDAY, MARCH 14
Just a few lines to tell you how much we appreciate your support and love. We are blessed with a great family and with friends who are like family. In times like these, it’s so important to feel supported and you have all made us feel like we are not alone. Thank you.
We will keep you up to date on any developments.
A huge hug,
Patty and Andrés
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
