Perhaps you’ve noticed that I haven’t been blogging much since last week. Well, the reason is a very sad one. I found out last Friday at a routine OB check up that our baby-to-be no longer had a heartbeat. I spent the weekend in a haze of valium and sadness, and I had surgery on Monday morning. I am now officially no longer pregnant, and we do not plan to ever be pregnant again; we’ve scheduled the long-delayed permanent procedure for Jon that will assure that our childbearing years are behind us.
The recovery from Monday’s D&C has been really, really tough. I’ve been weak as a kitten since coming home from the hospital on Monday afternoon. I’ve been the kind of tired where I’ve slept 22 hours in a 24 hour period and still felt too weak to lift a book to read while lying in bed. Despite how weak I felt, Jon and I jointly made the rather dumb decision (probably because we were both so tired we weren’t thinking straight) to leave me alone with Baby G and our three year old (J and E were at their Dad’s) for 15 minutes on Tuesday night while he very sweetly ran out to the store to get me some ice cream I’d requested. Somehow, in that 15 minute period, I managed to let Baby G slide off of our very tall bed and hit her head really, really hard on our very hard wooden bedroom floor.
I COMPLETELY freaked out. While C calmly admonished me that I “shouldn’t drop the baby on the floor,” I began crying hysterically. I was so shaken up and so unwell anyway that my powers of discernment probably weren’t at their best; I decided that I’d seriously injured my poor baby (she did seem a little dazed), so I called 911 and frantically reported that I’d let my infant fall off of the bed and hit her head on the floor REALLY HARD.
The ambulance and police officers arrived at just about the same time Jon did with the ice cream. The whole scene was utter chaos. I was crying frantically, and trying to explain what had happened. The ambulance guys determined that G did seem a little dazed. And for some reason I cannot figure out, a freelance videographer appeared on the scene. I am guessing that had heard the 911 call on the poloce scanner and he was hoping to capture a child abuser as she was cuffed and carted off to jail.
Jon’s mom arrived to take C, I climbed in the ambulance with Baby G and Jon followed in our car. We arrived at Children’s within minutes. G spent the whole trip calmly staring and the lights in the ambulance. The next hours are a complete blur to me, probably because right about the time my sister arrived at the hospital…I PASSED OUT. Apparently, I told the nurse checking G out that I felt a little faint. Jon and my sister explained that I’d miscarried that week, and had surgery the day before. At that point, they had me lie down and that’s the last thing I remember.
I was apparently transported by ambulance to the other hospital ACROSS THE STREET (can’t wait to find out how much it costs to have an ambulance drive you from one hospital to the hospital across the street.). Jon stayed with G at Hospital #1, where she was xrayed and CAT scanned and found to be just fine. My sister went with me to Hospital #2, where I got IV fluids, an injection of iron or B12 or something, and by about 1am, the whole thing was over and we were all at home. (My sister is a saint, by the way). Apparently, I was just weak and exhausted and post-surgical and completely freaked out, and that’s why I fainted. Nothing more serious than that
My mother in law and Jon are taking care of the baby for a few more days until I get my strength fully back; no one seems to trust me to do that myself just yet. And that’s probably a good idea because I am still so physically weak and tired that just typing this blog post now requires that I take a nap.