I suspect that the my life as a Firewife, in these times of tweety pages and bliggity blogs and facey spaces, may be different than my firewife predecessors.
Often I get twitpics sent to my phone. This is interesting I must admit, but can be a bit unnerving at other times.
He sent me this twitpics a few days ago…
Interesting, yep.
But at the same time this can be a bit too much information for this firewife.
You see, I hate knowing when Firehubby is ACTUALLY on a call on our So. Cal. Freeways. These calls are equally dangerous, if not more so than a fire call.
If you have ever seen an accident on our freeways, you will have noticed an interesting phenomenon. That is, if you are in the opposite lanes of the accident, heading the opposite direction, EVERYONE will slow to about 2 to 5 miles per hour and take a turn checking out the action. Rubber necking. Gawkers block. Everyone else got to see it, go for it!
But, when one is driving directly past the accident, you know, in the next lane, it is best to go ahead and whiz by at a good 65 to 90 miles per hour. Those fire engines are just an annoyance. Hey, there are important places to go and people to see!!!
So for me, getting an “at-the-moment” message that Firehubby is in danger is not so great. You see, denial does serve me well.
If I don’t know about it…then, I don’t worry!
Blissful ignorance. Love it.
Here is another picture that was sent to me…
And another…
(just added these because I thought they were cool )
Now, I sometimes get telephone calls that go something like this…
“Hey babe, I’m rolling up to a huge fire. Turn on the news.”
Nice.
Those are the times that I distract myself by cleaning the house. (Never know when the fire chief is going to knock on the door with bad news.)
I know, I know that’s terrible. But, my protective “denial bubble” gets burst. It can be pretty fragile.
Well, what inspired me to write this post tonight?
Let me grab my phone and transcribe the text I just received at 09:43 pm …
“…on scene of assault…suspect still in house up street with guns…”
Comforting.
Then I laid my weary head down for bed, said a prayer for my sweet Firehubby, and tried to drift off to sleep… (oh yeah, that is after I blogged about it!)
You may read the blog of my real life friend who we are going on an adventure with tomorrow. We are heading to a place of many textures. Our kids of many different ages will be delighted. It's really beginning to feel like summer! Will take lots of pix and come back tomorrow to share.
“Okay, just leave her here and call me when she no longer has a heartbeat,” the resident ordered as he left the darkened room, just as quickly as he’d arrived.
I could see it wasn’t going to be a usual night at the “Baby Factory”. It was one of my first nights team leading and it was to be a night that would change my life…forever.
Standing alone, peering through the Plexiglas walls of the incubator, I was immediately taken aback and could not help but to let out a soft gasp.
The baby before me was dying.
Life in her mother’s womb had come to an abrupt ending. The membranes that had surrounded her, protecting her, had failed and ruptured. The fluid, that cushioned her and helped her development, flowed out. Contractions soon followed and within hours she was expelled from her mother’s uterus, out into a harsh, cold world. It was a world she was not prepared for.
Born too soon…much too soon. She was 20 weeks gestation, having made it only half way through the time she should have spent growing and developing within her mother. There was no hope for her survival, no medical miracle to save her, just the harsh reality of her impending death.
Reaching into the clear walled isolette, I gently unwrapped her seemingly lifeless body, freeing her from a jumble of moist and bloodied blankets.
She was so perfect, she took my breath away for a moment.
Tiny, yet perfectly formed.
She may have gasped weakly at birth, but her lungs were not yet ready to expand and exchange air. It was too early for her to sustain her own life. Her chest was still.
But on closer examination, there was one small sign of life that could be seen. If I hadn’t been careful I would have easily missed it. In the reflection of light on her chest, I saw the small pulsation of her heart within, just a tiny flicker of movement, the slightest motion of her delicate chest wall. Suppressing a blink in order to catch a glimpse, I had to hold her in the light, just right, to be able to see that faint sign of her life. A stethoscope could not hear this subtle motion, it could only be visualized. Her heart was definitely beating. However, it was a slow, agonal rate.
She was so similar to a healthy newborn, yet so different. Her skin was bright red, shiny, and gelatinous, with very little fat beneath, revealing fragile blood vessels. My fingertips caressed her fragile form as I carefully examined every centimeter of her body.Finding myself drawn to her little hands, the perfect size to grasp my fingertip, I started counting… one, two, three…ten itty-bitty fingers. Her little feet beckoned, and I discovering ten teensy toes. These little features were so normal. As surreal as it was to see a human life so early in development, those diminutive hands and feet made it so clear to my mind that she was just a petite babe, a tiny little child. She was a pretty baby, with dainty little nose. I wanted to see the color of her eyes, but it wasn’t possible, the lids were still fused, not yet able to open.
Taking her gently into my hands, she fit perfectly in my palms, with her arms and legs curled up at her chest and tummy.
“You should be kicking, floating, fluttering,” I thought as I gazed upon her, “gracefully tumbling within the warmth of your mother’s womb.”
At you may recall, at this hospital, no newborn was left with it’s parents in the delivery room, especially not a dying newborn. This miniscule baby had been whisked past rooms full of healthy babies and sequestered into the recesses of the Newborn Nursery. A dark little examination room held a single incubator, reserved for dying babies. She had been brought there, the place of no hope, the place of abandonment, the place to die…alone.
But she was alive, she was a human being, she was her daddy’s little girl, her mother’s dream. She deserved dignity, to be valued, to be honored.
Things were going to be a bit different at the Baby Factory that night…this baby was not going to die alone. Not on my watch.
Since I was the nurse in charge that night, I was in control of what happened to her. Hours had already passed in my shift, before she’d arrived, and I had completed the bulk of my assigned duties. Visiting hours were long over, so the public was no longer peering into the fishbowl-like nursery. There was no reason that I couldn’t attend to her as I saw fit.
Gathering layers of warm blankets, I swaddled my little cherub with care and cradled her into my arms. Spreading out an extra blanket, I draped us discreetly. This wasn’t a progressive hospital and I had no interest in discussing my decisions with anyone.
Then, I went about my shift, answering questions and overseeing the unit. Nobody had any idea that she wasn’t just another fussy baby I was calming. Gently rocking her, stroking her sweet cheeks, and whispering words of love into her tiny ears, I made the most of her short time on this earth.
Every half hour or so, I’d walk her back to her isolette and checked to see if her heart was still beating. Over and over, it was still present, confirming that she was still alive.
After about four hours, her heart finally stopped. She had died.
But not as so many had, before her, in that newborn nursery.
No, she had died with dignity. She had died being held and loved.
She had changed my path in nursing. She would influence the care I gave and continue to give to bereaved families in Labor and Delivery. In turn, I have had the privilege to influence hundreds of nurses in my role as a bereavement nurse and educator.
Her life has had tremendous value, as each life brought into this world does.
It still breaks my heart still that it could not have been her parents who held her .
I will, like them, hold her in my heart...forever.
Since Firehubby/Firedaddy has to work on Father's Day, we are taking today to celebrate our amazing man!
1) Puts his family first 2) Loves his wife beyond measure 3) Is a rock of a husband 4) Is a devoted dad 5) Has been equally capable (and willing to) care for his kids since they were infants 6) Love to worship the Lord through service to others 7) Loves being a firefighter 8) Keeps pictures of his family tucked in his fire helmet 9) Is incredibly hardworking 10) Is punctual 11) Is extremely intelligent 12) Has a Master’s Degree in English 13) Loves history 14) Is very sentimental 15) Has a collection of toys from when he was a boy 16) Loves to write 17) Writes almost daily 18) Loves to blog- click here to go to his 19) Loves making people laugh 20) Has a tattoo 21) Would like another tat 22) Talented electric guitar player 23) Has a huge CD collection 24) Has MANY guitars 25) Loves reading 26) Collects books 27) Dreams of fronting a band and often tries to make it a reality. 28) Favorite guitar maker is Fender 29) Works out most days. 30) Loves to run 31) Loves running in the foothills and mountains 32) Is from a big family growing up 33) Is a Mommy’s Boy-misses her since she died 34) Is much more of a neat, meticulous person than his wife 35) Has a cleaner closet than his wife 36) Tolerates his wife's messiness :) 37) Is very organized 38) Likes Facebook 39) Likes to Twitter 40) Wants a Mac 41) Loves old cars 42) Loves going to old car shows 43) Would like to own an old car someday 44) Keeps his son’s favorite toys as he outgrows them. 45) Played guitar since he was a boy 46) Played in a professional rock band in the 80s 47) Had a mullet in the 80’s 48) Wore wire rimmed glasses in the 80’s 49) Had Lasik 50) Comes home and puts on earrings on his days off of work 51) Loves to grow facial hair on his days off as he is not allowed to at work 52) Has become his own barber 53) Loves ice tea with lemon 54) Favorite iced tea is brewed tea from Del Taco 55) Is a keeper, rather than a thrower outer 56) Loves his ipod 57) Hates to mow the lawn 58) Loves photography 59) Would love to own a new camera 60) Moved around much as a boy and loves that he has raised his kids in one place 61) Loves the outdoors 62) Looks forward to moving out of Southern California one day 63) Likes to camp 64) Likes to fish 65) Likes to hike 66) Likes mountain biking 67) Would love to live in the mountains 68) Has his own music room filled with his favorite pastimes (guitars, CD’s, recording equipt. books) 69) Calls his daughter his “princess” 70) Goes on Scouting excursions with his boy often 71) Love to tickle his kids (and wife) 72) Likes to watch “Rescue Me” 73) Wants to watch a dozen of episodes of “House” that he DVR’d 74) Was born in New York 75) Has a sweet tooth 76) Favorite candy is M & M’s 77) Loves to travel 78) Loves Thai food 79) Wears silver jewelry 80) Wears his dad’s wedding ring 81) Loves the beach 82) Loves browsing through used book stores 83) Loves a good cup of coffee from Starbucks 84) Likes milk in his coffee 85) Loves going to concerts 86) Has a 150 mile round trip commute and hates it 87) Likes watching old movies 88) Drives a Honda 89) Keeps photographs of his family and his kids artwork in his locker at work 90) Would consider retiring to Idaho 91) Is a SanFrancisco 49er’s fan 92) Is a Notre Dame fan 93) Is an Angels fan 94) Likes to wake up early and have time to himself 95) Always wanted to own a horse, and finally did 96) Likes to wear Converse 97) Is a blue jeans and t-shirt kind of guy most days 98) Is a list writer and note taker 99) Snacks on PB&J tortillas-calls them Abazabbas 100) Last but not least…is LOVED to death by his wife and kids!!!
“Your turn,” my colleague Jennifer said, “my feet hurt.”
The delivery bell had just rung and the light above the stabilization nursery door was flashing brightly, summoning one of us to yet another delivery. It was turning out to be a typical booming night in the newborn nursery. Jennifer picked up the phone with one hand and juggled a baby and bottle with the other hand. She spoke briefly with a nurse in a distant delivery room and then hung put the phone.
“Room five,” she said with a sigh, settling back in her chair. The baby in her arms was rooting around, mouth open like a tiny baby bird, eager to get back to the feeding.
Taking the stethoscope out of my ears, I hurriedly finished my assessment of the infant on warmer number one, and then headed out of the stabilization nursery. Rushing to the elevator near the secretary’s desk, I pushed the button and the door immediately opened. This was the express elevator, used solely for nursery-to-delivery room service.
“Got a boy for you,” the delivery nurse said when I arrived into her room, simultaneously handing over a tiny newborn and his records. “Vaginal delivery with forceps, mom had Demerol, APGARS 7 and 9,”was the report she quickly rattled off.
The little guy and I immediately headed for the Newborn Nursery. He was about 7 minutes old.
Yes, I worked at the “Baby Factory”.
Did you notice that my former hospital was not very baby-friendly? I did say “7 minute old”, and there had been no bonding, no skin-to-skin contact with his mother and no breastfeeding for this new couplet. The baby was launched into a harsh, bright, cold world and then whisked away from his former source of comfort, to a four hour observation period in the Newborn Nursery.
This was my first birth center job and I as far as I was concerned, this was “state-of-the-art care”. I had no idea that this was actually no way to care for a tender new family.
“Oh my, Jennifer, you’ve got to see this little guy! Cute as a button!” I exclaimed as I returned to the stabilization nursery.
Before the little baby knew what was happening, I had him stripped naked and was inserting a rectal thermometer into his bottom. This was followed by my rapid adjustment of his warmer-bed so that he was tipped, head down, into a slightly Trendelenberg position. This position would encourage the fluid and mucous to drain from his airway. If needed, I would vigorously suction any secretions from his mouth and nose with the hard rubber bulb syringe, just the way I had been taught. And if he had many bubbles coming from his mouth and nose, I would likely grab a feeding tube, insert it down his throat and into his stomach, attach a syringe and suck all of his gastric contents out, as he gagged and sputtered.
What I know now is that being in Trendelenberg is not so great on the fragile blood vessels in the baby’s head. And of course, being baby-friendly means that you are going to be very gentle with a baby’s mouth in order to prevent him from having an oral aversion later. But, things were a bit old fashioned at the “Baby Factory”.
My naked little guy would scream from the moment that I unwrapped him, until he had his bath, about 3 hours later. The Stabilization Nursery where I worked, a division of the Newborn Nursery, was one of the loudest rooms in the hospital. At any given time you’d find at least six of our eight warmers occupied with hysterical, flailing babies.
When I started at my current job, I was shocked to find out that a healthy baby’s normal behavioral state in the first hours after birth is “quiet-alert”. Yes, quiet and alert. That is how a baby reacts to skin-to-skin contact with his mother or to just being swaddled, held and spoken softly to. Seriously, I was astounded. I had no idea!
After a couple of hours, it was time for a very stimulating bath. Grabbing a pile of warm soapy washcloths, I would scrub him down from head to toe. Working him into a full lather, I was sure to clean in all folds and creases. Once his little body was done, I would swaddle him in fresh warm blankets and hold his head under the warm flow of the nearby water faucet, always insuring that his face stayed nice and dry. The no-more-tears baby shampoo would wash all of the vernix (nature’s cold cream) and blood out of his hair. Often that little head would be tender and swollen, having suffered the trauma of a scalp wire from the fetal scalp electrode, or vacuum suction marks, or even bruises and raised forceps marks. I felt bad having to wash those sore heads. I could not help but cause discomfort as I worked the comb through the hair as gently as possible, often feeling the baby squirm and let out a squeal. But usually, the baby was peaceful and calm for that glorious hair washing.
Did I mention that I worked in a fish bowl? If I had even a hint of performance anxiety before my “Baby Factory” job, it had vanished soon after starting that assignment. Windows surrounded the nursery on three sides and I had a gawking audience each night for the first few hours of my shift, that is until visiting hours were over. People would peer through the glass, staring at me like I was a zoo animal, watching me give injections and perform other basic cares. Thankfully my little baby friends didn’t seem to be modest.
Following the bath and swaddling, it was time to feed the baby his first bottle. Yes, all babies were given a bottle for the first feeding, even if they were going to be breastfed. Following the doctor’s orders, the infants were expected to take in a certain amount of formula. If the baby dared become sleepy during the feeding, I would move that nipple up and down and all around his mouth, encouraging him to keep going. He had a job to do.
Of course, that really is not the way a breast baby should be cared for. A breast baby should not receive artificial nipples until breast feeding has been established. We can only hope that the “Baby Factory” has changed their ways.
The end of his observation period was marked by one last disruption; a set of vital signs and a final assessment. Exhausted from his four hour ordeal, he didn’t stir as I wheel him over to the main nursery room to join thirty to forty other babies. His seven day adventure at the “Baby Factory” had just begun.
I am joining the AWESOME MckMama today for another NOT ME MONDAY. My life is so boring lately...NOT!
As many of you know, my new best friend Ana stopped by last week…
Yep, Nasty ol’ Ana-phylaxis!
This sweet nurse (yeah, I’m talking about me!) became a very problematic and pathetic patient.
Let’s just establish right here that I amNOT allergic to fragrances…perfumes, colognes, air fresheners, cleaners, just about anything that sprays out of a can! Lame…who could be so lame?!
Plus, would you want anyone so lame to be your nurse? I thought NOT!
Nurses are known to be perfect patients. So with that in mind,I am really a good patient…NOT!
Last Wednesday, after being team-leader for the day I did NOT run into a flock of freshly washed, perfectly fragrant nurses coming out of the report room. They moseyed on by, heading for duty on the night shift. My throat did NOT immediately hint to me that a terrible night about to unfold.
As I headed to my car, my throat did NOT start closing up.I did NOT run into a nurse in the parking lot who would have made Florence Nightingale roll over in her grave!
Po' Flo!
Firehubby does NOT do an awesome job of describing that JERK…here!
I did NOT take 8 hours to respond to treatment and get admitted to the Medical Intensive Care Unit.
After being stable for about 12 hours, the nurse giving my male, comatose roommate a bath did NOT spray deodorant in my room!!!!
Nurses would NEVER be so careless. A person is always safe in the hospital…naughty me, I won’t go any further down this path!
I did NOT get another visit from Ana, yep Ana-phylaxis! Did I mention I hate her?~!
This Right Guard event did NOT bring on 4 hours more misery, this time with the added bonus of severe pain!
I did NOT start to live in fear of waking up to this:
…MURDER!
Ok, I was NOT such a bad patient.
I did NOT take my own IV out. (It needed to come out!)
I did not show various people wielding needles where I wanted them jabbed into my body.
I did not get drugged up and exhausted and act grouchy to my wonderful husband and try to get him to leave so I did not have to watch him be so concerned for me…
I did NOT hate being a patient.
But for now, I am VERY thankful to be home with my family.
And just so you know… this is definitely NOT a picture of me that I made Firehubby take for my blog. Who would ever think about taking a photo just for NOT ME Monday when they are in ICU?
Who looks like the bitter patient? Not me!
Thank you MckMama for hosting this blog carnival and giving me a chance to be NOT so sweet about my hospitalization. Now, everyone click here and check out all a ton of awesome NOT Me MONDAYS.
How can this be happening to me, I’m a caregiver…not a patient!
What do you mean you don’t know why my body is doing this?
Hey, I’m a control freak…how could my life be so out of control in this area?
As a nurse, I have put much trust in the fact that doctors can diagnose illness. That they can reach into their brilliant minds, open up a mental chapter, and come up with a good answer.
Unfortunately, this has been a problem that my doctors have not been able to come to the bottom of. Where do I go from here?
1)First things first…
I’m Down on My Knees…Where I should have been all along.
I really had not given this to the Lord. Laid it at his feet and really admitted that without Him, this situation is impossible. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I had turned my back on God, but I have been trusting doctors with this problem and not taking this to Him.
I was running scared, and trying to be in denial as much as possible.
The bottom line…What if I gave it all to God, trusted him and his answer was…It’s time to come to Him. The thought of dying is acceptable… BUT NOT NOW! I want to be here for my family. I want to raise my kids with Firehubby. I don’t want to leave them yet!!!
These were the thoughts that were keeping me from giving this to God fully. It was easier to be in denial then face this head on.
This is not correct thinking. I needed to give it all to Him, every last fear and thought. (Not that He did not know every one anyway!)
I need to keep my focus on the fact that my Lord loves me and that He is 100% TRUSTWORTHY.
It is a shame that it took this going to such an extreme to get my attention to where I need to be spiritually, but now I am looking in the right direction… UP!
2)The next thing…
I am going to do is to see an Internal Medicine Specialist
The Intensive Care Attending Physician recommends that I get all of my testing from various doctors reviewed by one specialist and get the big picture of my problem. It is possible that there may be gaps in the testing that I have had, and that there may be more avenues to explore.
3)Finally…
If that comes up without an answer, I am going to find an expert somewhere to help try to figure this out.
But for now, I am feeling better as each hour passes. I am trusting God to get me through this. I am thankful all of you, my wonderful family and friends.
The words “Thank you!” can hardly express the gratitude for all of your support and prayers over the past few days.
I am so glad to be home with my family and look forward to a good night’s rest!
Physically, I am still a bit tight in my chest. This is not something that I am used to, as I usually feel better within a few hours of emergency treatment. But, this was a doozie!
The throat swelling and clamping down of my lungs went on and on. Instead of reversing with an hour or two of being slammed with Epinepherine, Benadryl, Albuterol, Zantac, and Steroids, it took 8 hours to get things under control. That is why I ended up in the intensive care unit. I am pretty good at being calm through these storms, but the words “we may need to intubate you”(throat tube and breathing machine) were darn scary! Thankfully, that did not happen!
I look forward to coming back online tomorrow and catching up on your blogs and writing a bit more of exactly what is happening with this crazy body of mine.
Thank you especially to Firehubby and Elaine! I am truly blessed!
For now, good night my friends. I thank God for each one of you!
