Abrupt

I just came home from the hospital to very barky, very confused dogs for the third time in 24 hours.  They keep wondering why I'm not bringing Mommy with me.

Oh, perhaps I need to back up a bit.  First of all, know that Ericka and Sam are in stable condition and doing fine under the circumstances I am about to describe.

Now google "placental abruption" (grade 1, specifically).  I won't link to anything about it so you can enjoy the full experience of doing exactly what the attending OB told us not to do last night.  Even if you don't read the Wikipedia entry, sounds scary, right?

Not so scary as rushing to the hospital at 7pm last night with the gut-punched feeling that we were about to lose our unborn son.

After a few hours of prodding and probing Ericka through various high- and low-tech means by several very nice strangers in blue scrubs, we were told she'd not be allowed to come home.  At first it was a 24 to 48 hour observation. 

Then it became a definite 48 hours and probably some bedrest at home.  Then it became day-by-day, and IF Ericka is allowed to leave the hospital at all before Sam is born we need to work out accommodations that are closer to the hospital since we live too far in the boonies--they prefer a 20 minute window should any other similar events mean an immediate delivery is indicated.

While I was grabbing stuff at home for a slumber party at Fletcher Allen Health Center, and letting the Pack out to potty, Ericka was thankfully moved from the birthing center down to the nursery.  Stable, neither mother nor fetus in distress (at least not emotional).  Still lots of monitoring fetal heart rate, Mommy's vitals, etc, which made for a not-so-comfy night's sleep (a cot that makes me wax nostalgiac for the horrible sleeper sofa I used to crash on at the Code Pink House basement notwithstanding).

All the indicators are good.  Sam's heart beats strong and fast, and accelerates appropriately when moving.  Ericka's BP is nice and low where we like it.

My beloved looks like a newly assimilated Borg creature: the blood clot cuffs on her ankles with their pneumatic tubes snaking around the foot of the bed, the IV in her right hand, and the other odd things attached to her belly and fingers at various times.  But she's in good spirits and glowing and beautiful, while doing all the hard work of growing Sam and keeping him where he belongs right now.

What caused this abruption, this tearing of the placenta from the uterine wall?  Well, it's not entirely clear.  They kept asking whether anything traumatic had happened yesterday--a fall, a blow to the belly--or...well, the thing that got us in this mess in the first place.  Nope on all counts (sadly).

Hypertension causes a lot of these kinds of events, but Ericka's BP has been great the entire pregancy.  Short umbilical?  Nobody said anything about it after any of our ultrasounds.

Smoking, drinking, drug use?  Not in this case.  Ericka protested to one of the residents, "I don't do any of those things!"  She replied, "we know, we checked."  Ah, a tox report on all that damned blood they drew.

So maybe age, though Ericka's on the borderline of that statistical threshold.  Or the Will of Allah.

Whatever.  She and Sam are in great hands.  All the staff, from ER triage to the OB nurses, residents and attending docs, have been great.  We're now in the "at risk" OB dept, which means they're taking all this seriously and making sure all precautions are taken to ensure Sam isn't delivered earlier than necessary and will be as well-situated as possible when he does arrive.

Even with a Grade 1 abruption, and their generally self-limiting nature, the attending who visited today told us it's not a matter of 'if' so much as 'when' another event will occur.  Forewarned is forearmed, so preparations are being made for the eventualities.

Sam will definitely be born at least 4 weeks early.  That's a given.  There's a 50-50 chance he'll get to cook for the "full" 36 weeks.  Every week we get closer to that is a great thing.

One concern is oxygen.  His lungs are still developing and to make sure they're in a better position to deliver oxygen to his brain and other necessaries, Ericka's been given a steroid shot to get those airbags growing more quickly and strongly.

To help make an unpleasant situation as tolerable as can be, we have a nursing case manager who chatted with us today and told us what kind of support services are available for families who are expectantly waiting and whose children will be in NICU at some point.  After that I got a tour of the "quiet rooms" available for dads to crash, work, etc, and the Ronald McDonald Room just around the corner in pediatrics (the RM House is down the hill) where there's a shower, laundry, coffee, snacks, and other amenities.

Ericka and I are extremely grateful for everything the people at FAHC are doing.  We also are grateful for the state of Vermont's universal health insurance that is covering Mommy and Baby.  We recognize just how damned lucky we are compared to so many at home and abroad (of course I have Gazans specifically in mind as I wear a "Gaza, My Love" t-shirt).

If I might indulge in a blogger's prerogative for a moment, as lucky as we are, we need to create just a smidge more luck.  Not only do we welcome people lighting candles and whatnot for us, we could also use some coin.

This "obstetric catastrophe" is not only scary and unpleasant for the obvious reasons, it's also damned inconvenient financially.  We're in a cash crunch as we're losing income from  Ericka's nannying and incurring unexpected hospital expenses that may last 90 days or more.

Now we freely acknowledge that we have made certain lifestyle choices that put us into this predicament.  War tax resistance is not only less lucrative than you might imagine, it's also not so glamorous as careers where you get nice junkets and lots of wining and dining--that's where I was always able to steal cocktail weenies to supplement my diet.  And we haven't sold off as many things as we should (and have planned) just yet.

But I'll still put out the tin cup in case people find value in some of the choices we have made, some of the things we do, and even some of the shit you see on this pissant blog. 

Perhaps you like seeing cats and/or dogs on a regular basis.  Perhaps you meant to donate to the Gaza peace delegation or other actions and didn't get around to it.   Perhaps you see our raising a child in a nonviolent activist environment to be worth an investment that might pay off in the future for your own children or grandchildren.  Perhaps you're just some bleeding heart who likes a sob story, even if there are countless sob stories, most of which are more worthy than this one.

Whatever.  We literally need gas money and survival money until we can generate some other revenue.  If in these horrible economic times you can spare some change, you could really help the three of us and we'd be eternally grateful.  Truly.

Peace.

ntodd