Hair Rescue

Bed rest does not have to be ugly.

After nearly 4 weeks of a bad 'do, which transformed from a once stylin' blow-out to a stringy ponytail to an au naturel bouffant on top of my head - it was time to take action. The twice weekly shower, which allows for an equal number of shampoos, has proven not to be enough. Clean hair is certainly a step up from the hot mess I was working with a week into my hospital stay, but glamorous locks are much better. So much like I put a call out that I needed a mani/pedi, I planted the seed of my hair need.

On Monday, I received a call from a woman named Alyssa, who runs the Femme Coiffure Hair Spa in the Ritz Carlton on South Beach. After chatting for a few minutes, she let me know that her husband, Michael, would be contacting me to set up an in-room styling session. This morning, Michael called - and less than an hour later, Ivan came to my rescue.

Ivan - Latin and lovely - arrived with perfectly coiffed hair, in dark rinse designer denim, a black vest, and a white wife beater. He carried a Jack Bauer bag of hair assault tools. Ivan didn't waste a lot of time on small talk, and I didn't want him to. I'd already been out of bed and off my monitors for more than 1/2 hour, so we needed to get down to business. He moved into the room with a quiet assuredness, taking a standard hospital chair and hospital towels, and using them to evolve the space into his own salon. His only question for me was what he could unplug to free up an outlet. Once we sorted that out, it was game time.

For 45 minutes, I forgot I was in a hospital, much less on bed rest. I closed my eyes, and the warmth of the hair dryer reminded me of home. When all was done and I turned and looked in the mirror, I felt familiar to myself once again - and quite cute.

Believe me, I haven't lost track of why I'm here or what really matters for even a single second. But hell if I'm not going to call Ivan up again next week to ready me for the big day - and while I'm at it, Barbie's getting a call too.

Indeed, bed rest can look good.

Hurricanes and Earthquakes

Now that I have a delivery date to look forward to, I've focused a lot of my energy on learning more about the labor and delivery process. I had been diligently reading my "What To Expect When You're Expecting," which seems to be a love-it or hate-it bible for the pregnant set. But when this all happened, I kinda didn't feel the need to read about months 8 or 9, figuring I'd already been there done that. Since sitting on the toilet that fateful Monday 10/12, furiously thumbing through the book to figure out if my water had in fact broken, and if I should be hauling ass to the emergency room instead of trying to self-diagnose...I hadn't really referenced the book again.

Today, I decided it was in fact time to dive into the details of labor and delivery. After all, this is coming no more than 9 days from now, so it probably makes sense to have at least some clue. Right?

Yeah, hmmmm. Jury is still out on that one.

I liken a pre-determined due date and 100% knowledge of the birthing process, vs. the traditional wait it out and who knows when it's coming or what it's going to be like - to hurricanes vs. earthquakes. I've said many times that hurricanes (as well as tornadoes and any other natural disasters you "watch") are far worse than earthquakes because of the fear sparked simply by anticipation. The inability to predict or prepare for earthquakes eradicates the irrational behavior showcased in every news story covering a "storm watch." When a big one rolls through, it's 20 seconds of sheer terror - but at least you didn't break your plans preparing for it.

So again, I ask...should I have read that chapter of the book?

I mean, is it really better to prepare myself for the inevitable, or just succumb to it and embrace the element of surprise? After all, I'm getting an epidural. So was it even necessary to read about the intensely nightmarish pain I'd be experiencing if I weren't numbed from the pelvis down? Because frankly, now I'm just preoccupied by the pain I supposedly won't be experiencing in that moment, but most certainly will feel the aftermath of.

"Rip." "Tear" "Sting." "Stitch." Wow, talk about not understating things. This chapter reads just like Hurricane Katrina is headed straight for my va-jay-jay. And unfortunately, it's too late to board up my house.

Perhaps indeed, I should have spared myself the details, and let the delivery hit me like an earthquake. When that first tremor hits, you have no idea if it's the big one or a 3.2 - and there's something scary yet hopeful about that.

Here's to waiting it out.

Will the Real Nobel Peace Prize Winner Please Stand Up?

I've decided that I may be able to break out of here without anyone noticing. I have officially become the least interesting patient on the floor, with the nurses coming by only occasionally, and the doctor strolling in at the end of the day, sucking on a lollipop. One of the nurses actually entertained my idea of coming off the monitors 24/7, validating that thought by letting me know that most patients who reach my level of stability are actually only monitored a couple of times per day. Now that's what I'm talking about. I'm going to keep pushing on this one.

My November 14th delivery date is pretty much set in stone now, barring any surprises. The lollipop sucking doctor who came by today confirmed he would not be the one on call that day (this was a relief for me, mind you). I feigned sadness. Then he said that he would be willing to come in for a quick C-section. Hello, since when did these become elective? I joked that it did seem these only took about 10 minutes (I spent my first few days here across the hall from the operating room where they performed the procedure). He and his giant ego corrected me, saying that they took 10 minutes for him, and 40 minutes for everyone else - because there's the "USC way" and then there's "the wrong way." Tool. Little does he know I do not desire to have the skilled hands of a Trojan involved in my delivery, unless he's going to be catching a football - and even that's suspect after Saturday.

Meanwhile, it has occurred to me that the sports gods are punking me. Tell me, how is it that I managed to end up on bed rest during the World Series vs., say, the month of March? Bed rest sucks, and don't let anyone tell you any different - it's just not true. BUT it would be a lot less sucky during March Madness. No being "home sick" or sneaking off to a sports bar in the middle of the work day to watch a game...not that I ever did these things, of course. I've respectably just escaped to Vegas every March for roughly the past 10 years.

The weather gods are also punking me. You see, Hurricane season officially lasts through November 30th. It's been a very quiet season so far, all but considered over. But guess what we seem to be tracking now? Tropical Storm Ida. So, just for shits and giggles, let me walk you through my awesome vacation so far:

1) Flight departs SFO 10/11, 2-1/2 hours late.
2) Flight arrives in MIA at 11:00 at night.
3) Brad and I pick up our rental car - it's an ugly white hatchback thing, probably American - and this was my upgraded selection.
4) We sit in horrendous traffic on the MacArthur Causeway at midnight - and I promptly learn that Miami drivers make LA drivers look like driver's ed instructors.
5) Starving after having eaten no dinner, we learn that the chic, boutique-style resort hotel we're paying a lot of money for does not offer room service - but no big deal, we'll just eat a big brunch the next day. Oh, wait...
6) You know the rest of this story.

So suffice it to say, if this tropical storm hits Miami...President Obama should give me his Nobel Peace Prize simply for not yet kicking anyone's ass.

See Tunnel...See Light

Today was awesome. As you may recall, every Tuesday, I am granted a journey to Perinatology, and this time, we were gone for about a 2-hour round trip!

I was skeptical of my nurse, Tracy, when she first came in this morning. She said really obvious things like, "We really just need to make sure you don't get an infection," and, "These vitamins are really important for you to take." (Mind you, I am the one who requested the vitamins in the first place - a prenatal and DHA supplement.) Then she asked why I'm taking DHA. That did not impress me.

After the series of naive statements and questions, she administered my Lovenox shot. But not before asking me where others had given me the shot, and what I thought was best. Um...am I the patient or the doctor? After telling her that ultimately, the thigh was the least invasive area, she gave me the shot in my upper arm, claiming she knew "a good way to do it pain-free." Yeah, um, it hurt more than any of the others. Thanks.

Her last mishap involved the hep-lock. It has to be removed and replaced every 4 days, and today happened to be the day with the Ace Shooter. I'm generally not too bothered by this process, especially at this point, so I was focused on the Dr. Oz show. Unfortunately, so was she. So much so that she was actually staring at the TV and engaging in dialogue back to the screen. She even went so far as to say we'd have to "catch her up" on what she missed.

Please note that while this is happening, she is wielding a needle that needs to go into a vein in my hand, where it will remain for 4 days. So, how do you think the insertion went? Not good. She missed the vein the first time, just stabbing me on the top of my hand. And then removed it, and shoved it back in where it was supposed to go. Sweet Jesus.

So how, you might be wondering, did she possibly recover from this buffoonery?

Well, it seemed that no one had actually scheduled my Perinatology appointment for today, which meant I was in danger of not going outdoors for my weekly 10 minutes. After some back and forth, Tracy came to our rescue. She scheduled a standing Tuesday 2pm appointment for me, made sure my wheelchair arrived in time, and generally provided excellent support. Most important, because of her, I got to go outside. And that's how she saved face against all odds.

Once we got to Perinatology, there was a bit of a wait. The nurse who wheeled me over was none too happy about this. And alas, once again, the office featured more pregnant teens than pregnant adults. I can't quite figure out what's going on here.

When I finally was admitted for my ultrasound, things really took off in the right direction. Much to everyone's surprise, my amniotic fluid level had shot up even beyond an already impressive 9.6 to 11.7! This is "beyond normal," if there is such a thing. And the little chubster? Well, he's weighing in at approximately 4lbs 7oz, making it all but certain that he will be greater than 5 pounds when I deliver. This is huge, because babies must be at least 5 pounds to leave the hospital. His fetal breathing continued to impress, as did all other measurements. So for the third time in a row, I received a biophysical profile score of 8/8! We're on a roll.

Today, the doctor informed me that the whole team had decided unequivocally that I will be induced at 34 weeks. I'm allowed to choose the day +/- 1. So assuming I'm still writing this story next week, we're looking at a November 14th birthday (because it just seems best to avoid Friday the 13th).

Bottom line...while things can always change and I am keenly aware of that, I am remaining positive and looking ahead at the light at the end of the tunnel!

Lashes and Lab Coats

You know you've been in the hospital too long when you've repeatedly accidentally referred to it as "home," and actually find yourself sleeping well there.

There hasn't been a whole lot going on the past couple of days, thankfully, so I've really had some time to make some casual observations. One of these came last night, when I had my blood drawn right before bed as part of a routine the blood bank does for me every few days. It's worth noting that they claim they are storing my blood (though they have to toss it after a few days, and thus the re-drawing), but they're only collecting like 3 test tubes worth. I'm not sure how that will actually help me if I need it, but what do I know?

So around midnight, my nurse came in with two 20-somethings on blood drawing duty. It was too many people to be in my room at that hour, and I wondered what they were all doing there. Then it became immediately apparent that one of the 20-somethings was in training. Oh...no. PLEASE tell me she is not about to learn how to draw blood on me, because for real, I'm going to have to stop her dead in her tracks if she comes near me.

Concerned, I observe them more closely and eavesdrop on their conversation, which is vacillating between the previous night out at the club and the steps involved in drawing and collecting blood. I learned during this conversation that the blood bank "sometimes be trippin'" if you don't put the patient labels on the tubes totally straight. I then watched as they spent an unusual amount of time on this task.

I took a closer look at both of the 20-somethings. The trainee looked like what you'd expect someone on the blood drawing night shift to look like - and that's not a bad thing. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, she wore glasses, and her makeup was minimal to none. Then there was the instructor...

You know what you probably don't need to wear when your job is to draw blood from hospital patients at midnight? False eyelashes. And I mean like J-Lo mink eyelashes as pictured above. I was completely distracted by the animals hanging off her eyelids, and the odd match this made with her white lab coat.

Thankfully, the trainee only applied labels to tubes and put a new wristband on me. The eyelashed one performed the actual blood draw, though I have no idea how she could see my veins through the window shades on her eyes. But much to my surprise, she was really good at it, not even wasting time on that whole, "1-2-3 deep breath" nonsense that is inevitably followed by aggressive stabbing. So do not judge a book by its cover.

Meanwhile, I have some disturbing breaking news. If you recall last week's post about the disposable underwear, I said that Brad and I were on a quest to collect as many packs of these as possible and hide them away as the valuable commodities they are. Well, Brad just went out to ask the nurse for a couple of packs, and she handed them over - but not before politely explaining to him that these are not disposable, and in fact are supposed to just be hand washed in the sink, hung over the shower to dry, and re-worn. WHAT???? They want me to re-wear these gauzy, white briefs they fondly refer to as "Vicky's Secret" after a 12-hour period has passed? And what do they do with these after I am done with them?? Is that the damn secret?

Oh HELL to the no.

Don't Come a-Knockin'

Okay, so what is it with the nurses and the lack of boundaries around here?

Last night, I'm in the bathroom - with the door closed. I heard someone come in and talk to Brad for a while, but I couldn't identify the voice. Next thing I know, there's a knock at my door. Oh shit, we know how this usually plays out.

Phantom voice: "Hi Kiesha!"
Me: "Hi!"
Phantom voice: "How are you? It's (insert name I don't quite understand)."
Me: "Wait, who is it?"

No, no, no, why did I ask who it is? Why didn't I just pretend I heard her the first time and roll with the conversation?

(Door opening)
Phantom voice: "It's Carolyn!"
Me: "Oh, yes, I see you now."

Carolyn fits a somewhat different profile from Benny. She's older, African-American and smells like my grandma used to smell. She doesn't look as shady as Benny. I mean, Benny kinda looks like a deviant, let's be honest. But Carolyn just looks like she bakes a lot of cakes.

How can I hide if I don't even know what I'm looking out for?

As Carolyn wrapped up the conversation and closed the door, I sat stunned on the toilet, replaying my mistake over and over again in my head, like a broken record: "Wait, who is it? Wait, who is it? Wait, who is it?"

Idiot.

I'm just glad there aren't any male nurses around here...yet.

Happy Halloween

So I kind of expected the nurses and doctors to be dressed for the occasion. I don't know, maybe that's more of a Pediatrics thing, but come on, people! Not a single staff member in costume? No bunny ears? No cat whiskers? Try harder.

The day began with a bit of a surprise. After the lovely Mary finished her night duty as my nurse, I was awaken around 8:45 this morning by the dreaded Russian accent. No, say it isn't so! How did Natalia, relegated to my "F*** 'Em" list, somehow find her way back as my assigned nurse for the second day in a row?

When I was up for good around 10, Natalia came back in with the doctor. Natalia had her panties in a bunch about the 7 contractions she saw on the monitor over the span of an hour or so. Again, I hadn't felt them. The doctor basically told her to calm down, said that he wasn't at all worried, and presumed that come 34 weeks, I'd still be here. He then bid me farewell until Sunday. He also asked Natalia to shut down the IV and just let me rock the hep-lock.

During this conversation, I learned some insightful information that really explains Natalia's control issues and chip on her shoulder. She used to be a doctor in Russia - OBGyn. Ohhhhhhhhhh. So after being here for 10 years (I asked), she still hasn't managed to do whatever it is she needs to do to become an American doctor. Gotcha.

Natalia returned solo some time later, and explained to me that we could either do what the doctor had ordered, or we could follow her prescription of keeping me on a very slow IV drip. I won't bore you with her reasons for this, but after yesterday, I didn't have the energy to care and decided to placate her for a while. She seemed very pleased by this. Of course, come the end of her shift, she did exactly what the doctor ordered. But I think she felt like a real doctor again for like 5 hours. Consider it my gift from me to you, Natalia.

After the second coming of Natalia, I anxiously anticipated this evening's night nurse. Ah, its 8:30 pm, the door is opening, who could it...CARLEEN??? Am I being punk'd?

To be fair, both Natalia and Carleen have given me their best versions of themselves today...leading me to believe that something happened after our discussion with the head nurse yesterday. Similarly, most of my favorite nurses who were on duty today paid me special visits.

Another day - about to be another month. Don't forget to move your clocks back.