Week 6: Drugs!

Contents: 

One Week Later...

Not long after my visit to Urgent Care, it became evident that I was once again dehydrated. 

I had scant urine output, and when I did pee, it was deeply yellow. My mouth was dry. I was dizzy and wanted my boyfriend to spot me in the shower in case the hot water made me dizzy enough to fall. 

Unfortunately, I was not dehydrated during business hours. 

Dear Reader, there is something I haven't told you yet, though you may suspect it based on my use of the phrase "scant urine output"; I work in the medical field. 

I have a bachelor's degree in Kinesiology & Health Sciences with a concentration in Pre-Medical Studies from the College of William & Mary. I took a ridiculous number of chemistry classes, anatomy, physiology, and labs to get out of school and realize entry-level medical field jobs don't really care about an academic degree. 

Out of school, I did a technical training program to obtain my certified nursing aide license that allowed me to get a job that paid a bit better than Starbucks on none other than the postpartum unit at our local hospital. The nurses had suspected I might be pregnant after having called out for the entirety of the previous week—aside from one day. 

When I'm not doing secretary things on the unit or bathing a newborn, I work shorter shifts as a birth registrar. I help parents on the unit file the paperwork to obtain a birth certificate, and I managed to drag myself into work one of those days. 

Everyone knows that I'm a pretty hard worker, and I never call out. The day I went in, Joe had driven me to make sure I was okay. Everyone wanted to know that I wasn't dying, and I wanted everyone to know that if I threw up that they shouldn't worry; it's not contagious. So, my child outed me as pregnant to my job. 

The advantage of such a job was while I called the unit to call out of work the next day, I could ask my night shift coworkers what they thought: should I come into the hospital? 

With the Urgent Care being closed, it was either the Labor, Delivery, & Recovery (LDR) triage line or the emergency department (ED). And I would not go to the ED unless death was imminent. 

Desk staff at a hospital unit is not qualified or legally protected to give medical advice over the phone—not unless they specifically have a triage line. The postpartum unit does not, but my coworkers knew I wouldn't sue them. They said it probably wouldn't hurt but to call ahead to LDR to double-check. 

I got to talk to a midwife from my prenatal office for the first time. (Remember, they don't typically schedule a first visit until eight weeks pregnant!) She agreed that I should probably come in for some IV fluids, so we went. 

My boyfriend was very good at being very calm while freaking out. 

I had thrown up so much the past week. The tips and tricks, the Unisom and B6, the Preggie Pops, it all seemed more like emotional support than anything else. Like, it gave me something to do, something to try, to feel productive. But that was about it. I was still throwing up at least three times a day, and my appetite was nonexistent. 

Some people swear by their morning sickness hacks, and I am not saying that they're all liars. Human bodies are weird, and things that work for Mama A may not do anything for Mama B, and here I was, feeling like Mama D for dead. 

The entire time we were checking in felt like a fever dream, and I could not help but notice that registration had no receptacles into which I could throw up if I needed to. They checked my name, got me admitted, banded me, and sent me on my way. Luckily, I did not have to pay attention to the directions—I knew the way, just like going to work, considering that my unit and LDR are within feet of each other on the same floor. 

We buzzed into the unit and got settled into a triage room. I peed in a cup, changed into a gown, and waited for someone to come and stab me. 

Our units use a local numbing agent, lidocaine, to start IVs, which I was grateful for. I am a chicken with needles. It makes me a little uneasy to see someone else get stuck, but I really cannot handle it on my own body. I have to look away, take deep breaths, and steep in denial. 

I always tell the staff that I am baby, and they're usually just grateful that I'm simply a coward and not a fainter. 

They shot me up with some IV Zofran and sweet, sweet saline. 

Again, it was like one of those freaky little fish coming back from the dead. Look up a video of an African mudfish or pleco—that was me. 

Once the nurse restored my life force, the midwife came to round on me. 

She told me that being this sick this early could be a sign of twins. My boyfriend and I looked at each other with the realization that we could have more than one baby with the same grave reality: we'd be moving in with my mom if that were the case. 

She said that we could find out more at the first ultrasound, and she would have the phlebotomist come and draw blood to do some lab work, just since I was already there. More needles. Yay. 

Then, we got the best news: the midwife would send a prescription for some anti-nausea meds, something the Urgent Care did not have the balls to do, even when I asked nicely. 

In case you didn't know, every other hospital unit is scared of pregnant ladies. They want to send them away as quickly as possible to The Experts. In fact, a lot of mamas who are on psych meds have trouble continuing their prescriptions in pregnancy, even if the medication is safe to take while pregnant. They rely on their prenatal provider to continue sending scripts when the psychiatrist refuses. 

Anyway, she sent Zofran to be used sparingly (some studies have shown that Zofran in the first trimester can affect the fetus's heart) and Phenergan, which I could take every four hours as needed. Zofran is a dissolvable pill, which is nice, but I was going to try not taking it unless I was approaching dehydration again. The Phenergan, on the other hand, is a regular swallow-with-water pill that tastes foul if you let it sit on your tongue too long. It also makes you drowsy as hell, but it has no adverse effects in the first trimester. 

The reason that the first trimester is such a delicate time for a pregnancy is organs are being formed. Once formed, the fetus is growing those organs and working towards life on the outside. But while making those organs, the baby is particularly vulnerable. That being said, everything is about risk management. It wouldn't do the baby any good if I continued to get severely dehydrated, and the studies on Zofran are fairly recent. Many of the nurses I worked with were prescribed Zofran and took it with their pregnancies with no complications, including the unit managers who were very impressed that I returned to work on Phenergan alone and managed to stay away. 

Back to the triage room, though, the Zofran made me feel like a human being again. Yes, the fluids helped me feel like a live creature, but having the boggy nausea leave my sad little husk of a body for the first time in weeks was magical. 

The midwife said that if I continued to throw up and get dehydrated the way I was going, even with the meds, it may be necessary to set up regular appointments for infusions. Luckily, the hospital had an infusion center that I could go to, get hooked up, and go. It would be a lot less drama than triage or Urgent Care, but we all agreed it would be nice if I could stop throwing up. 

Once again, the nurse made sure I could hold down some ginger ale and saltines before bringing me a discharge packet and papers to sign. 

The whole endeavor was interesting. I had only ever been in the hospital one other time to have jaw surgery, and I was only there for a day. Additionally, I knew these people. The LDR, postpartum, and neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) are sister units. We see staff from the other units fairly often, and it's a different dynamic, being treated by people you work with. 

It doesn't compare, though, to the idea of having your vaginal bleeding get checked after birth by the nurses you take lunch breaks with. That'll come in about thirty-four weeks. 

Once we got discharged, we went to get Japanese takeout. Again, maybe not the smartest thing to eat, but goddamnit, I was hungry. And Joe was so relieved that I was feeling better, if only temporarily, that money was no object. 

After all, I was building his best friend with my body, something I would come to remind him of often.