You Don't Remember Me...But I'll Never Forget You

To the nurse:

We work together.
We work on different units but share the same locker room.

We're shedding our street clothes and donning our white scrubs right next to each other.
Your scrubs are all white while mine have green stripes on the sleeves. 
You do women and I do sick babies.
We make eye contact and exchange a polite smile.

You don't recognize me.

But I'll never forget you.

Months ago, you were my nurse and I was the patient.
I still had the IV tubing attached to my left arm and was a bit dazed after the anesthesia.
You helped me take off my bra.

You helped me peel off my old nursing scrub top.
It wasn't white anymore...only the top half of it was.
The bottom half was soaked from my belly button down with blood...my own blood.

You helped me to the shower.
There, I washed off the last physical reminders of my pregnancy...my failed pregnancy.
Red water swirled down the drain.

To the doctor:

We meet again but in a birthing room.

A proper birthing room this time.
Equipped with a real bed instead of a gurney.
A birthing ball instead of a gyno-chair.
A baby scale instead of plastic trash bags.
The first time we met, you were between my legs with worry on your face.

You're between another mother's legs now.
I'm perched next to the radiant warmer waiting for you to push another woman's baby into my arms. 

You're focused on the mom-to-be but you look briefly in my direction and signal that the baby is almost there.

You don't recognize me.

But I'll never forget you.

The last time I saw you, you had my blood all over your pants.
You were talking to me about my D&C and about the possibility of needing a blood transfusion.
Despite my pain in that moment, I was trying to place your accent.
It was Italian I believe.

Rewind a bit.

No one told me about the blood. When I miscarried at work in the 13th gestational week no one told me there could be so much.

I was at work about to take care of one of my babies. When I stood up from the computer chair, I felt a rush of warmth between my legs. 
I knew then that it was over.

Another rush of blood.

More this time.

I took a step forward.

More blood pulsed out.

I yelled for help, but my colleague didn't hear me.

I managed to walk about 15 feet to my nearest coworkers. I'm pretty sure I left drops of blood behind me in my path.

Before I sat, I grabbed something to put on the chair to protect it. 

Only a few people at work new I was pregnant but at this moment, the "secret" was out. 

"Hey, listen, I'm pregnant..."
*surprise on their face*
"...but I'm losing the baby right now and I think I need help." 

Anna, my coworker, grabbed a wheelchair and wheeled me down the hall. We stopped at Labor and Delivery but they told us to go downstairs to the women's emergency room. Anna knocked on the door and we explained to the woman that answered what was happening.

To the midwife:

You probably don't remember me.
But I'll never forget you.

I'll never forget the dismissive way you told me you couldn't do anything for my "baby."
So matter-of-factly.

"With 13 weeks there's nothing we can do for you." you snarled.

"I...I know." I stammered, "But I think I need help right now."

She told me to follow her to the bathroom so she can see my underwear to see how much I was bleeding. I only lifted my nursing bag from my lap and she could see my white nursing scrub pants were a bright red. The blood was down to my knees and it wasn't stopping.

She brought me to another room and stripped me from the waist down. She threw my pants straight in the trash. I think it surprised Anna too because Anna asked me if there was anything in the pockets that I still needed. There wasn't.

I saw then the blood had reached my socks and began to saturate the backs of my shoes.

There was a palpable panic in the room.

"Umm...I'm B positive." I sputtered.

"I'm B positive." I repeated, to anyone listening.

I could tell things were getting a bit serious.

Once the midwife started the IV I felt a bit safer knowing they had access should I need volume replacement. 

The blood kept coming.
In pulses and with clots now.
Anna was still at my bedside.
I felt more blood pulse out and I tried to politely push Anna away from the bed.
I was sure it was about to flow over the side of the bed and drip on to her.
I was embarrassed and didn't want her to get dirty too.

The nurse was frantically changing the large flat pads covering my bed.
I saw all the clots and coagulations for the first time.

"Um, excuse me, if you think you see a fetus in there, can you save it? I want to see it." I said to the midwife.

"Mrs. Frick, I'm not trained enough to distinguish that. It will all be sent to the pathology lab." she replied in a rush.

Each blood soaked item was put in a separate plastic bag.
I couldn't help but wonder if my "baby" was in one of them.

Anna asked me later if I remember asking to see it. "Of course," I said "it was a part of me." I truly and deeply wanted to see it. I would not have been grossed out.

The bleeding wasn't stopping.
The Italian doctor was there now (the first time we'd met) and started gathering bits and pieces of my story from the midwife.
They wheeled me into another examination room with a gynocology chair.

In the chair, the shakes started.
The Italian doctor did a vaginal exam but couldn't determine if the bleeding would stop on its own.
I felt more blood spill onto the floor.
I felt cold and couldn't stop shaking.

Another nurse came into my line of vision.

"Mrs. Frick, I'm going to give you a medicine through your IV that will help aid in the removal and might cause your heart rate to increase."

"Um, ok. *lightbulb* Are you giving my oxytocin?!"

"Um...yes." She seemed surprised I knew the medical name.

I knew then that this wasn't going to be a good time...soon I would be feeling contractions.

The next thing I knew, the room filled with people. People in white. My monitor started alarming. My heart rate was 143 and my blood pressure was 70 something/30 something. A suitable blood pressure for a neonate...but not good for me. 

I remember being confused about all the noise and the alarms. It was weird that it was my monitor alarming. I've never been on this side before.

I also thought, "is this hypovolemic shock? I think this is hypovolemic shock! This is what hypovolemic shock looks (and feels) like. Crazy! I'm not doing very well."

More people. More blood. My blood.

My blood is on me and on them.

On their blue rubber gloves. 

On their paperwork.
On their hospital cell phones.

My blood in on my own pens in my scrub top pocket.

I'm back on the gurney. Another doctor comes in and tries to gather a medical history. The contractions have started in full force and it's hard to get the answers out.

"Mrs. Frick, are you allergic to morphine?"

"I don't think so, I've never had it." I grunt as another contraction builds.

He turned his head over his shoulder and shouted behind him, "You guys are cruel, get her some morphine."

The morphine went straight to my head. My mind felt fuzzy but I could still feel each contraction.

"Was your son born healthy, Mrs. Frick?" the doctor continued.

"Yes...well he was born at 25+ weeks."

"Wow, that's early."

"Not really. I mean, a little."

Anna from behind the curtain "She means 35 weeks!"

"Oh, Anna is still here! Nice!" I thought.

"Yea, sorry, 35+ I meant."

"Anna! Can you update Eddie for me?!" I screamed.

"Already did!" She returned.

"Mrs. Frick, I need you to sign this consent form for a curettage. We will need to take you into surgery and..."

"I know what it is, I'll just sign."
Contraction.

This doctor spoke to me with his eyes closed.

"Look at me." I thought. "Open your eyes, do I look that pathetic right now? You're weird. Why aren't you looking at me?!"

My signature was a scribble. The pain was immense.

I was in a permanent "mid-crunch" pose. My stomach muscles and neck muscles were constantly flexed from the pain.

"This sucks." I said in English. 

Oh, did I mention that all the words said until this point were in German?

"This sucks..." I repeated to no one in particular.

"...so much pain for no baby at the end."

I had a birth but had nothing to show for it.

Suddenly, I feel someone shove oxygen prongs in my nose.

"Hm, is my oxygen saturation dropping or is this standard procedure on morphine?" I thought to myself.

I'm in pain and things are a bit fuzzy but I'm still processing things in nurse-mode.

I briefly heard my sister-in-law come into the room.
She needed my car keys because we car-pooled together.

All of a sudden, we were moving. I still had the oxygen tubing in my nose but I was pretty sure there was no oxygen flowing because we were now on our way to the OR and I didn't hear anyone grab an O2 gas tank.

Anna followed my bed as far as she could. We parted ways at the OR room doors and she told me she would be waiting with Eddie.
A man gives me a hair net and wheels me into the OR room.

More strangers. Lots of strangers. In a hurry. Lots of lights. They're sticking things to my chest. Putting things on my fingers. The pulse oxymeter, I recognize, but there is something on my thumb. I ask the next random woman that enters my line of vision what it is.

"That's a muscle monitor. With that, we can tell if you're truly relaxed from the anesthesia."
"Hm, ok, interesting." I say. "Thanks, random woman." I think.

Another man in my face. He introduces himself. I don't have the energy to remember it. I'm tired. He asked me when I ate last. I told him and he said they will need to pump my stomach. 

I felt sad. The last thing I ate was wedding cake from the parents of a baby on our unit that got married the day before. I felt disappointed. It was delicious. That felt like ages ago, when I was sitting with my coworkers on our break. I never would have thought that 2 hrs later I'd be on an OR table.

This same man told me that he will intubate me.

That shocked me too. I'd never been intubated before. A part of me was disappointed. Not because of the invasiveness but rather that I couldn't witness it myself.

He begins to put a mask over my face.

I quickly explain to him that...

"I want more babies! Don't injure my uterus! Leave it in there!"

My instructions are muffled by the mask now. I hear chuckles in the OR room.

I can feel myself fading.

I'm able to dictate one last time "I'm serious, don't injure my uterus..."

When I awake there is another nurse.

Another accent. French?

I start asking where my husband is.

She tells me she doesn't speak English.

...even though I was speaking German.

Moments later when I ask something else she reminds me that she doesn't speak English.

But again, I'm speaking German the entire time! 


Is my accent that horrible after anesthesia?

My throats hurts but I'm not allowed to drink.

Someone wheels me to my room upstairs.

Eddie's there. He's sitting in a chair in the corner by the window with a bag full of clothes for me.

"I'm not pregnant anymore, Ed. I'm sorry."

I'm still wearing my nursing scrub top. 
It's half white and half dark brown now. 
My pants are somewhere in a garbage bag one floor down. 
My socks and shoes are in a plastic bag and have magically already teleported themselves next to my bed in my room.

I change and shower with help.

I'm lightheaded and nauseous when I stand. Circulatory weakness, I note, still in nurse-mode.

The night was restless. I was given anxiety meds but I don't think I slept more than 2 hours. I strangely kept thinking about my patients and my coworkers that I left stranded on my unit. I didn't get to give anyone report. Will they see that my babies have meds due? I didn't get to finish charting. I'm supposed to work tomorrow...or is it already tomorrow today...what time is it even?

Shit. The blood. My coworkers had to clean up my blood from the floor and chair. I feel inexplicably mortified.

The blood.

My blood.

It was everywhere. I can't get it out of my mind. For days and weeks it's the only thing I can think about. The blood and all the people.

Germany vs. America

400.   If there is a car accident on the highway in Germany, the other drivers instinctively build a "Rettungsgasse" which literally translates to a "rescue alley." This way, the service vehicles can easily get to the people/accident faster.

401.   I feel like most homes have two refrigerators in the States. One in the kitchen (naturally) and one say...in the garage? Solely for drinks? Maybe one in the basement? I only know one person here that has 2 fridges. It doesn't seem necessary here.

402.   In the US you can quickly tell if you are in a "bad neighborhood." You can drive mere minutes and the change in socioeconomic status is palpable. I don't see that in our area here. 

403.   A native German once told me she found it offensive that in the US the waiters/waitresses bring you the check in the restaurant even though you haven't asked for it. She said she felt rushed. She's not wrong, I suppose, sometimes that is their way of saying "skedaddle."

404.   Greeting cards, for birthdays or other celebratory events, are often blank here. You fill them out yourself in your own words. I'm too lazy for that. I'd rather stand in an aisle for 20 minutes at Walgreen's searching for the "perfect" pre-printed wording.

405.   In English when you're teasing someone you say "Nana nana boo boo" in German you say "ätschi bätschi!"

406.   Similarly, in english we say "gootchy gootchy goo" when tickling someone. Here, they say "killeh killeh killeh." I guess the english version is dumber.

407.   I recently went to a public pool and laid out my towel in a nice shady spot near an umbrella. A few moments later, a woman came and gave me a nasty look. Apparently, the shade belonged to her. She rented the metal, generic looking umbrella sticking in the ground. I moved further back after a friend told me what her (my?) problem was.

408.   Fire sirens make the sounds "tattooo tattaaa" according to Germans.

409.   Currently: $1 = 0.83 euros = 0.96 CHF (Swiss francs)

When the Onesies Run Out

This is it, son. It's going to be over soon. Your babiness is slipping from me.

Even though you haven't slept in our room for a year, I could never bring myself to break down your bay bed. Yes, I know, you're almost two but I'm beginning to think I have a serious mental problem. I distinctly remember the first night home from the NICU that you slept in it. For over a year it was used only to collect clothes that weren't exactly dirty enough to go into the hamper but shouldn't be hung back in the closet. I recently found the heart to at least remove it from next to my side of the bed and into the living room. I threw a blanket and some pillows on it and now you refer to it as "Eddie's Towtch" (Eddie's Couch). Phew! At least I was able to procrastinate that one for a bit longer.

While grocery shopping, I rarely have the need to go down the Baby Aisle. When I do, for your favorite pre-bedtime pudding or for more diapers/wipes, I pause in front of the baby food jars. There was a time when I stood here for what seemed like hours picking and choosing, replacing it on the shelf, picking it up again, and reading the labels. These days, the jars almost feel foreign to me. The empty glasses no longer fill my recyclables.

I still rock you to bed at night - because I can. Sometimes, while swaying in my arms, you look me in the eye and say "Bed!" I reluctantly place you in your crib but I suppose I am thankful for those few minutes where you laid peacefully in my arms. Sometimes, after you get snug in your bed, you dismiss me from your room with a "Mama, raus!"("Mama, out!"). I thought I still had a few more years until that would happen. I oblige but, little do you know, I sneak back in later just to lay eyes on you just one more time.

I breastfed you for 14 months. I only stopped because we were trying to give you a sibling and I needed to inject hormones again. Had I known that it wouldn't work even a year later, I'd have breastfed you longer. That day, I knew it was the last breastfeeding session. I cried through part of if. I filmed the rest. To this day, I won't delete it from my phone. No matter how many times I'm reminded of low storage on my phone, that video always makes the cut! I watch it every couple weeks too. We were such a good team.

The onesies are disappearing. Not only are you outgrowing them, they're beginning to become impractical with potty training. I'm trying really hard to squeeze you into some of them. They're adorable! I just can't part from them. I purposely don't put them in the dryer so that they don't shrink or become too tight. I know with 1 you became a toddler but the day I pack away your last onesie will be the official end to your Baby Stage. Promise me I won't have to!

Please, God, if you insist that he leaves this baby stage...bless me with another! The ache is unbearable at times.

And now, some "Then and Now" comparisons from our Christmas photo session with JF Photography!

Germany vs. America

390.   So you now how in America before you take an exit off the highway there is a sign that lets you know at about what speed you should take the off ramp...yea, rarely the case in the Land of Deutsch.

391.   I was born in 1984. In the US, I would say I was born in the 80s but apparently in Germany they would say that I was born in the 90s. I suppose it is similar to gestational week counting. When a pregnant woman is 34 weeks + 2 days we say that she is in her 35th week.

392.   In English we say "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" but in German they say "supercalifragilisticexpialigetisch." Throws ya through a loop for a sec.

393.   In Germany (and Switzerland) if during your vacation from work you become ill, your employer will give you those days of vacation back to take again at a later time.

394.   I have 5 weeks (+5 days) of vacation. I think in America we were guaranteed 2.

395.   It is not possible to take FMLA here but you do receive a certain amount of sick days if your child is ill.

395.   There is much less respect for the military in Germany. No disrespect, just less respect.

397.   I never heard of someone getting sued here. Imagine that!

398.   Political campaigns are publicly financed in Germany. Imagine that! 

399.   Germany/US size comparison.