To get back to posting. Navelgazing Midwife made a comment on Facebook recently that it seemed so much easier to post there than on her blog. I know the feeling...with Facebook we get nearly immediate response to our posts...it's more interactive than the solitary blog...and much more seductive when you have limited time.
I spend entirely too much time on Facebook. I could (and probably will at some point) write an entire entry on the media and how it affects communication between me and many of my peers. It can be a boon...lots of access to information that I might miss but that other nurses and midwives have come across...and even more access to public opinion (or lack of awareness of) that information.
But my original intent in starting this blog was to write about my experiences in, and transitions into various areas of women's health and maternity care; to hone my writing skills; and to increase my critical thinking/writing skills with the feedback of those who may still be checking in on my posts. The time I spend on Facebook has given me yet another way to avoid writing. Time to address that.
On a positive note...I truly am back...or at least rebounding nicely from...my recent health scare. Pulmonary Rehab has done wonders. I'll soon complete the program and return to work full time (I'm already back part-time). I'm exercising regularly, my sats are back to near-normal, and I've lost 24 lbs (to date)! In that department I have a long way to go...but it's been a great start...one that I plan to continue...
...just like this blog.....
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
In Praise of Level One Hospitals
Recently I received a comment from Ruralnrs, extolling the benefits of her workplace, a small, rural hospital. In her comments, she spoke of the low rates of intervention that occur to mothers giving birth at her facility, as well as the level of personalized care that would be difficult to match in a large metropolitan hospital. She spoke of the benefits of fewer "personalities" that (and here I paraphrase liberally), contribute to the multiple interpretations of policies that can "get in the way" of a mother's attempt to achieve a non-interventive birth in hospital. She also pointed out that the success of her unit in achieving a high level of non-intervention, as well as patient satisfaction, lies in the fact that, since the unit is not equipped to (routinely) handle high risk labors and births, they do not want to risk making a labor high risk by engaging in the administration of interventions thay may actually produce the risk! Oh, the exquisiteness of common sense!
Ruralnurs's comments were timely ones. Recently in a community not far from the large metropolitan area where I work, a tragedy occurred to two women, within 24 hours of each other, at the same small L&D unit of a small Level One hospital. Both women received epidural analgesia. Both delivered healthy babies; and both women, the day after giving birth, began experiencing complications that were first attributed to the epidural but which became progressively worse. Each woman was soon transferred... first to that hospital's ICU, and shortly thereafter to another large hospital in the city in which I practice. One of these women subsequently died. Of course an investigation is underway, the public has been "assured" that the cause of the illness, bacterial meningitis, is not communicable, and that everything possible is being done to both determine the cause of the tragedy, and to prevent it from occurring in the future.
Thanks to the "gag" order that has almost certainly been issued by attorneys to the grieving families, pending the inevitable malpractice investigation, we may never know the final outcome of the research into the incidents; of course, in the birthing community, suspicion immediately turned to the administration process during which each woman received her epidural.
Regardless of the cause, a woman has died, a family has been denied a loved one's continued presence in their lives, a child is motherless, and another family's anticipation of one the happiest times of their lives has changed from joy to horror as they gather to support the surviving mother in her journey back to health; and while I can't...could not possibly trump the tragedy being experienced by these two families, incidents like this place all of us in peril in a way, because they feed the usually incorrect perception that care at a smaller, usually rural, Level One hospital is "not as good" as care given in large metropolitan hospitals. Indeed, the continuing survival of this hospital, and many others like it, could be considered at risk due to this type of thinking, and unfortunately, when tragedies like this happen, that risk increases.
Don't quote me here...because I haven't taken the time to gather the research to bolster my words... but I've heard statistics that upwards of 50 percent...in some states, 80 percent...of babies are born in Level One hospitals. A Level One hospital is likely to be located in a rural area or a small town. If it does provide care to birthing women, often the services provided take place in small L & D units...two to four labor rooms as opposed to the dozen-plus common in metropolitan hospitals. There may be only one surgical suite, no Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), and only a handful of practitioners...Obstetricians and Midwives, usually Nurse Midwives. Access to anesthesia is often readily available only during daytime hours, and on an "on call" basis at night. In some Level One hospitals, access to surgical services...even emergency surgeries...depends on an "on call" staff that has to come in from home should a patient require unscheduled surgery during the night...hence ACOG's prohibitive stance on VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) birth in Level One hospitals; they don't believe it is "safe" for a woman to labor on a scarred uterus in an institution of this size and limitation.
I beg to differ, both with the perceived public view in general, and with ACOG's stance in particular. These hospitals serve a huge portion of the population of the United States, and as such, are a critically important part of our country's health care system. To deny low risk pregnant women served by these hospitals access to the full spectrum of birth-related services endangers not only those women, but the overall health of our country, as well as our national economy.
Although I currently work in a large university medical center, I live about 30 minutes from my previous employer, a Level One hospital. It too has a small L&D unit, and it too has seen it's share of tragedies; but poor outcomes happen everywhere...the size of an institution is not indicative of the skill of its' practitioners. Indeed, the physicians at a Level One hospital need to be particularly skilled, in that in time of crisis, they are the point of access to care for the individual(s) involved, unlike in a larger hospital where there may be several (or many). These folks need to "know their stuff"... have exceptional critical thinking skills, and the confidence to put put those skills into action quickly; not that these attributes aren't necessary in a larger institution where there are more practitioners...of course they are...but in a smaller hospital, fewer hands can mean more responsibility on those hands. I can only speak for this one particular hospital...but if a woman I loved were to need care, I would have total confidence if she were admitted there. The skill and care given to women at this particular institution rivals that given where I work any day. No, they don't have a special care unit for infants; but the nurses were well trained to support even tiny preemies until transport from the nearest NICU could arrive. During my employment at that particular hospital I saw hemorrhages, fetal demises, preterm labors and births, even one uterine rupture...all handled expertly by the well-trained and skilled nursing and medical staff, and all with the healthy survival of both mother and infant. Until ACOG's edict limiting VBACs to basically only large tertiary care centers, that unit also saw it's share of successful VBACs.
Health care dollars being limited, resources are going to have to be distributed where they are likely to be used the most; hence Level One hospitals, particularly those few that remain independent of larger healthcare "systems" such as Humana, will rarely be the ones to have the newest and latest of the technology; JCAHO standards should provide that a reasonable standard of care in terms of technological resources will be available at any hospital. Should a patient require more, resources for adequate support should be available until a transfer can be arranged; but for initial access to care, particularly for low risk situations such as normal labor, a community based hospital is the most cost-effective and appropriate level of entry to care (actually, I really believe that home is the most appropriate level of entry to care for laboring women, but my topic being levels of medical care for laboring women, and our culture being what it is, that statement will have to suffice...for this post at least).
I think level of entry and access are the core issues here. A healthy woman experiencing a normal labor does not need all the "bells and whistles" of a unit like the one I work on; she needs care that is accessible...in her community. One of most ridiculous misuse of resources I've ever seen occurred, ironically, in the same community as the hospital that I just praised so highly. The health department in this community contracted its prenatal care to the residency staff of a larger city hospital over 35 miles away! When the women cared for at the public clinic went into labor, they were expected to travel into the city. Not all of them had the resources to get there however. Those that did not have transportation to get from their homes in the town ended up...of course...at the local Level One hospital, where the only access we had to their prenatal information was via fax...and that was if we could track the information down, and if we had time to get the information faxed to us before the mother gave birth. It made absolutely no sense, when right there in the woman's home town a perfectly good medicaid eligible clinic was available to her, within the very hospital that she would ultimately give birth in...attended by physicians she was familiar with.
It can be difficult enough to get access to health care in our country. Even in the city where I work, there are more than a few mothers who get little or no prenatal care because they cannot manage the bus fare to get to clinic; or they do not live near public transportation. How much more of a burden do we place on women in sub-suburban communities we close down the L&D unit in the local community hospital, forcing them to travel, if they have the means, to the next town or city over? Often the woman cannot meet that burden, and she goes without prenatal care, possibly setting off a sequela of events that turn a healthy, low-risk pregnancy into a high-risk situation...and a high cost situation ensues, should that mother and or her infant end up requiring a level of care that may have been avoidable had she had access to good prenatal care. How much of a burden do we place on a woman when we prevent her access to VBAC based on the perceived level of care at a hospital that may have a proven record of successful VBAC births, forcing her instead to travel out of her community, adding yet another expense on top of the considerable (and avoidable) expense ( as well as the increased risks and discomfort) of a scheduled cesarean? Neither situation can be considered a good outcome for either mother and infant...and it can't bode well for a health care system that is already crumbling under the weight of not enough financial resources to provide access to all of its citizens. Prenatal care is, more often than not, preventative care...head the high risk situations (those that we can) off, and prevent the huge expense (and increased potential for morbidity and mortality) of an unnecessary surgical delivery...or of a mother or infant in intensive care.
Our culture has collectively "forgotten" that there is an entire world of medical care independent of the big, dramatic city hospital we see on primetime television with it's depiction of exotic diseases and traumatic occurences that seem to happen every day and require the highest and most expensive level of technology to treat. We forget that when we use resources appropriately to maintain our health, that this level of drama and expense is the exception, not the norm. Of course the tragedy that occurred in the Level One L&D that I depicted in the beginning of this post was just that...a tragedy (and likely a very avoidable tragedy); but with appropriate investigation into the cause, and corrective intervention taken (albeit after the fact), the hospital involved can reduce dramatically the likelihood of a reoccurrence. It would be an even larger tragedy to close the unit, and reduce access to the pregnant women of the community served by the hospital.
I love what I do...I love where I work...but my family continues to utilize the same health care providers that we did when I worked for my previous employer. I've found, both as a patient and as an employee that the care is both cost, and health effective. Level One care can be, and often is the very best care.
Ruralnurs's comments were timely ones. Recently in a community not far from the large metropolitan area where I work, a tragedy occurred to two women, within 24 hours of each other, at the same small L&D unit of a small Level One hospital. Both women received epidural analgesia. Both delivered healthy babies; and both women, the day after giving birth, began experiencing complications that were first attributed to the epidural but which became progressively worse. Each woman was soon transferred... first to that hospital's ICU, and shortly thereafter to another large hospital in the city in which I practice. One of these women subsequently died. Of course an investigation is underway, the public has been "assured" that the cause of the illness, bacterial meningitis, is not communicable, and that everything possible is being done to both determine the cause of the tragedy, and to prevent it from occurring in the future.
Thanks to the "gag" order that has almost certainly been issued by attorneys to the grieving families, pending the inevitable malpractice investigation, we may never know the final outcome of the research into the incidents; of course, in the birthing community, suspicion immediately turned to the administration process during which each woman received her epidural.
Regardless of the cause, a woman has died, a family has been denied a loved one's continued presence in their lives, a child is motherless, and another family's anticipation of one the happiest times of their lives has changed from joy to horror as they gather to support the surviving mother in her journey back to health; and while I can't...could not possibly trump the tragedy being experienced by these two families, incidents like this place all of us in peril in a way, because they feed the usually incorrect perception that care at a smaller, usually rural, Level One hospital is "not as good" as care given in large metropolitan hospitals. Indeed, the continuing survival of this hospital, and many others like it, could be considered at risk due to this type of thinking, and unfortunately, when tragedies like this happen, that risk increases.
Don't quote me here...because I haven't taken the time to gather the research to bolster my words... but I've heard statistics that upwards of 50 percent...in some states, 80 percent...of babies are born in Level One hospitals. A Level One hospital is likely to be located in a rural area or a small town. If it does provide care to birthing women, often the services provided take place in small L & D units...two to four labor rooms as opposed to the dozen-plus common in metropolitan hospitals. There may be only one surgical suite, no Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), and only a handful of practitioners...Obstetricians and Midwives, usually Nurse Midwives. Access to anesthesia is often readily available only during daytime hours, and on an "on call" basis at night. In some Level One hospitals, access to surgical services...even emergency surgeries...depends on an "on call" staff that has to come in from home should a patient require unscheduled surgery during the night...hence ACOG's prohibitive stance on VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) birth in Level One hospitals; they don't believe it is "safe" for a woman to labor on a scarred uterus in an institution of this size and limitation.
I beg to differ, both with the perceived public view in general, and with ACOG's stance in particular. These hospitals serve a huge portion of the population of the United States, and as such, are a critically important part of our country's health care system. To deny low risk pregnant women served by these hospitals access to the full spectrum of birth-related services endangers not only those women, but the overall health of our country, as well as our national economy.
Although I currently work in a large university medical center, I live about 30 minutes from my previous employer, a Level One hospital. It too has a small L&D unit, and it too has seen it's share of tragedies; but poor outcomes happen everywhere...the size of an institution is not indicative of the skill of its' practitioners. Indeed, the physicians at a Level One hospital need to be particularly skilled, in that in time of crisis, they are the point of access to care for the individual(s) involved, unlike in a larger hospital where there may be several (or many). These folks need to "know their stuff"... have exceptional critical thinking skills, and the confidence to put put those skills into action quickly; not that these attributes aren't necessary in a larger institution where there are more practitioners...of course they are...but in a smaller hospital, fewer hands can mean more responsibility on those hands. I can only speak for this one particular hospital...but if a woman I loved were to need care, I would have total confidence if she were admitted there. The skill and care given to women at this particular institution rivals that given where I work any day. No, they don't have a special care unit for infants; but the nurses were well trained to support even tiny preemies until transport from the nearest NICU could arrive. During my employment at that particular hospital I saw hemorrhages, fetal demises, preterm labors and births, even one uterine rupture...all handled expertly by the well-trained and skilled nursing and medical staff, and all with the healthy survival of both mother and infant. Until ACOG's edict limiting VBACs to basically only large tertiary care centers, that unit also saw it's share of successful VBACs.
Health care dollars being limited, resources are going to have to be distributed where they are likely to be used the most; hence Level One hospitals, particularly those few that remain independent of larger healthcare "systems" such as Humana, will rarely be the ones to have the newest and latest of the technology; JCAHO standards should provide that a reasonable standard of care in terms of technological resources will be available at any hospital. Should a patient require more, resources for adequate support should be available until a transfer can be arranged; but for initial access to care, particularly for low risk situations such as normal labor, a community based hospital is the most cost-effective and appropriate level of entry to care (actually, I really believe that home is the most appropriate level of entry to care for laboring women, but my topic being levels of medical care for laboring women, and our culture being what it is, that statement will have to suffice...for this post at least).
I think level of entry and access are the core issues here. A healthy woman experiencing a normal labor does not need all the "bells and whistles" of a unit like the one I work on; she needs care that is accessible...in her community. One of most ridiculous misuse of resources I've ever seen occurred, ironically, in the same community as the hospital that I just praised so highly. The health department in this community contracted its prenatal care to the residency staff of a larger city hospital over 35 miles away! When the women cared for at the public clinic went into labor, they were expected to travel into the city. Not all of them had the resources to get there however. Those that did not have transportation to get from their homes in the town ended up...of course...at the local Level One hospital, where the only access we had to their prenatal information was via fax...and that was if we could track the information down, and if we had time to get the information faxed to us before the mother gave birth. It made absolutely no sense, when right there in the woman's home town a perfectly good medicaid eligible clinic was available to her, within the very hospital that she would ultimately give birth in...attended by physicians she was familiar with.
It can be difficult enough to get access to health care in our country. Even in the city where I work, there are more than a few mothers who get little or no prenatal care because they cannot manage the bus fare to get to clinic; or they do not live near public transportation. How much more of a burden do we place on women in sub-suburban communities we close down the L&D unit in the local community hospital, forcing them to travel, if they have the means, to the next town or city over? Often the woman cannot meet that burden, and she goes without prenatal care, possibly setting off a sequela of events that turn a healthy, low-risk pregnancy into a high-risk situation...and a high cost situation ensues, should that mother and or her infant end up requiring a level of care that may have been avoidable had she had access to good prenatal care. How much of a burden do we place on a woman when we prevent her access to VBAC based on the perceived level of care at a hospital that may have a proven record of successful VBAC births, forcing her instead to travel out of her community, adding yet another expense on top of the considerable (and avoidable) expense ( as well as the increased risks and discomfort) of a scheduled cesarean? Neither situation can be considered a good outcome for either mother and infant...and it can't bode well for a health care system that is already crumbling under the weight of not enough financial resources to provide access to all of its citizens. Prenatal care is, more often than not, preventative care...head the high risk situations (those that we can) off, and prevent the huge expense (and increased potential for morbidity and mortality) of an unnecessary surgical delivery...or of a mother or infant in intensive care.
Our culture has collectively "forgotten" that there is an entire world of medical care independent of the big, dramatic city hospital we see on primetime television with it's depiction of exotic diseases and traumatic occurences that seem to happen every day and require the highest and most expensive level of technology to treat. We forget that when we use resources appropriately to maintain our health, that this level of drama and expense is the exception, not the norm. Of course the tragedy that occurred in the Level One L&D that I depicted in the beginning of this post was just that...a tragedy (and likely a very avoidable tragedy); but with appropriate investigation into the cause, and corrective intervention taken (albeit after the fact), the hospital involved can reduce dramatically the likelihood of a reoccurrence. It would be an even larger tragedy to close the unit, and reduce access to the pregnant women of the community served by the hospital.
I love what I do...I love where I work...but my family continues to utilize the same health care providers that we did when I worked for my previous employer. I've found, both as a patient and as an employee that the care is both cost, and health effective. Level One care can be, and often is the very best care.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
STAY TUNED.....
I've had the misfortune of experiencing the evolution of a simple upper respiratory infection into a major exacerbation of long asyptomatic asthma. As such, I've had little time or energy for much more than multiple physician's visits interspersed with frustrated, boring days at home with the occasional tentative (and frequently abortive, due to shortness of breath and a general inability to tolerate much in the way of activity) foray to the grocery store or the bookstore.
And so, the blog has suffered my absence.
My husband though, I think has suffered the most, bless his heart. He, in addition to running his own small consulting firm, has been keeping up with (well, as much as any non-homemaker can) the housework, laundry and cooking, dealing with the misadventures of raising two impetuous, impertinent, impulsive, sometimes rebellious, usually know-it-all, but always endearing and beloved teenage boys, and a wife who is one minute crabby and whiny, and the next remorseful and grateful. God bless that man!
I miss work. I haven't been there for nearly two months! After multiple trips to my family physician and pulmonologist, one trip to the ER (I tried to go back to work...wasn't gonna happen, my body immediately let me know), and even one trip to an urgent care center two days before Memorial day (sure...let's just add double otitis media to the mix...I can handle it...not), I found myself in the care of an amazing Nurse Practitioner who works in my pulmonologist's office. What a stroke of luck! My appointment with this wonderful woman came only after multiple phone calls trying to get another appointment with the pulmonologist ("No, July 25th will not work, I'm consistently satting 90 percent at rest, I've got to be able to get well enough to get back to work, and I can't wait two months to find a way to get this fixed!".) Finally I called my case manager in a weight loss-program I am now involved in and told her my plight...I was afraid to exercise unsupervised until I got this respiratory thing under control, but I couldn't get an appointment to get the advice of my physician. She, bless her, brought up the idea of pulmonary rehab. Really? Did I really need something that drastic?
Turns out I did. I made one call to the coordinator of the pulmonary rehab department, who promptly got me an appointment with the NP. That wonderful woman (the NP, although the director of the rehab department is wonderful as well) did more for me in one 30 minute appointment than the ER, and three physicians had done in six weeks! In the past week I've undergone a slew of pulmonary tests, I've been x-rayed and CT scanned, scheduled for allergy testing and a sleep study, been exercise tested (managed to gasp my way through), and admitted to the pulmonary rehab program.
All indications are that I should be able to return to work with in a month's time, probably part-time first, gradually increasing back to full time.
I knew being an L&D nurse was a big part of my identity, but this experience has really pushed home just how true that is. Maybe that's not a good thing. Maybe I need to get moving on some of those "transitions" I talked about when I began this blog. I've certainly had time to think about them enough.
It's also hard to "watch" via Facebook, my friends working their backsides off, knowing that my absence is contributing to a lack of staff during the busiest time of year on our unit. When coming off of a shift, they will comment to each other how busy things, are, how tired they are, and here I sit...in front of the computer, inhaler at my side, just wanting to be there to lighten their load a little. I love my family. They are my first priority; but I get a lot out of my job (in addition to the frustrations), and I respect the work that my coworkers do.
C'est La Vie. What is, is. For now, I'm slowly improving, looking forward to getting stronger and learning more about how to control this disease through rehab, and I've even managed to start losing some of this extra weight ( "...the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step..."). With my husband's help, and my "expert" directions, I'm starting to get caught up on all the long-neglected organizational tasks that I've put off in favor of sleep when I wasn't working, and I'm hoping that will clear a path to beginning some of those "transitions" (I'm the kind of person that needs to be organized in order to have a mind clear enough to concentrate effectively...at least at home...at work, I've learned to with the flow...the crazy, ridiculous flow...it's called survival!). Truth be known, I think this has been coming for some time. I wasn't taking care of myself well enough. The last few weeks at work I could barely make it to the car, so exhausted would I be at the end of a shift. My body finally revolted and forced me to take a good long look at how I've been not caring for it, and here I am; but I think (hope, pray) that I've dodged a few serious bullets in the past few weeks, and am now on the road to a full recovery, with a wiser appreciation of just how important it is to not let myself get run down.
In the meantime, the writing bug is hitting me again (a person can only knit so many preemie outfits and blankets, watch so much TV, read so many books, or vegitate on the internet...did I mention I'm spending money I don't have on things I don't need on EBAY?...for so long), and just in the nick of time I got a (coincidence...I think not) response to my last post that gave me the idea for my next one.
Stay tuned!
And so, the blog has suffered my absence.
My husband though, I think has suffered the most, bless his heart. He, in addition to running his own small consulting firm, has been keeping up with (well, as much as any non-homemaker can) the housework, laundry and cooking, dealing with the misadventures of raising two impetuous, impertinent, impulsive, sometimes rebellious, usually know-it-all, but always endearing and beloved teenage boys, and a wife who is one minute crabby and whiny, and the next remorseful and grateful. God bless that man!
I miss work. I haven't been there for nearly two months! After multiple trips to my family physician and pulmonologist, one trip to the ER (I tried to go back to work...wasn't gonna happen, my body immediately let me know), and even one trip to an urgent care center two days before Memorial day (sure...let's just add double otitis media to the mix...I can handle it...not), I found myself in the care of an amazing Nurse Practitioner who works in my pulmonologist's office. What a stroke of luck! My appointment with this wonderful woman came only after multiple phone calls trying to get another appointment with the pulmonologist ("No, July 25th will not work, I'm consistently satting 90 percent at rest, I've got to be able to get well enough to get back to work, and I can't wait two months to find a way to get this fixed!".) Finally I called my case manager in a weight loss-program I am now involved in and told her my plight...I was afraid to exercise unsupervised until I got this respiratory thing under control, but I couldn't get an appointment to get the advice of my physician. She, bless her, brought up the idea of pulmonary rehab. Really? Did I really need something that drastic?
Turns out I did. I made one call to the coordinator of the pulmonary rehab department, who promptly got me an appointment with the NP. That wonderful woman (the NP, although the director of the rehab department is wonderful as well) did more for me in one 30 minute appointment than the ER, and three physicians had done in six weeks! In the past week I've undergone a slew of pulmonary tests, I've been x-rayed and CT scanned, scheduled for allergy testing and a sleep study, been exercise tested (managed to gasp my way through), and admitted to the pulmonary rehab program.
All indications are that I should be able to return to work with in a month's time, probably part-time first, gradually increasing back to full time.
I knew being an L&D nurse was a big part of my identity, but this experience has really pushed home just how true that is. Maybe that's not a good thing. Maybe I need to get moving on some of those "transitions" I talked about when I began this blog. I've certainly had time to think about them enough.
It's also hard to "watch" via Facebook, my friends working their backsides off, knowing that my absence is contributing to a lack of staff during the busiest time of year on our unit. When coming off of a shift, they will comment to each other how busy things, are, how tired they are, and here I sit...in front of the computer, inhaler at my side, just wanting to be there to lighten their load a little. I love my family. They are my first priority; but I get a lot out of my job (in addition to the frustrations), and I respect the work that my coworkers do.
C'est La Vie. What is, is. For now, I'm slowly improving, looking forward to getting stronger and learning more about how to control this disease through rehab, and I've even managed to start losing some of this extra weight ( "...the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step..."). With my husband's help, and my "expert" directions, I'm starting to get caught up on all the long-neglected organizational tasks that I've put off in favor of sleep when I wasn't working, and I'm hoping that will clear a path to beginning some of those "transitions" (I'm the kind of person that needs to be organized in order to have a mind clear enough to concentrate effectively...at least at home...at work, I've learned to with the flow...the crazy, ridiculous flow...it's called survival!). Truth be known, I think this has been coming for some time. I wasn't taking care of myself well enough. The last few weeks at work I could barely make it to the car, so exhausted would I be at the end of a shift. My body finally revolted and forced me to take a good long look at how I've been not caring for it, and here I am; but I think (hope, pray) that I've dodged a few serious bullets in the past few weeks, and am now on the road to a full recovery, with a wiser appreciation of just how important it is to not let myself get run down.
In the meantime, the writing bug is hitting me again (a person can only knit so many preemie outfits and blankets, watch so much TV, read so many books, or vegitate on the internet...did I mention I'm spending money I don't have on things I don't need on EBAY?...for so long), and just in the nick of time I got a (coincidence...I think not) response to my last post that gave me the idea for my next one.
Stay tuned!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
On Childbirth Education
More than once in my work I've met a couple who brought with them the expectation that what they learned in childbirth class is what they would experience in the hospital. Simple, right?
Unfortunately, no.
I know a few childbirth educators. Most of them are excellent (My beloved friend C., well, she's just the absolute best of the best). Others, not so much. At least one of them is not particularly supportive of her clients who are planning to birth in a hospital (read that...she can barely contain her disgust), and therefore, not helpful at all...a total waste of her clients' time and money. Others are just plain not giving their students accurate information - for example their couples come in asking for oral vitamin k instead of injected vitamin k for their baby (we don't have it); they ask to be monitored via doppler or fetoscope (we don't have a fetoscope, and we don't have the staffing to use doppler monitoring...aside from which, no hospital is going to risk not having a paper tracing of a labor; they ask that the newborn nursery not bathe their baby, but simply massage the vernix into his or her skin (fat chance!); or, they ask to be allowed to eat during labor (good luck), or my personal favorite, not to be administered an enema or shave prep (we haven't done this in over twenty years, so I'm wondering why these particular educators are not checking to see if their information is realistic, accurate, or current). I'm not saying any of this is right, it's just what is, albeit at best unfortunate. Finally, several educators, whose classes I've not had a chance to observe, or who I don't have an opportunity to converse with often, are, well, I'm just not certain what kind of information they are giving (or not giving) to their students.
Case in point: I once cared for a sweet couple having their first baby, who were genuinely shocked that their very aggressive obstetrician was just that...extremely agressive. This couple came in, and Mom was 4 centimeters dilated, with bulging membranes. She was laboring beautifully, and I told her physician as much. As if he didn't hear a word I said, he ordered "(have a resident) Rupture her membranes, put in internals, and start 4 by 4 Pit (twice the amount of Pitocin that is normally used)". Truth be known, it was the day of "The Big Game" in our town, and Mr. MD wanted this delivery over before "all the traffic started up". Baloney...he didn't want to risk being called away from his toasty box seats, but what do I know...I've only watched this ass leave several dozen labor rooms looking like the aftermath of a suicide bombing, always in such a hurry to be done that he can't bother to leave a perineum intact, put instruments back on the table instead of dropping them on the floor, or even put his bloody gown in the biohazard can instead of tossing it aside for the nurse to pick up. This is one of those guys that make me wonder why in the hell I keep doing this.
Why indeed...because I want those who choose to give birth in a hospital to know that they have options...options that far too many physicians and nurses don't let them know they have. No, I can't monitor you with a doppler...and I can't find oral Vitamin K for your baby, but, damnit, if I don't think you need Pitocin (yet), I'll tell you...and If you want to wait until your membranes rupture on their own, and you and your baby are doing well, I'll remind you that you don't have to consent to that. If I can't "effectively facilitate communication" between physician and patient (some physicians are not interested in two-way communication), I'll advocate for my patient.
This couple stood their ground though. they gently, but firmly asked the resident who was itching to carry out their physicians orders why this was necessary. They asked for more time to make a decision. Finally, after being cajoled and hassled for hours, they gave in. They consented to having the water broken.
But we have a happy ending...for this couple at least...miracle of miracles, before the resident could finish a delivery in another room, I saw a look..."that look" come over the mother's face, and my heart nearly leapt for joy as "that look" turned into an unmistakable grimace, followed by a surprisingly loud grunt from such a petite woman, and a splash of fluid from beneath her gown spilled onto the floor, over the shoes of her startled husband, and flowed into the towel I quickly flung onto the floor to catch it. At my urging she climbed into bed just in time for her little boy to squirm his own way into the world, without Pitocin, without internal monitors, without artificial rupture of membranes, heck, without even a doctor in the room! Baby in the Bed! I loved it. Take THAT Dr. Ass (as if he cared...as if he even realized it was possible).
But for those situations that are not the recipients of such Grace, what are the Childbirth Educators in question telling their students? I wish I knew. This poor couple, when I told them what their OB wanted me to do, were absolutely stunned...who wouldn't be? They had learned in their childbirth class to stay home as long as possible, that they could avoid pitocin if the labor was progressing well, that internal monitors were an uncessary intervention if the baby was doing well and easy to trace (as was the case here), and that they should avoid having the membranes artificially ruptured if possible.
All good information; but were they encouraged the to speak with their care provider about this information? This wasn't the first couple that had come under my care with these same or similar expectations, only to be blindsided by the basic hospital "business as usuall" delivery system. All of these couples seemed genuinely confused that their physicians would order care that was so different from that they were taught to avoid.
Perhaps the educators did encourage these couples to speak with their care providers, and the couples did just that, only to be brushed off or outright lied to. Perhaps the couples, as expectant couples are sometimes apt to do, just assumed that their care provider would practice as their childbirth educator taught, so they sort of "zoned out" when the educator was advising them to speak with their provider...like so many couples do when the topic of cesarean section is brought up...they assume it won't happen to them, so they don't really listen. Or maybe, just maybe the ecucators themselves are simply teaching a philosophy...without reminding their students that theirs is not the only philosophy out there...and that, if they can, they need to learn the philosphy of both the hospital, and of the provider they are trusting to care for them during the most important moments of their lives...or at least be prepared for the possibility that they may have some significant "negotiating" ahead of them, and be given suggestions (doula anyone?) to help navigate those negotiations.
Moms, Dads, what do you think? What has been your experience? Educators, do you ever hear from your students after they give birth? What do they tell you?
Enlighten this frustrated Labor Nurse, please.
Unfortunately, no.
I know a few childbirth educators. Most of them are excellent (My beloved friend C., well, she's just the absolute best of the best). Others, not so much. At least one of them is not particularly supportive of her clients who are planning to birth in a hospital (read that...she can barely contain her disgust), and therefore, not helpful at all...a total waste of her clients' time and money. Others are just plain not giving their students accurate information - for example their couples come in asking for oral vitamin k instead of injected vitamin k for their baby (we don't have it); they ask to be monitored via doppler or fetoscope (we don't have a fetoscope, and we don't have the staffing to use doppler monitoring...aside from which, no hospital is going to risk not having a paper tracing of a labor; they ask that the newborn nursery not bathe their baby, but simply massage the vernix into his or her skin (fat chance!); or, they ask to be allowed to eat during labor (good luck), or my personal favorite, not to be administered an enema or shave prep (we haven't done this in over twenty years, so I'm wondering why these particular educators are not checking to see if their information is realistic, accurate, or current). I'm not saying any of this is right, it's just what is, albeit at best unfortunate. Finally, several educators, whose classes I've not had a chance to observe, or who I don't have an opportunity to converse with often, are, well, I'm just not certain what kind of information they are giving (or not giving) to their students.
Case in point: I once cared for a sweet couple having their first baby, who were genuinely shocked that their very aggressive obstetrician was just that...extremely agressive. This couple came in, and Mom was 4 centimeters dilated, with bulging membranes. She was laboring beautifully, and I told her physician as much. As if he didn't hear a word I said, he ordered "(have a resident) Rupture her membranes, put in internals, and start 4 by 4 Pit (twice the amount of Pitocin that is normally used)". Truth be known, it was the day of "The Big Game" in our town, and Mr. MD wanted this delivery over before "all the traffic started up". Baloney...he didn't want to risk being called away from his toasty box seats, but what do I know...I've only watched this ass leave several dozen labor rooms looking like the aftermath of a suicide bombing, always in such a hurry to be done that he can't bother to leave a perineum intact, put instruments back on the table instead of dropping them on the floor, or even put his bloody gown in the biohazard can instead of tossing it aside for the nurse to pick up. This is one of those guys that make me wonder why in the hell I keep doing this.
Why indeed...because I want those who choose to give birth in a hospital to know that they have options...options that far too many physicians and nurses don't let them know they have. No, I can't monitor you with a doppler...and I can't find oral Vitamin K for your baby, but, damnit, if I don't think you need Pitocin (yet), I'll tell you...and If you want to wait until your membranes rupture on their own, and you and your baby are doing well, I'll remind you that you don't have to consent to that. If I can't "effectively facilitate communication" between physician and patient (some physicians are not interested in two-way communication), I'll advocate for my patient.
This couple stood their ground though. they gently, but firmly asked the resident who was itching to carry out their physicians orders why this was necessary. They asked for more time to make a decision. Finally, after being cajoled and hassled for hours, they gave in. They consented to having the water broken.
But we have a happy ending...for this couple at least...miracle of miracles, before the resident could finish a delivery in another room, I saw a look..."that look" come over the mother's face, and my heart nearly leapt for joy as "that look" turned into an unmistakable grimace, followed by a surprisingly loud grunt from such a petite woman, and a splash of fluid from beneath her gown spilled onto the floor, over the shoes of her startled husband, and flowed into the towel I quickly flung onto the floor to catch it. At my urging she climbed into bed just in time for her little boy to squirm his own way into the world, without Pitocin, without internal monitors, without artificial rupture of membranes, heck, without even a doctor in the room! Baby in the Bed! I loved it. Take THAT Dr. Ass (as if he cared...as if he even realized it was possible).
But for those situations that are not the recipients of such Grace, what are the Childbirth Educators in question telling their students? I wish I knew. This poor couple, when I told them what their OB wanted me to do, were absolutely stunned...who wouldn't be? They had learned in their childbirth class to stay home as long as possible, that they could avoid pitocin if the labor was progressing well, that internal monitors were an uncessary intervention if the baby was doing well and easy to trace (as was the case here), and that they should avoid having the membranes artificially ruptured if possible.
All good information; but were they encouraged the to speak with their care provider about this information? This wasn't the first couple that had come under my care with these same or similar expectations, only to be blindsided by the basic hospital "business as usuall" delivery system. All of these couples seemed genuinely confused that their physicians would order care that was so different from that they were taught to avoid.
Perhaps the educators did encourage these couples to speak with their care providers, and the couples did just that, only to be brushed off or outright lied to. Perhaps the couples, as expectant couples are sometimes apt to do, just assumed that their care provider would practice as their childbirth educator taught, so they sort of "zoned out" when the educator was advising them to speak with their provider...like so many couples do when the topic of cesarean section is brought up...they assume it won't happen to them, so they don't really listen. Or maybe, just maybe the ecucators themselves are simply teaching a philosophy...without reminding their students that theirs is not the only philosophy out there...and that, if they can, they need to learn the philosphy of both the hospital, and of the provider they are trusting to care for them during the most important moments of their lives...or at least be prepared for the possibility that they may have some significant "negotiating" ahead of them, and be given suggestions (doula anyone?) to help navigate those negotiations.
Moms, Dads, what do you think? What has been your experience? Educators, do you ever hear from your students after they give birth? What do they tell you?
Enlighten this frustrated Labor Nurse, please.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Ultimate Transition
She was only fourteen. Fourteen. A tiny wisp of a girl, a pale, sweet, freckled face encircled by ringlets of short red hair. And she was going to become a mother. She had gone into labor the night before, things had stalled, and her labor was to be augmented with pitocin. When she went to her local hospital, her blood pressure had shot up, so she was transferred to our unit. She labored in the haze of a magnesium-induced fog, an attempt to prevent the seizures for which she was at risk because of her blood pressure.
The father of her baby was nowhere to be found. "He's too young for that" his parents had explained to her. I'm thinking...hmmm...well, he wasn't to young to make the baby...and she doesn't get to say "I'm too young for this". Instead, she prepared to raise, with the help of her family, the little boy that she carried.
She had wonderful support though. Her sisters were there...all four of them, all with the same fair skin and curly copper-colored hair. They ranged in age from mid-thirties to late teens. It seems our little mother had been a surprise baby herself, conceived during a rebound relationship of her mother's shortly after her sister's (half-sisters, but sisters, just the same) father's death. It was not lost on her that she was the offspring of yet another absentee father.
Her mother wasn't there. I didn't know why, but many telephone calls were going out to friends and family who seemed to be in close contact with the soon-to-be grandmother. Perhaps there wasn't transportation, or enough money for her to get the several hundred miles from her home to her daughter's bedside. That happens a lot on my unit...we transfer mothers in from hundreds of miles, covering three states. A lot of the families of the mothers we care for are desperately poor...too poor to follow the ambulance or Medivac helicopter to our hospital.
I felt sad for her. A woman needs her mother when she is about to give birth...especially such a young girl-woman; but this precious young woman was surprisingly, yet precariously stoic...the kind of stoic that made me caution myself to choose my words...even the inflection of my words carefully...lest I cause her to burst into tears.
Her sisters were lovingly, literally at her beside. When they weren't hovering near the telephone, they hovered over their laboring sister, rubbing, massaging, loving, wiping away the occasional tear. When she balked at the idea of getting an epidural, they encouraged her...gently...to reconsider. "So much pain", they murmured, more to each other than to her..."why take more?"..."especially when there's a choice".
She chose the epidural. While we usually allow only one support person bedside during epidural administration, I broke policy and let them all stay, because I couldn't bear to tear them away from their little sister who seemed to depend on them so. She suffered no untoward side-effects from her epidural, so I placed her foley, tucked her in, and stepped out of the room.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I faced the oldest sister, who was wiping a tear from her cheek.
"I wanted you to know...we're not purposely being rude to you"...rude??? They had been anything but rude. I thought they had been perfectly lovely, and I told her as much. "Well", she said, "Thanks...but there's so much going on...I just wanted to let you know; She doesn't know...and we're all having a difficult time keeping it from her. Our mother is dying. Literally. Probably tonight. She has breast cancer".
Now, how many times does a nurse hear something like that? Not often, I would imagine, even on a unit prone to as much melodrama as ours. But, indeed, this was the situation, and here we all were: A fourteen year old girl about to give birth to her first child; her four older sisters to whom would soon fall the responsibility for them both; a still fairly young woman, their mother, hundreds of miles away, slowly slipping into that pre-death coma from which she would never wake up; and me, not quite certain how to respond to the sad uniqueness of it all. Instinct took over and I wrapped my arms around the now sobbing sister, as I held back my own tears.
I showed the sister our family consult room...the little room near the back of our unit that is used for physicians to talk to family members when things aren't going as planned with the birthing women they are supporting. It holds an institutional wood and vinyl couch, and two chairs, along with a lamp and a selection of out of date magazines; not much in way of comfort, but at least it's private...and it has a telephone.
The sisters each took turns going into the consult room to check in with the family that was caring for their mother. She was "in and out" they said. She seemed to be aware of what was happening to her "baby" daughter. Through a haze of pain killers, she had been repeatedly asking to speak her, but the family wanted to spare the laboring girl the pain of knowing her mother's death was imminent.
Our little mother slept through most of her labor until she abruptly sat up in bed and called out for her mother. "He's coming now! When will she be here?" I checked her, and indeed, her baby was nearly crowning (pretty rare for a first-time mother). I called out for a "doctor for delivery", and instantly the dark womb of the room became once again a bright, too-noisy hospital room. The sisters took their place around the bed, I "broke the bed down", the resident took her place at its end and began exhorting the girl to push.
She refused. "I won't!" she wailed..."Not until she get's here!" We all stopped and looked around at each other. By now, anyone who was involved in her care new what was happening. Eventually this baby would be born no matter if his mother pushed or not...but as often happens, his heart was slowing with each contraction as her body moved him ever closer to his birth. Most babies do fine, even with this...but it can be unnerving if the birth isn't imminent...if the mother isn't helping things along by pushing...at least a little.
The youngest of the four sisters finally broke rank from the Circle of Women around the bed and picked up her cell phone...you know, that piece of equipment that you're not supposed to use in the hospital because it might interfere with the other machinery? Too bad...she was on a mission, and I wasn't about to stop her. She punched a speed dial number, spoke quickly into the phone and placed it next to her laboring sister's ear.
"I will. I promise. I know. I love you tooooo.....", and her little body twisted up off of the pillow with a powerful involuntary push, and as her sister lifted the cell phone high in the air, a tiny, five-and-a-half pound little girl wailed her way into the world amidst the sobs of joy, surprise, and heartbreak of her mother and aunts (so much for the accuracy of late-term ultrasound). Time of birth...4:01 A.M. Grandma was listening.
After promising into the cell phone that she would call back soon, the youngest sister snapped it shut and began to attend, along with her older sisters, to her little sister and niece. As a group they dried the baby off, and placed her against her mother's body. The older sisters, mothers themselves, gently encouraged the new mother to hold her daughter close, showing her how to feed her, pointing out every precious, miraculous, infinitesimal little finger, toe, and wisp of downy, copper-colored hair. The baby never cried, not once after her entrance announcement...but curled into her mother's warm body, turned little her head sideways, and watched her aunts smiling down at her.
I moved around the room as inconspicuously as I could, clearing away the delivery paraphernalia, charting, and tidying up between checking on the new mother and baby. Once satisfied that all was in order, I left to give the new family their privacy. A few minutes later, the oldest sister walked up to our reception desk and asked for me. When I approached her, she asked me..."What time was she born?" A tear rolled down her cheek with my answer.
"Our mother died at 4:05".
Now I was crying...and not just a dainty little sympathetic tear or two to streak down a cheek...no, I had to be sniffling with the red nose and blood shot eyes of someone who has had entirely too little sleep...it wasn't pretty...but it was heartfelt, and the sister knew it. She asked that no one say anything to her little sister until she had had a chance to get a few hours sleep, after which they would tell her, and of course we all agreed...but it wasn't easy to stifle those tears and act cheerful while I helped the new mother into a wheelchair and tucked her baby into her arms for their trip to her postpartum room.
As often happens, I never saw this patient or any of her family again. I wonder how she reacted when she learned of her mother's departure so soon after her daughter's arrival. Two souls had literally crossed in the night. Did they reach out to and greet each other along the way? Did that precious little baby feel the warmth of her Grandmother's kiss on her cheek? Will she carry a tiny, almost imperceptible memory of it with her? She will most certainly experience her love through the love of her very young but very special mother and her very special Aunts. She is part of a very special Circle of Women indeed...one that reaches down from heaven, flows through her family, and wraps itself around her.
A bittersweet story...but a very fortunate little girl.
The father of her baby was nowhere to be found. "He's too young for that" his parents had explained to her. I'm thinking...hmmm...well, he wasn't to young to make the baby...and she doesn't get to say "I'm too young for this". Instead, she prepared to raise, with the help of her family, the little boy that she carried.
She had wonderful support though. Her sisters were there...all four of them, all with the same fair skin and curly copper-colored hair. They ranged in age from mid-thirties to late teens. It seems our little mother had been a surprise baby herself, conceived during a rebound relationship of her mother's shortly after her sister's (half-sisters, but sisters, just the same) father's death. It was not lost on her that she was the offspring of yet another absentee father.
Her mother wasn't there. I didn't know why, but many telephone calls were going out to friends and family who seemed to be in close contact with the soon-to-be grandmother. Perhaps there wasn't transportation, or enough money for her to get the several hundred miles from her home to her daughter's bedside. That happens a lot on my unit...we transfer mothers in from hundreds of miles, covering three states. A lot of the families of the mothers we care for are desperately poor...too poor to follow the ambulance or Medivac helicopter to our hospital.
I felt sad for her. A woman needs her mother when she is about to give birth...especially such a young girl-woman; but this precious young woman was surprisingly, yet precariously stoic...the kind of stoic that made me caution myself to choose my words...even the inflection of my words carefully...lest I cause her to burst into tears.
Her sisters were lovingly, literally at her beside. When they weren't hovering near the telephone, they hovered over their laboring sister, rubbing, massaging, loving, wiping away the occasional tear. When she balked at the idea of getting an epidural, they encouraged her...gently...to reconsider. "So much pain", they murmured, more to each other than to her..."why take more?"..."especially when there's a choice".
She chose the epidural. While we usually allow only one support person bedside during epidural administration, I broke policy and let them all stay, because I couldn't bear to tear them away from their little sister who seemed to depend on them so. She suffered no untoward side-effects from her epidural, so I placed her foley, tucked her in, and stepped out of the room.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I faced the oldest sister, who was wiping a tear from her cheek.
"I wanted you to know...we're not purposely being rude to you"...rude??? They had been anything but rude. I thought they had been perfectly lovely, and I told her as much. "Well", she said, "Thanks...but there's so much going on...I just wanted to let you know; She doesn't know...and we're all having a difficult time keeping it from her. Our mother is dying. Literally. Probably tonight. She has breast cancer".
Now, how many times does a nurse hear something like that? Not often, I would imagine, even on a unit prone to as much melodrama as ours. But, indeed, this was the situation, and here we all were: A fourteen year old girl about to give birth to her first child; her four older sisters to whom would soon fall the responsibility for them both; a still fairly young woman, their mother, hundreds of miles away, slowly slipping into that pre-death coma from which she would never wake up; and me, not quite certain how to respond to the sad uniqueness of it all. Instinct took over and I wrapped my arms around the now sobbing sister, as I held back my own tears.
I showed the sister our family consult room...the little room near the back of our unit that is used for physicians to talk to family members when things aren't going as planned with the birthing women they are supporting. It holds an institutional wood and vinyl couch, and two chairs, along with a lamp and a selection of out of date magazines; not much in way of comfort, but at least it's private...and it has a telephone.
The sisters each took turns going into the consult room to check in with the family that was caring for their mother. She was "in and out" they said. She seemed to be aware of what was happening to her "baby" daughter. Through a haze of pain killers, she had been repeatedly asking to speak her, but the family wanted to spare the laboring girl the pain of knowing her mother's death was imminent.
Our little mother slept through most of her labor until she abruptly sat up in bed and called out for her mother. "He's coming now! When will she be here?" I checked her, and indeed, her baby was nearly crowning (pretty rare for a first-time mother). I called out for a "doctor for delivery", and instantly the dark womb of the room became once again a bright, too-noisy hospital room. The sisters took their place around the bed, I "broke the bed down", the resident took her place at its end and began exhorting the girl to push.
She refused. "I won't!" she wailed..."Not until she get's here!" We all stopped and looked around at each other. By now, anyone who was involved in her care new what was happening. Eventually this baby would be born no matter if his mother pushed or not...but as often happens, his heart was slowing with each contraction as her body moved him ever closer to his birth. Most babies do fine, even with this...but it can be unnerving if the birth isn't imminent...if the mother isn't helping things along by pushing...at least a little.
The youngest of the four sisters finally broke rank from the Circle of Women around the bed and picked up her cell phone...you know, that piece of equipment that you're not supposed to use in the hospital because it might interfere with the other machinery? Too bad...she was on a mission, and I wasn't about to stop her. She punched a speed dial number, spoke quickly into the phone and placed it next to her laboring sister's ear.
"I will. I promise. I know. I love you tooooo.....", and her little body twisted up off of the pillow with a powerful involuntary push, and as her sister lifted the cell phone high in the air, a tiny, five-and-a-half pound little girl wailed her way into the world amidst the sobs of joy, surprise, and heartbreak of her mother and aunts (so much for the accuracy of late-term ultrasound). Time of birth...4:01 A.M. Grandma was listening.
After promising into the cell phone that she would call back soon, the youngest sister snapped it shut and began to attend, along with her older sisters, to her little sister and niece. As a group they dried the baby off, and placed her against her mother's body. The older sisters, mothers themselves, gently encouraged the new mother to hold her daughter close, showing her how to feed her, pointing out every precious, miraculous, infinitesimal little finger, toe, and wisp of downy, copper-colored hair. The baby never cried, not once after her entrance announcement...but curled into her mother's warm body, turned little her head sideways, and watched her aunts smiling down at her.
I moved around the room as inconspicuously as I could, clearing away the delivery paraphernalia, charting, and tidying up between checking on the new mother and baby. Once satisfied that all was in order, I left to give the new family their privacy. A few minutes later, the oldest sister walked up to our reception desk and asked for me. When I approached her, she asked me..."What time was she born?" A tear rolled down her cheek with my answer.
"Our mother died at 4:05".
Now I was crying...and not just a dainty little sympathetic tear or two to streak down a cheek...no, I had to be sniffling with the red nose and blood shot eyes of someone who has had entirely too little sleep...it wasn't pretty...but it was heartfelt, and the sister knew it. She asked that no one say anything to her little sister until she had had a chance to get a few hours sleep, after which they would tell her, and of course we all agreed...but it wasn't easy to stifle those tears and act cheerful while I helped the new mother into a wheelchair and tucked her baby into her arms for their trip to her postpartum room.
As often happens, I never saw this patient or any of her family again. I wonder how she reacted when she learned of her mother's departure so soon after her daughter's arrival. Two souls had literally crossed in the night. Did they reach out to and greet each other along the way? Did that precious little baby feel the warmth of her Grandmother's kiss on her cheek? Will she carry a tiny, almost imperceptible memory of it with her? She will most certainly experience her love through the love of her very young but very special mother and her very special Aunts. She is part of a very special Circle of Women indeed...one that reaches down from heaven, flows through her family, and wraps itself around her.
A bittersweet story...but a very fortunate little girl.
Transitioning Back
Four and a half months????? How can that be? How could I get so sidetracked with the holidays, the boys, the relationship, the job, the house, my workouts, meal planning, (slowly) shrinking profile, and all the other things I use to distract myself from climbing the stairs to my little study and writing?
Of course my family are not distractions...they are priorities...but the other things? Well, I've got to find a way to motivate myself to get back here more often.
I'm so impressed with At Your Cervix...despite all of her obligations, and now graduate school, she manages to keep up her blog. Me, well, I'm wondering if I just don't particularly like always being so far away from my family when I'm writing. I love my little study. It has all my books, my favorite photographs and art projects, my professional journals and texts, along with piles of yarn, fabrics, and other needlework supplies stashed in the closet. Maybe I need a studio too, someday...when the 19 year old finally decides to move out of the bonus room over the garage that I had targeted for it. But back to my study...I've decorated it in my favorite colors. I love the huge old rolltop desk (my husband calls it my womb), overstuffed chair and ottoman, and bookshelves I've managed to squeeze into the tiny space. It's mine...it says me, and me alone to anyone who walks into it. There are times I just want to shut the door on the testosterone chaos (even the pets are male) in my house, pour a cup of tea, wrap up in one of my throws, and read, knit, write, journal, listen to music, and sometimes even drowse off in that wonderful chair...but not always; and with the amount of ideas for writing rolling around in my brain, all of the experiences I want to process, I could spend days...weeks up here getting it all out in text. I've tried sneaking in to my husband's office to write while I'm down in the thick of family life...but invariably he needs to get on the computer or I become an unwilling partner in his engineering business, taking calls, filling, or chasing receivables...shudder!
So what's a reticent writer/blogger to do?
I may try to work some extra shifts and get a laptop...something I could keep downstairs, in the middle of all the family mayhem, and use when the spirit strikes me. I could keep my recipes and meal plans on it; I could keep my food and exercise logs on it; I could fiddle with my fledgling photography hobby on it; plan my grocery trips while perusing all the coupon sites...fritter away time on Facebook...well, ok, I'll need to try to curb the temptation to do that...not easy when just about everyone I work with...nurses, techs, attendings and residents alike...use it to unload on each other after shift upon shift of craziness ( I guess if we can't debrief at work, we can do it online).
So; until that laptop shows up, I've got to find a way to spend more time, at least every few days, back at this computer.
Here's to good intentions!
Of course my family are not distractions...they are priorities...but the other things? Well, I've got to find a way to motivate myself to get back here more often.
I'm so impressed with At Your Cervix...despite all of her obligations, and now graduate school, she manages to keep up her blog. Me, well, I'm wondering if I just don't particularly like always being so far away from my family when I'm writing. I love my little study. It has all my books, my favorite photographs and art projects, my professional journals and texts, along with piles of yarn, fabrics, and other needlework supplies stashed in the closet. Maybe I need a studio too, someday...when the 19 year old finally decides to move out of the bonus room over the garage that I had targeted for it. But back to my study...I've decorated it in my favorite colors. I love the huge old rolltop desk (my husband calls it my womb), overstuffed chair and ottoman, and bookshelves I've managed to squeeze into the tiny space. It's mine...it says me, and me alone to anyone who walks into it. There are times I just want to shut the door on the testosterone chaos (even the pets are male) in my house, pour a cup of tea, wrap up in one of my throws, and read, knit, write, journal, listen to music, and sometimes even drowse off in that wonderful chair...but not always; and with the amount of ideas for writing rolling around in my brain, all of the experiences I want to process, I could spend days...weeks up here getting it all out in text. I've tried sneaking in to my husband's office to write while I'm down in the thick of family life...but invariably he needs to get on the computer or I become an unwilling partner in his engineering business, taking calls, filling, or chasing receivables...shudder!
So what's a reticent writer/blogger to do?
I may try to work some extra shifts and get a laptop...something I could keep downstairs, in the middle of all the family mayhem, and use when the spirit strikes me. I could keep my recipes and meal plans on it; I could keep my food and exercise logs on it; I could fiddle with my fledgling photography hobby on it; plan my grocery trips while perusing all the coupon sites...fritter away time on Facebook...well, ok, I'll need to try to curb the temptation to do that...not easy when just about everyone I work with...nurses, techs, attendings and residents alike...use it to unload on each other after shift upon shift of craziness ( I guess if we can't debrief at work, we can do it online).
So; until that laptop shows up, I've got to find a way to spend more time, at least every few days, back at this computer.
Here's to good intentions!
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
C-Sections are Births Too!
After writing my last post, a "block" seemed to have been moved; story after story of amazing births I've been privileged to attend just seem to tumble from my memory; I sat down at my computer to start writing about them, and then I thought about E.
E. gave birth to her third child, a precious little girl, several weeks ago. It was E.'s third C-section, her second attempt at VBAC, her third attempt at a vaginal birth. With both of her previous birth experiences, the argument could be (powerfully) made, that mismanagement of her labor led to each C-section. With her third birth, only God knows why events unfolded as they did, and led to a third surgical birth, this one an emergency situation, that occurred with E. under general anesthesia.
E. had tried so hard to "do the right thing". She takes excellent care of herself. She's well educated, seeks out the right support for herself, does everything she can to have a safe, healthy birthing for her children and herself. For her first birth, she chose to be attended by very well-known Certified Professional Midwives; for her second, she chose to attempt VBAC with a physician who works very hard to be "hands off" and encourage her patients to give birth on their own terms; for this third birth, E. was fortunate enough to live in a city in which a prominent (it could be argued the national expert) physician-researcher (responsible for probably the most comprehensive study on VBAC ever published) practices. She chose this physician to attend her for her third pregnancy and birth, and together, this patient/physician team worked very hard to secure a healthy pregnancy and safe birth. In the end, that is exactly what they did...although with a significant "hitch" that both of them would rather not have experienced.
After an uneventful pregnancy and smooth first few hours of labor, no pain meds, no epidural, with an attentive husband and doula at her side, E. had progressed smoothly to nearly transition labor. I was so pleased for her! Having popped my head into her labor room to welcome and encourage her, and a share a quick hug with her doula, a close friend of mine, I picked up my bag and clocked out for the day (she had arrived near the end of my shift, and I would not have the good fortune to be her nurse). There was a celebratory mood in the room, and I was nearly floating on air out of happiness for her.
On my way off the unit, a barrage of nurses, residents, and the prominent attending physician suddenly came barreling out of the nurses station, clamoring towards E.'s labor room. The flurry of activity, calls for help and surgical preparations (anesthesia! OR!) that were occurring made it clear that something had gone wrong. The amazing emergency "machine" of our unit had mobilized. When a true emergency occurs, this is a thing to behold. The nurses, techs, clerks, anesthetists and physicians on the unit truly become a single entity, each individual a cog in a wheel that is rotating furiously, each performing nearly automatically, and almost always expertly, their own function, with the goal of getting the mother into surgery, and keeping her and her baby safe. While I admit that the "adrenaline addict" in me gets a bit of a "high" from situations like this, and while my main goal is to avoid having any of our mothers go to the OR, times like this make me feel grateful, and humbled to be able to call myself a part of this amazing team.
Already out of my scrubs, and off the clock, I felt helpless and powerless as I watched in dismay the "machine" thunder down the hall towards the OR with E., hunched over in "knee-chest" position in her bed, her doula and her husband running behind as they pulled on the white, zip-front "bunny suits", caps and masks they would need to accompany E. in the OR. I knew she would be OK. I knew the baby would survive...because I know that machine; but I ached that she seemed to be losing her last chance to have the vaginal birth she had always dreamed of having.
After the commotion had settled, the baby was out, and both she and her mother were deemed safe, I learned that E. had experienced a uterine rupture! This blew my mind. Why her??? She had worked so hard! She was well nourished, it had been several years since her last birth, plenty of time for good tissue healing, and from her previous op reports, she had had a strong, "double layer" repair after her second C-section. She had labored naturally, without the aid of Pitocin, and had (gratefully, in retrospect), had no pain medication or epidural to mask the symptoms of uterine rupture. She had labored to almost complete dilation. The odds were so in her favor for a vaginal birth that this occurrence was a true stunner.
Fortunately, the tear in E.'s uterine wall was repairable, and with the skill of what I am convinced is the best surgeon and surgical team in the country, E. was safe, her baby is healthy, and I know she will heal well.
Physically, at least.
But emotionally?
E. knows that what happened to her was a random, unlikely occurrence. She is grateful and happy to be alive, and to have a healthy daughter to love and raise; but still she grieves for her lost opportunities to experience birth as she had always expected she would; to give birth the way she was designed to. To give birth the way most mothers take for granted. To feel her baby emerge from her body as she worked and pushed to bring her forth under her own incredible power.
Everything had happened so fast. It must have taken quite a bit for it all to sink in, for E. and her husband. This is a couple that has always wanted a big family. Even as they counted their blessings from this averted tragedy, I heard that E.,s husband had asked their doula if they would ever be able to have more children. "Maybe...but only if you schedule a C-section at 39 weeks", she had replied...and this coming from a woman one of whose main missions in life is to help get our country's C-section rate down from it's current outrageous high of 33 percent. For a while I worried that E. just was not coping with her loss...that she was so focused on having a vaginal birth that she was letting the first precious weeks with her new daughter slip away ruminating about her lost opportunities and planning for a future VBAC. While most would feel that decision would be unsafe (and I even include myself in that number), there are midwives (who's judgement I reject) out there who might accommodate such a request. Indeed, well meaning posters on our local birth-support email lists tried to encourage E. by questioning whether she experienced a "true" rupture (she did) rather than "just a dehiscence", by questioning the decision to perform the surgery (!!??), by questioning her memory of the events, and by encouraging her to look forward to a VBA3C in the future. After a couple of unreturned telephone messages to her, and several emails without response, my worries increased...for a while.
My worries were unfounded. As much as I know she cares, I think right now I'm a reminder to E. of her lost dream of a vaginal birth. I understand that, and I won't pursue contact that she might be uncomfortable with, even though I mean only to support and care. Through the community of women who support birthing women in my city, I've learned that E. is doing well. From time to time I will see a post from her on our local ICAN (International Cesarean Awareness Network) email list, and I can tell that she is working through her grief in her own way. One post in particular that she made, was an impassioned plea to the leaders of ICAN in our community to provide more support for "those of us who will never have a vaginal birth".
My heart goes out to her. She is correct to make such a plea. While I support the work that ICAN does both nationally and locally, I've been concerned for a while that the focus on avoiding C-section, and the focus on VBAC neglects those women who may never experience another pregnancy after their C-section; that those whose C-sections were truly life saving or health-preserving might doubt their caregivers, or more importantly, their acceptance of their care-giver's decision. What aggravated me most in this particular situation, was how quick E.'s "supporters" were to second guess both her trust of her medical team, after she had put so much time and effort in choosing it, and in that team's decision, particularly when those supporters were so far removed from the situation. Hindsight is not always 20/20, and I did not consider that support.
I don't think this is or was intentional; but I think some of the printed materials, and particularly those mothers who were able to achieve a successful VBAC after a truly unnecessary c-section can inadvertently give off the "vibe" that ICAN is only for those mothers who are recovering from, or avoiding abuses of the medical system. Knowing that it will be a fine line to toe, I would like to see the group, while avoiding the risk of "normalizing" the procedure, provide more overt support to mothers who, as E. has so passionately phrased it, will never have a vaginal birth.
C-Sections are Births, too. No one would deny that, but I think in our zeal to reduce the c-section rate, to avoid that first c-section, and to promote VBAC, we have inadvertently minimized that. We in the medical community, in our rush to protect the safety of a mother and baby needing an emergency or emergent c-section, or to keep a busy, even over-loaded maternity unit running efficiently, are guilty of the same. That "machine" I spoke of, the one that I so admire and am so proud to be part of most of the time, continues to, on a calmer level, run much the same, even when the surgery is planned. It's what we do; it's our culture; it's what we are accustomed to; it's our turf!
Well, it may be so, but it's also the birth of a human being. A woman becomes a mother, a couple becomes a family, or a family grows by one (or two, or more ;-}). I've read about calm, quiet, lowly-lit (for the emergence the baby) surgical births where the baby is delivered slowly, in full view of the mother and her support person(s), sometimes even to be placed on her upper chest before being whisked over to a warmer to be dried off, examined and bundled up by nurses or pediatricians; of babies who have even breastfed while the mother was being sutured post-delivery. Even in my own experience on a unit made sometimes over-conservative as a result of being a referral center for high risk pregnancies, I know of at least one physician, one who is conservative himself, who is frustrated at the business-as-usual way in which our cesarean deliveries are usually carried out. I suspect he would balk at the slow, dimly lit delivery with a newly born, wet baby being placed immediately on the mother, or of baby nursing during surgery (I can also envision the hysterics of our very conservative chief anesthesiologist, LOL), but I know he would prefer that we keep baby with the mother and her support people during recovery, and get breastfeeding initiated, rather than whisk baby away to the nursery after a few moments in Dad's (or whoever the mother has chosen for her support) arms, while he (or she) sat next to the mother. On a busy unit such as ours that can be a challenge...particularly because our recovery room has limited space and no infant warmers...but we have done it from time to time, for those assertive mothers who have requested it. It can be done. I'd like to see it done more often.
Likewise, I'd like to see members of ICAN be more conscious (although I know they already try to be) of the feelings of mothers who have given and will continue to give birth surgically. I understand the triumph of a woman who has "beaten the system" to have a VBAC; but that is not reason enough to, even unintentionally, and even sympathetically, view a woman who has had a c-section as a woman who has had a negative birth experience...who has not researched all of her options...who has "given in" to the system.
No, we don't want to risk normalizing surgical birth; but we certainly could benefit from humanizing it much more...both those who perform surgical births, and those whose (admirable) goal is to avoid it.
E. gave birth to her third child, a precious little girl, several weeks ago. It was E.'s third C-section, her second attempt at VBAC, her third attempt at a vaginal birth. With both of her previous birth experiences, the argument could be (powerfully) made, that mismanagement of her labor led to each C-section. With her third birth, only God knows why events unfolded as they did, and led to a third surgical birth, this one an emergency situation, that occurred with E. under general anesthesia.
E. had tried so hard to "do the right thing". She takes excellent care of herself. She's well educated, seeks out the right support for herself, does everything she can to have a safe, healthy birthing for her children and herself. For her first birth, she chose to be attended by very well-known Certified Professional Midwives; for her second, she chose to attempt VBAC with a physician who works very hard to be "hands off" and encourage her patients to give birth on their own terms; for this third birth, E. was fortunate enough to live in a city in which a prominent (it could be argued the national expert) physician-researcher (responsible for probably the most comprehensive study on VBAC ever published) practices. She chose this physician to attend her for her third pregnancy and birth, and together, this patient/physician team worked very hard to secure a healthy pregnancy and safe birth. In the end, that is exactly what they did...although with a significant "hitch" that both of them would rather not have experienced.
After an uneventful pregnancy and smooth first few hours of labor, no pain meds, no epidural, with an attentive husband and doula at her side, E. had progressed smoothly to nearly transition labor. I was so pleased for her! Having popped my head into her labor room to welcome and encourage her, and a share a quick hug with her doula, a close friend of mine, I picked up my bag and clocked out for the day (she had arrived near the end of my shift, and I would not have the good fortune to be her nurse). There was a celebratory mood in the room, and I was nearly floating on air out of happiness for her.
On my way off the unit, a barrage of nurses, residents, and the prominent attending physician suddenly came barreling out of the nurses station, clamoring towards E.'s labor room. The flurry of activity, calls for help and surgical preparations (anesthesia! OR!) that were occurring made it clear that something had gone wrong. The amazing emergency "machine" of our unit had mobilized. When a true emergency occurs, this is a thing to behold. The nurses, techs, clerks, anesthetists and physicians on the unit truly become a single entity, each individual a cog in a wheel that is rotating furiously, each performing nearly automatically, and almost always expertly, their own function, with the goal of getting the mother into surgery, and keeping her and her baby safe. While I admit that the "adrenaline addict" in me gets a bit of a "high" from situations like this, and while my main goal is to avoid having any of our mothers go to the OR, times like this make me feel grateful, and humbled to be able to call myself a part of this amazing team.
Already out of my scrubs, and off the clock, I felt helpless and powerless as I watched in dismay the "machine" thunder down the hall towards the OR with E., hunched over in "knee-chest" position in her bed, her doula and her husband running behind as they pulled on the white, zip-front "bunny suits", caps and masks they would need to accompany E. in the OR. I knew she would be OK. I knew the baby would survive...because I know that machine; but I ached that she seemed to be losing her last chance to have the vaginal birth she had always dreamed of having.
After the commotion had settled, the baby was out, and both she and her mother were deemed safe, I learned that E. had experienced a uterine rupture! This blew my mind. Why her??? She had worked so hard! She was well nourished, it had been several years since her last birth, plenty of time for good tissue healing, and from her previous op reports, she had had a strong, "double layer" repair after her second C-section. She had labored naturally, without the aid of Pitocin, and had (gratefully, in retrospect), had no pain medication or epidural to mask the symptoms of uterine rupture. She had labored to almost complete dilation. The odds were so in her favor for a vaginal birth that this occurrence was a true stunner.
Fortunately, the tear in E.'s uterine wall was repairable, and with the skill of what I am convinced is the best surgeon and surgical team in the country, E. was safe, her baby is healthy, and I know she will heal well.
Physically, at least.
But emotionally?
E. knows that what happened to her was a random, unlikely occurrence. She is grateful and happy to be alive, and to have a healthy daughter to love and raise; but still she grieves for her lost opportunities to experience birth as she had always expected she would; to give birth the way she was designed to. To give birth the way most mothers take for granted. To feel her baby emerge from her body as she worked and pushed to bring her forth under her own incredible power.
Everything had happened so fast. It must have taken quite a bit for it all to sink in, for E. and her husband. This is a couple that has always wanted a big family. Even as they counted their blessings from this averted tragedy, I heard that E.,s husband had asked their doula if they would ever be able to have more children. "Maybe...but only if you schedule a C-section at 39 weeks", she had replied...and this coming from a woman one of whose main missions in life is to help get our country's C-section rate down from it's current outrageous high of 33 percent. For a while I worried that E. just was not coping with her loss...that she was so focused on having a vaginal birth that she was letting the first precious weeks with her new daughter slip away ruminating about her lost opportunities and planning for a future VBAC. While most would feel that decision would be unsafe (and I even include myself in that number), there are midwives (who's judgement I reject) out there who might accommodate such a request. Indeed, well meaning posters on our local birth-support email lists tried to encourage E. by questioning whether she experienced a "true" rupture (she did) rather than "just a dehiscence", by questioning the decision to perform the surgery (!!??), by questioning her memory of the events, and by encouraging her to look forward to a VBA3C in the future. After a couple of unreturned telephone messages to her, and several emails without response, my worries increased...for a while.
My worries were unfounded. As much as I know she cares, I think right now I'm a reminder to E. of her lost dream of a vaginal birth. I understand that, and I won't pursue contact that she might be uncomfortable with, even though I mean only to support and care. Through the community of women who support birthing women in my city, I've learned that E. is doing well. From time to time I will see a post from her on our local ICAN (International Cesarean Awareness Network) email list, and I can tell that she is working through her grief in her own way. One post in particular that she made, was an impassioned plea to the leaders of ICAN in our community to provide more support for "those of us who will never have a vaginal birth".
My heart goes out to her. She is correct to make such a plea. While I support the work that ICAN does both nationally and locally, I've been concerned for a while that the focus on avoiding C-section, and the focus on VBAC neglects those women who may never experience another pregnancy after their C-section; that those whose C-sections were truly life saving or health-preserving might doubt their caregivers, or more importantly, their acceptance of their care-giver's decision. What aggravated me most in this particular situation, was how quick E.'s "supporters" were to second guess both her trust of her medical team, after she had put so much time and effort in choosing it, and in that team's decision, particularly when those supporters were so far removed from the situation. Hindsight is not always 20/20, and I did not consider that support.
I don't think this is or was intentional; but I think some of the printed materials, and particularly those mothers who were able to achieve a successful VBAC after a truly unnecessary c-section can inadvertently give off the "vibe" that ICAN is only for those mothers who are recovering from, or avoiding abuses of the medical system. Knowing that it will be a fine line to toe, I would like to see the group, while avoiding the risk of "normalizing" the procedure, provide more overt support to mothers who, as E. has so passionately phrased it, will never have a vaginal birth.
C-Sections are Births, too. No one would deny that, but I think in our zeal to reduce the c-section rate, to avoid that first c-section, and to promote VBAC, we have inadvertently minimized that. We in the medical community, in our rush to protect the safety of a mother and baby needing an emergency or emergent c-section, or to keep a busy, even over-loaded maternity unit running efficiently, are guilty of the same. That "machine" I spoke of, the one that I so admire and am so proud to be part of most of the time, continues to, on a calmer level, run much the same, even when the surgery is planned. It's what we do; it's our culture; it's what we are accustomed to; it's our turf!
Well, it may be so, but it's also the birth of a human being. A woman becomes a mother, a couple becomes a family, or a family grows by one (or two, or more ;-}). I've read about calm, quiet, lowly-lit (for the emergence the baby) surgical births where the baby is delivered slowly, in full view of the mother and her support person(s), sometimes even to be placed on her upper chest before being whisked over to a warmer to be dried off, examined and bundled up by nurses or pediatricians; of babies who have even breastfed while the mother was being sutured post-delivery. Even in my own experience on a unit made sometimes over-conservative as a result of being a referral center for high risk pregnancies, I know of at least one physician, one who is conservative himself, who is frustrated at the business-as-usual way in which our cesarean deliveries are usually carried out. I suspect he would balk at the slow, dimly lit delivery with a newly born, wet baby being placed immediately on the mother, or of baby nursing during surgery (I can also envision the hysterics of our very conservative chief anesthesiologist, LOL), but I know he would prefer that we keep baby with the mother and her support people during recovery, and get breastfeeding initiated, rather than whisk baby away to the nursery after a few moments in Dad's (or whoever the mother has chosen for her support) arms, while he (or she) sat next to the mother. On a busy unit such as ours that can be a challenge...particularly because our recovery room has limited space and no infant warmers...but we have done it from time to time, for those assertive mothers who have requested it. It can be done. I'd like to see it done more often.
Likewise, I'd like to see members of ICAN be more conscious (although I know they already try to be) of the feelings of mothers who have given and will continue to give birth surgically. I understand the triumph of a woman who has "beaten the system" to have a VBAC; but that is not reason enough to, even unintentionally, and even sympathetically, view a woman who has had a c-section as a woman who has had a negative birth experience...who has not researched all of her options...who has "given in" to the system.
No, we don't want to risk normalizing surgical birth; but we certainly could benefit from humanizing it much more...both those who perform surgical births, and those whose (admirable) goal is to avoid it.
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