The Hospital?

"I don't know what to do with you, " the nurse told me.  "I'm on the fence."

"What are you thinking I should do?" I asked.

"Well, I might want you to go to the hospital..."

****

It was Saturday Dec 28th when I started feeling a pressure in my chest.  Like a tightening over my heart.  I gave myself my weekly methotrexate injection and went to bed.  In the morning, I felt better. By the evening of the 29th, though, the pressure was back again.  And went on into the night.

Annika had a nightmare and I tried to get her back to sleep.  My heart started racing even though she hadn't scared me.  It was 5:30 AM and I struggled to get back to sleep.

When I got up Monday morning, the pressure was still there.  Like a giant was pushing on my chest until the pain started to seep into my shoulder blade.  Although I had checked online and found that I wasn't having a heart attack, I also couldn't stop the pain or even figure out why I was in pain.

I called my favorite clinic.  I no longer have a doctor there because she defected to the BYU Health Center, but I felt confident in the staff and tried to get an appointment.  They put me through to the nurse.  She found my case puzzling.

We talked about my family history of heart disease, including my dad's recent heart attacks and subsequent surgery.  That seemed to make up her mind.

"Go to the ER.  They have the best equipment.  They can tell you what's going on."

Over breakfast with my kids, I told them about the pressure in my chest.  I told them that a nurse thought I should go to the ER.  I took a shower, got dressed, packed my laptop, a book and my contact and glasses cases and drove myself to the ER.

I called Wendell, told him what was going on and convinced him not to meet me there.

"I promise I'll call if anything gets interesting," I told him.

At the ER they took my blood pressure, ran some blood tests, an EKG and took a chest X-ray.

"On paper," the doc told me, "you look great.  We could do a CAT scan to be sure."  I explained that I had an aversion to CAT scans.

"What I think you have, is inflammation that's causing pressure in your chest."

"Oh!  From my arthritis?"  I'm very familiar with inflammation.

"Probably not," he said, drawing out the phrase like he was politely considering it.

I figured he'd tell me it was my lack of exercise or my over-eating.  But what he said was, "Take care of yourself."  And he tipped his head in a way that was simultaneously sincere and gentle.

After I left the hospital, I read over the paperwork.  The diagnosis on paper cited stress as the most likely cause of the inflammation.  I was having a physiological response to stress.  And there on Monday Dec 30th, in the hospital parking lot, I knew things had to change.  So I began to think a lot about my goals, my aspirations, my joys and how I want to spend my time.  Because, believe me, I do not want to be in the hospital parking lot at the end of 2014 because of stress. It's time to revamp.

What's the Point, Anyway

When I was in the hospital, I was under the (apparently mistaken) notion that the hospital nursery was there to give me a break. For example, if I need some sleep and the baby is fussy, I can send him to the nursery and sleep better, right? Apparently this doesn't work during the day.

On Saturday morning, I fed the baby then called the nursery. I wanted a shower and I can't leave the baby alone in my room. They took the baby away and I took my shower. But I was still in my bathrobe when the nursery showed up.

"Hi. The baby fussy so we brought him to you."

"Ooohhh Kayyyy," I said hesitantly. It had only been 1 hour and 15 minutes since I'd fed him. He just needed to be held. But it's a little hard to hold the baby and put your hospital gown on and try not to have your hair look too stupid since having a baby is a perpetual photo op.

Fortunately, my nurse walked in just then. (For my Wyview blogging buddies, my nurse was Christin Jones who lived in our building. It was really cool to have someone take care of me, who I already knew.)

"Why's your baby here?" Christin asked.

I shrugged. "The nursery said he was fussy so they brought him to me."

"That's weird. Well I'm at a good stopping point I can sit and hold him for a bit."

"Thanks!" I gushed as I rushed back into my bathroom to put on my gown and fix my face a bit.

This is weird, right? Not on any of my other 4 babies have I had the nursery bring me a baby 45 minutes before he needs to eat just because of fussiness. I would rack this up to a strange isolated incident, but the nursery did the EXACT SAME THING on Sunday. I'm not kidding. Is this the weekend staff or what? And this was far from the nursery's only problem. Remind me to tell you the story of how Wendell was the only person to notice a near mix up of babies.