The Midnight Hospital Trip Running Diary

With Dan on vacation, The Daily Daddy Blog will be running some pre-Anna (mis)adventures.  Call it a “Best (or Worst) of Dan.”

Today’s blast from the past is Dan’s running diary of a trip to the hospital that took place fifteen weeks before Anna was born.  Enjoy!

(Editor’s Note: The following was written on November 20, 2006 and took place on November 18 through November 19, 2006)

There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t worried, sometimes to a point that’s unhealthy, about something going wrong with the pregnancy. 

Whether it’s something major like the M-word or something impossible like my child contracting some rare, genetic disease like Neurofibromatosis, I worry about the Kid’s health and I worry about Miranda’s health.

This worrying came to a head last night when something actually did go wrong. 

Here’s what went down:

November 18

9:00P – I met Miranda at the subway station.  She proclaims, “I don’t feel well.”  I asked her what she ate.  “Three munchkins was where I stopped counting.”

9:15P – We get back to the apartment.  I go to brush my teeth but I’m ordered to leave, as it’s clear she’s going to get sick.

9:22P – She emerges from the bathroom.  She looks like some of the girls I hung out with in college – wrangled hair, snot coming down, a string of vomit flowing from the corner of the mouth.  Pure class.

9:24P – Miranda downs some Powerade.

9:27P – Back to the bathroom.

9:29P – The worrying begins.

9:32P – More vomiting.

9:38P – I offer to get her some crackers.  She scowls.  Good times.  Just like the first trimester.

9:40P – We go to bed.

9:51P – I fall asleep.

10:47P – I wake up to the sound of someone throwing up.  It’s not the cat.

Me: Honey, you okay?

Wife: Leave me alone.

Me: I’ll take that as a yes.

10:48P – I fall back asleep.

10:51P – Miranda wakes me up to tell me she’s going to be sleeping on the recliner.  Not sure why, but who am I to argue.

11:00P – I check on Miranda.  I ask, “Is this normal.”  She shrugs.

The worry is quickly turning to panic because she’s usually up-to-date on what’s normal for where she is in the pregnancy.

11:01P – I begin rummaging through the boxes of books (we’ve just moved) looking for the bible – What to Expect When You’re Expecting. 

11:05P – I find it and flip to the index to look up “vomiting.”  All the book talks about is morning sickness during the first trimester.  I point out to Miranda that this means I’ve been right all along – the Bible is worthless.  She does not appreciate this, but is too sick to really do any damage with her kicking.  I laugh and point.  She kicks harder.  Ouch!

11:17P – I’ve spent the past 12 minutes flipping through the 1,409,705,729,345,723,457 books on pregnancy.  Nothing has anything to do with third trimester vomiting.  Where’s “House” when you need him?

11:21P – Miranda says, “Maybe I was wrong.  I don’t think it was the Munchkins.”  I ask, “What was it then?”  She replies, “Maybe it was the avocado roll.” 

11:22P – The thought of the avocado roll sends her back to the bathroom.

November 19

12:01A – I fall back asleep to the soothing sounds of Miranda blowing chunks.

12:17A – I wake up and hear Miranda climb into the recliner.

12:21A – I hear Miranda snoring.  I fall back asleep.

2:20A – I wake up with a start, as I hear the bathroom door slam shut and what sounds like a bucket of water hit the toilet bowl.

I yell, “Miranda.  Oh my god!”

She replies, “I’m fine.”

I snap, “No, you’re not.  Do you want Powerade?  Crackers?  Water?”

2:23A – She comes out of the bathroom with that drunken sorority girl look again, only this time she looks like a sorostitute who’s been doing blow all night long.

2:24A – We have the following conversation:

Me: We’re going to the hospital.

Wife: I’m fine.

Me: Umm, not so much.

Wife: I’ll be okay.

Me: I’d rather not find out if you’re right.  Let me get you some water.

Wife: I had some.  I threw it up.

Me (springing into full-on panicking dad-to-be mode, I come up with the line of the night): Either you call you’re doctor or I call 9-1-1.

2:27A – The emergency hotline pages Miranda’s doctor.

2:34A -The Doc calls back and when she hears Miranda can’t keep down even water, she’s orders her to the hospital.

2:45A – We’re dressed and in the car.  I’m doing about 90 down back alleys, racing for the Queensborough Bridge.  If I’d gone any faster, I’d have traveled back in time.

3:05A – We arrive at the hospital.  There’s a parking spot right in front.  It’s good to know the parking gods still like me. 

3:07A – Miranda gets out and hurls on the sidewalk.  Been there, done that!

3:11A – We’re waiting by the nurses’ station.  There is a doctor who looks like he’s neither slept nor showered in a few days.  Whatever.  If he treats Miranda and cures her, he can be a Grizzly Man for all I care.

3:16A – A nice nurse named Rita tells me to go down to admission.  Paperwork at 3 in the morning – Yippie!

3:21A – I’m waiting for one of the two people in the admissions office to help me.  One is on the phone, the other is sitting at a desk in an office (I can see him through the window). 

The non-office guy tells me to have a seat and once he done with other patients, he’ll attend to my needs.  I look around.  There’s no one else waiting.

As I sit and wait, I’m reminded of the scene in “Meet the Parents” when Ben Stiller is told to wait to board the plane because his rows hasn’t been called and no one else is behind him.  Good times.

Finally, the guy from the office emerges.  He looks like Eric Lasalle’s character in “Coming to America” – Soul Glo and all.  I expect him to sound like Barry White for some reason.  Instead, he sounds like Vanna White.

Eric Lasalle tells me the other guy will be right with.  It turns out Eric Lasalle is on his lunch break.  I’m too tired to be mad but not too tired to be confused.  Then I realize that all this talk of lunch is making me hungry.  I suddenly have a craving for pancakes.  Mmmmmm, pancakes.

3:31A – The other dude finally comes out to help me.  We go through the standard paperwork.  Sign here, initial that, okay this.  I’m pretty sure that at one point, I signed a piece of paper that said if I don’t pay, the insurance company and the hospital get joined custody of my child.  I make a mental note that from now on, I will a) pay closer attention to paperwork that I have to sign and b) remember this option incase the Kid’s a rabble rouser.

3:45A – I’m all done with the paperwork.

3:47A – I arrive back at the nurses’ station.  They direct me to Miranda’s room, where she’s hooked up to an IV, bending over a bedpan, puking up bile.  I see her throw up and have to choke back my own vomit.  Uh oh!

3:49A – She’s done puking.  I go back to the nurses’ station and ask for another bedpan.  I’m told I have to wash it out.  Seems about right.  But again, I’m too tired to argue.

3:51A – I take the bile-filled bedpan into the bathroom, feeling all the while, my stomach churning.  I catch a whiff.  Oh GAWD!  Here it comes.  Whew.  False alarm.

3:59A – A nurse checks in on us and is kind enough to make the chair I’m sitting in into a bed.  It’s like I’m flying first class on British Airways.  You know, if British Airways flew around a bunch of sick people.

A quick sidebar: It’s important to mention, I think, that we were not in the emergency room for people who have been shot and stabbed and have broken bones.  We were actually in the labor and delivery ward, ergo the only people were pregnant women – and their partners.

4:05A – Miranda’s asleep.  I finally dose off, too.

4:29A – I wake up when Doogie Howser comes to check on my wife.  I swear that this doctor looked like he’d just finished learning how to color inside the lines.  I think he wanted to get out of there so he wouldn’t be late for recess.

4:37A – Doogie finishes his examination, including a quick ultrasound.  Thank God!  Everything with the baby is okay.  Except for one minor thing – the Kid’s breeched.  Just when I thought my panic had regressed to worry, it went right back into panic overdrive.  Doogie assures us, however, that with still 15 weeks or so to go before the baby’s born, we don’t need to worry. 

I feel like asking him if he’s ever been in my situation but realize it would be impossible, since he hasn’t even gone through puberty yet.

4:46A – We both try to go back to sleep.  With the beeping of the machines, the baby’s heart monitor, and the woman in labor next to us yelling in some Asian language (insert your own Rosie O’Donnell joke here), falling asleep is impossible.  We lie there, instead, holding hands, trying not to panic or worry.

5:01A – Miranda falls back asleep after finally being able to give a urine sample.  I go outside to stretch my legs.  The cool air feels nice on my face. 

Another quick sidebar: It’s at moments like these, when I’m all by myself that despite my proclivity for making fun of religion, especially the organized kind, I can’t help but find myself hoping, neigh praying, that there is some higher power looking over my family, doing all that it can do to make sure everything works out okay.

5:15A – I get back to the room and lie down.  I use the beeping as a rhythm to help me fall asleep.

6:01A – Miranda’s doctor (the one who ordered her into the hospital) arrives.  She’s the most adorable doctor ever.  A cute, young Asian women who puts Sandra Oh (the only other Asian doctor I know) to shame.

Everything is okay.  The official diagnosis is the consumption of some bad food.  I ask if that’s a technical term?  The Doc ignores me.

She wants Miranda to stick around for a few more hours, ensuring us both that there is nothing to worry about.  Miranda hasn’t puked in a while and has been able to hold down some melba toast and juice.  Believe me, from what she was going through earlier, this is quite the achievement.

6:04A – Relieved, we both fall back asleep.

6:45A – I wake up and ask Miranda if she minds my going into the office for a while.  She says it’s okay.  I need to do something to take my mind off of everything – even though they say I have nothing to worry about.

Yeah right.  Me not worry?  I mean, telling me not to worry in this situation, even after we know we’re in the clear is like telling someone who’s just had their heart broken to stop thinking about their ex.

As I walked out of the hospital, the sun had finally started to rise.  It was the beginning of another day and for that, I was truly grateful.  I knew that I would spend my morning worrying about Miranda and the Kid, even while trying to distract myself with work – which, by the way, was somewhat successful. 

Miranda called me around 10:15 to tell me she was discharged and on her way home in a cab.  I told her, “I love you” and that I’d be home around 1ish.

A final sidebar: I didn’t make her take a cab.  She did this on her will and accord.  I offered to leave work to pick her up, but she said “no” and that she just wanted to get home and go to sleep.  As I’ve learned over the past six months – you don’t argue with a pregnant woman…especially a tired one!

1:21P – I finally leave work and pick up bananas, rice, apple sauce, and toast aka the BRAT Diet, which Better Dr. Oh ordered her to be on.  I also picked up some ginger ale and saltines, which have also been Better Dr. Oh-approved.

1:45P – As I drove home, I realized that in panic-mode events like these, people can do one of two things – panic or stay calm.  I also realized that while I was panicking internally, staying calm on the outside was the best possible thing I could have done.  Miranda was already panicked enough and my going crazy would have only made the situation worse.  It’s amazing what people are capable of when put in situations involving their wives and children – or any loved one for that matter.

I also recognized that I had no control over the situation.  Panicking wasn’t going to make her feel better, physically or mentally.  It’s the same with everything that could go wrong in the pregnancy.  So I guess what I’m saying is that, through this whole experience – the night at the hospital, that is – I have finally learned that worrying won’t fix anything.  It can only make things worse.  I vowed, at that very moment not to worry. 

We’ll see if I stick to it.

2:17P – I finally arrive at home.  Miranda downs some crackers, juice, and apple sauce.  I realize I haven’t eaten all day, so I do the same. 

2:22P – Exhausted, we crawl into bed and spoon (I’m the big spoon!).  We quickly fall asleep, with nothing beeping, no women next to us in labor, and most importantly, no worries.