We step into the kitchen and I put my discharge paperwork along with paper bags full of new medications, Paxlovid among them, on the island. My belly is 8 months heavy, and I’m exhausted. We (my baby and I) have just been released after an overnight stay at the hospital.
It’s late Spring, 2022. I am an internal medicine-dermatology resident at the University of Minnesota, finishing up my second year of training. Over the past week I’ve been on dermatology call at the VA medical center in Minneapolis, fielding consults on top of the usual busy clinic schedule. Dragging myself around the hospital performing skin biopsies on the weekends, I’m run down, and need a break. So when my daughter brings home COVID from daycare, I’m almost relieved to see the second pink line appear on the home test. My physically feeling terrible is for once justified, and what’s better, is I get “a break… thank god.” Work taken off due to COVID doesn’t count against our PTO, and I need to ration every available day of PTO I expect to graduate residency on time.
But then I actually get sick. All of us. My husband has body aches and chills, and this is a man that never gets I’ll despite the litany of viruses our daughter brings home. My ; I can’t keep food or water down. My hydration is so down that I barely even need to use the restroom. “We need to get you to the hospital,” my husband starts to push. As a doctor, I hate hospitals, especially emergency departments. But it’s not just about me this time, and I worry I might be hurting the baby by being unable to stay hydrated. A phone call to the nurse triage line ends with the recommendation to present to the emergency room. So I go. My second trip this pregnancy.
…
An overnight stay, 4 liters of fluids, and a detailed sonogram later and I’m released to go home, although given the option to stay another night.
“You should have stayed another day,” he says. “Baby’s ok, they checked him,” and I can sleep much better here at home. I say.
My nights are often spent tossing and turning, and tonight is no different. But a powerful cramp with crippling back pain wakes me up, which is very different. It’s 3:30 AM.
My pajama bottoms feel strange and I reach down to adjust them. My hand recoils when I touch the fabric; they’re soaked. ...What? A beat passes and I come to the conclusion that I must have either wet myself or… or…
Blurry eyed I stumble to the bathroom and get my glasses on and clean myself up. When I do this, I again recoil at the array of colors that meet my eyes: a brownish red material like old blood and then… a tinge of green?
Another cramp comes, and it resonates through my body like a bell toll.
“No no no no no… this can’t be happening”
As I stand at the sink I attempt to force my thoughts to come together like forcing smoke into a bottle. My doctor mind has already collected the evidence that points to an obvious conclusion, my mother heart hopes that there’s still a chance what I’m sure is happening is not. As these two women argue with each other, I feel a single drop of warm fluid trace down the inner part of my leg.
We have to move.
Again, I call the triage line, but this time, our conversation is brief, and I hang up. “Travis, we have to go back to the hospital; the baby is coming. Travis, wake up.”
“…Are you sure?” he says blearily.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
As if collecting himself, he shuts his eyes for a moment and slowly inhales. And then, he swiftly jumps out of bed, moving with laser focus and precision. “Double check make sure you’ve got everything you need; I’ll take care of getting BG together.”
My “go bag,” is almost set with the exception of a few items. We move wordlessly and quickly, except for every few minutes when I have to double over and accept a wave of contractions. On my iPhone create a new note and start recording the time each one arrives. Seven minutes.
Our daughter is sleeping in her stroller for the car ride to the hospital. My husband picks up my little roller “go” bag and extends the handle, moving it into position by the door. When it’s plastic wheels make a clicking sound on the fake wooden floor a sudden realization hits me.
I have to do this alone.
Med-Derm, MD 