The Rise of A Phoenix

Chapter Eleven- Being In The Five Percent

Neither one of us spoke as the doctor from Obstetrics and Gynecology walked into the room.

“Hi, I'm Dr. Platt. And who's the lovely mother to be?” the doctor asked.

“That would be me.”, I said, pointing at myself.

Jaws dropped.

“Oh, wow. Wasn't expecting that. Are you sure you can carry the baby to term?” Dr. Platt asked with concern.

“ Of course I can. My gynecologist says that my hardware is sound. Delivery is a different story. I have to keep professional eyes on my shunt valve hardware as well but I should be fine.” I responded with the confidence I was lacking earlier in the day. Funny how a change in circumstances does that.

Dr. Platt examined me internally and ran another ultrasound.

“Everything looks beautiful. Sorry, I just haven't had experience with handicap women as patients.” she said as she drew the transducer over my abdomen and pelvis.

“ It's fine. I'm used to being the exception to the rule. Comes with being part of the five percent.”

“ What do you mean, the five percent?” Dr. Platt asked.

“Ninety-five percent of the children with my condition don't make it to where I am now. If they do, it's usually accompanied by cognitive impairment, among other things. I have a genius level IQ of 125 and therefore I will probably qualify for nothing in regards to resources for my child and I. Such is life when you are the exception to the rule. Sorry, just stating facts.” I said wistfully.

“I'm sorry life is so hard for you. The fact that you are doing this well is a testament to perseverance and modern medicine. I'm honored to be a part of this journey you're beginning. More women need to know your story. It's very inspiring. See you in a few weeks.” Dr. Platt said before she left the room.

If only those doctors who delivered me in Georgia could see me now…That list makes me laugh. Oh, if you only knew who you were underestimating, sirs and madams, if only you knew. Ow. This sucks. I thought this as the pain rocked my body one more time. It was centered in my hips and spine. I knew that the first few weeks after hip surgery were murder because you weren't allowed to be moving.

I tried sleeping, but having to sleep sitting upright instead of laying flat made it difficult. I managed to get an hour in before being awoken by a knock at the door.

“Come in.” I said groggily.

It was my sister.

“ Hey, Chels. You're gonna be an aunt. The darling growing inside me says hello. Proof is there on the board.”

“Well, congratulations, sis. I almost thought you couldn't do it. Guess I was wrong. Love you.”

“ Love you too. The trick in the hat will be staying healthy so I can make it full term, then delivering the kid. I'm scared history will repeat itself and I'll end up with a disabled child and have to do to them what I had done to me.” I said while I rested my palms on my abdomen.

“You're not going to do that. You know what happens when you don't do what you're supposed to. You're the proof. You live with the consequences of what happened because you weren't taken care of.” Chelsea said, reaching for my hand.

It was surreal to be thinking about these things I had to think about now. Twenty four hours ago, I was thinking about the fact I needed surgery on both hips. Now I had a pregnancy on my mind.

“Remind me that I have to ask about my anxiety medicine affecting the baby when the doctor does rounds in the morning. Unless you can't be here.” I said.

“I already put it in your notebook. That's a beautiful story you wrote. The Finishing Strokes is a great title. Well done.” My sister said this while she read through the notebook I had laying on the bedside table. The notebook was the same one that she had bought me on the night that she had taken me away from our parents’ house nine years ago.

Take one last look at the house because you're not coming back here to live ever again. You're free, Brittany. Tonight is the first night of your brand new life. You're free.

The ground…way too cold. Please, don't let them come home! The neighbors…I need to get out of here before…My feet are so swollen. The piano…Mom, no, I mean Ms. McFadden…my ribs hurt. What's that sticking out of your neck? It's the valve. Are you OK? Don't run into the doorknobs, Brit! Hahahaha! No, I'm fine. I don't feel any different, just tired. Your liver's abnormal. This wasn't the plan, remember? Come here and we'll get her a bed and get her started with the placement process. I'm her mother and I work on 4A. Welcome to Victoria House. You have tendonitis in both hips. Mon Valley was wrong. Do you really want to do this? I can't give you the sedative because you're by yourself, Brittany. How did you end up where you are now? She won't make it. Call the chaplain. You can't hold her. We don't have a NICU here. You can keep the plates. I'll give them back to you in a specimen jar. She needs a shunt. I'm sorry, but your daughter won't be normal if she makes it.

Disjointed memories ran through my head at hyper speed and the monitors went wild as my vitals rose.

“ I…can't…breathe…it hurts…help me.” I was on the verge of losing my swallowing reflex because the fight or flight response was taking over my body and brain. I put my hands on my abdomen in reflex.

“No! I won't lose my baby! I…fought…too…hard…for…too…long! I…deserve…to be…normal…for five seconds!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Okay, she's diagnosed with PTSD, right? She's manifesting symptoms of trauma response.” the female nurse stated clinically.

“We can't give her anything pharmaceutical because she's pregnant and it might hurt the baby, so we have to talk her through what's going on in her head.” the male nurse standing at my head said.

“Okay, Brittany. Where are you and what do you see?” the male nurse asked.

“Babies, dying babies. They're broken, and the doctors say they're mine, but they don't look like me.”

“Okay. Start there. I'm gonna help you reframe the fear. My name's Jason.”

“Okay.” I said shakily.

“You need to detach yourself from the fear. Allow yourself to feel it, but talk about it as though you are a witness to it happening to someone else or you're watching from a distance, or you're writing the events. “ Jason instructed.

“Like writing in third person? Sorry. I write professionally.” I said with a smile.

“Exactly. I was an English minor. I've got you.” Jason said, laughing.

“Okay. I'm standing on a sidewalk and my water breaks and no one's with me, so I start noting the length of time between contractions and it's way too fast. Everything is too pquiet. I collapse to the ground but no one's close. My breathing becomes short and shallow. I barely have enough air to speak, not that I could anyway because the pain is overtaking me.

I wonder if history is going to repeat itself and my delivery will be as short as my mother's was with me. I try walking to the road to flag someone down, but I collapse again. I'm scared but I remember my studies of the biology and physiology behind labor and it sort of steadies me, but I'm still scared because I'm in labor in the middle of a sidewalk and no one's close. I remember what happened to Renee when I delivered her babies in the field, except for this time, there's no one and it's me. So, I stagger to my feet and try again. It’s becoming critical and I can't figure out where I am, so I stagger to a bench, sit there, clamp my knees together, breathe and pray. The pain is mounting and I scream. Someone finally hears me and I look up. It's one of my writing colleagues. She grabs my hand as my breathing patterns start to hitch.

“Hi. Wow. Fantastic meeting you here. It's my manuscript coming true, I guess. Except the baby is mine. Ow…Sweet Baby Jesus! If my count is right, I don't have time. It's two hours from here to Magee Women's Hospital in Pittsburgh. Mon Valley Hospital is closer but Hell will freeze over before I end up there again. Jefferson Regional Hospital is in the middle in terms of distance but it's too late, I think.” I say all this before I start screaming again.

Okay, I've got you. Just breathe. You're gonna be okay, Brittany. Think beautiful thoughts. How are things?” she asks me as she looks over at my bruised right hand.

Jason stopped me there.

“Wow. That's vivid. It sounds like your brain is taking you through all the worst case scenario options. Delivery in the field is risky but it's been done. You keep telling yourself that you can't or don't have a good shot of carrying your child to term like you're supposed to because you were premature. You're scared history will repeat itself, am I right?,” Jason asked with concern.

“Exactly.” I said, looking up at him with tears in my eyes.

“Look at the sonogram. You've done everything right. That's the proof in black and white. You can do this like every other woman on the planet. You just have to have a few more people looking after you. Paraplegic women deliver healthy babies, why couldn't you?” Jason asked.

“Paraplegic women don't have shunt hardware in their body. I do.” I said, still crying.

“Okay. So, that means neurology or neurosurgery will have to have eyes on you. You're going to be okay. Stop. It's not good for you or the baby when you're under stress.” Jason said sternly.

“I'm scared.” I cried.

“Why?” Jason asked.

“I just have a feeling something might happen. I can't explain. It's just a gut feeling.” I said, barely looking up.

“Maybe you'll feel differently two weeks from now when OB comes back and you hear a heartbeat. For most women, that's when it becomes real. Maybe then you'll see yourself as capable.” Jason said.

“Maybe. I need to get used to the idea, I guess. The fact that I was a one shot wonder still amazes me though.” I said with a watery smile, drying my eyes on my scrub shirt.

“Do you know when I start the rehab for my hips? I need to get home ASAP.” I asked him.

“You could start as early as tomorrow or the day after. Depends on how tonight goes.” Jason replied.

“Okay, great. The sooner the better.” I said this confidently but I didn't think it.

That first night was the worst. Between my hips and the vomiting because of the morning sickness, I didn't sleep much. When PT came, I wasn't ready for it.

The therapist knocked on my door the next morning and I was seriously questioning my ability to do what needed done. According to everything I had read, I would be doing nothing more than keeping my hips flexible and increasing the range of motion, which was exactly what I was doing prior to surgery.

This was what I would be doing for the next four to six weeks, then once I passed that point, I could focus on rebuilding the strength and muscle mass I had lost due to atrophy from being unable to use the muscles in my hips and legs how I was supposed to.

“Good morning, Ms. McFadden. I'm David. I'm with PT and Rehab. Nice to meet you. I heard through the grapevine you've got hips and legs that need working on, madam.” He said this while extending a hand out for me to shake.

“Good morning, sir. Let the hell begin. I've got a baby growing inside me that I need to be able to deliver, and I can't do that unless my hips function properly.” I said this matter of factly and I was extremely blunt about it, but David took it well as I returned his handshake.

“ So, what is your goal? Obviously, range of motion, flexibility, and strength, but what is your measurement of progression and success? Are you planning to deliver your baby without a Cesarean?” he asked.

“Honestly, I don't want to be on the operating table for my delivery if I don't have to, but I wouldn't say that is my main goal for PT nor is it my measurement of progression. My measurement of progression and main goal in and for PT is whether I can be moderately pain free walking or doing basic functions of living. This is because I've dealt with bilateral hip pain for almost nine years. It makes doing my chosen profession difficult because the pain affects my ability to sleep.” I said this while I rested my palms on my chest and slowly inhaled a breath to center my thoughts.

“What's your profession?” David asked.

“I write poetry and short stories. I have to be extremely precise when I write, revise and edit, and the fact that I can't sleep properly is affecting my ability to do it because it's causing me to make simple mistakes, like forgetting words and punctuation when I write.” I spoke this as pain rocketed through my hips and lower back. It took my breath away and I gasped.

“Everything okay? I won't do anything with you unless you are 100%. Being post-op and pregnant is a lot of stress on the body.” David said this with concern.

“It's OK. My hips and back are cramping because I can't lay flat. I'll be fine. Got any bananas? I might be short on potassium too.” I said matter of factly.

“Let's get this done and we'll see what we can do about getting you some bananas with lunch. You're gonna need the calories anyway.” David said, looking at me.

“We can't do anything except flexibility for now because you're not supposed to flex your hips past ninety degrees nor put any weight on your hips until you've been healing for at least six weeks and then you're supposed to gradually do it until you transition to being able to support your body weight completely. My job is to make sure you stay functionally flexible.” He said this while he had hold of my foot and was trying to stretch my hip vertically.

“ I don't think I can get it any further than 80 degrees.Trying to really hurt right now. It's still stiff.” I said, exhaling slowly while counting to five in my head.

“Okay. We're going to bring this leg down slowly and controlled. Continue exhaling. There it is. Now for the right.” David said as he switched to holding my right foot.

“We're going to try to aim for the same result on the right side as we had on the left one. Okay? If you can't, then that's okay. I'm just establishing a baseline so I know where we need to go from here.” He said this as he was bringing my leg towards the ceiling.

“Ah. That's where it's beginning to hurt. I can't go further than that.”

I said this as he pulled out his goniometer and noted the extension measurement.

“ You're about 80 degrees on both sides. That's absolutely beautiful. Makes the road back to normal easier by a little bit. How are you feeling?” He brought my leg back down and I exhaled a slow breath.

“My hips are sore but that's OK. I knew that would happen.” I said.

“I'll come back and finish the measurements later, then. I'll let Dr. Hamlin know how you're doing as well. You really took this first morning like a pro though. Pregnant and BOSS. I love it. See you soon.” David said as he was packing up his equipment and leaving the room.