Quaid Twins Double Jeopardy

Whoa! If this can happen to a Hollywood power couple (well, certainly somewhere up there on the scale) at one of the world's most exclusive top-ranking, not to mention expensive, hospitals... What chance have the likes of us got?

Caught a quick highlight of this on E! during my lunchtime Telly-surfing (not recommended with curry in a plate precariously balanced on one hand). Had to find out more:

Quaids Recall Twins Drug Overdose

Before actor Dennis Quaid went to bed Nov. 18, he gave one last call to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where his newborn twins were being treated for staph infections. "Oh, they're fine," Quaid recalled a nurse telling him about 9 p.m. "They're just fine." Actually, they weren't.

Earlier that day, nurses had mistakenly given Thomas Boone and Zoe Grace 1,000 times the recommended dose of the blood thinner heparin.....

The first that Dennis Quaid learned of the medication error was at 6:30 a.m. the next day, he said, when he arrived at the Los Angeles hospital. Treatment decisions had been made without them, he said.

Can you imagine finding out long after the fact, realising, not knowing. And two lives, one is bad enough, in the balance. This sounds absolutely terrifying:

The Quaids said they spent the day watching in terror as doctors and nurses hovered over their critically ill children. At one point, as a bandage was being changed, blood spurted from the area around Thomas' clipped umbilical cord and hit a wall about 5 feet away, Dennis Quaid, 53, remembered.

Apparently, the mixup was due to the confusing labelling of the Heparin bottles by manufacturer Baxter Healthcare. According to:

Quaids Sue Makers of Blood Thinner

The Quaids didn't sue Cedars-Sinai, which acknowledged after the news broke that a "preventable error" had resulted in three patients receiving vials containing 10,000 units per milliliter of heparin instead of vials with a concentration of 10 units per milliliter. The patients were receiving intravenous medications and the heparin was used to flush the catheters to prevent clotting.

Confusion over packaging? What're they on about? All medical packaging looks more or less the same. If a nurse is a bit short-sighted or has difficulty telling a light blue from a deep-blue, or if one label is a bit faded... that means the patient is done for? To a non-layperson's eyes, i.e. to hospital personnel, the packaging is probably not as confusing as, say, to me. Still, reason to be extra-extra careful what you're squeezing into a hypodermic needle, no?

Can't help shudder when I recall them "flushing" the I.V. line in my hand during my recent hospital stay. It was a clear, colourless liquid, which could just as easily have been water, as lethally high dosage Heparin. The midwife did have her senior double-check the medicine once, though not every time. And, even if I do repeat myself, it bloody hurt. And still hurts.

Both Sides of the Csection Divide

Week 35

So what I overheard that night in the ward was one of the two women trotting between the curtained off areas (a bit inconsiderately I thought since the other lady might've wanted to sleep) to share her woes. She was the lady in the corner bed (we'll call her cornered lady, for more reasons than one as you'll see) who was visiting the lady in the other window bed just across from me (we'll call her window lady).

It seems Cornered Lady was eager to discuss her plight with what she hoped was a sympathetic person in the same position as herself. Hence, barely waiting till both their attendant midwives and partners had gone. Her plight was one that is increasingly usual nowadays. She had had one child by emergency c-section a couple of years ago and it was a bad experience. She said the scar hurt for a year after, that it was a raised, ugly scar besides. But for (probably pretty sound) medical reasons the doctors were not in favour of a VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section) in her case and had scheduled her op the next week. She, however, was determined to go the all-natural way and avoid any intervention if possible. Which is why at the first sign of any contractions, she had booked herself into the hospital. She was obviously hoping for much sympathy and praise for her courage in putting evil medical practictioners in their place. But she was disappointed.

It turned out that Window lady, who had a pleasant voice and a rather posh accent, had chosen to have an Elective C-section. And not her first either. She had been pleased with the elective section she had with her last child. It had healed fast and the scar was negligible. She was all booked in to have her op that Thursday. She only came in today because of very strong contractions and was worried that she might go into labour before the scheduled op.

The two women couldn't be further apart in their approaches to birth. One was close to hysterical, panicked that she might not be able to avoid another c-section; while the other was not taking any chances of missing out on an planned c-section.

As it happened, Cornered Lady was still in the hospital when I was discharged 3 days later. Within that time she had managed to upset two midwives by demanding to be sent up to te Delivery suite, had a public altercation with the senior midwife and a hissy fit with her partner in the ward with all the rest of us pretending not to listen. What the midwives and her partner were telling her was that she was being unreasonable and uptight. That there was a good reason the doctors did not reccommend a VBAC for her. Also that she wasn't anywhere near going into labour and that it would be wrong to induce her against doctor's orders. She sent her husband away and took to arguing with the midwives that they should send her upstairs.

The whole situation seemed messy and unnecessary (perhaps you're thinking I'll see it differently once I go through it all myself?) I blame the atmosphere of distrust that has been created around hospital births and the illogical campaign of misinformation against c-sections.

Night at the Antenatal Ward

<----No, the ward wasn't anything like this, it was rather nice, this is what I had actually been expecting.


Week 35.
To continue from a more interesting point in my hospital saga two weeks ago...

After I'd had the intravenous drip going and had ingested one whole bag's worth (no antibiotics in sight yet, just the saline) and several loo trips (dragging the IV stand and fetal monitoring tubes with me), we were told I might have to stay overnight at the hospital. I'd been expecting to go home that night, so was surprised. Note however, neither I nor DH had any idea how serious my condition was. Even though the three young female docs had stood at the end of the bed and muttered together about Nephritis, it didn't mean anything to us. It was clever of them to have diagnosed it, though, its hard to catch when there're such few symptoms.

So after an hour or two of me and DH just waiting, listening to the hair-raising screams of women in labour in the wards all around us, a midwife came and told us I'll be shifted downstairs to an antenatal ward and be kept overnight. This meant DH would have to go home too as he wasn't allowed to stay beyond 10pm in the wards. So there followed another wait till midnight when the next shift came on and transferred me downstairs. I wasn't looking forward to being a shared ward (not that we could afford a private one ever) but would have to walk out to use the shared loos (wheeling my faithful IV stand with me). Ultimately it wasn't so bad, I got a window side bed in a still empty 4-bed ward. DH unpacked the stuff he'd got for me from home, clothes etc into the tiny locker and took the bags away (like the sign said to do, he's a very good boy). No dinner for me though as it was so late and all hospital catering had gone beddy-byes hours ago. DH left, and I was left alone to wheel myself to the loo ever so often.

Could not sleep though I was absolutely exhausted. The I.V. tube in my hand hurt like hell and the blood congealing in it made me feel sick. So I was all too awake when two other women were brought into the ward at different points in the night. wanted to tell them not to bother whispering and tiptoeing around since I was wide awake but didn't have the energy. As it was, I overheard a very interesting conversation...

Shaking For England

WEEK 35
Was finally rushed to hospital on Monday night after dialling 999.

After calling round all Sunday and Monday - tried NHS Direct, then my GP, then the Antenatal ward maternity helpline. No one said go to A&E immediately. My GP even said it was "up to me" to call an ambulance, if I felt it was an emergency. But how could I tell? My symptoms weren't that severe, or that obvious, as symptoms of UTI go. Just this intense, debilitating, constant pain in the left lower back, under my ribs. Where even laypersons like DH and I know the kidney is located. Had been applying heat compresses, massaging with deep heat muscle pain ointments. This helped manage the pain a little. In addition, what the neophyte doc had diagnosed last week as SPD seemed to have gotten worse, the whole pelvic joint area felt very tender, I could barely walk. Then, since Sunday night, had increasing urge to urinate but not being able to (yes, yes, I know, TMI, but just you wait until you or yours is pregnant and see what dignity or daintiness remains).

Around 6pm, I was sitting in our living room desultorily working on laptop. Watching The Return, a most depressing film. DH was logged into skype and occasionally piping up with useful advice like "Call NHS Direct" (yeah, did that) or "Call the GP, ask him to come see you" (did that too and no, they don't do home visits). Suddenly, I started feeling cold. Despite the heating turned up to 21.5 (which is high for us). Within seconds I was shaking uncontrollably. Alarmed, I typed to DH: "i i iiisss shhaaakkkinn". He said to just type "Y" as he asked questions. After not managing to type anything sensible, I speed-dialled him. Listening to me hyperventilating and teeth-chattering, DH said to dial 999. So I did that, half-afraid they will tell me off for wasting their time ("what, no gunshot wound? no stabbing? don't waste our time, lady!").

I'm still impressed at how fast the response time was. Mind, this was my very first 999 call. So the whole asking "Fire, police or ambulance?" thing was a bit exciting. Got through to the ambulance service and I mainly recall how it took ages to give my name and address: "Haa-ha am Soh-oh-so..." "Sorry, madam, could you repeat that" and on and on. Am guessing they had caller ID, could they not extrapolate my location from that? Hmmm, another nifty little programme that DH could write.

Then DH called and kept me on the mobile when I should have been staggering upstairs to put on some decent clothes. I was in my most bedraggled, ragged unsuitable-for-the-public-eye dress, bra and no woollies (had a blanket and shawl wrapped round me). The ambulance was there much too soon (no time to grab a coat even). And there was the comedy moment of me trying to pick up the front door key and unlock the door in an insane parody of how-not-to-pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.

The ambulance crew were expecting nothing very much I think. At this point NHSDirect and the GP all thought it was just a bad case of UTI. I remember reading one of my favourite blogs, a London paramedic's, who considers a 999 call for a UTI as pretty routine. So, anyway, this very pleasant man and lady came in (our hallway was filthy and I hadn't been able to grab our cat who was skulking above-stairs). As the lady put it, I was "shaking for England". They sat me down on the stairs. And I guess I sounded lucid enough to cross many life-threatening sicknesses off the list. The "I'm 35 weeks pregnant" bit always gets people's attention. Leading to the usual "have you had contractions/bleeding/waters broken" to which it was still all "nope". She was kind enough to go upstairs to our (very messy) bedroom and get my bag which had my maternity notes in it. And then get my mobile from the coffee table.

They decided to take me to the maternity hospital after all (not A&E, note). They would probably not have done so had I not been 35 weeks, hence in danger of going into premature labour. Since, I had few other symptoms than the lower back pain, chills and high pulse. And how did I reward their kindness? By chucking up (well, I waited till the lady produced the cardboard bowl) and then being incontinent on their ambulance seat. After which, the shaking stopped. I was so embarassed. Not only did I look like bedraggled-bag-lady-from-hell now I probably smelled like one too. I was able now to send a text message to DH who was on the Tube somewhere hurrying in my general direction.