Everything Happens for a Reason

Do you believe in coincidences? I certainly don’t. I truly honestly believe that everything does happen for a reason, and the story about the discovery of my little baby’s heart arrhythmia is no different…

I’d like to say that my Wednesday morning started out just like any other Wednesday morning, but it didn’t. I suppose I should take a step back and start at the very beginning. This isn’t an easy journey for me to recollect and recount, but I’ll give it my best. Here goes…my name is Karla, and this is my story…

I went to bed Tuesday evening at around 10:30. My husband was snuggled in behind me, hand gently placed on my belly. I could feel his relaxed breathing on my neck as I was slowly drifting off to sleep. All of a sudden Mark sprung out of bed and yelled, “What is that smell?” Still groggy from my dreamlike state I sat up and started sniffing at the air. Immediately my heart started beating at a pace consistent with the speed at which my adrenaline was flowing. There was a definite and distinctive smell of …well…what I thought was smoke. Now frantic, we both jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to locate the source of what we believed to be at the time, a fire. Mark ran down to the basement while I scoped out the main floor. Nothing! We both ran back upstairs wondering if it was the computer in the office, but the smell dissipated as we went upstairs so the source of the smell had to be from somewhere downstairs. We ran around frantically trying to figure out the source of the awful stench permeating our lungs. At this point there was no smoke, but there was an undeniable stench in the house that was being caused by something burning and we couldn’t figure out what it was. We were freaking out. Finally, Mark opened the dishwasher wondering if that’s where the smell was coming from. Sure enough, as the steam billowed out, the smell also intensified and exploded around us.

Realizing there was no fire, I went over to the dishwasher to see what had happened. My lungs were immediately filled with what I can honestly say was the worst smell I have ever encounter. It was so strong in fact, it felt like the smell was coating my lungs and it was difficult to breath. Swallowing felt strange. I couldn’t believe all that smell was coming from a plastic spoon that had somehow fallen down through the racks onto the heating element at the bottom of the dishwasher.

Relieved the house was not on fire, Mark offered to air the house out and take care of the burning plastic so I could get back to sleep. Still on edge, I crawled back into bed and tossed and turned for a while wondering why the baby hadn’t started kicking up a storm (as she normally does when I am trying to fall asleep).

Once morning arrived, I got ready for work as usual and commuted into the city by Go Train with my husband. After we got off the train, I told Mark that I hadn’t felt the baby move since the dishwasher incident last night. We both wondered if it would be wise to take precautionary measures and call my OB and just make sure that there were no risks to the baby from all the fumes from the burning plastic that I had inhaled. It WAS rather strange that I hadn’t felt any movement in such a long period of time and decided that a quick phone call would put our mind at ease.

I arrive at work at about 8:45 in the morning. I immediately called the OB’s office, but they weren’t open until 9:00. I tried the Motherisk hotline next. (Motherisk is a clinical and research program that provides guidance and information about the safety or risks to the developing fetus from exposure to drugs, chemicals, diseases or other environmental agents). Of course, this phone line does open until 9:00am. Finally, I decided to call Telehealth Ontario (a toll free hotline to call to obtain advice and guidance on a variety of medical issues from a registered nurse). After answering a slew of questions, I was advised to go to the nearest hospital and have the baby checked out right away, as the absence of fetal movement at this stage in the pregnancy was cause for concern. The Telehealth nurse advised me to go to Mount Sinai and find the 7th floor Labour and Delivery Triage Unit. The tears were already pouring out and I couldn’t catch my breath. I thanked her for her help, and she offered to fax the transcript of our phone call to help expedite the process once I got there.

Before leaving work, I called Mark and asked him to meet me at my office because we had to go to the hospital. He agreed to meet me at the security desk and we would find a taxi cab to take us to the hospital. I quietly told my boss I had to leave, and would fill her in on all the details as soon as I could.

In record time, Mark made it to my office, and we hoped in a cab. We arrived at Mount Sinai in about ten minutes. Upon arrive at Triage, a nurse kindly listened to our story, and then directed me to a room equipped with nothing but a bed and a fetal heart rate monitor. There were two separate gizmos that were attached to my belly, one to measure contractions (which of course I wasn’t experiencing), and the other to monitor the fetal heart rate.

I knew I was in good hands out Mount Sinai. This hospital has the largest obstetrical and gynecological program in Canada, including the finest high-risk birthing centres and Neonatal Intensive Care Units. It is the advanced medical care and research being conducted at this hospital that makes it one of the top six women’s care centers in the world. Now, all that being said, it IS a teaching hospital. I was trying to keep this in mind when a young nurse was trying to find the babies heartbeat. She was moving the monitor all over my stomach to no avail. I was started to freak out. She left and returned with another nurse who was able to locate the heartbeat immediately. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Of course, at that same moment, the baby started kicking up a storm in my stomach. Feeling even more relieved, I was sure they were just going to send me on my way, reminding me all the way out the door that I shouldn’t worry so much. I smiled at the nurse and apologized for being such a worry wart. I explained the situation to her and to my surprise, she told me that I shouldn’t feel silly for being extra cautious, and that expectant moms are there all the time just to make sure everything is ok with the baby.

I asked if I could leave, and she informed me that once I am hooked up to the monitors, they require 20 minutes of a consistent heart rate pattern before they can stop it. The heart rate pattern being transcribed onto a chart was to become a legal document, and no one can leave until they are satisfied with the results.

The problem we then started to experience was that we couldn’t get a consistent reading. The nurse speculated that the baby was just moving around too much, and really didn’t feel there was any reason for concern, but called in a resident doctor to look over the chart and advise what the next steps would be.

The resident doctor agreed with the nurse that we should continue monitoring for another half and hour or so (about an hour had passed already), and that although he was sure it was because the baby was moving that the readings were not consistent, they would perform a quick ultrasound just to get a closer look.

While waiting for the ultrasound, my husband and I were alone in the hospital room. We could hear women in labour around us, and it was the most interesting experience. I’ve heard woman in labour on TV, but I’ve never been in the same area as one, or have experienced it in real life. Strangely, it was a comforting noise (really) because no one was screaming like a banshee, and although it sounded painful, the end of the labour journey would be unquestionably worth all the pain. I couldn’t help but smile and feel extra connected to Mark as we just sat and listened. At this point, because no one seemed concerned about anything, we were just super excited to be getting an extra ultrasound out of the ordeal (secretly, we were hoping to get a confirmation on the sex of the baby).

Shortly thereafter, yet another resident doctor wheeled in a mini portable ultrasound machine. She brought with her the first resident doctor who has seen me, and from what it seemed like, was teaching him how to use the ultrasound machine. He didn’t get his turn for long, because once they located the heart, she grabbed the device that you rub on the belly out of his hands and asked if she could do it herself. Being a young resident doctor, I don’t think she had a lot of experience in hiding concern or emotion. I could hear frustration in her breathing. My heart started pumping again. Slowing bringing my eyes to the monitor, I could see what she was seeing, and even though I am not a trained professional, the heartbeat was beating in a very irregular fashion. Explaining to me that she wasn’t exactly sure what was wrong, she was going to get the head of the Obstetrics department (who also happened to be a specialist in fetal hearts) to come and take a look. This is when Mark and I started to get very concerned. Its not too often they call in the big boss, and when they do, they mean business.

Darkness fell over me. I grabbed mark and clung to him with everything I had. I was so frightened, and I knew he was too. How did all of this turn so bad all of a sudden? We weren’t even here because of fetal heart problems; we were just taking precautions because I smelled burning plastic. Panic hadn’t set it yet, but fear of what the baby heart doctor would find had. It felt like an eternity for him to arrive, and when he did, that is when the flurry of activity began and there was no question that something was amiss.

Accompanying the head of Obstetrics was three resident doctors and the two nurses who had began looking after me. It seemed like an awful lot of medical people to be in one tiny room with my husband, me and our little unborn baby. The doctor introduced himself as Dr. Sermer. He had a very warm and caring presence about him as he sat at the edge of my bed and took control of the Ultrasound machine. I didn’t even look at the monitor this time; I just stared at Dr. Sermer trying to read his expression. I know Doctors don’t always give the full explanation about what they think the problem is (until they have all the tests to back up their answers). I also know what your eyes speak greater volumes than words ever could. I was sensing nothing from his. His years of experience were holding up well, because he revealed neither emotion, concern or confirmation that everything was ok.

After several moments, he turned to me and explained that they were going to need to run some further tests over the next couple of days. All he could deduce from what the ultrasound was showing was that there was an abnormal irregularity in the heart, and they needed more information to understand what was going on, but that more than likely, the baby would be OK. At that moment, I lost all self composure and started crying and shaking. I couldn’t breathe.
He asked if I had any questions. My first question was if it was something I did (or didn’t) do that could cause my little baby’s heart such a problem. He gently placed his hand on my belly, smiled affectionately and said, “You do not have any power over such things”. My next question was what he meant by “a couple of days”. He explained to me that I would be immediately admitted to the hospital and they would know more after a more detailed ultrasound and an Echo Cardiogram. He assured me I was in good hands and that I had come to the right place.

I was advised that I should go and grab some lunch, and then to return in about a half an hour while they arranged for me to be admitted to the 7th floor high risk maternity ward south. I think I was in a mild state of shock. High Risk? Admitted to the hospital? Since when do pregnant woman wake up one day after feeling quite good for 7 months of a VERY low risk pregnancy to being admitted to the high risk maternity ward at a hospital known for its reputation in dealing with sick babies. What was going on? When did everything change? How did this happen? Wasn’t my regular OB monitoring these things? Why wasn’t this discovered at my Ultrasound at 18 weeks? Didn’t anyone notice this when listening to the heartbeat at my 13, 17, 21, and 25 week prenatal appointments? My mind was racing and I was looking for someone or something to blame for what was happening and what had happened to my baby. I had no answers and there was nothing I could do but wait.

Feeling defeated, Mark and me left triage and went to make some phone calls. I called my mom, and completely broke down. She told me she was leaving work right away and that her and my dad would be down as soon as they could make it. Mark called his parents as well who immediately hoped in the car to come and be with us for support through our ordeal.

Knowing we had a very trying and exhausting next couple of days ahead of us, we tried to eat some lunch and absorb everything that had just happened. Here we were feeling foolish for worrying so much about the melted plastic fumes from the dishwasher and ending up at the hospital, to suddenly discovery our baby’s heart wasn't working properly. Even though we were scared about what was in store for us, we couldn’t help but feel blessed that we were able to make this discovery about the baby now, instead of under more stressful and severe circumstances such as labour and delivery. I shudder to think what “could have” been.

Around noon, we returned to triage to wait to be admitted. The same nurse who first saw me in the morning required some blood work and a vaginal swab to check for Group B Strep. I didn’t like the sounds of that (not because of the type of test it was) but because I knew testing from Group B Strep was routinely done on women at least in their 35th week of pregnancy as labour approached to check for an infection that has serious but preventable effects on newborn babies. I was only 28 weeks, and was not ready to consider having my baby born yet. I asked why were were doing the Group B Strep test and the nurse said that if they decided to perform and emergency c-section, they would need to know if I was carrying the bacteria. Panic mode was setting in again. I knew there was a chance for the baby's survival outside the womb at 28 weeks, but I also knew there was a chance she could die. It was still so early to take her out. I fought to maintain my composure and to stay calm, if not for me and Mark, for the sake of my baby. I was nervous she would feel my distress and it would make matters worse.

Sometime around 3:00 in the afternoon a room became available for me. It smelled of antiseptic cleaner and was barren and lonely looking. I had nothing with me and knew the night ahead of me would be long.

Shortly after getting to my room I was whisked away for an Ultrasound. The ultrasound set up was very neat. There was a TV monitor positioned where Mark and I could watch the entire procedure. I was amazed at how much bigger the baby had grown since my 18 week Ultrasound. Her whole body no longer fit on the screen. Only body parts, like a hand, or a leg could be seen at any one time. There was a series of measurements taken, and if there was a positive moment that came out of that day, it was the information we received from the Ultrasound about the babies growth and development. Baby currently weighs 2lbs 11ounces and her growth measurements actually indicate her to be 30 weeks along (I always thought I would have a big baby). The ultrasound indicated that baby was thriving. She was extremely active, all organs were formed beautifully, and from what the doctor could tell, the heart was perfectly formed as well. The issue still remained about the heart arrhythmia however; and it was incredibly painful every time we watched the little heart pumping because it just seemed to keep missing beats. I asked if my baby could die, and the doctor looked at me and said “I don’t know”. We’ll have to wait and see what happens with the echo, which was scheduled for the following day at 2:00pm over at The Hospital for Sick Children.

Leaving the Ultrasound room we ran into both my parents and Mark’s parents. My mom’s eyes were bloodshot and I could tell she had been crying. Everyone hugged one another and we were happy our family was finally there. I showed everyone to my room and we filled them in on what we knew so far. Mark and his dad left to drive home and pick up a few things for me to stay overnight at the hospital while the rest of us sat around trying to wrap our heads around everything.

It was really nice to have our families with us. They left their jobs and lives behind at the drop of a dime to come and be with Mark and me during this ordeal and it’s very refreshing to be reminded how much your family loves and cares for you.

Around 8:00 pm everyone had to leave and I was alone to be with my thoughts. The nurse brought me a sleeping pill (that she assured me was safe to take) to help me get through the night. The pill was left untouched on the nightstand. I didn’t want to just go to sleep and forget about everything. I needed to think. I needed to reflect, and I needed to find my strength. From what we learned at the Ultrasound, my files from Ajax were going to be transferred to the high risk OB doctors at Mount Sinai, and I would be required to have my baby there as they were better equipped to deal with this sort of medical issue. No, I didn’t want to sleep, I wanted to think and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to pray.

The hours passed, and I dozed in and out of sleep. I was awoken twice during the night for more fetal heart rate monitoring. It was painful to listen to the heartbeat beating out of sync.

Finally, at around 6:00 in the morning, I rose out of bed and went downstairs to get a coffee. My mom would be arriving around 9:00 to spend the day with me while we waiting for my appointment at Sick Kids Hospital to have the ECHO. Mark decided to go to work in the morning, but leave at lunch to come and be with me for the ECHO, so Mom and I spent the morning chit chatting and trying to keep our minds busy. My mom is an amazing lady and was an incredible pillar of strength for me through all of this. She has a way of keeping things in perspective and making you feel at ease.

Around noon, Mark arrived. He looked pale and shaken, but I was so relieved to have him beside me. It felt good to have him hold me, and stroke my hair while I wept silently in his arms. Even though I had already had plenty of calls from family members, and my immediate family had rushed down to the city to be with us, the warmth and security of my husband, my best friend, the person who makes me complete, the father of my baby girl, was exactly what I needed.

The next two hours passed by slowly. I kept watching the clock, anxiously waiting for my journey to understanding what was wrong with my daughter to finally begin. Finally, at 1:30, a man by the name of Joe came by to escort me to Sick Kids Hospital. It is hospital policy to be escorted through the underground connecting tunnels via wheelchair, but I asked if I could walk myself. I was still not accepting or surrendering to the fact that I was all of a sudden a “high risk” patient who required constant supervision. Not sure if I should be allowed to walk myself, Joe asked my nurse, who said it would be OK. Asking if I could have a moment to go to the bathroom before we left, I shut and locked the door behind me. I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror, trying to determine if I was ready for whatever lies ahead of me. I was having a face off with myself, challenging myself to be strong. A few deep breaths later, I emerged from the bathroom, and off we were. Husband and I hand in hand, mom making small talk with our escort Joe.

I didn’t talk while we meandered our way through the underground network of tunnels. It grew very warm all of a sudden and I remember feeling very dizzy, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to delay or prolong the ECHO. I just squeezed my husbands hand tightly and continued walking. The walk felt very surreal. I knew I was going through the motions of walking, but my mind seemed to turn off somewhat. My eyes just kept following all the underground piping while I concentrated on how hot it was.

Once we reached The Hospital for Sick Children I was in awe. Sick Kids Hospital is one of the largest pediatric academic health science centres in the world. It barely resembles a hospital, and reminded me more of a themed resort hotel. The décor was upbeat and lively, and there were clowns walking around and bright colours everywhere. The bridges to get around resembled the inside of a train and the elevators where bright and looked downright fun to ride!

All the excitement and upbeat atmosphere was quickly left behind however as we neared the Cardiology wing of the hospital. I know I keep talking about the reputation and health care excellence of the hospitals I was being evaluated under, I must throw in here that the Cardiology Division at sick kids is also one of the largest and most successful in the world. Although my nerves were on edge about the tests being performed and fuss being made about me, I never once forgot how lucky I was to have been so close to such medical marvels. I couldn’t help but wonder what someone in Western or Eastern Canada would have had to go through just to get here. I couldn’t imagine trying to coordinate a flight across the country. People from all over the world come to this hospital, and for all my bitching and complaining about city living, I was sincerely thankful at that moment in time to be at the center or the universe (as Mark likes to call it) and have so much available to me almost right off my doorstep.

After registering as a patient of the cardiology unit, we went and sat in the waiting room. It was still so incredibly hot and it was making me feel very sleepy. I sat down and observed the sights around me. There were a lot of children in the room. They all seemed like normal healthy children on the outside, but by the sheer fact that we were all there; I knew each of them had problems with their hearts as well and my own heart went out to them and their families.

Finally, my name was called, and I was escorted to the room where they would perform the ECHO Cardiogram. I was only allowed to bring one person in the room with me. Leaving mom behind, Mark and I proceeded to make our way to the dark tiny room that would eventual be the location where either good news or bad news was revealed to us. We were advised that the procedure could take about three or four hours. It was very much like an ultrasound, only a very powerful ultrasound that focuses only on the heart.

I was having a difficult time breathing, and it was still so unbelievably hot. I felt an uncontrollable urge to just fall asleep as the EHCO was being done, but couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes for a second in fear that I would miss something. I couldn’t see anything, but Mark was in a position to see the monitor. I kept looking over at him to try and get an understanding from his reaction to what he was seeing, but I was being offered very little but smiles of encouragement. Every now and them I could hear a recording of the heartbeat, and since it sounded different every time. I assumed it meant they were listening to the pumping and beating of blood through all of the four chambers and each of its different veins.

About halfway through the procedure, Mark left and let my mom come in to see what was going on. She observed for a little while before rubbing my legs in reassurance and leaving to send Mark back in for the final stretch of the exam.

Finally, it was over. It was our understanding that we would soon be receiving some answers to provide us with a general understanding about the condition of the baby’s heart, but that we would have to wait until the next day to receive the full story after the doctors had a chance to review the data collected from the Echocardiogram. Much to our surprise and relief, the cardiologist came to provide us with the final diagnosis right away. He said that what our baby had was Atrial Premature Contractions. This type of heart arrhythmia was not all that uncommon, and although there was a 1% chance it could develop into something worse, chances are the baby would outgrow it before birth. He was quite confident that our baby was going to be ok, but recommended that I start receiving obstetrical care at the Mount Sinai Special Pregnancy Unit once a week to continue to monitor the baby’s heart, in addition to my regular OB visits in Ajax.

I was completely elated. This was absolutely wonderful news. There was a big bright light at the end of the dark and scary tunnel my husband and I had just been down, and this was the best news I could have hoped to hear about the condition of my baby’s heart. I had already accepted it wasn’t perfectly normal, and to hear there is a good chance the baby can still outgrow the arrhythmia was music to my ears. Worst case, if the problem worsened, there was medicine available that can cross the placenta to make the baby better. Most importantly, my baby would be able to lead a normal, healthy life with her little heart condition if it didn’t go away. She would still be able to run and play, learn how to ride a bike and climb a tree. She was going to be OK!

Thank you to everyone who prayed for us during this ordeal. Your thoughts and prayers have been much appreciated. I know this was an incredibly long post, but thanks for listening to me. It actually felt good to try and put to words the events of the past couple of days. It was an eye opening experience, but like I said in the beginning, everything happens for a reason, and if it wasn’t for the dishwasher mishap, this could have been a lot worse. It’s been a blessing that we were able to discover the problem early on so we can now receive the proper medical care and monitoring the baby needs.

What more can a mother ask for?