The Rib Dislocation

I'm tired of loneliness.

It has become my greatest, most unwelcome, companion throughout my pregnancy.

I, sort of, welcomed loneliness in the first trimester - mainly because it had no scent.

As the rest of the world was trying to kill me with its putrid fumes (a toxic cocktail of deodorant, halitosis, car exhausts and the distant whiffs of frying meat), I briefly accepted loneliness....but in the hopes that it was temporary.

It was not.

I convinced myself that eventually I would be well enough to return to work.

I never was.

As loneliness grew each day - feeding and thriving off my disdain - I dipped deeper and deeper into an antenatal depression that I hoped would also be temporary.

The first half of my pregnancy I was debilitated by the overwhelming, snowballing nausea that made me practically suicidal.

The second half of my pregnancy I was debilitated by the physical weakness that was also snowballing as my two little miracles/parasites depleted me of my strength, my muscle mass, my bone density and even my brain.

I sat listlessly in my IKEA chair, staring out the window, blinking back tears of desperation. I picked up my phone and tried to text an update to my parents in Bolivia. After a single sentence my arms ached and I lowered the phone, breathless and exhausted.

Loneliness smirked in the corner.

I gave myself about an hour before I gathered enough strength to walk a few steps into the kitchen for lunch. I put in a single piece of bread in the toaster and tried to wait for it to toast. Within a few seconds my legs were burning, so I hobbled back to my IKEA chair and sat down - breathless and exhausted again.

There was a relentless burning in my throat from the reflux (due to those powerful pregnancy hormones that make everything in your body "relax" - including the valve in your esophagus), which was eased slightly by the reflux medications I started at 20 weeks.

I "slept" sitting up (if I got any sleep at all).

My internal organs felt bruised by all the flipping, spinning and kicking of two babies.

And inevitably/strategically/eventually they would kick my stomach into my throat - or that's what it felt like - and I would waddle as fast I could over to the bathroom to vomit into the sink: I could no longer bend over the toilet.

All of this would set off my Braxton hicks contractions (which I was also medicated for) and I would waddle back to my IKEA chair (my pubis symphysis separation and pelvic instability so profound that by 26 weeks I would end up in a wheelchair) and sit for another hour breathing through the "contractions".

I was taught in my Midwifery course that Braxton Hicks are NEVER painful.

A nurse at work told me that was a lie, but I chose to believe the textbook; that is, until I experienced it myself.

Every night, around 6pm as the sun went down and my hormones changed, the "contractions" would start. They would come every 5-7 minutes, lasting 30-60 seconds and , at times, lasting for up to 6 hours.

Every night I questioned my education and my sanity.

"Was I going into labour? Was I ignoring some serious signs that should be taken seriously, especially having a high risk twin pregnancy?"

As a midwife, I knew that labour ALWAYS increases in strength and intensity (eventually). The main thing differentiating this from "real" labour was that - although they were painful - they didn't get worse.

Once a Midwife friend came to visit. I started "contracting". She palpated (felt) and assessed my contractions and informed me that if she didn't know any better she would be convinced I was in labour and would send me to the hospital ASAP.

But of course, I was never in labour.

Instead, I would take a hot shower.

I would take panadol/tylenol.

I would breathe though each painful Braxton hicks contraction and I would monitor closely.

And they ALWAYS settled down - EVENTUALLY.

Then I got sick.

With a COLD.

The constant coughing not only set off my Braxton hicks contractions but kept me crouched - well, as "crouched" as I could be - over the sink repetitively vomiting up what little acid was left in my stomach.

My ribs ached and I begged the blank blue sky for reprieve.

But there was no reprieve to come.

That night as I settled into bed, one of my boys flipped - using my sore ribs as a trampoline and suddenly there was a loud POPPING sound.

I sat up and gasped, startling my husband from his slip into slumber.

"I can't breathe," I gasped as I rocked back and forth trying to find a comfortable position. I took in little breaths of air as a sharp, unbearable pain radiated through my chest.

My husband tried to help me lie down into a comfortable position, but as soon as my back hit the bed I started screaming in a desperate, dying sort of way.

My husband went pale.

He felt so helpless.

Luckily, my husband's sister and her husband were staying with us that weekend.

Jarod had tears streaming down his face as he went to their room, weeping "I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do."

Tom, a doctor, and Karissa, an occupational therapist, came to assess the situation.

Within a few seconds of repositioning and comforting they realised that absolutely nothing was going to help me. Tom called the ambulance and they both tried to keep me calm as we waited.

The paramedics soon arrived.

As I was pregnant there was little they could offer me, but we attempted the "Green Whistle" anyways to see if that took the edge off the pain.

The problem with the green whistle is that you have to take big, deep breaths in order to breathe and absorb the powder deep in your lungs. I attempted to take a deeper breath, but was unable to due to the rib/chest pain so I sucked in a few shallow breaths as they took me to the hospital.

When we arrived to the PAOU (Pregnancy Assessment and Observation Unit - or the obstetric emergency room of the maternity hospital) they set up the CTG (monitor) on my stomach to make sure the babies were ok.

They also started me on the gas to take the edge off the pain and attempt to calm me down.

They looked at the contractions on the monitor and informed me that I was probably in labour.

"No, I do this every night," I informed them, still sipping in little gasps of air through the mouthpiece on the gas machine.

They didn't believe me.

It was interesting using the gas while being in such intense pain. I had helped so many women use the gas in labour. I often explained that it did NOT take the pain away, but it did make you LESS AWARE of the pain.

That was very much the case.

The pain was excruciating.

I remember thinking, "This gas is doing NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING for the pain!!!!!"

But I do remember being VERY dizzy.

And I started slurring my words.

So maybe I was a LITTLE bit less aware.

As my obstetrician was at a conference in Melbourne, I was assessed by a different doctor.

She entered the room, looked at the "contractions" on monitor and then at my rapid breathing.

"Honey," she asked bluntly, "do you suffer from anxiety?"

If I hadn't been so incredibly dizzy I swear I would have punched her.

"No," I gasped, "I just can't breathe. I think my rib has popped out."

"Well," she said bluntly again, "we need to make sure you're not in labour first."

Of course, I know that's the case.

I know they have to do that.

But I didn't appreciate being treated like an anxious woman in labour.

She checked my cervix and did a mucous test (to see if labour was impending) and then she confirmed, "Well, it doesn't look like you're in labour."

I grunted.

She began to then assess my ribs and asked me to roll over onto my side.

When I rolled over I, once again, (without control) screamed out in that desperate/dying way.

"Well," she finally confirmed, "it looks like you have a subluxed rib."

I grunted again, but this time relieved that she FINALLY believed me.

They gave me a decent dose of valium to get the muscles to relax and stop spasming and brought in a specialised spinal/skeletal physical therapist to pop my rib back in.

She had me lean back against her and she pushed into my rib with her hand and twisted me in a "relocation" type of way.

FINALLY.

RELIEF.

"This is very rare," she informed me.

I grunted.

"You are a bit hyper flexible," she said as she assessed my joints.

That also explained my unstable hips and terrible waddling.

This helped me accept my need for a wheelchair, as I could hardly walk anymore.

After a few days in the hospital I was discharged home for Christmas, only to return a few days later - this time to stay due to "threaten preterm labour" .

I guess I was never going to return to work.

I was never going to go to Prenatal Yoga.

I was never going to set up my nursery.

I was never going to "nest" or do anything seemingly "normal" or "natural" during this pregnancy.

Part of me didn't care, as long as my babies came out healthy.

And part of me grieved the loss of these experiences that (I felt) most people got to experience.