My Baby Was a Kidney Stone

A sharp pain in my right flank jolted me awake. It was 4 am.

By 6 am the pain took my breath away and I started vomiting. My husband, Ryan phoned our midwife. She suspected a kidney infection dispatched us to the maternity hospital.

The pain continued to escalate: constant stabbing in my side and back, causing my pregnant belly to tighten at regular intervals.

A nurse took my pulse. “Fifty,” she said. “That’s low. Are you an athlete?”

Are you kidding? I feel and look like a beached whale.

I was 35 weeks along, but had already swollen larger than many full-term women. We were expecting a boy so we nicked-named him ‘Fred’.

A lure was inserted into my hand and an IV drip started administering Pethidine into my blood-stream. Blood tests were negative for infection. Doctors informed me they were suspecting a kidney stone. They needed to investigate without delay, before I suffered kidney failure.

I couldn’t pee. My tissues started swelling - my face became fat and my arms and legs felt tight. My hand became a pin-cushion for Intern doctors to practise inserting needles. I told them it would hurt less if they quit hesitating.

The Pethidine did nothing to take the edge off the pain. A doctor looked concerned. “You’ve had three times the Pethidine of a birthing woman. It’s an opiate drug and is addictive. We can’t give you any more. Plus, it may harm the baby."

They switched to paracetamol, which was difficult to keep down, as I was still vomiting every time I experienced a tightening (also called Braxton-Hicks contractions). The doctors were also concerned that the tightenings would turn into true contractions. “If you go into labour, we won’t stop it,” they said. “We can deal with your baby being born prematurely.” I was too exhausted and hurting to much to contemplate trying to push a baby out. I hoped this would all stop soon. There was talk of locating an incubator if my baby was born pre-term.

The pain was horrendous, continuous and unrelenting. Day merged into night. Writhing on the hospital bed, the pain wouldn’t let me sleep or even rest. I asked myself, Why did I let Ryan talk me into having a baby? Why was I so stupid to get pregnant? I am never getting pregnant ever again! My brain was tortured by pain and lack of sleep, so I was unable to think logically.

I was carted off for an ultrasound which confirmed a swollen kidney, indicating a backup of urine. Something was obstructing my kidney from draining, which was why fluid was accumulating in my tissues. The doctors were confident it would be a kidney stone. They needed to correct it quickly before my kidney failed. I was dubbed ‘the kidney girl’.

I was injected with a dye to show up in urine in x-rays. “There is a small chance your child may develop leukaemia from the x-ray radiation,” the doctor informed me. Great, I thought sarcastically.

“Lie still,” the radiologist instructed. I found it difficult not to writhe in pain on the cold slab while she directed the machine above me. They wanted to shield my unborn baby from excess radiation, but were unable to because of the way he was position.

The x-ray confirmed my ureter was obstructed, but no stone! The fluids could not drain from my kidney and were accumulating in my tissues. I felt like my taut skin would tear like the skin on a tomato. Stretch marks started appearing in my calves.

It was the second day, and I had no sleep or relief from the day before. I was exhausted and in a state of being disengaged from my body.

Another tightening. A wave of nausea drowning me. I rang the bell for a sick container. No-one came. I managed to drag myself to the sink to throw up. Two white paracetamol tablets disappeared down the plughole.

A maternity nurse arrived.  She was the only one in the maternity hospital that wore a white, tailored uniform that looked very formal - like an old-school matron.  The other nurses wore looser fitting, more relaxed uniforms.

I told her that I threw up my pain relief and asked for more. Her attitude was as starched as her uniform. She briskly informed me that since she could not confirm as she did not see the tablets with her own eyes, then I would have to wait until the next dose.

“Have you thought about pain relief for your birth, dear,” she said in her patronising tone. “Quite clearly, you have a low pain threshold.”

It was the second night, and still no relief. Finally, a nurse arrived with a sleeping tablet. “You need some sleep,” she said.

Sometime in the night, I became groggily aware I was lying on my back in a hospital bed and that my bladder was full. In my drowsy state, I realised that the stabbing had eased and I must have been asleep. In place of the stabbing was an ache like I’d been kicked in the back by a horse.

A nurse held my arm as I stumbled drunkenly down the corridor to the toilet. I became three kilograms lighter in a few hours as the fluid was drawn out of my tissues.

A check on my unborn child revealed that he had flipped over into the posterior position and now his spine was against mine. He must have fallen into a deep slumber too from the sleeping pill.

“The baby must have been compressing the ureter, “the doctors explained. “Very rare.” So my baby was acting like a kidney stone - or more like a kidney rock.

The relief was short-lived, however, when the pain, nausea and tightenings recommenced. We were x-rayed again. “The narcotics have turned the whole length of your bowel to concrete, and now it is causing an obstruction.”

More indignities receiving multiple enemas to clear the impacted bowel, plus gagging down a sickly sweet syrup to try and soften everything up.

Exhausted, I was finally cleared to go home. I was instructed to do spend time on my hands and knees to try and flip Fred over, as posterior births are more painful.

Ryan had moved house while I was in hospital. There were boxes everywhere, and the house was filthy from the tenants before us. So I spent the rest of my pregnancy exhausted; cleaning and unpacking in between resting.

I was bothered by the "matron's" criticisms. I looked on the Internet and read that renal pain was worse than childbirth, gun-shot wounds, broken bones, burns and stabbings. That gave me some comfort.

Fred reached full-term and flipped over to the anterior position a few hours before he was born, sparing me a painful birth. He came out surfing in the huge tidal wave of fluids that drenched both midwives and the floor. They filled a large laundry hamper with soaked towels.

He was born without pain relief. I knew there was no way I could have given birth during the kidney trauma. The second-degree tear I received wasn't very painful compared to other pain. The birth only hurt at near the end, a "ring-of-fire" when the head was crowning, with some smarting when I tore - all very short-lived. A friend said it crowning is like grabbing the corners of your mouth with your fingers and pulling wide apart until it hurts.

I tore because couldn't hold the dam of fluid back when Fred's shoulder was being delivered. I pushed when I was told not to - I couldn't help it.

I'd spent a night in the maternity hospital a few days before he was born, because I'd had a 'bloody show' with lots of blood-clots and bright-red blood. After everything was in order, I was sent home. A nurse said, "you'll probably get home and have to turn around and come back again." Sure enough, Fred flipped over, his head engaged, which felt like I was about to poo a bowling ball. I went into labor properly and we had to drive back in the fog that late that night for his birth.

After the birth, I was to be transferred to a maternity unit in my home town. All the beds were full and I was asked if I would like to stay or go home. "Go home, please. I'm sick of hospitals." It was nice being in my own bed and surroundings. The mid-wife visited me at home - I continued with the midwife that as at my birth, not the anxious one that scared me.

My baby had been due on Mother’s Day, four days prior. Ryan had given me a card that said, “Dear Mummy. Happy Mother’s Day. Sorry about the kidney thing. Love Fred.”

When Fred was born, he twisted my tailbone out of joint. I saw an osteopath to re-align my tailbone and spine and pelvic bone which kept popping out of joint and pressing painfully on my sciatic nerve.

She did some iridology to start with. I was rather skeptical, but she said accurately that I'd had a kidney trauma to my right kidney. Apparently the black line on my iris indicates kidney damage. She fixed up the alignment in my spine and pelvis in just a few sessions.

Apparently a kidney obstruction from the uterus is extremely rare and can happen in women carrying multiple babies and in women carrying too much fluid.

I gained over 20 kg of weight on my slim frame, and there was definitely a lot of fluid - my son had his own swimming pool. After my waters "exploded" upon contact with the spabath, there was still plenty of fluid to completely drench the midwives and floor later. Fortunately a mid-wife managed to catch my slippery newborn as he rocketed across the bed. I lifted my head and saw him blasting out like a cannon-ball. My husband and I laughed in unison. "He's heading for the spa bath" said my husband.

I had a change of mid-wife the day before the birth and the new midwife estimated from my size that I would be giving birth to a minimum of 10 pound (4.5 kg) baby. My baby was average at a little over 7 pounds (3.3 kg). The rest was fluid.

I was glad to have a change of mid-wife as the other midwife made me feel anxious. She had told me I was at risk of hemmorrhaging with my dropping platelet and I had burst into tears when she told me about a woman that lost a 2 litres of blood in 11 seconds. She had also told me that with my posterior baby, I would probably need an induction, epidural, forceps and would probably be torn to shreds. The other midwife was very relaxed and told me to just go with the flow. I have any of the complications the other midwife predicted.

I believe the reason I had excess fluid was because of my undiagnosed autoimmune condition. I had been unwell for years and was finally diagnosed with celiac disease five years later when my thyroid was being destroyed by my own body. I had other complications in pregnancy indicative of my undiagnosed health issues, such as dropping platelets. I was given firm orders by specialists to have my baby in hospital in case of bleeding issues or other complications.

The medical term for excess amniotic fluid is polyhydramnios. It occurs in approximately 1 in 250 pregnancies. An over-distended uterus causing ureter obstruction and renal failure is rare however.

I am very grateful having a positive outcome from my pregnancy (ie live baby). Apparently many women with undiagnosed autoimmune conditions like celiac are at much higher risk for undesirable outcomes such as infertility, miscarriage and stillborn.

I had on-going issues with excess fluid in my tissues from chronic inflammation until I was diagnosed and treated for my autoimmune conditions when my son was 5 years. Breast-feeding was very painful, as I stretched from a C cup to an E cup and my baby was constantly puking my watery milk. I'd lived with a chronic pain disorder from pregnancy until my health problems were finally resolved with a gluten-free diet and a few other diet modifications.

I had a prolapsed uterus from being overstretched. A doctor recommended surgery to lift it or remove it. I declined, as I was too sick to cope with surgery. The prolapse doesn't bother me since sorting out my diet. I believe the prolapse was made worse with swelling inflammation from the autoimmune condition. Also, heavy bleeding is associated with my salicylate sensitivity. I don't need my uterus anymore, but I want to avoid unnecessary surgery.

My body is more or less back to its original size, but my skin has been stretched and damaged, more than it would have been had my celiac disease been under control. I have stretchmarks on my breasts, belly, buttocks, hips, thighs. The ones on my calves faded. Ryan still accepts me and thinks I'm beautiful.

Fred likes hearing about how he used my tummy as a swimming pool. He has always been wriggly, even in his sleep, right from when he was in my belly. He likes hearing about how he pooed all over me shortly after he was born too.

And, no, we didn't name him Fred when he was born.