Sorry for not posting the last few weeks, my sugar dumplings. I haven’t even been able to brush my teeth...which reminds me, I hafta cancel my dentist appointment. And hair appointment. And breastfeeding class...and baby shower.
I am only posting this for posterity. I haven’t told friends or some family members cuz...there’s no point and I don’t wanna be one of those “woe is me” martyr types. Doesn’t suit me. My smile is too nice for that.
Saturday morning, two weeks ago, my adorable Mom requested we do another driving dry run to my birth hospital so she could reabsorb the lay of the route and land. Considering she’s my getaway baby driver, this is not a request to ignore. If you know my Mom or have a Mom or your own, you’ve witnessed the dangers, frustrations, and worry of Mom driving. It can be a real challenge for all parties involved. Moms often utilize backwards routes, attempts to turn only to be somehow thwarted, routinely drive around the block so as to confirm and reconfirm destination certainty, and most Moms express the need for passenger to not sigh, squirm, make a face, or comment on drivers skill... which makes the entire event high risk.
So when Mom expresses a need to re-digest, we encourage a patient slow chew.
Furthermore, for the last three ish weeks I’ve had consistently awful rib pain. Front, middle back, throbbing. It’s kept me up at night, annoyed me in the day, and confused me... I’ve iced it, I’ve heated it, I’ve massaged it, and inquired the Googs and my Doc and other preggo ladies for wisdom. No avail.
I was told and figured it was just pregnancy irritation and par for the third trimester course.
Bummer, but manageable.
When Mom mentioned she wanted the dry run, I thought it’d be a good chance to get that checked out...ease my mind a little.
So off we went.
And there I stayed.
Four days later in the antepartum wing, hooked up, drugged, exhausted, stinky and trying to halt preterm labor.
After arriving safely via Mom driving, we waddled up to L&D and we’re met by fresh faced, lovely nurses who basically said they can’t tell me squat without getting officially checked out.
I was hooked up to baby heartbeat monitor and contraction monitor and, well, monitored.
For a long time.
a really long time.
I was seen by Nurse 1 who, after 6-7 hours of monitoring, noticed I was having contractions. Big ish ones, every 2-5 minutes...that I could NOT FEEL.
Nurse 1 checked my junk and said, “yep, 1-2 dilated, 70% effaced...”
In comes Doctor 1 and shots and panic and meds and surprise and off I was wheeled to admitting and a labor room.
Nurse 2 checked my junk and said, “yep, 2-3 dilated, 80% effaced...”
Thank goodness my Mom was there...we just couldn’t believe it.
Doctor 1 checked my junk and said, “yep, 3 dialated, 80% effaced...”
So more shots and pills and waiting and wondering. Still no contraction pain...
Admitted officially to labor, paperwork signed, fears felt, NICU explained, potentials discussed, and Doctor 1 checked my junk again and said, “yep, 4 dialated, 80% effaced...”
I had more hands in my junk in 20 hours than I have had in months. Like, literally and literally.
After rib pain inquiry and a jolly jaunt in the car—preterm labor was the haps and I hadn’t even brought a water bottle.
Round the clock meds considering they wouldn’t let me take the ones I’d brought from home... antacids, Prozac, benedryl, antibiotics, steroids, procardia, to name a few. There is no real rest to be had in a hospital... and nurses come in all shapes, sizes, and personalities.
Eventually and on day four my dear OB came in, gently cervical checked me, reduced me to 3.2 dilation and 80%, and released me unto my own recognizance with the direction of modified bed rest.
Its been a whirlwind—hospital and home.
i couldn’t believe I couldn’t feel any contractions? Am I just so tough? Supermom? Naive?
Every spasm and twinge, a panic.
Every gaseous thud, a worry.
Every pee, a search for blood or mucus or clot.
Every night, a dream of water breaking.
Endless worry about preemie care, Nugget’s health, my comfort, “the plan,” and the realization that even the tiny things you thought you could control...you can’t.
Birth plan, schmirth plan.
Let’s just have a healthy baby, healthy mama.
The gist of the goal seemed to be to keep Kiddo in the oven until at least the 36 week mark, which is this upcoming Tuesday. After that, birth away! I will be able to walk, attend, socialize, move, drive, shop, and visit. All my energy has gone into research and worry and power baking this Kiddo... I haven’t doodled or written a thing until now.
I decided to illustrate my birth plan.
Seems fitting, having Kiddo on Pride Rock after half a ward was up my cooter and giving me drugs.
Mallory Kate is a blogger, artist, single mom and funny girl outta Nevada.
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