Gobble, Gobble No More Wobble?!?!
We had a lot to celebrate on Thanksgiving and reaching 30 weeks topped the list. That was our first "goal" and I'll tell you that I breathed a little sigh of relief. I still wasn't "ready" to meet Little Miss, but I was getting more comfortable with the idea.
Sunday rolled around and things were moving a tad slower than normal. I'm sure that had a lot to do with the amount of turkey and pumpkin pie consumed over the previous few days. Dr Hunt came in around six with her list of questions: any bleeding, cramping, contractions to which I replied no.
Total bunny trail, but...I loved Dr Hunt. Even though I only knew her on a professional level, I'm fairly certain we could have been best friends. She was an awesome doc (you could see that in the way the nurses responded to her). She was kind, compassionate and funny. She would randomly "pop" into my room to fill me in on the day's activities.
Breakfast came around eight: French toast, bacon and cottage cheese. Delicious, I know. It was a strange combination, but there was a method to the madness. By this time, I had gestational diabetes so I was stuck only being able to have thirty carbs for breakfast and no fruit. Add to that I was forced to eat hospital food, my choices were limited.
My new nurse came around then as well. Please don't take this as a nurse hating post. It is not. I have the upmost respect for nurses and what they do and deal with on a daily basis. Let's just say this was not the best nurse for me. She normally worked in labor and delivery. I could see where her cheerleader personality might come in handy there. (You're doing a little cheer right now, aren't you?) But we were trying to convince baby to stay put, not cheer her out. And she was a talker. I know I'm complaining about character traits that I posses. Under different circumstances we may have enjoyed each other's company over a good cup of coffee. But I was pregnant. And tired. And she kept interrupting my sleep Normally my nurses would shut out the world for me on my tired days. They would even ban the cleaning lady so I could rest. But every time I started to doze this nurse would appear. Sometimes to check on things. Sometimes to tell me about the fly in her soup.
By noon Art arrived. By one he was ready to go request a new nurse. I convinced him to just breathe deeply because her shift would end eventually and at least she was attentive.
Around three things changed quickly. I noticed that I was bleeding. I hit the call button and I had a flood of people in my room almost immediately. Who knew my tiny little room could fit so many. Actually it couldn't. They started pushing all unnecessary furniture into the hall. Chairs, bedside table anything to give a tad more space. Dr Fahmi (I'm sure I misspelled that) came and was preparing to do an exam. Poor guy. It had been drilled in my head to not allow any exam. Doing so, would most definitely break those blood vessels that were sustaining Little Miss giving us no choice but to deliver. He said he was going to do one, I may have yelled a bit. It was really more of "no, no, no. My doc said no". I felt bad yelling. In fact, I still do. I wanted to apologize, but truthfully I think he avoided me after that. Now in his defense, as much as it was drilled into my head to not allow an exam, it was drilled into his to do one. He was just following protocol. I knew that. But in the moment, I got a little intense.
I think rather quickly the knew that the bleeding was me and not from baby, but they wanted to monitor me a little more closely. So the decision was made to move me to labor and delivery. Their equipment is a little better quality and they had more staff which ensured that someone could keep a constant watch.
You would think moving me from one room to another practically across the hall would be relatively simple. It was not. My room was so tiny they couldn't get my bed out and barely get the gurney in. I think I had to meet it in the door way. (That parts a little fuzzy). All I remember is my nurse (the one that was already off our Christmas card list) cheering, "ooo, yay. We're gonna have a baby today". Pretty sure the look Art shot her was pretty far from a friendly one.
I got my new room, LDR #3. It was HUGE compared to my antepartum abode. Art found it more comfortable and he thought it was cool that we were in room #3 (that was his jersey number in high school and currently). I did not find it as cozy. But that might have been more circumstances than the actual room.
Soon my nurse came in to put in a catheter. I'm a little unclear as to why, but I believe it had something to do with them needing a "clean urine sample". If you've read my previous posts, you know that needles of any kind cause me to tear up. This was worse than that. I mentally had hit the wall. And I just couldn't allow myself to be poked and prodded any more. Poor Art was giving me every pep talk he knew to no avail. Quite honestly, that almost made it worse. It also made me want to punch him in the nose. (I'm really not a violent person. Really). I was sobbing so hard my bed was shaking. Forty five minutes later and after three failed attempts, I sent Art for my Chapstick from my old room and gave the nurses the go ahead.
For the next 24 hours that crazy thing had to be in. Tortuous. That would best describe that situation. I carried Arden low as it was and in the days prior she was playing kickball with my bladder. The catheter only magnified every kick, hiccup and stretch.
The monitor was much higher tech than the dinosaur that I was used to. It allowed me to move with barely skipping a beat unlike the other that would freak out over everything. Our nurse had one other patient. Her contractions and baby's heart rate showed on the screen in our room and vice versa. It provided a little entertainment seeing her contractions grow in strength and frequency and yet mine looked like I had flatlined. (This was good. Contractions would have brought about delivery. We were still trying to avoid that for a few more weeks). We wondered what she was thinking seeing no contractions for us on her monitor. Truth be told, she was a little busy and probably didn't even notice. But hey it was fun to imagine.
I was quite restless that night and finding it hard to sleep so it was a little ambien to the rescue. I don't remember if it was ambien or not, but I did take something to help me relax and rest. My nurse said it should take about fifteen minutes. Art decided to stay until I was asleep. That was at eleven. Midnight rolled around and I was still awake. And as much as I wanted him to stay, I knew he had to work in the morning so I sent him home. Sleep eventually came.
The next morning in came Art. He had skipped work to hang out with me. What a guy!
As morning progressed, one of the docs that works with our specialist came in. It was my first time meeting him. If I had to guess, I'd say he's Eastern Europe due to his accent. He said he spent all night watching me (normally that would creep me out). and he kept saying no baby. We can't have a baby yet. He said he was so nervous he couldn't sleep. Ha! He was quite enthusiastic making me think he must be a ton of fun on Christmas morning.
I spent the next hours counting down to when the catheter would be removed. I thought it would be 5:30pm. Imagine my delight when at 3 they came in ready to remove it! Shortly after they were ready to move me back to my old room. My nurse excused herself and came back about an hour later. She apologized but just delivered three different babies. She said it so nonchalant much in the way I would say I had to change my shoes.
Finally around 4:30, I made it back to my old room. It was freshly cleaned and the bed had all new bedding. And I'm pretty sure it smiled when I entered as to say "hey there. I been waiting for you".
I was 30 weeks, 3 days.
"And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9
Sunday rolled around and things were moving a tad slower than normal. I'm sure that had a lot to do with the amount of turkey and pumpkin pie consumed over the previous few days. Dr Hunt came in around six with her list of questions: any bleeding, cramping, contractions to which I replied no.
Total bunny trail, but...I loved Dr Hunt. Even though I only knew her on a professional level, I'm fairly certain we could have been best friends. She was an awesome doc (you could see that in the way the nurses responded to her). She was kind, compassionate and funny. She would randomly "pop" into my room to fill me in on the day's activities.
Breakfast came around eight: French toast, bacon and cottage cheese. Delicious, I know. It was a strange combination, but there was a method to the madness. By this time, I had gestational diabetes so I was stuck only being able to have thirty carbs for breakfast and no fruit. Add to that I was forced to eat hospital food, my choices were limited.
My new nurse came around then as well. Please don't take this as a nurse hating post. It is not. I have the upmost respect for nurses and what they do and deal with on a daily basis. Let's just say this was not the best nurse for me. She normally worked in labor and delivery. I could see where her cheerleader personality might come in handy there. (You're doing a little cheer right now, aren't you?) But we were trying to convince baby to stay put, not cheer her out. And she was a talker. I know I'm complaining about character traits that I posses. Under different circumstances we may have enjoyed each other's company over a good cup of coffee. But I was pregnant. And tired. And she kept interrupting my sleep Normally my nurses would shut out the world for me on my tired days. They would even ban the cleaning lady so I could rest. But every time I started to doze this nurse would appear. Sometimes to check on things. Sometimes to tell me about the fly in her soup.
By noon Art arrived. By one he was ready to go request a new nurse. I convinced him to just breathe deeply because her shift would end eventually and at least she was attentive.
Around three things changed quickly. I noticed that I was bleeding. I hit the call button and I had a flood of people in my room almost immediately. Who knew my tiny little room could fit so many. Actually it couldn't. They started pushing all unnecessary furniture into the hall. Chairs, bedside table anything to give a tad more space. Dr Fahmi (I'm sure I misspelled that) came and was preparing to do an exam. Poor guy. It had been drilled in my head to not allow any exam. Doing so, would most definitely break those blood vessels that were sustaining Little Miss giving us no choice but to deliver. He said he was going to do one, I may have yelled a bit. It was really more of "no, no, no. My doc said no". I felt bad yelling. In fact, I still do. I wanted to apologize, but truthfully I think he avoided me after that. Now in his defense, as much as it was drilled into my head to not allow an exam, it was drilled into his to do one. He was just following protocol. I knew that. But in the moment, I got a little intense.
I think rather quickly the knew that the bleeding was me and not from baby, but they wanted to monitor me a little more closely. So the decision was made to move me to labor and delivery. Their equipment is a little better quality and they had more staff which ensured that someone could keep a constant watch.
You would think moving me from one room to another practically across the hall would be relatively simple. It was not. My room was so tiny they couldn't get my bed out and barely get the gurney in. I think I had to meet it in the door way. (That parts a little fuzzy). All I remember is my nurse (the one that was already off our Christmas card list) cheering, "ooo, yay. We're gonna have a baby today". Pretty sure the look Art shot her was pretty far from a friendly one.
I got my new room, LDR #3. It was HUGE compared to my antepartum abode. Art found it more comfortable and he thought it was cool that we were in room #3 (that was his jersey number in high school and currently). I did not find it as cozy. But that might have been more circumstances than the actual room.
Soon my nurse came in to put in a catheter. I'm a little unclear as to why, but I believe it had something to do with them needing a "clean urine sample". If you've read my previous posts, you know that needles of any kind cause me to tear up. This was worse than that. I mentally had hit the wall. And I just couldn't allow myself to be poked and prodded any more. Poor Art was giving me every pep talk he knew to no avail. Quite honestly, that almost made it worse. It also made me want to punch him in the nose. (I'm really not a violent person. Really). I was sobbing so hard my bed was shaking. Forty five minutes later and after three failed attempts, I sent Art for my Chapstick from my old room and gave the nurses the go ahead.
For the next 24 hours that crazy thing had to be in. Tortuous. That would best describe that situation. I carried Arden low as it was and in the days prior she was playing kickball with my bladder. The catheter only magnified every kick, hiccup and stretch.
The monitor was much higher tech than the dinosaur that I was used to. It allowed me to move with barely skipping a beat unlike the other that would freak out over everything. Our nurse had one other patient. Her contractions and baby's heart rate showed on the screen in our room and vice versa. It provided a little entertainment seeing her contractions grow in strength and frequency and yet mine looked like I had flatlined. (This was good. Contractions would have brought about delivery. We were still trying to avoid that for a few more weeks). We wondered what she was thinking seeing no contractions for us on her monitor. Truth be told, she was a little busy and probably didn't even notice. But hey it was fun to imagine.
I was quite restless that night and finding it hard to sleep so it was a little ambien to the rescue. I don't remember if it was ambien or not, but I did take something to help me relax and rest. My nurse said it should take about fifteen minutes. Art decided to stay until I was asleep. That was at eleven. Midnight rolled around and I was still awake. And as much as I wanted him to stay, I knew he had to work in the morning so I sent him home. Sleep eventually came.
The next morning in came Art. He had skipped work to hang out with me. What a guy!
As morning progressed, one of the docs that works with our specialist came in. It was my first time meeting him. If I had to guess, I'd say he's Eastern Europe due to his accent. He said he spent all night watching me (normally that would creep me out). and he kept saying no baby. We can't have a baby yet. He said he was so nervous he couldn't sleep. Ha! He was quite enthusiastic making me think he must be a ton of fun on Christmas morning.
I spent the next hours counting down to when the catheter would be removed. I thought it would be 5:30pm. Imagine my delight when at 3 they came in ready to remove it! Shortly after they were ready to move me back to my old room. My nurse excused herself and came back about an hour later. She apologized but just delivered three different babies. She said it so nonchalant much in the way I would say I had to change my shoes.
Finally around 4:30, I made it back to my old room. It was freshly cleaned and the bed had all new bedding. And I'm pretty sure it smiled when I entered as to say "hey there. I been waiting for you".
I was 30 weeks, 3 days.
"And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9