THIRD TIMES THE CHARM?
One year ago, I was biding my time in the hospital awaiting Baby Girl's arrival. We had already had two close calls. Little did I know that we were just days away from our third hiccup.
Tuesday, December 16 started out like any other day. The only difference is I had noticed that I "just didn't feel well". It wasn't that I was ill. My body was just giving me signs that baby was coming. I remember that feeling with our first. I was extra tired and blah.
That night Art came up for his nightly visit. They started monitoring and I quickly realized I was having minor contractions. They were ever so slight, but there they were.
My doc happened to be at the hospital that night. Art and I were certain that tonight would be the night. Like I said, my doctor was there. Art was there. We were mentally ready. The stars had aligned, so we thought. Art was even (for the first time) suggesting baby names. He sat in his chair tossing different names my way. Some were serious suggestions. Others, not so much. It wasn't that he didn't like the name that we had picked. He just wanted to make sure that it was THE name. (This is just the weird way we do things.)
My doctor came in. I was ready for the "time to have a baby" announcement. Instead, he said he was going to try some meds to stop the contractions. There was a chance that it wouldn't work. If that were the case, then we would deliver.
They gave me the meds and continued to monitor. Quickly the contractions ceased. The monitoring, on the other hand lasted close to 4 hours. I was used to longer monitoring periods (they were supposed to last twenty minutes. They rarely did). An hour was not uncommon. Four was long. If you've read my previous posts, I mentioned that antepartum had almost dinosaur-like equipment. With every cough, giggle or hiccup it would get interrupted. I always tried to lay as still as possible to help things along, but that night it wasn't happening. The best was when you had to go to the bathroom. I had to unplug from the machine. But I still had everything attached to me. That include about eight feet of cord. I have mad skills. I'll just leave it at that.
Finally. F-I-N-A-L-L-Y, they came in and said things were looking good again and I was freed from the machine.
The next day, my nurse, Caroline was checking things out and was concerned about the meds used to stop the contractions from the night before. What they used to combat the contractions was essentially a blood pressure medicine. No big deal except I was already taking something to help lower my blood pressure. I was now getting a double dose. Not good for lots of reasons, but most importantly it can affect the blood flow to the placenta.
Side note: Caroline was by far one of my favorite nurses. They were all wonderful. She was exceptional. Once when dietary messed up my lunch, she went to the cafeteria and bought me a whole new meal on her own dime. And better yet, she refused to let us pay her back.
My specialist just happened (don't you love those "happy accidents?") to be I the hallway, so she went to talk to her. Let's just say, even though they were down the hall, I could hear what was being said. Have I mentioned that my specialist is Italian? I don't say that in a bad way. She was the one who told me that as a reason that she gets so "passionate". Quickly she came into my rooms and let me know she was not happy about a couple of things.
First, she was not happy about me getting a double dose of meds. Second, she was not thrilled that they didn't deliver the night before. She said. " I said ANY contractions and were delivering. We had contractions and we have no baby!" The situation was a serious one, but I couldn't help but find her intensity comical. She left the room making a point she would be talking to my doc ASAP.
Now I need to defend my doc a bit. His choice of meds, was not a wrong one just like his choice to not deliver was not wrong. My specialist and him just did things differently.
Caroline returned a bit later and filled me in on all of the "conversation" that had happened between my docs and that they would be doing a small change to my meds.
Clearly, my doc and my specialist had differing opinions. Some view that as a bad thing. It can be especially when they can't come to terms. My docs have a wonderful working relationship one where even though opinions differ, they come to a mutual decision. That's what happened here.
The next morning, my doc came in for his daily visit. You could tell he was a little beaten down. Part of that was the fact he'd been delivering babies all night (you could always tell how the night had gone when they were freshly showered). The other had some to do with the conversation the day before.
Normally he was quite chipper. This morning he was not. He affect was low. This was probably not the best time to "question" his decisions. Yet, I did. I was scared. It was the third time we almost met Little Miss. I remember telling him I would rather just have her than to chance having another issue without a happy ending. I actually said I am not a gambling woman and gambling on a good outcome was terrifying me.
He just nodded and reassured me that the longer she cooked, the better.
We were just a little over a week from Christmas. Deep down I was really hoping that Baby Girl would be born on Christmas Eve so we could "share" our birthdays. But we still didn't have a scheduled date.
I was 32 weeks, 5 days.