Another Little Scare

Last night we had another little scare.  After two relatively quiet days, I started having regular contractions again yesterday afternoon.  I assumed they were the same old contractions that I get just about every day, so I decided not to let myself get excited/anxious about them.  I calmly asked for a second dose of the oral medication I had been taking to stop the contractions and took a hot shower.  Two hours later, I was having to breathe through the contractions and I realized they were getting really close together (I’m TERRIBLE at timing them…they all run together).  When I finally called my nurse in at 4:00 p.m.’ish, I was getting concerned but trying not to show it.  I explained that the contractions weren’t painful, just really intense.  The nurses (a second one came in to help) could feel the contractions and couldn’t push their hands into my belly at all…indicating severe intensity. 

They set up the fetal heart rate/contraction monitor and struggled to find the baby’s heartbeat.  My contractions were registering as one minute apart with little “break” time.  I could still feel the baby moving, so I was less concerned than the nurses were.  But I had to roll into four different positions before we picked up a faint heartbeat.  The baby’s heart rate was stuck between 100 and 115.  The two nurses had taken care of me enough to know that my little guy sleeps in the 120-130 range and is usually in the 140-160 range when he is kicking.  At that point, things moved very quickly.  One nurse started pushing on the baby, trying to get him to push back and to get his heart rate to rise, while the other nurse ran (literally ran) from the room to get the doctor.  I continued to try to tell myself that everything was fine…he was still moving and my contractions weren’t that bad.  It was hard to stay calm when the nurse (and a couple of minutes later, the doctor) kept saying over and over to me that things were probably okay but we needed to move me to labor and delivery immediately and make sure the baby was safe.  “Safe” is not a word you want to hear in that context.

I took a wheelchair ride down the hall, and arrived back in a labor and delivery room, similar to the one where I started my hospital stay.  They turned on the incubator for the baby in a small room attached to my room.  That’s when I felt considerably more urgency about the situation and called The Prince.  He said “Is this an emergency?  I’m in the middle of a work thing.”  How do you answer that?  I realized chances were good that these contractions would stop and the baby would be fine, but this was the “biggest event” that had occurred in over a week…what if?  Ultimately, I responded “Not an emergency.  I’ve been moved to a labor and delivery room.  It would be good if you call me back as soon as you can.”  He hung up but was back on the phone with me two minutes later and was at the hospital 20 minutes after that. 

In the meantime, anesthesiology had to be called in to start an IV.  Three tries later, the anesthesiologist apologized as the best he could do was a needle that is a little too small for what we need during delivery being inserted into the vein in the underside of my wrist…not a great spot.  The other, better veins, had infiltrated and the IV’s he tried to place there had to be removed.  My veins are just too small and too deep for IV’s.  The plan was to plump me up with IV fluids and try again if we got a chance.  While the anesthesiologist was working on my veins, Dr. C came in and said “Well, we knew it was only matter of time.  You are still at 5 c.m., 100% effaced, bulging membranes, but I’ll be surprised if those membranes are bulging for much longer.  I think they’re on their way.  On the other hand, you’ve become quite the celebrity case as no one thought you would hold out this long.”  He also asked if he had explained to me that I would need a “rescue” course of steroids to help mature the baby’s lungs.  He explained that the first course of steroids I took, two weeks ago, when we first arrived, would lose maximum efficacy after one week.  Dr. C said he likely didn’t tell me about that because no one thought we were going to make it a week.  But, I made it almost two weeks, so we now needed to try to get a second, two-shot course of steroids in.  That steroid course should last until delivery, regardless of how long that takes.   Dr. C said “Do you think you and your little guy can hold out until Thanksgiving?...to give the second steroid shot a chance to work?  I promise to come deliver that baby if he will wait that long.”  I told him I would do my best and that, hopefully, the baby would hold off past Thanksgiving and Dr. C could enjoy a meal with his family.

I was given two injections of “terb,” the blood pressure medication I mentioned in earlier posts.  It, as usual, made me have tachycardia and violent tremors.  But, over the course of a couple of hours, it completely eradicated the contractions.  I was given the first of the two steroid injections and, after a couple of hours of being stable, was allowed to go back to my antepartum room…and to eat my four hour old tray of hospital food.  YUM! 

The baby’s heart rate had improved shortly after we went to Labor and Delivery, and while Dr. C said it could truly be a matter of the baby being very sleepy, we now have to keep a more careful eye on the guy’s heart rate.  He has seemed completely unaffected by everything going on with me, and his heart rate rarely dives with contractions.  If the contractions were having a major effect on him, we might not be able to continue our “watch and wait” course of treatment.  As long as we don’t have more episodes like last night, where it seems like the contractions are doing something to him, we should be able to avoid more interventions.  But if he starts having too many “sleepy periods,” we will have to reevaluate our plan.

This morning I feel grateful and much better, physically, than I did last night.  Our little man woke up at 6:00 a.m., when they took my first set of morning vitals, and he has stayed up.  Feeling his morning workout makes me very happy…even if he is getting a bit big for the yoga stretches he’s trying to pull off.  I’m contraction free this morning (knock on wood), and feeling cautiously optimistic that last evening’s events were just another fluke….and that the baby and I are going to make it way past Thanksgiving before he comes out.  And if I’m wrong, at least I know that all of this “practice” has gotten me to a much more calm and logical place going into a possible emergency situation.  There was no crying, feeling sorry for myself, or panicking last night.  Just a whole lot of positive thinking.  Small victories.

For those of you who are celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow and will not be checking your blogs, HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!  For those of you who will not be celebrating that holiday, HAPPY THURSDAY…and eat something yummy for me anyways.

Enough Is Enough

This is not going to be a very cheery post…just to give you some fair warning. I’ve tried to hold off on writing, waiting for my dreary mood to lift.  But, if I wait for that to happen, I may not get to write for a LONG time.

To start the post on a high note, the baby is doing great.  Our little Thanksgiving turkey is still cookin’, and he still seems oblivious to what is going on with me.  He has frequent bouts of hiccups, but other than that, he is exactly the same as he was before all of this started. 

Another happy thought is that I have been having visitors and that is, I think, what has kept me going.  People have sent flowers, sat with me while I cried, and one friend even brought me a book of inspirational quotes about joy…to read when things get really rough.  I know I’ve said it before, but my friends are amazing and I only hope I get to return their support when all of this has passed. 

I’ve tried to find activities for myself, things I would enjoy doing or which are similar to the things I would be doing if I wasn’t stuck in the hospital on bed rest.  But the truth is, it is only the anticipation of visits from friends, showers, time in the whirlpool bath, and clean sheets that keep me going.  Everything else seems forced.  I broke down and took a narcotic pain medication last night, as my blood pressure had spiked from the pain of the contractions and they couldn’t’ get it down.  Even Percocet didn’t ease my nasty mood (or the pain).

I don’t think I will have a roommate for much longer.  She had an amniocentesis this morning because they found pockets of excess fluid around the baby a couple of days ago.  It turns out, she miscalculated her due date.  She is only 34 weeks along and the baby’s lungs aren’t even close to mature.  The doctor came in to explain to her that she needs to stay in the hospital until the lungs mature, as the baby would likely die if she had it anywhere but at this hospital.  Because she already has a tear in her placenta/placental abruption, and a low blood count, there is even a chance she won’t make it through a delivery.  She told the doctor to shove it up her ass…she’s leaving.  She’s packed up her stuff, all the while complaining to me about how stupid the doctors are and how she needs to go home where she can do what she needs to do.  I’m not sure what she “needs to do,” but if her activities in the hospital are any indication, that baby is in real trouble.  The woman who cleans our room has found two empty vodka bottles in our room (in case I need to say it…they aren’t mine).  The roomie told the nurse who was lecturing her about the dangers of smoking during pregnancy yesterday that they should be happy she has cut down to 14 cigarettes a day, as she was smoking twice that much when she came in.  It just breaks my heart.  I HATE being here right now, but wild horses couldn’t drag me an hour or two away from this hospital (that’s how far away this woman lives).  This is where my baby needs to be when he decides to come see us.  How can the roomie not get that?  How can she take something so precious for granted?  It’s hard to watch.

On another topic (because if I focus on that one anymore, I’m not going to make it through this post), I am officially leaking milk.  Gross.  I know.  I had been leaking milk a little before, but now I get big wet spots on my shirt during the day and I actually squirt milk if I lean against my breast at all.  My breasts are enormous!  They don’t fit into a 3x sports bra, and I’m not sure where I can really go from there.  For right now, the ladies are just having to squeeze into what I’ve got.  Not wearing a bra is no longer an option. The hospital gave me nursing pads.  They remind me a lot of circular maxi pads.  NOT COMFORTABLE against my nipples.  But my boss is coming to see me today, to do my biannual evaluation and to take my work laptop away (I’m out on leave now, as we can’t get my work laptop to work at the hospital), and I don’t want to take any chances of having an awkward moment while he’s here.  It is really odd to see my breast actually produce milk.  I mean, I knew it was coming and I know it is natural.  But it still seems strange.  There is part of me that wants to smile about it, as it makes the fact that I am going to be a mommy even more real.  But there is a part of me that freaks out about it a little bit, like I am losing part of my identity as a woman outside of motherhood.  I’m sure that makes no sense, but it is how I feel…sometimes. 

My body feels like it is not my own…like it is betraying me again.  My cervix is still at 5 cm and seems happy to stay there.  My uterus has apparently not gotten the memo from my cervix, and it won’t stop contracting.  Day after day after day…it just wears me down.  Today, the doctor (one of Dr. C’s partners) told me that every day I am not having this baby is a miracle, and I should celebrate it as such.  She said she knows it is hard for me, but no one expected me to make it this long and now everyone is excited to see how long I can hold out.  I needed to hear that.  I needed to hear things put in those terms…like people are proud of me and what I am doing is a major accomplishment.  Too often people say to me “You’re doing good.  This is good for the baby.”  That’s a nice thing to say, but it isn’t the same as telling me that what I’m doing is amazing and special.  I know it is super selfish, but that’s what I need right now.  To be told that what I am doing is superhuman…even if it isn’t.  I’ll keep taking care of the baby, doing everything I can to keep him safe inside of me.  But I need someone to take care of me.  I feel like I’m getting lost in all of this.  I know…welcome to motherhood.  I just have to believe these feelings would be a little easier to bear if I was holding my baby in my arms, instead of waiting for him to arrive.  We’ll find out I guess…though hopefully not too soon.  

On another high note, today’s doctor (the one who gave the great inspirational speech) has given me permission to take a wheelchair ride.  If the weather warms up a little, and my husband comes to visit when I am not having contractions and everything is stable, he can wheel me outside the front door of the hospital, so I can get a little fresh air before the bad weather sets in.  The Prince didn’t seem thrilled about that prospect when I told him over the phone this a.m.  He is really bored with the whole hospital visit thing.  He even volunteered to work at his parents’ restaurant on Thanksgiving, and told me he didn’t think he would get a chance to come see me after he was done.  How can he not understand how devastating it is to me that he would think it is okay to leave me alone on Thanksgiving?  I think his Mom is putting a stop to his plans…and will make him bring me some real food from the restaurant for dinner.  But I hate that he has to be forced to do that.  It is hard for me to feel like he sees spending time with me as such a burden.  I get it…I just wish he could empathize with how hard this is for me.  I felt like he really got it last week.  He was sweet and here as much as he could be, rubbing my shoulders and back during contractions.  Now, I have to force him to give me a hug and peck on the cheek when he leaves.  If I had to guess, I would think that this may be some kind of whacky male coping mechanism.  Maybe the stress is wearing him down too, and his way of dealing with the helpless feeling is to avoid being around the situation.  Oh well.  It sucks, but he’s wheeling me outside whether he wants to our not.  I’ve got a serious case of cabin fever and I literally cried when the doctor said I could go outside.  Small victories.

Well, it is almost lunch time (the food might be part of what is wearing me down too…it doesn’t get any better).  So, I better go.  I’ll try to suck it up and write more often.  Not writing my thoughts down isn’t helping.  I just hate to be Debbie Downer all of the time.  I think it gives people a skewed idea of who I am.  Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

We Made It To 31 Weeks!

So much has happened since my last post.  No delivery still (Phew!), but lots of other things have happened.  For one thing, this morning I had an ultrasound of the baby.  We hit 31 weeks today, meaning we’ve held out for exactly one week.  Huge accomplishment!  The doctor performing the ultrasound did a full anatomy scan (the baby’s third).  Again, everything looked wonderful.  There is no evidence of any potential structural problems, the placenta is providing adequate blood flow to the baby, and the umbilical cord is right in front of the baby – exactly where they want it to be.  I have a fabulous picture of our little guy’s left footprint, as he kicked hard at my ribs right as the doctor was snapping a picture of the top of the uterus.  It’s adorable.

Perhaps the most important thing we learned during the ultrasound is that our little chunker is weighing in at 4 pounds and 14 ounces!!!  That puts him above the 90^th percentile for a 31 week baby.  The doctor said that our baby is as big as some small full-term babies and, given the lack of evidence of any problems associates with his size, this is the best possible scenario.  If I was going to go full term, his size would be worrisome.  But that isn’t going to happen, so we are thrilled that we’ve got a beefy boy on our hands.

A couple of people had commented on my last post and suggested that it was time to call my doula.  I thought the same thing you all did.  So, when I got stressed out, I called the doula.  I didn’t write about it, even though I placed the call before my last post, because I was still angry about how things went with her.  Our doula has turned out to be a huge disappointment during this situation.  After spending hours crying over my stress and the pain of the heavy contractions, I called the doula for support.  I was crying to her, letting her know what was going on.  Her response was silence.  I asked if she was still there, thinking that the call had been dropped.  She responded that she was still there…then silence again.  I dragged the conversation out for ten minutes, hoping that she was just busy doing something when I called and I would soon have her full attention.  No such luck.  When I asked her to give me some advice about how to deal with my pain and frustration, she said “This is a horrible situation.  It’s really too bad.”  That was it.  No advice.  No significant empathy.  No encouragement.  It really seemed like she was talking to me while playing solitaire on her computer or something.  I got off the phone, called a good friend of mine, and got the support I needed from my friend.  I’m not sure if I will be calling on the doula again.  I would still be angry about the situation, but I honestly don’t have the energy to even be irritated.  So, I think I am just going to ignore her and my feelings about this, until things have settled down after the baby’s arrival.  Then I’ll try to figure out how to address this with her.

On a more positive note, the nursing care has improved drastically since my last post.  Though it sucked to be moved to a semi-private room, the beds are more comfortable, the showers are better, and the nurses are nicer.  I also now have the big side of the room, with the large window and window sill…more space and more sunlight.  My first roommate (the one with all of the visitors) ended up being REALLY religious.  I’m not judging, and I’m not going to say which denomination/religion she was.  What I am going to say is that I have my own spiritual beliefs, but they do not include religious services or things like that.  In the one and a half days I was in this room with her, I sat through two church services that were each two and a half hour long.  My roommate and her family attended the services via SKYPE…meaning I listened to hours of hymns and scripture readings.  At first I thought “That’s nice.”  But hours into it…not so nice anymore.  There was no place to escape to (except the bathroom).  I spent A LOT of time in the bathroom.  Yesterday morning they told my religious roommate that she was being moved to a private room, as her blood count was still dangerously low and they needed to have her right next to special equipment in case she went into labor or started hemorrhaging.  I was actually a little sad to see her go.  Then I moved to her side of the room and instantly felt better about my situation.  Sunlight and a little privacy go a huge way to improving one’s outlook.

Two of my good friends visited yesterday and that made all of the difference too.  I had been isolating myself, but I realized a couple of days ago that I couldn’t continue to do that…not if I was going to be stuck on bed rest for a long time.  One of my friends got me food for dinner and an enormous bag of cheese popcorn (something I never eat because I think it smells like stinky feet, but which I have been craving for two days…last night I assuaged the craving in a MAJOR way).  Now that I know that I really am up to visitors and I have confirmation that my friends are going to be okay if I break down in tears in front of them (even on my happy days…it happens), I am more comfortable asking people to come visit…or at least I anticipate that I will be soon. 

Another thing that happened is that the doctor ordered recreational therapy for me, so a woman came down to my room and gave me the option of all kinds of activities and crafts to fill my free time.  Today I painted a porcelain piggy bank for the baby and a Thanksgiving door decoration.  Tomorrow I am going to be taught how to knit.  I feel really silly being “prescribed” these activities, but the doctor is right…I need something to focus on other than what is going on with the baby and what is coming up after he is born.  Besides…when am I going to find any other time in my life to learn how to knit?  Right?  And, as dorky as it is, it really has helped.  I’m so grateful to be in this hospital, where they have a whole separate wing for women on long term bed rest, an extended menu for pregnant women (which I just found out about today…SO happy!), and things like recreational therapy.   We’ve determined that I can’t work from here and I have to go out on leave, but even that isn’t devastating me like it normally would because I am getting a lot of support from friends and from the hospital.  I’m a lucky girl (and that time I said it without any sarcasm).

I’ve saved the “best” for last.  I was told last night I would be getting a new roommate.  I was afraid that would happen.  At least my religious roommate was really nice and her family tried to be friendly.  The new roommate never showed last night, but she did come this afternoon.  It turns out, she was in this room before me…that is, she was here until she just disappeared from the hospital without letting the doctors or anyone know she was leaving.  In fact, this is her third admission to the hospital within the last two weeks, as she keeps just leaving (even though she lives two hours away) and then coming back in an ambulance when the baby goes into distress.  Her baby’s daddy (her term, not mine) is also here…and he is going to spend the night each night.  YAY!  (As if on cue, as I am writing this, he just let out a huge belch.  Nice!)  When they walked in, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes filled the room.  In the first two hours she was here, she snuck outside for two smoke breaks.  I think she is used to smoking more than cigarettes, based on her very erratic behavior and really fast talking, but I have no evidence to back up my assumption and I should probably keep those thoughts to myself.  She and her hubby (?) keep coughing like they are going to hack up a lung, which then makes me paranoid that I am catching some awful disease like tuberculosis.  On the upside, if history is any indication, she likely won’t be my roommate for long.  She should be taking off any time now.  But, until then, I have to listen to her talk about her friends not knowing who their babies’ fathers are, about her baby’s likely developmental disabilities and clubbed foot, and about how stupid it is that they can’t just give her a blood transfusion and send her home (like my last roommate, this one has a bleeding problem…but that’s where their similarities end).  In short…my new roommate is the embodiment of all things women who have dealt with infertility despise.  She is a reminder of how unfair life is sometimes.  I’m not going to let her bring me down because it would be bad for me and for the baby, but if I had been put in a room with her one year ago…there may have been a smack down going on.

So, that’s my update.  As usual, it is a little disjointed, but I didn’t want to wait any longer as I know some of you worry about me the same way I worry about you when I hear about your trials.  Thank you again for all of the support and prayers.