Back To Me

Because I Don't Want To Forget, Part Three

At this point I still hadn't cried.  Considering how emotional I was up until then in the pregnancy, this still shocks me.  Not from being afraid and not from all the pain I was in during the million-and-one medical procedures I had to endure.  I just dug my heels in and hung in there because I didn't have any other choice.

The next morning I was taken in for an ultrasound.  They wanted to see the baby's position and weight while also making sure there was no funny business in there.  That is when we found out Theo was a moose.  He was measuring rather large for a 30 week old baby, and under normal circumstances that would have freaked me out but we were all glad.  If he were to be born early he was measuring at a good weight which could mean he'd be able to regulate his body temperature--a major concern with preemies.  While there were no guarantees, I felt a lot better.  Plus we got to see him again and confirm he was absolutely a boy!

After the ultrasound I got moved to a different room.  No matter when I was going to deliver, I was ordered to be on bed rest until he was born.  In addition to bed rest, I was to remain as stress-free as possible.  Because of this, the doctors wanted me away from the delivery rooms so I wouldn't hear other women screaming while in labor at all hours of the night.  This was appreciated.  My television shows and movies had to be restricted (no Season 4 of 24 or Bourn Ultimatum for me!), as did my phone conversations and interactions with people because I couldn't become anxious.  A lot of people came to visit me which was so wonderful, but even having a conversation about fluffy puppies and rainbows made me contract more so I made sure to be really careful.  My saving grace was The Internet, actually.  It was perfect:  I talked to whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and didn't get anxious over someone's tone or barrage of questions.  It was my preferred means of communication and remained that way until Theo was born.

I responded well to the meds, and things were looking up.  Theo's heart rate always remained steady, and he continued to move around a lot which was reassuring.  I got taken off the IV drip to be observed without it for 24 hours, and that was the happiest moment of my hospital stay.  I was getting pumped so full of fluids (granted that was a good thing) that I had to go to the bathroom once an hour, every hour.  And being 30 weeks pregnant didn't help either.  Here is how it went:  I felt the slightest inkling of needing to pee.  I got Bryan/my mom/a nurse to unhook all of my monitors.  I draped the wires around my neck so I didn't trip and lurched out of bed to waddle to the bathroom.   Peed.  Waddled back.  Got hooked up again.  Layed back down and tried to get comfortable.  Thirty minutes later rinse and repeat.  All.  Night.  And.  All.  Day.  Long.   If you find yourself wondering why I wasn't given an IV catheter or a bed pan to avoid all of that trauma, I will give you the answer.  My bed rest wasn't 100% restricted, meaning I was allowed to and from the bathroom and to and from the bedroom to the living room.  In the hospital they wanted me moving around so I wouldn't get any clots in my legs.  So the madness with the potty breaks every 60 minutes?  Was encouraged.

Eventually I got the all-clear to go home.  I was terrified.  I'm not kidding when I say that I asked every nurse I saw if I was allowed to take the fetal heart rate monitor home with me.  I was so used to hearing Theo's steady woosh-woosh-woosh at 148 beats per minute that I couldn't imagine being without it.  I had a hard time trusting that just bed rest and pills were going to ensure everything was going to be okay.  But we went home with instructions and pill bottles and the hope that we'd be able cook the baby a while longer.

I was home 23 hours before having to go back.

Lots of contractions again but thankfully no dilation.  More meds.  More IVs.  But things weren't slowing down as fast as they had hoped.  My favorite nurse came in with a grim look on her face and said, "In about an hour someone from M Company will be coming to outfit you with a port."  I didn't understand.  Why couldn't she do it, I asked.  "We're not allowed.  You have to be specially trained."  Then it hit me.  I asked her if this was a really big deal and she nodded.

The port was a small catheter inserted in my thigh to continuously deliver a medication that would stop my contractions.  The medication was the same medication given to me the first night I arrived at the hospital that made me have an anxiety attack.  And it was to be pumped through my body 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for at least two weeks.  (As an aside:  yes we asked a TON of questions regarding side effects to me and the baby, blah blah blah.  At the time it was our best option.)

The special nurse came and went over all the details.  Bryan got to stab me and he was a little too anxious to do so in my opinion, but that's a different post.  Everything got set up and, once again, we were sent home after another two days in the hospital.  But this time, we felt a little better knowing we'd have someone monitoring us--it was the best of both worlds.  We could be comfortable at home but with medical care.  Never mind there was no room service or free cable.  We got to leave.

Once home and settled, I had to hook my belly up to a contraction counter and transmit to M Company for one hour.  They counted my contractions and call me back with the results.  I had to do this twice a day for over two weeks.  It was maddening.  I had such horrible heart burn from being pregnant AND as another side effect of the medication that laying down was torture.  Plus I couldn't move at all because it would skew the results.  Eventually things were looking so well and I had reached all of my goals (make it to 32 weeks then to 34) that I was able to remove the port and send it back.  That was another wonderful milestone and I remember that day fondly.

Throughout all of this, I remained pregnant for another month.  Our beautiful and healthy baby boy was born March 3rd--a month to the date of my first pre-term contraction.  I had wonderful doctors and nurses and am thankful to everyone who was with me on that journey.  But mostly I am thankful to you, Internet.  All your well-wishes and care packages and emails of support were overwhelming.  Your love was the one thing that did make me cry.  And I'm so glad I did.

Because I Don't Want To Forget, Part Two

I was immediately ushered into the bathroom so I could change into a hospital gown.  I waddled over to the bed and was hooked up to a fetal heart rate monitor and a contraction machine.  My vitals were taken, medical history jotted down.  Within a few minutes one of the nurses said, "Well, you're right.  You are definitely in labor."  While this was upsetting news, it was also equally reassuring.  No, I wasn't over reacting, and yes I did know what was going on with my body.  Blessing and a curse.

I got my first IV catheter in my arm for fluids and the quick administration of medications if necessary.  Apparently, dehydration can cause contractions so they wanted to pump me full of fluids to see if that made a difference.  I was also tested for a urinary tract infection, because infections can cause labor as well.  I remember thinking that if I did come back positive that that would have been the most expensive UTI ever in the history of the world.  But I was still hopeful. 

I was the most anxious to see if I had dilated.  I was fixated on knowing that, and asked at least three times for them to check me.  The nurses wanted to wait to get me situated first and then have the doctor check me, because they didn't want to bother my cervix any more than necessary.  I understood but was still impatient.

Finally the doctor came in.  He reviewed my contractions--at this point every five to ten minutes--and performed an exam.  His exact words?  "You're a good one to one and a half, so we gotta stop this."  I remember the nurses having concerned eyes when they looked at me and then Bryan held my hand.  For a split second I wanted to cry but it passed quickly and then I went into Robot Mode.  From that point on, I was never scared of anything they did to me.  I knew things were going to hurt but it was necessary so I didn't care.  For anyone who knows me, this is completely unheard of.

The first medication I was given gave me a panic attack, which was common.  My heart started racing, my eyes were darting around the room, and I couldn't stop clutching the bars of the bed (little did I know that this would be the drug pumped into me continuously via a port in my thigh less than a week later, and the feelings of anxiety would become all-too familiar).  I wanted to get out of there.  I wanted to run away.  This lasted for about fifteen minutes and then I got another medication that made me feel drowsy.  Bryan was asking all sorts of questions regarding the side effects of the drugs on me and the baby.  I'm glad he was there because I was too out of it to retain any of that information.

After an hour or two I got checked again and was dilated to almost a two, so things weren't slowing down.  I asked what the point of no return was and they said five centimeters.  Once I hit that they couldn't stop labor.  The nurse said the goal was to off-set labor for a few days.  A few days?  So I could have a baby by the end of the week?  That made my heart stop.  Since I was in a labor and delivery room, the baby bassinet was in with us.  I kept looking at it, wondering if Theo was going to be in there soon.  It was surreal.  I quickly decided that no, he wouldn't, and that made me feel better.

NICU was sent up to talk to us and they answered a lot of our questions, but the fact that we were even having that discussion was insane to me.  Up until that morning I had had the most uneventful pregnancy ever.  All my test results had been normal.  My weight gain was right on target.  The ultra sounds never showed any signs of distress.  How was all of this happening?  Suddenly we might have a ten week preemie that could have difficulty breathing, eating, regulating body temperature, and have a month-long hospital stay.  At that point my life didn't feel like it was mine anymore.  Like I was in a Lifetime Original Drama or something.  The NICU doctor kept reassuring us that a 30-week preemie is much better off than a 26-week preemie and while that made me feel a little better, it still wasn't as good as a 40-week old baby.  Duh.

It was also at this point that I felt I would die of hunger.  They weren't letting me eat or drink anything until they knew I wouldn't need to go into surgery.  In conjunction with my contractions and the side effects of the meds, I was having severe stomach cramps from not having eaten in eight hours (and for a pregnant woman that's a long time!).  I even begged a nurse for some green jello but to no avail.

One of the nurses came in to check on things again and I hadn't dilated any more, but the contractions were still coming.  More shots.  More pills.  New plan:  I'd be in the hospital for at least four days if I didn't have the baby first.

Because I Don't Want To Forget, Part One

Sunday February 3rd, 2008

I woke up that morning at 7:30 because I had to go to the bathroom yet again.  I was feeling very pregnant at 30.5 weeks, and was looking forward to having a lazy Sunday with Bryan.  After getting back in bed and finding a comfortable position, I had a Braxton-Hicks contraction.  This wasn't uncommon first thing in the morning so I wasn't worried.  Bryan and I just layed there chatting and enjoying some quiet time.  Then I had another one a ten minutes later.  I knew that it was okay to have them, as long as there weren't more than four in an hour.  I checked the time just to be safe.  Theo was moving around per usual and we were having fun watching my belly bulge and shift.  Another ten minutes later I had another contraction.  At that point I got a tiny bit nervous.  I noted the time and told Bryan that if I had another one in the next thirty minutes I had to call the doctor.  He was confident that everything was fine and told me not to worry.  We continued talking to take my mind off things and then, ten minutes later, yet another contraction. 

I remember my hands being a little shakey when I called the answering service to my doctor's office.  I gave them all the information and waited for the on-call doctor to get back to me.  The phone rang a few minutes later and when I gave him my information I really expected him to be all, "Lady, this is the first time you've been pregnant.  You're over reacting.  Everything is fine.  See you at your next appointment" but he wasn't.  There was concern in his voice and I was instructed to chug as much water as possible in case I was dehydrated, lay on my left side, and have a small breakfast.  I was also told to time any more that I got and call back if there were four or more in an hour.

I hung up the phone and got to work.  Bryan brought a huge pitcher of water and the biggest glass we had and set up a TV tray next to the bed.  I slammed it in a few seconds.  Then we figured that a healthy thing to eat would be whole grain waffles with strawberry jam so he went to work preparing that while I cozied up with my Snoogle.  I ate.  I drank.  Repeat repeat repeat.  The contractions slowed down some but I was still having them.  I notated everything on the back of an envelope I found next to the bed, complete with duration and amount of water consumption.  During this time my stomach was in knots and I kept trying to envision everything being okay.  I kept asking myself "Do I picture us going to the hospital?  Do I picture us having our baby ten weeks early?  No.  It's not time yet."  But at the same time, being at home was nerve wracking.

Two hours later they came back regularly and I had four in forty minutes so I called the doctor again.  He was more hopeful since they slowed down after I ate, so he wanted me to snack again and have some juice because the sugar could help as well. I did as I was told.  He said that if they kept coming I'd have to go to the hospital.  I didn't move from my left side for five hours except to waddle to the bathroom.  Finally, between noon and one I has having them every five minutes like clockwork.

I freaked.

I told Bryan that I was calling the doctor and even if he didn't think we needed to go to the hospital yet we were going anyway.  I wanted to know Theo's heart rate was okay.  I wanted to have beeping monitors and nurses and drugs at the ready in case something did happen.  Luckily the doctor agreed with me.  He told us to expect to be there a few hours for monitoring so I grabbed some baby books and Bryan brought the lap top.  I was in my pajamas and hadn't washed my face, combed my hair or brushed my teeth but I didn't care.  Going to the hospital was the only thing that mattered.

Luckily we live five minutes away so it wasn't a long trip.  Just being in the car calmed me down because I knew once we got there everything was going to be okay, no matter what happened.  Bryan felt that way too.

Labor and Delivery was notified we were on our way over so as soon as I got off the elevator three nurses whisked me into a room.  They were calm, but they weren't brushing me off either.  That's when I really knew that this was a big deal.

Things that run through my head. Yeah, it's boring to me too.

"Netflix should be arriving today. Hooray!"

"I wonder if the mail came already."

"Did I already eat one brownie or two?"

"I need to make a grocery list! Right this very second!"

"Is it wrong that the cat makes me clausterphobic because she just. won't. leave. me. alone? And am I a bad person because of this?"

"Oh! I need to add kleenex to the shopping list!"

"Maybe the mail is here now."

"Is that a contraction? With cramping? Or do I just have to go to the bathroom?"

"Gotta call about the insurance."

"Should I shower today or wait until tomorrow?"

"Holy geeze we're HAVING A BABY."

"Why hasn't anyone updated their blogs?!!? Oh wait, I should probably update mine."

"Yeah, about that baby. . .holy crap."

"When is the freakin' mail going to GET here?"

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Sigh.

Rally troops!

I have a new bed rest friend who is four weeks behind me (she'll be 30 weeks tomorrow) and she's back in the hospital with no chance of parole until her baby boy is born. They're hoping she makes it another four weeks, but her water has broken so she's being monitored.

Please please please go over to her blog and wish her happy pregnant thoughts. This obviously hits close to home for me, and I'm pretty upset. You all have been such a huge support for me, and I know she'd love to hear from you.

Her name is Kelsey and she's over at Midwest Mom.

Thanks everyone.

I've got no strings to tie me down!

This is me every. single. day. The only thing different in this picture is the fact that the couch isn't littered with wadded-up boogered kleenex and old magazines. Oh. And I'm smiling. (That's Cleo's butt hanging off my lap on the left. And I'm wearing Bryan's shirt--with paint splatters--and PJ pants because that's what fits. House Of Style here at the Campen abode, lemme tell ya.)

I had a doctor's appointment Tuesday where he did a test that can determine with 99.5% accuracy if I will deliver within the next two weeks. This morning we got the results that it was negative (= good!) SO I got to remove the thigh port and don't have to transmit to Big Brother anymore! The rational being that this will get me to at least 35 weeks, and the havoc the drugs are doing to my body aren't worth staying on 'just because'. I'm still on bed rest until this kid comes out, but now my days will be much better. I still have to go to the doctor once a week, and as long as I don't dialate I'm all good. We have another ultraound scheduled in three weeks to determine The Boy's position and to double-check his weight to see if he's REALLY that big. I could be gestating a moose which would obviously change my birthing options, and possibly get me in the Enquirer, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

A much better day with a lot more hope. Plus I didn't even mention: we got our Girl Scout cookies today. So if you'll excuse me, I have to use a whole can of compressed air to rid the keyboard of Samoa coconut crumbs.

The cost of NOT having a baby

Got the bill from the hospital today. Grand total:

$18,468.75

And now we wait to see what our friend the insurance company will cover. Can you even STAND the suspense?

Oh, by the way, this was just the FIRST hospital stay. Haven't gotten a bill for the second one. Wheeee.

Please indulge me. It won't take but a minute.

I have been on bed rest for two weeks and one day (including hospital time). I don't know how much longer I have at this.

It is now time for a pity party. For the record, I'm about to throw down a lot of "It's not fair-s" and "Why me-s" and I just want to preface that by saying yes, I know life isn't fair. I also know TONS of wonderful women have been through this as well, and it wasn't fair to them either. I am not special. I am not the first to go through this. No one out there deserves this. I am aware of all that. Truly. I also know this is completely worth it because it's for the safety of our son. I don't question that. I'm the mom and this is what I signed up for when we decided to get pregnant. But that doesn't make this any less hard. Any less eye-clawingly miserable. But I'm still feeling sorry for myself so therefore, indulge me.

All my other pregnant friends are attending their own showers and decorating their nurseries. All my other pregnant friends are able to go get the mail. They are able to go to work, go grocery shopping, take out the garbage, and change the sheets on the bed. They can take longer than a 10 minute shower, and do it daily. They can go get their hair done, get a pedicure, get a massage. They won't be labeled "High Risk" for any future pregnancies. They won't have to question if getting pregnant again is a risk worth taking. My other pregnant friends are (most likely) going to be able to go home with their babies.

I have cut out deli meats, hot dogs, soft cheeses, and all the other pregnancy no-no's from my diet. I never drank coffee or soda so that isn't an issue either. Some people have actually given me crap for all the things I'm not eating, because I'm 'over reacting' and 'won't die' if I have those things in moderation. My philosophy was that there are enough bad things that could happen under normal circumstances, so why add something for me to feel guilty about if, God forbid, anything DID happen? So at least I'm sitting here not going down the list of all the things that I shouldn't have done that I did anyway. Someone even tried to push a glass of wine at me a few months ago saying "Oh c'mon. You'll be FINE. Women in Europe do it all the time!" Thanks, but no thanks, and screw you.

All of that precaution, and here I am. I am not saying I'm the perfect pregnant woman by any means. I am also not saying that any woman who DOES include those things in her diet SHOULD have pre-term labor or be 'punished' in any way. Not at all. But this is a pity party remember? Oh-woe-is-me, blah blah blah.

I have been removing plastic from our home because of the chemicals. I have switched over to non-toxic cleaning products. I take my vitamins, eat organic whenever I can, and do my best to have a balanced diet.

We planned this baby. I was on pre-natal vitamins for four months before we even TRIED to get pregnant. Because I wanted my body to be a healthy place for our unborn child. And now every day I have to assess the state of my uterus. Count contractions. Monitor my blood pressure. Not get up. Not do anything. Except lay around and worry (and try NOT to worry) about the right thing to do.

I am on meds that are wreaking havoc with my body. How long do I stay on them? When is a good time to say, "Well, if he's born now it will be fine." Does anyone really know? How much do I put my body through before it gets to be too much? And isn't that part of being a mother? The sacrifice?

Yes. I ask myself "Why me?" and say "This isn't fair!" and feel guilty right away. Overall I have a pretty cush life. But sitting on the couch, doing one of four things over and over and over again, planning a list in my head of the million things I COULD be doing, makes me feel really sorry for myself.

So I sit. And will continue to sit. And wait and wait some more. Because that's all I can do.

Aw. come ON!

I just had 11 contractions in an hour.

Seriously, what is up?!?

Wednesday will be 33 weeks so that's some good news.

A Real Conversation

"I don't want to."

"You have to. The doctor said you need to take the cough medicine to get better."

"It's going to taste gross and make me gag. I'd rather them check my cervix again."

"You have to take it."

". . . . ."

"Really quick. It's just a teaspoon."

(small wimper) "FINE. I can do this. I'm an adult. I've had horrible medical procedures done to me in the past week. The least I can do is swallow some freakin' cough syrup."

(swallows it and goes into an involuntary convulsion)

"See? I knew you could do it!"

"I need a cookie."