I don’t think I’ve ever posted the official diagnosis of what’s going on with my embattled self. It’s called PROM, or pPROM. Preterm Premature Rupture of Membranes. (AKA: The Thing That Happens To Pregnant Women That Really Fucking Sucks A Whole Lot And That Is Scarier Than Anything You Could Ever Imagine, or TTTHTPWTRFSAWLATISTAYCEI. PROM is way easier to remember, though.)
Whenever the nurses leave the computer monitor on in my room and I can sneak a peek at the other patients (never any names, just room numbers, how dilated they are, who their doctor is and what status their membranes are in) I search in vain for other PROM patients. There are SROMs (spontaneous rupture – that’s at full term, I think) and AROMs (assisted rupture) but never any other PROMs. That’s good for the other pregnant people in the world.
Once there was a BBOW and I had to look it up on google because I didn’t know what it was. Bulging Bag of Waters in case you’re interested. That’s not a good one to have when you’re 18 weeks like she was. Though at a different time a nurse told me a great story about a woman who had BBOW at 19 weeks, was checked into the hospital and basically hung upside down like a bat for ELEVEN WEEKS until her baby was born perfectly healthy. Apparently, this BBOW lady had some gigantor boobs that practically smothered her the entire time she was upside down. So, yeah, at least my boobs aren’t trying to suffocate me through all of this.
I was just sitting here wondering, other than being killed by boobs, what other situation would be yucky enough to make me happy to be in my situation. Being forced to run a marathon in China would qualify, I think. But more aptly, I started wondering which was worse, this PROM or my high school prom.
PROM – minute-by-minute life and death uncertainty
prom – minute-by-minute boy catastrophes
PROM – gigantic blood-type cross and screen bracelet strapped on wrist
prom – gigantic perfume-sprayed white flower strapped on wrist
PROM – stuck in bed with a view of a rooftop pipe thing
prom – stuck in Mazda with a view of the driver’s hash pipe thing
PROM – encouraged to dull my senses with sleeping pills and screechy uterine monitoring devices
prom – encouraged to dull my senses with pot and screechy Mariah Carey slow dances
PROM – healthcare costs astronomical
prom – hair care costs astronomical
PROM – unpredictable gushing of various body fluids
prom – unpredictable gushing of various body fluids
PROM – gown is air-conditioned in the back
prom – gown was tight and hot
As you can see, it’s really a toss up. I’m going to have to go with PROM for being shittier. Though at least now I can wear comfortable clothes and I don’t have to fuss with a strapless push up bra.
27 weeks 3 days. That’s where we are today. Sunday night was another "oh shit, is it time?" night, with contractions 3-6 minutes apart for hours and hours. But we made it through.
Even a Mazda and a hash pipe couldn’t make this chaos more insane.