excellent summary

With some "coaching" from her mischievous brother, the wee-er one sums up the events of this summer quite nicely:

Fart
Butt
Crystal Skull
Ice cubes
Helicopter

click here for the audio.

Advertisements

Prom Queen

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.

tick tock tick tock

Today is my three week "anniversary" of being in the hospital. At $1,000 a day (that’s the low estimate) just think of what I could have been doing instead.

But, really, who needs the Four Seasons on Maui when it comes to brewing up a little baby for three more weeks than anyone expected. My view might not be great, the food might be fairly tragic, my mood may often be even worse, but this is the place for me.

As many sleeping pills as you want (equally as many stool softeners, if you’re into that), some opiates for good measure on the really bad days (which, by the way, SUCK. Fuck that opiate noise), and some exciting heart-racing tocolytics to keep the contractions at bay… it’s a pharmaceutical lollapalooza. Though, admittedly, I decline pretty much everything. What would happen if I took an Ambien and then sleepwalked out of my room and drove around town and tried to make out with strangers? The commercials warn of these things, you know. Mostly, though, I hate the Ambien hangover.

There are always friendly people peeking into my underpants, and asking about my kids (sometimes at the same time!). The TV works. There’s an OT lady intent on making me paint a ceiling tile. And there is constant hammering and drilling because the L&D floor is under construction. What’s not to love, really?

Morgan, Laura, Laura II, Summer, LaRhonda, Melissa, Kristin, Katherine, Christine, Mary Lou, Bertha, Jennifer, Becky, Julie, Stephanie, Jenny (the best person to give shots ever) and many, many more who’s names I can’t remember. These have all been my nurses, and they’ve all been very nice. There was the one exception of Super Chatty Nurse telling me all about her dog’s strangulated testicle and her own loss of a 20-something week twin, and another exception of Nurse Who Made Me Pee In A Bedpan Because She Was Freaking Out, but really, they’ve all been nice.

And it’s nice to know that when things start spiraling into OH SHIT, they are here to help. It’s also fun to talk to them about their kickball team. A nice distraction when you’re getting 6 terb shots.

Yesterday was not a great day for me emotionally. The wee-er one has entered the "why" stage and she said "Mommy come?" when it was time for her to leave. I said I couldn’t and then the "whys" started. It made me very, very sad. She will grab my arm and say "Mommy come now?" and it is all I can do to keep it together. I have come up with a story about magnets in my butt that won’t let me leave the bed. Kind of ridiculous, but it makes her laugh when I pretend to struggle against them.

Of all the struggles, why is the pretend one the hardest?

me like food

After 18 days in the hospital (18!), I learned something very important today. I don’t have to eat that food they bring me. I can actually order anything from the cafeteria and they will bring that to me instead!

For lunch I have had a grilled cheese, a half a BBQ pork sandwich, vegetable soup, potato wedges, and a brownie (with another brownie I am saving for later). It is still not the best food I’ve ever had, but it is also not meat crepes (thanks, Claire, for that disgusting, but apt description).

They are also bringing me snacks now. Cheese and crackers or PB and crackers for 10 am and 2pm, and a sandwich and fruit for 10pm. Again, it’s kind of gross (sweaty american cheese slice, anyone? Moldy strawberries?) But I give them credit for knowing that grouchy hospitalized pregnant ladies get fucking hungry.

Also props to my friends who bring by non-moldy fruit and non-sweaty cheese and candy and trail mix and all sorts of yummy things.

Food. Good. Hospital. Sucks. Expectations. Lowered. Need. Salt.

Tired.

Just wondering

If I were to walk down the hallway and pass by the nurses station, holding my wallet and wearing only my t-shirt and underpants (my daily uniform), what would they do?

The plan would be to make it downstairs, hail a cab, ride to the airport, buy the first ticket on the earliest flight to Hawaii and then run away away away.

How far could I get with no pants and $11? I would at least settle for a margarita in the airport bar. Or even a bloody mary. Somehow that one seems more appropriate.

It was close

Yesterday morning at about 8 I started having really painful contractions and more bleeding. They weren’t stopping and I started to feel pressure. Not pushing pressure, but still that familiar labor feeling. Then there was a decel with the baby’s heartrate and things started happening fast. The IV went back in, the nurses showed up in surgery hats, they brought scrubs for my husband (the baby is transverse breech so we are 100% having a csection and it’s going to be an up and down job, old-school). Then my doctor showed up. He did a sonogram and a cervical exam and neither one of those pointed to distress or labor. So it was a gut decision on his part. He said if we were at 28 weeks we would have had the csection. But at 25 weeks 4 days his gut reaction was to wait and try to stop the contractions and keep the baby in my belly as long as possible.

6 shots of terbutaline and one nightmare of a stadol trip later things calmed down. No one expected to make it through the day without delivering him, but here we are. We may only have five more minutes or hours until the red alert begins again, but yesterday is over.

Weren’t we just talking about ups and downs? Damn.

Hmmmm

Contractions + baby still transverse breech + my doctor out of town + tropical storm due any minute + fire trucks at the hospital for a suspicious smoke smell = my guess is this baby is being born tonight via emergency c-section.

I mean, I truly sincerely desperately hope not, but you have to admit that through all of the crazy ass shit in this pregnancy, this would be the predictible way for it all to come together.