Monthly Archives: August 2006

(Preterm) Labor & (Non) Delivery

So…. I wrote a really long post about my trip to labor and delivery. It’s way too long and boring and tells more about my cervix then you ever want to hear. But, since I wrote it, I’m still going to publish it because this is my blog and I can do that kind of thing if I want.

But since I’m kind, I’ll also offer you the short version:

Lots of Braxton Hicks. Sudden onset of lower back pain. Doctor says "go directly to hospital, do not pass go." Hospital hooks me up to monitors. Baby’s heartbeat is strong. (Go baby!) Mom is having mild contractions. Internal exam shows cervix closed up tight. Swab test will show if preterm labor is imminent. Wait for test results for 3 hours. In meantime, back pain is crippling. Ice chips and bucket to catch nauseous aftermath the only remedies offered. IV inserted. Ow. Finally test results come back. No preterm labor. Yay. Another internal exam – cervix still closed. Sent home with continued back pain and no explanation. Next morning I feel normal.

And, the loooooooooooooong version:

Hopefully this is part one of a two part story because I do not want to go back to the hospital until I’m ready to push this baby out. Yesterday reinforced my notion that I really don’t like hospitals.

So, where to begin. I guess on Sunday. Until this point I’d only felt an occasional Braxton Hicks (BH) contraction – one every few days. But Sunday (while I was sitting at a baby shower funnily enough) I started feeling them pretty frequently. I remember thinking at one point – "wow, I think I’ve had 3 BH since she started opening gifts." They continued with some frequency through the night and into the morning yesterday. But, I really didn’t pay too much attention to them.

Then Monday I was sitting in a meeting and once again I noticed I was getting them very often again. Like every 10-15 minutes. I thought maybe I should call my doctor when I got out of the meeting. But instead I called the cable company to get our cable moved. During the arduous 25-minute call, I started to feel some back pain. And then more pain and more pain and MORE PAIN. I stood up to try to walk it off and found I could hardly stand from the pain.

So, I sat down and googled "braxton hicks." (What did people do before Google?). The first article had a section called "When should I call my doctor or midwife? which included:

Call your caregiver right away if you haven’t reached 37 weeks and your contractions are becoming more frequent, rhythmic, or painful, or if you have any of these possible signs of preterm labor: ….  Low back pain, especially if it’s a new problem for you.

What Dr. Google says, I do. So, I called my doctor. She told me to go directly the hospital to get checked for preterm labor. About this time, the fear took hold. "Oh my god, I might be having my baby. It’s too early. This can’t happen." I not so calmly called my husband (by some miracle he was actually at his desk!) and told him to meet me at the hospital. One cab ride and about 52 potholes later, I arrived at the hospital, just as he was walking up. Another karmic coincidence. Surely everything was going to be ok.

We went to the 12th floor, to the "triage" area and had to fill out a bunch of paperwork since we hadn’t pre-registered yet. Then we sat and waited. And waited. The women at the desk were joking and having a good ‘ol time – all while my pain and fear were steadily increasing. Eventually a nurse took me in and gave me a gown and girdle-like thing to put on that I wasn’t sure where/how to wear. (Of course I put the gown on backwards, too – why don’t they come with instructions?)

I lay down and they took my vitals and put a monitor on for the baby’s heartbeat and for my contractions (under the girdle thingy – so that’s what it’s for!). It was so reassuring to see that heartbeat going strong! At this point, Ian was allowed to come back and we sat and waited. And waited. Eventually a doctor came by. She looked at my charts and said it looked like I was having some contractions. So, she did an internal exam and a step test just in case I was going into labor. The exam showed my cervix to be fully closed (good!). And she did another test that she said would tell us with 99% accuracy if I would go into pre-term labor in the next 2 weeks.

So, all we could do was sit back and wait for the test results. Sounds relaxing right? Except at this point I was sweating and clammy and feeling nauseous from the back pain. Ian got me some ice chips. And then a bucket because I thought I was going to throw up. (He’s such a good egg.) The nurse stuck an IV in my hand. But, then at some point (I lost all track of time), the pain started to subside. I actually started to feel chilly. And I started feeling almost normal again.

"Normal" lasted for a nice 30 minutes or so.  I tried to read my Jane Austen missive. Then abnormal searing pain in my lower back returned. I had to sit up and grab the bucket again. For 15 minutes (or was it longer? shorter?), all I could do was be in pain. I wasn’t able to talk, think, anything. But then almost as quickly as it started, it ended again and I felt ok again.

This cycle repeated a few more times. Ian went and got me US Weekly magazine to try to take my mind off things (What a sweet hubby – right?). Sometime in the fourth hour, a new doctor came by with the test results. They showed I was not in labor. But it still looked like I might be having contractions so he did another internal exam. My cervix was still closed up tight. So, he called my doctor and she said I should go home. The only explanation for my back pain was that sometimes the baby causes back pain during pregnancy.

We headed home. I had one more back attack while I was getting ready for bed. I fell asleep and woke up the next day feeling pretty ok.

In conclusion, it’s disconcerting not knowing exactly what caused all my pain on Monday. I’m taking it easy with all the packing and stuff to make sure I don’t overexert myself because I certainly do not want to visit labor & delivery again until this baby is fully cooked and I’m ready to deliver. The end.

29! 29! 29!

Today is August 29th.

I am 29 years old.

This is my 29th week of pregnancy.

And here are some photos to commemorate the occasion of so many 29’s aligning… [Disclaimer – these photos were taken on Sunday. I’m not feeling quite as chipper today after spending 5 hours in labor & delivery last night. Everything is ok – I’ll post about it in a bit.]

Aug2706_013

Aug2706_014

Doctors just don’t understand

Cookies
I just got back from my check-up at the doctors. As you may recall, three weeks ago I got scolded for gaining too much weight. So, I’ve made some small concessions – smaller portions (this is easy since I have less room in my belly for food), fewer sweets, and more walking. So, today I stepped on the scale and found I’d gained 1 (ONE!) pound. I declared victory. Because what is one pound really? It’s the difference between a cotton t-shirt and a light sweater.

But here’s the catch… I still got the freakin’ weight lecture again! About how I have to stop gaining weight. What the heck? Even pre-pregnancy, one pound is nothing to get concerned about – just normal fluctuation. She told me I should have only gained 20 pounds total for the entire pregnancy and I’ve already gained 30. Every book I’ve read says 25-35 is normal weight gain, so why do I have the most conservative doctor on the planet? She doesn’t want me to gain ANY MORE WEIGHT for the rest of the pregnancy.

As I mulled this over on my cab ride to work, I came up with these big pressing question:

How come everyone is supposed to gain the same amount of weight? I’m tall – why does someone 8 inches shorter than me have the same weight goals? Shouldn’t we gain a percentage of our weight during pregnancy instead of all being given the same hard number?

My conclusion is that my doctor needs to be realistic and supportive. Yes, I’ve gained 30 pounds, but at least 15 of those were during the first 3 months when I had to shovel carbs down my throat 24/7 to subdue my nauseau. Since then I seem to be on a good track. Throw the pregnant lady a bone and give her something more realistic than 0 pounds in final 11 weeks of pregnancy. Even 5 pounds and I would accept the challenge. But 0 pounds just makes me feel like I’m being set up to fail and therefore makes me want to eat gooey chocolate chocolate chip cookies all day long.

Dirty Birdies

Yesterday on my walk to the subway, a man on a bench told me that my body was looking good. Ewww. I brushed it off. Maybe he was just being nice and I took it the wrong way. Then — just now on my way to get a decaf — a man leaned in close to me while I was waiting to cross the street and said he wanted to do "fun things" with me. Blech. Ewww. Blech.

Attention dirty, perverted men: This bump is not in the least bit sexual. There’s a baby inside. A poor, innocent defenseless BABY who does not need to hear your disgusting comments. Plus, if you could spend a few hours with me and my gassy, acid refluxy, moody self, you’d take back those perverted comments and run far, far away. So, leave the pregnant women alone. We have no interest whatsoever in you dirtbags or sex (just ask our husbands if you don’t believe us).

When me becomes we

A funny thing happened in recent weeks. I stopped thinking in the singular. It’s no longer just me watching TV at night, it’s "we". It’s "us".

The baby has become so active, I really think of him as my companion now. I talk to him. Explain that I’m gasping not because something really horrible has happened, but because Allison just got kicked off Project Runway. (Though come to think of it, that was pretty horrible.)

We play a game now – I touch my belly where he’s just kicked then drag my finger a few inches away. He finds my finger and kicks it. (Or, punches it? I can’t figure out the baby’s orientation for the life of me.) Because, yes, my baby is clearly already a genius.

Of course, I still have plenty of selfish "me" moments. With my 30th birthday coming up, I have thoughts of what could have been. The villa in southern Italy. Or maybe the hot springs in Iceland. Those plans will have to wait – until maybe 35 or 40? I’ll be celebrating quietly at home this year. Or, rather we’ll be celebrating together this year. And that ain’t so bad.

3 years in the life of my kitchen

2 years ago – the chaos & agony of a summer of construction:

Kitchen_before

Cabinet_boxes

1 year ago – the sweet domestic calm:

Kitchen_after

Today – restoration of chaos:

Boxes001

I woefully underestimated the impact that a wedding would have on our move. When we moved into this apartment we had about 8 mismatched glasses. Today I packed over 80 glasses – martini glasses, wine glasses (stemmed and stemless), champagne flutes, 2 kinds of beer steins, water glasses, juice glasses, coffee mugs. We could go months without washing a glass. Anybody thirsty?

24 hours is too many

Oh Lordy. Is it the weekend yet? This week has been going on and on and on. Each day feels like a week. Or maybe two. Take yesterday for example:

7:30 am – Check email. Update from broker that closing might be delayed a month because seller has not gotten mortgage approval yet. Watch as mortgage + rental money flies out the window.

7:45 am – Finish Cheerios and head for shower. Discover there is no hot water. Decide to forgo the shower and use extra deoderant.

7:55 am – Try on 3 shirts before finding one that will cover belly fully.

9:00 am – Arrive at work. Hot & tired.

10:00 am – Check personal email. Discover I have won this sling from Cool Mom Picks. Life is good again.

10:30 am – Employee comes to my office and resigns. My first resignation. I try not to take it personally, but I do.

<Fast forward — where did the day go? Meetings, meetings, meetings>

6:50 pm – Rush out of work to meet hubby for dinner.

7:05 pm – Arrive a few minutes late to find distraught hubby. He gave the bartender a $20 for his beer and only got $4 in change back. Bartender refuses to believe that he was given $20 even though hubby is positive since he just went to ATM and only had $20s.

7:06 pm – Sit down for dinner. Gnaw on bread and listen to bartender story again. Feel sympathy.

7:10 pm – Ready to stop talking about bartender. Ready for fun night. Snap at husband. Sit in silence.

7:15 pm – Make up. Eat eggplant.

8:00 pm – Give bartender evil eye as we walk past him to leave. Walk to Babies R Us.

8:10 pm – Pick up a phaser (this is really what they call those registry guns). Start shooting random UPC codes.

8:14 pm – Realize despite my in depth reading of Baby Bargains, I’m still not sure what we need for a baby. Who gave us permission to recreate? We’re going to have a piddle pad and rain cover, but not stroller. Crib sheets, but not crib.

9:00 pm – Return phaser just as store is closing.

9:05 pm – Wait on subway platform for Q train.

9:15 pm – Still waiting for the train. Sweating profusely. Remember that I didn’t shower today and discretely try to smell pits.

9:20 pm – You guessed it – still no train. Leave station and hope to get a taxi. Air out pits.

9:30 pm – Find a taxi. On the way home finally.

10:00 pm – Traffic on Flatbush. Not moving.

10:10 pm – Aaaah moving again.

10:15 pm – Get to Grand Army Plaza and discover they have closed the circle for a police training exercise. Taxi driver curses. Watch helplessly as hundreds of police cars drive around with lights flashing.

10:25 pm – Home. At Last.

10:30 pm – One last check of email. Update from broker. Closing is back on track. Sigh of relief.

10:35 – Brush teeth then curl up in bed. Read Sports Illustrated because it’s the only magazine available without getting out of bed.

10:45 – Lights out.