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I refer to urine multiple times in this post. Just a warning. That's where this started...
It actually started a few days ago. But I thought nothing of it. Pain. In my abdomen. Kinda like soreness from working out too much. Ligaments stretch when your pregnant so I ignored it.
But I couldn't wake up this morning. My husband woke me up at 8am with my favorite donuts, a cappacino and some milk. YUM. I took a bite of my treasured breakfast and passed back out, donut in hand. I felt AWFUL. I stayed in bed until 10:30. I drug myself up and got dressed then because I had errands to run and there would be people in my house later. I ran my errands. I didn't start feeling better. The opposite in fact. I didn't even do all the things I needed to. I just couldn't. I came home positive I was getting the summer flu. I walked in the door, went upstairs, dropped my purse and bags, and immediately went to pee. I pee like an old man. Every 10 minutes it seems. But I hadn't gone all morning and I needed to go bad. Being a person who believes in... wiping... I did just that. And when I was done, I happen to notice it was pink. I stood, looked down and the inside of the toilet was pink. Damn. Not good.
I called my doctor. I was panicky, I know, but bleeding is bad when you're preggers, and I didn't know for sure where it was coming from. Blood sends me into a bit of crisis-mode. After a barrage of questions, my doctor is satisfied. Not to worry, says my OB. Take it easy. Stay home and immobile for the weekend and come in Monday and we'll double check you.
I couldn't relax. So I took my sleeping pill (Dr. approved) and passed out. People showed up at my house at some point during my slumber. I never had any idea there was anyone there. I heard nothing. Until I sat upright in bed. The pain in my lower abdomen had spready to my back and woke me from a drug induced sleep. Damn again. Really not good. I had to pee again. Afterward, there was no pink. It was red.
My doctor didn't hesistate when I called her back. Go to the hospital... now. She'd met me up there. So I did what any concerned sane person would do. I changed out of my jammies to my nice jeans and a shirt. I brushed my teeth. I put on mascara. I decided the shoes I was wearing weren't hospital appropriate, so I searched for my flippy flops. THEN I went downstairs. Oh yeah. Company. My husband was entertaining. Recording, actually. I mumbled something to Mrs. Man Singer and her cutie daughter then fumbled into the room and told my husband we had to leave. I don't remember any of this. My head was so foggy and I felt dizzy. But I think I rudely kicked everyone out. Probably not politely. I dunno. Sorry K!!
So my husband took me to the hosital. At 690 miles per hour. Ok, SLIGHT exaggeration. But OMG. Scary. I was in pain and we needed to get there, but, as I tried to explain to him, I had taken the time to get dressed and put on mascara. We could go the speed limit. Then we go here to Presby Plano and couldn't figure out where we needed to be. All my doctor had said was "Third Floor". It's a big hospital. We wandered. Poor Scott got more and more frustrated. I think all he wanted was to run into someone... so we could ask. But there was no one. He walked yards in front of me. I couldn't keep up. He was trying to get me where I needed to be. At one point, he tried to lift one of those metal curtain things they pull down and lock when there's no one there. Then I got irriatated. And he hit a wall. Not hard. But it made a sound. I realize this was born of his worry but cripes!
Anyway, we finally found Labor and Delivery, which is where we were headed. Gown, pee in a cup, sit on bed. Check. It strikes me then and I mention randomly that I haven't felt little Durb move all day. That's odd. He is ACTIVE. Already. It was just a passing thought that I hadn't felt him yet. Then they bring out the little machine they use to hear the baby's heartbeat. Like a sonogram machine without the picture and bulk. Squirt some goo on my belly and press it up against my bump. I do this everytime I go to the doctor. This is old hat. I waited for the whomp..whomp..whomp... of baby Durb's heartbeat.
We heard nothing.
She moved the microphone. She pressed and pushed on my belly. Still nothing. She moved that thing all over my stomach. Scott is sitting in a chair across the room but I can't look at him. I am SEARCHING the expression on this woman's face looking for any sign that this is ok. We should hear something, but I was looking for... hope.
She wouldn't look at me.
Her eyes never met mine while she looked for a heartbeat. Bad. Very bad sign. There was another nurse in the room. Asking medical history questions. But not in that time frame. The room was silent except for the disgusting static of that machine. Heartbeat searching nurse gave up. Said something about that machine not being great. She'd have the doctor do a sonogram. Then they left. Scott and I sat in that room silently. My head swam with terror. My emotion system shut down. I looked him. He knew what was going on. I didn't have to say. But I did.
"They should have been able to hear a heartbeat."
All he said was, "I know."
So we waited. A million things passed through my mind. But I kept going back to... our baby boy has a NAME. He's a person. I feel him. Literally, I feel him. I know when he's awake and I know when he's asleep. This can NOT happen this way. I revisited every complaint I've made during this pregnancy. I felt guilty.
The doctor showed up after what seemed like forever, but was probably only 5 or 6 minutes with the sonogram machine. She gooed me up again and then asked Scott, who was still on the other side of the room, if he wanted to come watch. He stayed put. "I can see", he said. I didn't blame him. I was terrified of what we were going to NOT see. I didn't look. I didn't breath. And I couldn't even look at Scott.
"We're good", she said.
Stunned silence followed by my studdering, "There's a heartbeat?". I wasn't asking, I was begging.
"Yes. And he's squirmy. Moving around alot. Placenta's in the way. That's why you can't feel and we couldn't hear him."
I couldn't even react.
After all the madness died down, machine goes away, nurses ask question then went away, doctor goes over the plan then goes away, Scott came over and sat on my typical hospital bed. He took my hand. Poor thing. Ripped from one emotion to another. Worry layered with worry then drama of the highest sort.
I've never loved him more than I did in those moments.
So anyway, it's 4am. I had a nasty, bloody, painful IV put in and I have to piss on some weird toilet bowl litter box. I am STILL pissing blood (I have a kidney infection that could have been REALLY BAD and caused preterm labor) and am taking however many pills for who knows what every couple hours and I have to notify my nurse every time I tinkle, but in the darkness of this room, there are 3 healthy heartbeats. And that's enough reason to be thankful, I think.
I AM NOT thankful for Scott's snoring right now though. Geez. But I am happier than I can express that he's asleep on that thing they call a couch in my room here than at home abandoning me to the hospital nightlife.
Anyhoo, hopefully, we'll be home tomorrow.
I did get bored enough (and was super high on vicatin and no food) when Scott ran home to feed the dogs to take pictures with my blackberry.
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~~Update~~
And now we are home. And I was in a vicatin-induced coma most of the afternoon. Feeling better and I have 10 days of meds to get through, but hurray for being at home.
::Sigh of Relief::
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