Trick-or-Treat, Part II

For those of you wondering what the heck went on with me last weekend, here are at least some of the ooey-gooey details.

On alternating Fridays I was seeing my midwives and my perinatologist (my high-risk baby doctor). I like to alternate between both ends of the spectrum. Last Friday I had a cervical ultrasound with the perinatologist, Dr. Wright. While there, they discovered my cervix had shortened from 3 cm on 10/17 to 1.5 cm on 10/31. I was sent directly to the hospital. There was no going home to get Jeff. It was GO!!!! NOW!!!! So I went.

When I got to the hospital and they discovered that I was dilated 2 cm. I was also apparently having contractions every 2 minutes. I had no idea. Whoopsie-doodle! I was whisked off to labor and delivery where they pretty quickly got me on an IV in case dehyrdration was the cause. (I was pretty sure it wasn't since I had used the bathroom three times since I had arrived and I'm pretty infamous for my freakish need for hydration.) They did actually take my word for it on it not being dehyrdration, and they only waited a few minutes before putting me on magnesium to stop the contractions. I was also the recipient of a nice shot of steroids in the bum for the babies' lungs. You would think this would have been scary, but I was pretty detached. If anything, I was more annoyed because I didn't know what was in store for me and no one would tell me. Also, my gut instinct was that the babies were not ready to come out, and my uterus wasn't doing anything it hadn't been doing for the past 2 or 3 weeks. The contractions were so mild for me (although some looked nasty on the screen) that if I felt them at all, they felt like the babies were rolling over. No squeezing, no pain.

Friday afternoon they got the results of my fetal fibronectin, a test where they check for a protein that indicates whether you will deliver in the next 2 weeks, and the test is over 95% accurate. It was negative. So my body agreed with my gut that it just wasn't time for the little guys to make their arrival in the world. Meanwhile I stayed on magnesium which didn't stop my contractions, but it spaced them out and took them to a level where I couldn't feel them at all.

The weekend was mostly a waiting game. Late Friday I learned that I would have to stay until noon on Saturday when I would get my second steroid shot. Late Saturday I learned I would have to stay until noon on Sunday, 24 hours after the second steroid shot.

On Saturday night, I had a near nervous breakdown. It was a mix of hunger, discomfort, and frustration. Since I had arrived around 9:00 a.m. on Friday, I had been in bed with a heart rate monitor on each baby and the contraction monitor on my belly. I also had an IV with three different fluids in one arm and a blood pressure cuff permanently on my arm because they were all high-tech and it automatically took my blood pressure each hour on the hour. I was hot, stinky, and uncomfortable. My midwives kept checking on me because they just rock, but given the circumstances, they unfortunately had to turn over my care to the OB/GYNs. The OBs kept thinking I would deliver at any second, so they wouldn't let me move for fear it would bring on instant dilation and they wouldn't let me eat for fear that I would need an emergency c-section. (Throughout this, the boys showed NO signs of fetal distress through any of the contractions which would have been the only thing to trigger a c-section.) I was allowed to eat lunch on Saturday, and with a burger and fries in my belly (ahhh...healthy hospital food!), my contractions stopped. But that was my only food between 6:30 on Friday morning and late Saturday night, because when the contractions stopped they cut back on my magnesium, but that started the contraction roller coaster again, so the nurses weren't allowed to give me food until they talked to the OB on duty. And so I waited for her and waited and waited, my belly and boys growling all the time and my contractions increasing due to the hunger. I had seen the OB at 9:30 on Saturday morning, and I didn't hear from her again until 5:30 on Sunday morning when she gave the nurses order to cut me off magnesium completely. (I didn't actually see her then.) Again, the midwives were nice enough to fill me in, and it turns out Saturday had just been a horrible day in labor and delivery. Lots of emergencies, and while being ignored meant I was their lowest risk, they also saw me as a time bomb just waiting to go off like everyone else who happened to be there. I was clearly in the wrong place at the wrong time.

On Sunday morning, I finally talked to the OB on duty, and I let her know that I would like to be able to plan because I needed to work on Monday, and I wanted to know if I will be working from the hospital, from home, or from work. She said she would get back to me as soon as she talked to Dr. Wright. Around 5:30 or 6:00 on Sunday night I started getting nauseous and contracting due to the continued lack of food. (I had been eating about 3,000 calories a day prior to being admitted, and since arriving in the hospital I had already used enough of my fat reserves that I was sporting some skinny legs. What a horrible time to finally have nice legs!) I was still told to just keep waiting for Dr. Wright.

Dr. Wright arrived around 7:00 p.m. and was totally apologetic. No one told her they were waiting on her to make any decision regarding me, and if she had known, she would've been there at 10:00 a.m. Before we even talked, she demanded someone get me food and something to drink since I had also been denied liquids due to the c-section risk. She was very supportive. She also got me off the IV, allowed me to take a shower, and had me moved to the Antepartum Unit with all the other preterm mommies.

The Antepartum Unit was like a spa! My room looked like a hotel room. It had hardwood floors, an HDTV with a DVD player, a couch, a chair, a table, and a nice desk with docking station for my laptop. Also, there was no monitoring, I could use my spacious bathroom all by myself whenever I wanted, I got to wear real clothes, and there was a nutrition room where I could help myself to all the healthy snacks I wanted 24/7. Down the hall there was a lounge with games, books, and nice furniture and an outdoor balcony with patio furniture. It is good that it was so nice, because shortly after my arrival, the OB on duty said I would be staying until I was at least 34 weeks pregnant, which wouldn't happen for 16 more days.

So that was not great news, but at least I finally knew what was going on, and I had a real bed to sleep in, so I got some sleep on Sunday night. On Monday morning, Dr. Wright came to see me, and her first question was, "Would you rather be at home?" I almost hit my head on the ceiling I was so excited. She told me not to get my hopes up, but they were going to run one more hour-long non-stress test (NST) for the babies where they were hooked up to the monitor and then do a full ultrasound of the babies. If everything checked out, I was a free woman (although on bed rest). Bed rest had never sounded SO good.

During the NST I still had contractions, but they were no different from what I had been having, and during the ultrasound, both babies looked great. The babies were very active, they were "breathing" well through their steroid-enriched lungs, and their hearts looked nice and healthy. There was also a great deal of fluid around each baby, which is a good thing. So the OB on duty reluctantly discharged me since he wouldn't contradict the "expert." But he clearly thought Dr. Wright was as nuts as me. (Obviously he has never experienced the physical and mental discomfort of being strapped down for 60 hours with five monitors in/on him with no one telling him what was going on and a toddler that keeps asking when mommy will come home.)

So now I am home on bed rest, and I am pretty excited about it, having seen the alternative. I may end up back in the hospital, but I will enjoy being here while I can. I am still working full-time since I need to save what little leave I do have for actual maternity leave. I have been managing 6 or 7 hours of work a day which means I should actually get a day off from work each week. And there is a part of me that is enjoying the excuse not to have to do everything. R has adapted fairly quickly to the idea of "Sick Mommy," my new name, who can't do all the normal mommy things. My movement is technically restricted to "bathroom privileges" but I am cheating a bit since I was in good shape before and really feel no different. I am at least getting up to sit and read with Ree and to sit at the table during meals. Things could be a whole lot worse.