At about 4:30 this morning I woke up (this makes it sound like I was actually sleeping. I was not. I do not.) with extreme discomfort in my belly. I tried turning over (multiple times), I tried tooting (hey, sometimes it makes it feel better) and there was just nothing that made it go away. I finally sat up, which woke up Matthew. I told him it was hurting, a lot, and that I was going to go downstairs to watch TV and maybe distract myself. He decides to get up with me.
It doesn't occur to me that the pain is appearing to be more cyclical, and in my back, and hey, maybe these are some contractions we might want to pay attention to, until about a half hour into it.
We start timing them at 5 a.m. while we watch Sports Center which, FYI, is about the only non-paid programming on at that time on a Saturday morning. My doctor just told me this past week that I should call when I have them five minutes apart for at least an hour. I remember when she told me this I thought that would never happen, since the closest I'd ever had them so far was maybe 15 minutes, and even then they seemed frequent.
They are coming every five minutes, and are increasingly uncomfortable. Interesting.
Around 6:30, I decide to call the doctor on-call, just to see what they say. She asks me if I feel like my water has broken, and at that point I tell her no. She says to wait it out, and if they're still five minutes apart by 8:00, then head down to the MAC to get checked out. I am OK with this, so we decide to just wait.
It is important to point out that as of this morning at 6:30 AM, we had nothing prepared for a trip to the hospital. NOTHING. I did pick up a few nursing tanks at Target on Thursday night, but I had yet to try them on, and they still had their tags on in the closet. My plan was to get things together "this weekend."
I'm still feeling like maybe we won't end up going, but we pull out the checklist from the hospital-assigned baby book and start trying to assemble things. It doesn't seem so bad -- remember a swimsuit for Matthew, some flip flops, hey, toss in my robe, do you want a deck of cards, etc. It is only when we get to the "What to Bring for Baby" section that we realize how relatively unprepared we actually are. We literally cannot check off any item on the list. We don't have a car seat. We don't even have any clothes ready. Because: On Thursday when we were at Target, I said to Matthew that we can just buy the baby laundry detergent when we go grocery shopping on Sunday because "I have a coupon."
This of course means that absolutely nothing that we have for Bug has been washed. At all. Because I wanted to save $1.00.
Again, I'm still feeling sort of non-rushed, and choose to deal with it after I take a shower. Contractions continue, but shower feels awesome. And speaking of showers, I should point out that later today I was supposed to have another baby shower. "Sorry, we have to cancel, she went into labor!" I assumed they'd understand.
Anyway. I get out of the shower and I'm drying my hair. And all of a sudden it feels like I just wet my pants. Shit. Upon further inspection it seems, to me at least, to feel quite "watery." All of a sudden this "maybe" trip to the MAC is looking much more certain.
Enter panic. Now we really do have to get our shit together for the hospital. I try and pull out some clothes onto Bug's dresser that my mom can come wash for us later. I look at my bathroom sink and realize that anyone who might have to come to our house for us while we are gone will think that we live in squalor. Awesome.
Matt, ever the practical one (and we'll give this one to him since he is not having contractions) decides to calmly finish washing all breakfast dishes and put everything away in the kitchen. I'm pacing around like an idiot in the hallway, alternating between checking my underwear for further leaks and pulling random toiletries out of the closet. I have no idea what I'm doing.
We finally get most things pulled together and leave around 7:45. The dog looks terrified and confused. The contractions are still every 5 minutes.
We arrive at the MAC and the woman working the desk this morning is very nice. I get assigned a room (why must these rooms be set at 85 degrees?), undress from the waist down, and climb onto the puppy pad (this is what I call the large square pad they put on the bed to catch leaks of God only knows what).
A few minutes later, Ruth, the nurse, comes in. Ruth is in the room for five seconds and I hate her already. HATE.
I understand she probably deals with idiots on a daily basis, but I, my friend, am not one, so please stop treating me like one. She talks to me like I have no idea what's going on with my own body. She seems skeptical at everything I'm telling her, even as each of my contractions (I told you) registers on the monitor. She gives me the test for the amniotic fluid (which I have had before, totally other story) and then leaves.
I watch the test strip on the counter fill with only one line, which I know means negative. I am upset about this, because if that's not what was coming out of there, I need to know what the hell was. And I'm not totally convinced that the test is working (rationality = non-existent).
As I lay on the bed, Bug starts going absolutely mental. Heart rate jumping into the 180s, and loud static on the monitor (any time they move while you're on the monitor it is REALLY loud). She has seriously never moved this much, ever. Nurse comes back in to see, I'm sure, if we're messing with the equipment. "Active baby," she says. Which is ironic for so many reasons, but I choose to not answer. "Maybe she knows something's going to happen."
Maybe. Contractions are still every five minutes or so.
She comes back to read the test strip and says it's negative and essentially is trying to send me home. In the car on the way there I told Matthew that I assumed we would probably be sent home, and that I was OK with it, but all of a sudden I was Not OK With It. Part of it was my feeling that this nurse was incredibly inept, and part of it was that I just felt like something was wrong. Could I sue if I really was leaking fluid and they told me I wasn't and then I go and get some sort of rabid infection? Probably. But no one likes a lawsuit.
She then tells me she is going to check my cervix. She asks me when my last exam was, and I told her on Wednesday. At that time I was about 1cm, and 30% effaced (not much progress, but better than nothing). She puts on the glove, asks me to put my fists behind my back (??) and goes in for the kill.
I have seriously never had a more painful pelvic exam in my ENTIRE LIFE. I actually started crying. I have no idea what she did, but gentle must just be not part of her vocabulary. She tells Matt to "hold [my] hand" while she's in there to get me to stop squirming. MAYBE IF YOU MOVED A BIT SLOWER AND WITH LESS FORCE, I WOULDN'T HAVE TO CRY AND WRITHE ON THE BED.
And after all that, the cervix has apparently not changed since Wednesday. AND she tells me that it's "completely dry" in there. Woman, that thing has not been dry since the day I got pregnant. I can show you how many damn pantiliners I go through in a day. I don't make this shit up. AND I do not recall you ever even LOOKING at that glove once you removed it. And I was right there. This is the last straw. She and I exchange some words, and it is decided that we will go walk around for an hour to see if that speeds up my contractions and/or I leak any additional amount. She leaves.
Me: "I really don't like her."
Matt: "I can see that. You could cut the tension between you two with a knife."
I compose myself and we walk toward the Midtown Market to get some coffee. They are getting stronger, but not necessarily any closer together. I have the most delicious latte of my life to date.
We burn an hour and come back. She pulls out another glove and goes in. She is marginally more gentle this time, or else my tissue is just so scarred from last time it has numbed itself in self-defense.
No change.
We are sent home with the new instructions to call when they are "2-3 minutes apart." I don't know if this is a promotion or a demotion from the previous 5 minute threshold.
Either way, it is now almost 10:30, and I was supposed to be at the baby shower by 11:30. We go home and I sleep for 15 minutes. Matt drives me to the shower. My mother happened to call us while we were walking around for our hour-long detention, so is aware of the morning's situation. She is surprisingly calm and thankfully does not discuss it with any other guests.
The shower continues very pleasantly, despite continued contractions. We get lots of nice things, including a car seat (!). People unknowingly make jokes about how "she could come tomorrow!"
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It is now almost 11:30 PM and the contractions have ceased their regularity. I am OK with this, especially since I never thought I would have an early baby, anyway. It was just such a tease, though! Matt told me that a teacher at work said his wife had contractions every 1o minutes for two solid weeks before she gave birth. If that is what ends up happening to me, I will be an even unhappier camper than I already am.
And I did send him to go get laundry detergent, so all of Bug's necessary items are now clean. Just in case.
36 weeks, 2 days. Growing exponentially.
Big brother Basie and Dad, getting excited.
How far along? 36 weeks, 2 days (3 days if you've already gone to daylight saving's time)
Total weight gain/loss: Only one pound from week 35 to 36. I consider this a win.
Maternity clothes? I have maybe three work-appropriate outfits remaining that fit.
Stretch marks? No
Sleep: Never at appropriate (read: night) times
Best moment this week: Although miniscule, there is at least SOME progress.
Movement: I thought this morning we might just rip our way out of my stomach on our own.
Food cravings: Candy. Jellybeans.
Gender: Girl
Belly button in or out? In
Labor Signs: Read previous post
What I miss: Sleeping through the night
What I am looking forward to: The time when she actually comes
Weekly Wisdom: You might want to get your hospital bag ready before 36 weeks.
Milestones: Baby clothes washing has begun
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