All Better

When I was googling the HECK out of "marginal placenta previa" and "placental abruption", every website I found said it was kind of irreversible. Intimated that "someone" with the condition would be on bedrest until baby came. Nothing to be done; this kind of thing doesn't fix itself.

Mine reversed. I'm off bedrest, and latest sonogram look like it never happened. It fixed itself.

Take THAT world wide web.

I still have a low lying placenta, and can't do much but I AM OKAY. And, more importantly, the future soccer star now known as Spunketta is okay.

And that's nice.

Now. How are YOU?

Back From The Hospital

Okay, the high points: I had (have?) a placental abruption. Which we hope is either mended or mending. I was admitted into the hospital on Thursday, discharged this morning. Instructed to be on bedrest for the whole week and then see my doctor next week. Oh, and if I have any blood or discharge or pain, I am to come back immediately.

Hi, how was your weekend?

The long version: Thursday morning, I woke up about 1:00AM convinced I was bleeding. I checked myself quickly, and thought everything was okay. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

In the morning, I found out that my dream was right. Not a lot of blood, but BLOOD. I called the doctor's office, who transferred me to the doctor on call. She said come in immediately. This was 5:00AM.

But we couldn't.

H and I showered and dressed quickly. Then it was Mama's turn, and she does NOTHING quickly. I sat on the sofa and panicked. I was ready to wake the neighbors, tap on the super's door, ANYTHING to get me out of that door a little quicker. H was calm and insistent. We were not going to disrupt Mama's morning routine.

So we bathed her, fed her, gave her the morning pills. And the whole time, I am dying inside, hoping that whatever is going on with me is not time sensitive because the doctor ordered me in an hour ago, ninety minutes ago, two hours ago and I am still not there.

H kept insisting, the entire time, that it was nothing. Thought it was urinary. Nothing to worry about.

Anyway. We get to the hospital about 8:30PM. H starts to wax poetic about the last time he was in the neighborhood (the hospital is no where near our house) and how Malcolm X was shot across the street and starts this long anecdote that I do not have the patience of flat out mental ability to follow. I say "whatever" and that throws H into an incredible snit. He throws a small tantrum in the elevator as we're on our way up to labor and delivery about how insensitive I am.
I am in an awesome mood, let me tell you.

We check in and, as always, the first thing they want is your insurance. H answers all the questions for me, my name, my DOB, etc. The insurance intake clerk thinks its funny, and she and H fall into an easy camaraderie. Laughing, joking. I'm just numb.

When we're alone again, I apologize to H for being insensitive but point out to him that I'm a little stressed. He continues his snit and tells me I should be handling it better.

I get taken to triage, where they give me a gown and hook me up to fetal monitors. Apparently, I am having contractions, although I don't realize it. They put me on an IV, which took two nurses and four attempts.

I'm examined and found to be bleeding from my OS. What the hell's an OS? Here I thought of myself as this knowledgeable IF'er, and I don't know I have an OS? (The nurse kindly draws a picture).

A sonogram is ordered. An actual doctor is on his way. Phrases are being bandied about like placenta previa, placental abruption, preterm labor.

H keeps calling home, but Mama is not picking up the phone. He was too self-conscious to tap on neighbors' doors for help, and so convinced that this was going to be nothing that he left Mama home alone. Which we cannot do.

So he leaves me there, to cope with whatever's going on while he goes home to take care of his mother.

I try to put a brave face on it, but as soon as he goes, I am sobbing. I had been crying in the car (which irritated H no end; he accused me of using my tears to manipulate him).

I realize I have absolutely no one to call. No one who can or will drop everything and come to me and hold my hand and tell me everything will be all right. I'm all alone.

I get admitted into the high risk wing, which is (realtively) easy. My nurse is young and chipper and gets me food and water (my first of the day). She shoots me with a steroid "in case you give birth today" and gets ahold of my drugs, which I had completely forgotten to take.

And then I wait.

By this point, I've got an IV, a fetal monitor, a contraction monitor (does that thing have a name?), a blood pressure cuff and that thing they put on your fingertip. If I want to go to the bathroom, I have to call for assistance.

I keep asking for water, refilling my bottle with tap water and while away the day. There is nothing like a clock in the room, and I am amazed when lunch and then dinner show up. And when my brother shows up.

H shows up sometime later, having stopped off to do some shopping (He's all excited -- he decided to get a new electric toothbrush).

At this point, I'm feeling kind of hopeful. The blood is less and less and less. Almost non-existent. My (actual, real-life) doctor has shown up to check on me. I start to think, this might be over soon.

And then Spunketta's heart rate slows. Twice. Within a fifteen minute window. Slows below the 110 level they're looking for.

"If this continues, we're delivering you tonight," my doctor pronounces.

My brother leaves (previous engagement) and H and I try to process what the doctor's saying.
"So should I stay?" H asks the doctor. Once again, he has left Mama home alone, which we cannot do. So now he's faced with risking her safety or risking not being there when I (if I) go into labor.

I'm not happy about H leaving, but he insists. Mama needs to be taken care of. He promises me that he will be in Friday morning FIRST THING to see me. 5:00AM he says he will be there.
I go on my left side and I do not move. And I mean, I DO NOT MOVE. Certain postures make it hard to track the baby; I'm going to make it as easy as possible for everyone involved. (Um. Except me).

I meet with the anesthesiologist. Just in case I go into labor. I meet with the NICU doctor. Just in case I go into labor. I still don't move. Just to keep me from having to go into labor.

The night goes well. The discharge continues to be less and less; Spunketta tracks well. I get up every few hours to bo to the bathroom and stretch. By this time, in addition to the other gear, I've got "pressure booties" around my legs, to make sure no clots develop.

I'm told early Friday monring that inducing delivery is off the table (temporarily, anyway) and I try to call H. And try. And try.

Turns out that my husband went home, got drunk and turned off all the phones. For what ever reason, H just checked out of what was going on.

Great.

I see another parade of doctors, residents, nurses, nurse practioners, nurses assistants. At this point, they're thinking that I'm out of the woods, but that we're going to wait and see to make sure.

My brother shows up just in time to move me from the high risk room to the "antepartum" (?) room. The nurse asks if he's my husband. Huh.

We monitor some more (all's good). We monitor after that (still good). I finally gt the okay to leave; all I have to do is locate someone to take me home. (Because you absolutely, positively have to have someone take you home).

Finally I locate my husband, and we're off.

And we're fine.

But YIKES.

We are so not ready for this...

I'm Bleeding

..and the doctor says "come to the hospital." Labor and delivery, as a matter of fact.

Only we can't, because we need to find Mama coverage.

(And yes, I KNOW we should have mapped that out beforehand, but H kpt saying it was too early).

Which it is.

For everything.