I've become one of those annoying people who is always having drama.
Sunday night I woke up with non-stop contractions. And from then on, they have never really stopped.My doctor's advice was to "take it way easy," "stay super hydrated," and "keep your bladder empty." You ladies see the built-in contradictions there. So I've been spending the days trying not to get out of my chair and the nights soaking in the tub to stop contractions. Because little Betsy needs to stay in the oven for at least a few more weeks.
Finally last night, when I couldn't get the contractions to ease at all, Mark and I went to the hospital. I wasn't in full-on labor, but the whole point was that I didn't want to be in full-on labor and wanted to get some help before I reached the point of no return.
Turns out there's a magical test that tells you with 95+% accuracy if you'll be delivering in the next two weeks. My first thought was, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS BEFORE?" You know, like before I spent a week counting and monitoring and worrying over every contraction and trying to run my household from an easy chair. My second thought was, "How can that possibly work?"
But work it apparently does, and my test was negative. Betsy's firmly ensconced for a good two weeks. Which puts all this in a whole new light. I can tolerate contractions just fine--as long as I'm not worrying that they'll lead to the premature birth of my girl.
I left the hospital after a few hours--but not before being totally violated in ways I shudder to remember. Seriously. I hate getting sucked into the chomping maws of the medical machine.* Turns out the most invasive and horrific test** they did was to check for--of all things--a urinary tract infection. When the test didn't take the first time and they threatened to do it again, I finally said, "I'm pretty sure I'd know if I had a urinary tract infection, so can we just skip this? What needs to happen so I can go home?" The nurse said, "Oh! Well, how about you just pee in a cup while I fill out your discharge papers?" There you go.
Anyway, once again, I return to the land of the living. How long do you think I can make it til the next round of drama?
* In defense of the medical establishment, the point of all the tests was to determine if I had some infection that was prompting my body to protect the baby by ejecting it.
** This assessment from a woman who gave birth to a 10-pound baby with no medication.