My Real Life

So, last night, around 5:30, I was thinking about making dinner (note that I was not actually making dinner…just thinking about it) when I started having some sharp, excruciating pains in my lower abdomen.

I have a ridiculously high tolerance for pain, so when it actually took my breath away, I panicked.

A little.

I called Real Man and left a message saying “Honey, I just got your message.  Yes, I would LOVE for you to pick up subs on your way home from work, and I can’t believe you remembered that I’d love a small bag of Fritos and a Cherry Coke as a little treat!  Thanks so much!”

Within 3 minutes, he called back and said, “I’m kinda bummed.  My phone is broken.”

I was surprised because he takes good care of his toys.

“Oh no!  I’m so sorry!  What’s the problem?”

He responded with a dry, “Apparently, it’s been calling people and leaving messages that I am NOT leaving.”

He’s funny.

He’s also awesome and picked up dinner so that I could lay down.

By the time he brought dinner home, I was in more pain, and so I actually skipped it and just kept lying on my left side, which is what the internet said I should do, and I get ALL of my medical advice online.

(At this point, I’d like to point out that the biggest grammatical Achilles heel is knowing when to use “lay” and when to use “lie” and as I did a lot of “laying” or “lying” around throughout the course of this vignette, if you know the difference, just play along and try your hardest not to correct me.  I’ll look it up and learn it for next time.  Promise.)

After an hour, it was down to a dull ache, so I went upstairs and ate, then came back to bed.

By 9, it was all good and I slept a good, sound sleep.

The alarm went off at 5:45 and I bounded out of bed, full of enthusiasm for the bright, shining day of new experiences ahead.

Okay, let’s rewrite with a little more truth.

The alarm went off at 5:45 and I hit snooze 4 times, then spent three minutes trying to get this enormous belly into a sitting position, swung my legs off the bed, sat there for a minute, then started the rocking motions in which I now need to engage in order to stand from a sitting position, and got up.

Guess what.

As soon as I stood, the pain was back.  8 on a scale of 1 to 10.  Ow.

However, there was no lying on my side to make it go away, because after 4 snoozes, I need to get this butt into the shower so I can get to school on time.

Showered, dressed, helped monkeys get everything together for the day, and went to school.

Ow.

It now wasn’t subsiding, even when sitting while driving, and by the time I got to school, I was walking like a 97 year old woman who has lost her cane, but is hunched over anyway, since she’s used to walking that way because she’s had the cane since she was 75.

I got up to my classroom and called the doctor and left a message with the service.

Now, you may wonder why I went to work when I knew I was in that much pain, and the plain and simple answer is, I’m a teacher.

My “clients” need me.  While I firmly believe that if I’ve done my job well, they don’t actually need me to learn, because I’ve been working very hard at facilitating their independent learning this year so that they can apply this skill in every area of their lives, both academic and personal, but they do count on me being there and the structure to their day that my presence helps to create.  So, unless I’m vomiting, I go to work.

The doctor called back within 5 minutes and said that with my placenta issues, I was to head over to Labor and Delivery immediately.

So, I left plans on my desk, told the office I needed a sub and called Real Man and told him not to leave yet, cuz Mama’s comin’ home.

I got home and we dropped Baby Monkey at daycare (who was absolutely delightful in the car…kids a character) and went to the hospital.

They gave me a gown to put on, and I headed into the bathroom to change.

I couldn’t remember if she said open in the front or open in the back.

This happens to me every single time I have to wear a hospital gown.

Not that this is a common occurrence, but when I do, I always, always forget, despite repeating the mantra “Listen to what she says about the gown, listen to what she says about the gown,” while being given directions.  Perhaps that is why I miss it every time…the mantra overshadows the directions.

Anyway, I finally found a little pocket on the gown (why, I don’t know) and figured that the pocket should probably go in the front.

Mystery solved.

Open in the back.

I go back to the room and they hook up a fetal monitor and take my blood pressure.

I’m good to go.

And so, I lay there and chat with Real Man for about three hours before the doctor gets there.

She says that she thinks it’s muscle pain, but she wants to get an ultrasound to check the placenta and wants to do a fun test to determine whether I’m going to go into labor in the next two weeks (due in 8).

So, the fun begins.

I’m not going to describe the test.

I’m also not going to describe the two different types of ultrasounds.

They were…thorough.

The ultrasound results were instant.

Placenta, still low-lying, partially covering the cervix.

Translation, not good.

Since I’m having a c-section it is less not-good for me because I don’t have to deliver around it, so that’s good news!

The bad news is that it is laying directly on the scar, which was what they’ve been worried about for a few months now.  Could get ugly in surgery.  I believe the words she used in our original meeting about this were “Not good”, “bleeding out”, “chance of death to the mother.”

Good times.

However, those were worst case scenarios, and I have to be honest, I feel like I am in superior hands with my crew of doctors, so if that’s the case, they’ll do what they have to do and I’ll make it sound funny and blog about it later.

Moving on.

Then, we waited for another two hours before the results came back.

Tests take time.  I get it.

Neither Real Man nor I had eaten since 6:45 am.

It was now after 2 pm.

We were about to start eating the medical equipment that didn’t appear to have a purpose in the room.

We were also exhausted and decided to close our eyes for just a second.

We both fell asleep.

Which is exactly when the doctor returned with the results.

And, the funny part of that is that, not 10 minutes earlier, Real Man said, “Hey…what embarrassing thing should I start doing to guarantee that someone comes in the room?”

Falling asleep wasn’t one of the ideas we came up with, but it worked like a charm, apparently.

So, she said to us, “Well, I’m actually surprised.  The results are positive.”

Needing to be reminded I said, “And this was testing if I’m going to deliver in the next two weeks?” my voice rising in substantial increments as I spoke each word and my anxiety kicked in.

“Yes.”

So, apparently, it’s not 100% positive that I will deliver in the next two weeks, but there is a high percentage chance that I will.

So, let’s find the silver lining.

The ultrasound measurements showed that the baby, as of today, 8 weeks before my due date, is 5 pounds, 5 ounces, so if it comes, it’s actually a healthy size and shouldn’t have to stay in the hospital.

However, the lungs are the last to fully develop, so she said she was going to send the nurse in with a steroid shot.

She leaves.

I’m panicking about the new possible birthday of this baby, but feeling fine about the shot, because as allergy girl, I’ve been getting 3 shots in each arm, once a month, since I was 8.

Real Man looks at me sympathetically and says, “Um, honey…you know where you are getting that shot, don’t you?”

I say, “Of course…in my arm.  I’m the queen of shots.”

He reaches out and takes my hand and informs me that this shot ain’t going in any body part other than the one I’m currently sitting on.

Excuse me?

At this point, the nurse comes in with a needle I would imagine one might use to give an elephant a shot and I say, “Where exactly are you putting that?”

She says, “Sorry sweetie…stand up and turn around.”

Good times.

I almost break Real Man’s hand, but I take my shot like a pro.

And then she says, “Now, here’s the shot for tomorrow.  You need to come back at the same time tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll give you this second shot.”

Excuse me?

Looks like I’m set up for some more good times in the morrow.

So, the doctor comes back and I say, “So, I’m good to go?  I can go back to work tomorrow?”

She looks at me like I’ve grown a third head and talks to me like I’m the 16 year old I was when I first met her.

“Uh, no, sweetie.  You are going home to lay on your bed and do nothing for at least 5 days.”

Excuse me?

So, end result, for the time being is that I had to take Friday off, but we already have Monday off, and I’m clear to return to work on Tuesday.  I have an appointment that afternoon and we’ll see where we are from there.

Bedrest and a mother of three don’t really go hand-in-hand, but we’re making it work in our own little way.

I like to call it “modified bedrest.”

So, I’ll let you know how Tuesday goes, but for now, I’m laying low.

Or lying low.

Who knows?

Who cares?

Bottom line was that the baby looked fantastic and healthy.

I’m the fly in the ointment, here, but I’ll do whatever needs to be done to keep the newest monkey safe and cooking a little longer.

Good times.