I am trying so hard to enjoy this ride called pregnancy, but I think they might need to let me off a little early. I'm starting to get vaguely nauseous...
So, yesterday morning was tough. Yesterday got a lot better by nighttime. The McDonald's cheeseburger certainly helped, as well as Brian and I were able to pick out the rest of our maternity photos (no, I will not be posting a link to ALL of them...sorry). Emma was in a chipper mood and ate the rest of her food, much to my delight. Overall, I went to bed feeling 100x better than when I had woken up.
And then this morning, I woke up feeling terrific. I mean, awesome. My back didn't hurt, my hips were aching, and I felt well-rested. Good morning, Las Vegas!
This should have been my first clue that something is wrong.
(I know, how sad is it that anytime a good thing/feeling happens, I am instantly suspicious. Such is my life.)
It didn't occur to me until I was getting dressed for my Thursday fetal monitoring appointment as to WHY I felt good...not only did my body feel good, but my clothes fit. They fit really well. My favorite black shirt actually extended past my belly...when last week, it hadn't. And then it hit me - I felt smaller. A LOT smaller.
Regardless of this insight, I went to my appointment practically whistling. No contractions were recorded in the first ten minutes of my appointment and the baby's heartbeat seemed strong. When the nurse came bustling in, I thought maybe she just forgot some paperwork or something. Nope. Turns out, Baby B decided to sleep in that morning. "We're going to need to wake him up," she told me with a smile. And how does one do that? I wondered. Oh, with a horribly loud buzzer they place directly on your abdomen. She returned to the room with this instrument that looked a little like a phone receiver without the talking part, placed it directly on my abdomen, and SHOCKED my baby. I almost slapped her hand away. The poor little guy was instantly awake (who wouldn't be?) and started jumping around. I mean, legs and arms were flailing. I could see parts of him visibly move through my skin. I felt bad for him, but tried not to let it dampen my mood. Poor kid. Hopefully he won't be mad at me in the future. But, you know, it's medically necessary. Blah, blah.
And then it was time for the ultrasound. As the nurse measured fluid levels, she started muttering under her breath. "That can't be right," she said quietly, and redid the measurements. On the screen, the same numbers continued to pop up.
16.75. Total fluid.
I was at 21 on Monday, and 26 two weeks ago. While 16.75 is technically a great number (anything between 10-24 is normal), she looked at me with concern since I had lost over 5cm of fluid in four days. She said losing 2-3cm over several weeks is normal, but 5cm in four days is fairly unusual. She checked to make sure there was no fluid leaking (nope), and just encouraged me to keep drinking lots of water. She then said, as only a true clinician can, "I'll be really curious to see what your levels are on Monday." I know she didn't mean it in an insensitive manner (since I've also made the mistake of casually commenting to my patients about the progress of their disorder), but it left me feeling like an open book. Let's hope this has a happy ending.
Ugh, I just wish I could have a non-interesting visit. I mean, on Monday, they were seriously considering doing a decompression amnio to remove extra fluid. And perhaps my body heard that and decided to perform it on its own. If I drop below 7-8cm of fluid, they do what is called an 'infusion amnio,' where additional fluid is injected into the uterus. Can this child just please make up his mind? I don't enjoy this wild swings between both extremes.
I also feel like this pregnancy has been a study in obstetrics. I've joked with people that when I read pregnancy books, I feel like I should be memorizing the material, almost as if this was a class. Well, while some friends accuse me of being too 'worst-case-scenario,' I'm really glad I have some of that knowledge. As soon as the nurse started talking about ruptured membranes, I commented, "But PPROM (preterm premature rupture of the membranes) is fairly uncommon; only 3% of pregnancies are affected by it." She looked at me like I was a little crazy (not necessarily inaccurate) and continued with the exam. If only I had studied this hard in college.
So, who knows. I am so tired of worrying about stuff I have very little control over. Just think boring thoughts everyone. I would love a very quiet, very boring next 3-4 weeks. Thanks.
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Well, nothing sucks away vanity over a couple of photos like a late-night trip to Labor and Delivery. All of my self-consumed whining went straight out the door in about 3.4 seconds when once again, I feared this child might come 8 weeks too early. Eek! The photos are up. Well, some. It's just a 'sneak peak' and Brian and I will see the rest on Wednesday night. America's Next Top Cat Model I haven't been reading much since I've been busy with visitors, doctor's appointments, and getting ready for Baby. Lots and lots of baby stuff... I just got an email from an old friend that didn't know I was pregnant (hi, Q!). I realized that in this blog, I haven't been very clear as to why I am on bed rest, so let me just give some background information: I had another fetal monitoring appointment this morning. From now on, I'll be going twice a week. As far as doctor's appointments go, it is fairly enjoyable. They start off by taking your vitals, then a quick ultrasound of the baby (getting to see him is always a plus), and then they hook you up to two different machines. One measures the baby's heartrate, and the other measures uterine activity. I get to sit in a recliner with all of these wires coming out while watching TV or reading for 20-30 minutes. Nothing invasive. It's kind of like our family room plus the machines, minus the cat. So I had every intention of reviewing 'The Pact' by Jodi Picoult yesterday afternoon. Instead, my afternoon was interrupted by a rather disturbing conversation with my husband. I wasn't sure about this book when I first received it (sent to me by my mother, owner and user of the ubiquitous blue Post-it notes). I can usually buzz through a book in a few hours/days (depending on the book), but in this case, 'The Memory Keeper's Daughter' wasn't easily digest-able chick lit or fun summer reading. This is the same problem I'm having with 'The Prodigal Summer' - it's a thick book, not in terms of size or weight, but in depth and complexity. It's almost a sin to fly through a book like this, since you'd miss a lot of the poetry of the language. I'm proud to announce that Jen had her little bundle of joy yesterday afternoon -- a bouncing 6 lb, 8 ounce baby boy. I won't reveal the name since I'm not sure she's even okay with being mentioned in my blog, but by all accounts, Mom and Baby are doing great. |
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Think of this as the epilogue to Bridget Jones' story. Well, mostly. Bridget marries the handsome lawyer, starts a blog while on bedrest, and decides marathon running sounds like fun. Bridget goes through a divorce but keeps running. Hilarity ensues. Archives
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