The race to the finish....

This room isn't SO bad.

As I sit here staring out at a rainy Cumberland Avenue strip on a Friday morning, I can't help but think that it's not my first choice of where to spend the next two to three weeks...

A beach would have been nice. If we're talking first choices. But let's be honest, at this point, a close runner up is "anywhere but here". Specifically, the comfort of my own couch, surrounded by my animals, on a fluffy blanket, with lots of TiVo and On Demand TV to watch, and plenty of snacks and foods that have never been powdered and reconstituted and served to me on a melamine hospital tray.

But, as I must remind myself daily, that's not a choice I have anymore. I'm here. And it's not SO bad.

There's cable, and a fridge, and it's private and clean. There's a bathroom and a shower with good water pressure. I keep saying it's a lot like staying in a hotel, in a town where there's not a lot to do, and you don't really have any money anyway.

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I left the house Monday with absolutely no idea that I wouldn't be back shortly. Another of my routine OB visits was all I had on the agenda. But with my blood pressure still measuring high, and with a bonus of increased protein in my urine (fun!), I was shuttled off to Labor and Delivery, for what I thought was just going to be monitoring. Before I could get in a room, my OB called and asked to speak with me, and let me know that, actually, I'd be staying the night. Constant monitoring and another 24 hour urine sample (24 hours of fun!) were the new agenda, and even though I think she tried to prepare me for the fact that, if that testing showed what she thought, we were looking at Pre-Eclampsia, I still don't think it fully registered to me that I might not be going home the next day. So, yeah, I won't lie...Tuesday afternoon, when she called and told me that an ambulance was going to transfer me to the downtown hospital that was going to be where I'd spend every second until I deliver this little girl...I didn't take it so well.

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But...here I am, and it's not so bad. The pre-eclampsia is still on the mild side. I'm taking a relatively low dose blood pressure medication, and Baby Girl is still cooking. Lots of monitoring (daily Non-Stress Tests, nearly daily ultrasounds, every other day labs, and multiple checks of blood pressure and blood sugar all day long) shows that we are both doing well, and delivering just yet is not necessary. We've had two steriod shots to mature her lungs, and every ultrasound reveals her little tummy bouncing up and down, exercising those lungs, practicing for the outside world. Saturday is 34 weeks, a milestone we should pass with no problems. My doctors want to get me to between 36 and 37. I want to get there too, but I also don't want to start losing my mind. We all have a fine line to walk. Theirs is a balancing act between deciding how early is too early to deliver the baby when delivering is the only thing that keeps my health from declining. Mine is the crushing guilt I have over not wanting to have a preemie versus wanting to leave this room as soon as possible with my sanity in tact. Yesterday I chatted with the girl down the hall from me, who described having the same feelings. She's been here almost a month, and she's not as far along as I am. She's my new hero. But believe me, every day, she's a little more ready to leave than ever before, regardless of what it means.

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I wish I'd know my last night in the house without a baby was my last night. I don't know if I would have done anything differently. But I would have been aware, and that would have been nice. I might have petted the doggies a bit longer, snuggled a kitty more, enjoyed my late night bowl of ice cream more enthusiastically. I would have relished sleeping in the bed next to my snoring husband, and taking a leisurely shower in my own bathroom. I might have tossed in one more load of laundry. I might have breathed in the scent of my home, my things, my life, a bit more deeply as I walked out the front door that morning, taken a last good look at the flowers blooming in the window boxes and the freshly mowed lawn.

I know, it will all still be there when I get back.
But I'll be bringing home a baby girl with me. And everything will have changed.

Quick update!

Baby girl and I had our first NST (non-stress test) today. Basically, during an NST they hook up fetal monitors and track the baby's heart rate and any possible contractions. What they are looking for is the healthy spike in heart rate that occurs when baby is actively moving in the womb, all part of tracking her development and heading off any problems down the road. When I asked how long an NST usually lasts, the nurse explained to me that they need a full 20 minutes of 'active' monitoring time to get a clear picture. So, say if a baby is napping or not particularly active during a period of the monitoring, you can stay hooked up for much longer than 20 minutes. I laughed and told her this would NOT be a problem with us, Baby Girl is a wiggle worm. I'm sure everyone thinks/says this to her, and she just smiled and said, "Let's hope so!"

Before she could even get the monitor latched, the Doodle had kicked her hard. For the remaining 20 minutes, as the nurse filled out my paperwork and asked me all the standard questions, the gentle thump thump of the Doodle's heartbeat played background to the rumbling thunder of her rolling, flipping, kicking, and punching at my belly and the monitor. "You have a very happy baby in there," she said to me, as I was signing out no more than 30 minutes since pulling in the parking lot. "A very happy, perfect baby."

I never get tired of hearing that.

I suppose it was my turn....

Last Sunday, Matt, my brother Mike, and I piled into my car and drove to Weaverville for a belated Father's Day celebration with my dad. Stuffed burgers, grilled pineapple and cucumber salad with fresh basil, and grilled corn with butter, lime juice, and parmesan. For dessert, I made a raspberry lemon icebox pie with a homemade toasted coconut graham cracker crust. We had a lovely day with the family, the food was amazing, and the weather beautiful.

And at some point there in the middle of the day, my feet and hands began to swell to epic proportions. They were swollen to the point of feeling like they might pop, and that popping would actually be a welcome relief. Fun.

The next day I had an appointment already scheduled at my OB's office, and Matt had already planned to come with me. As we both got ready that morning, I confided in him that I was kind of freaking out. I knew that the swelling (which was better but still puffy) coupled with high blood pressure would cause all kinds of alarm bells to go off, and even though my BP on the Friday before had been perfect, I just had this...feeling. It's rare that I hate being right...

My BP was indeed high, and all the alarm bells I predicted were rung. My doctor sent me over to Labor and Delivery for monitoring, but not before a very thorough briefing on high blood pressure, pre-eclampsia, and pre-term labor. And, also, not before delivering my sentence--Bed Rest. I thought (and Matt and the doctor agreed), that I had held it together admirably up to that point. But the phrase "bed rest" brought the tears to my eyes. No more work, no more grocery shopping, no more cooking, no cleaning, no laundry---okay, so when I list it like that you might be asking what it was that had me so upset again? But, honestly, NOT being able to do those things is insanely frustrating. I took some deep breaths, composed myself, and agreed to confinement on the couch. And with that, Matt and I headed over to L&D. I was monitored for about 3 hours, during which my BP returned to normal, and during which the Doodle's monitor showed her to be both "perfect" and "really, REALLY active". That's my girl.

We made an appointment later in the week for an ultrasound with my high risk doctors, at which they also prounounced baby girl "perfect". They also modified my bed rest sentence a bit, telling me that for every 2o minutes I spend on my feet, I have to sit out the next 40. Which, while it means I won't be heading to the mall or to work any time soon, does at least give me the option to make myself a quick lunch or go outside and sit on the deck for a bit. We got a blood pressure monitor and I use that three times a day. Starting Monday, I'll have two standing weekly appointments--a non-stress test for the Doodle on Mondays and an ultrasound on Thursdays. According to that last ultrasound, she's already 4 lbs 1 oz. I've been given a 50/50 shot at going to term, and prepared fully for the possibility of early delivery. 34 weeks is the goal in my head, and every day after that is a gift. 36 weeks and I have no concerns at all. It's mind boggling to me that "goal" simply means making it through this month. THIS MONTH. It seemed like this day would never get here, and now I'm just praying to make it through a few more days. And YES, I do feel like a genius for getting her nursery done so early, thank you. I just never realized that when I said I wanted to spend the summer with my feet up drinking tea, that would be ALL I would be doing.... ;)

So, it's been almost a week of this, and for the most part I've done well. I knew Saturday would be the tough day for me, and it has been. Small mental crack up, a few tears, but I'm doing better. It's very easy to remind yourself that this is for the greater good, especially when the greater good spends the majority of her day kicking me in the ribs and practicing kung fu on my bladder. So that's what I do. I justifies the frustration, but it doesn't cure it. Perhaps knitting will help...

Anyway, that's the story of where we are today. Bed rest. Boredom. Greater good. Please feel free to comment, email, call, write, facebook, come visit, send me games to play, etc. It's going to be a long month, and I've got nowhere to go!