Yesterday I woke up having contractions, shortness of breath, and nausea.
So, thinking there was a slight possibility I might be in labor, as I am thisclose to full term, we called the doctor and described my symptoms. She advised us to check into the hospital’s labor and delivery building.
Eric: “Ok, and where is that?”
Probably a pretty fucking good sign that we are not quite ready to have this baby.
So the doctor gave us the address and politely decided to not acknowledge the fact that we were basically the pregnancy version of Dumb and Dumber.
We got to the hospital and eventually someone came to give me an exam. The monitors showed that I was in fact having contractions, so they wanted to check if my cervix was at all open (a possible sign of impending labor). I thought maybe this was the kind of thing that could be easily detected on, say, a sonogram. But no. Turns out this “exam” involves the doctor sticking her entire arm up my hooha and apologizing profusely, while Eric hides in a corner.
After a minute of intensely uncomfortable digging she declared “Nope! You’re completely closed off!”, confirming that my cervix does indeed match my personality.
She then performed a sonogram to check on the baby. “She looks perfectly happy in there!” she declared in a sunshine tone. “But you know she’s breech, right?”
Ummmm NO, Dr. Hooha Hands, we did NOT know that.
“But she’s been head down since 30 weeks, including when I went to the doctor 5 days ago!”
“Oh. Yikes. Well, now she’s breech. Her head is up here (points just below my left boob). It’s unlikely she’ll flip again at this point, but you can discuss options with your regualr OB, such as a planned c-section….but anyway, that’s not why we’re here.”
No, it’s not. BUT NOW THAT’S ALL I CAN FOCUS ON SO THANKS FOR NOTHING.
“So let’s get back to the contractions and nausea,” she continued.
“Ok. Yeah. Why is this happening?”
She might as well have answered with this emoji
“Possibly dehydration? Or maybe something you ate?”
<— that’s me being impressed with the expertise and insight one gains after 7+ years of med school.
“Either way, we’re going to give you this anti-nausea pill so at least you can get some relief on that end, and then we’ll see.”
I swallowed the pill.
Ten minutes later, I vomited profusely, filling two bins so quickly that two nurses and Eric (poor, poor Eric) were not enough helping hands to prevent it from spilling everywhere.
After they changed my entire bedding, wiped down my plastic mattress and re-dressed me in yet another gown that did nothing to cover my pale, pregnant tush-sag, they hooked me up to an IV to rehydrate me and dripped some meds through it, which eventually put me to sleep for about an hour. This was nice because it allowed me to tune out the woman next door in the throes of what seemed to be extremely painful labor. Eric still got to listen, though, because everything about his life right now is roses.
When I woke, I felt much better.
The doctor came back and looked at the monitor. “You were contracting a lot while sleeping so I’d like to check your cervix again.”
So, one more painful round of arm-up-the-vajayjay and Dr. Hooha Hands officially confirmed that I am definitely closed, not in labor, and can go on my merry way. The nurses then came to check on me one last time, and Eric took this opportunity to clarify, “So, when we DO give birth, we come HERE?” They smiled, because nurses are angels, and cofirmed that yes, Lloyd and Harry, this is where you two will come to have your baby.
They then discharged me, advising me to drink lots of water (duh) and not eat chicken salad from diners (oh.)
There is no real wrap up or moral or point to this story other than in case you haven’t been listening for the past 8 months, (this) pregnancy sucks.