Happy Halloween

So I kind of expected the nurses and doctors to be dressed for the occasion. I don't know, maybe that's more of a Pediatrics thing, but come on, people! Not a single staff member in costume? No bunny ears? No cat whiskers? Try harder.

The day began with a bit of a surprise. After the lovely Mary finished her night duty as my nurse, I was awaken around 8:45 this morning by the dreaded Russian accent. No, say it isn't so! How did Natalia, relegated to my "F*** 'Em" list, somehow find her way back as my assigned nurse for the second day in a row?

When I was up for good around 10, Natalia came back in with the doctor. Natalia had her panties in a bunch about the 7 contractions she saw on the monitor over the span of an hour or so. Again, I hadn't felt them. The doctor basically told her to calm down, said that he wasn't at all worried, and presumed that come 34 weeks, I'd still be here. He then bid me farewell until Sunday. He also asked Natalia to shut down the IV and just let me rock the hep-lock.

During this conversation, I learned some insightful information that really explains Natalia's control issues and chip on her shoulder. She used to be a doctor in Russia - OBGyn. Ohhhhhhhhhh. So after being here for 10 years (I asked), she still hasn't managed to do whatever it is she needs to do to become an American doctor. Gotcha.

Natalia returned solo some time later, and explained to me that we could either do what the doctor had ordered, or we could follow her prescription of keeping me on a very slow IV drip. I won't bore you with her reasons for this, but after yesterday, I didn't have the energy to care and decided to placate her for a while. She seemed very pleased by this. Of course, come the end of her shift, she did exactly what the doctor ordered. But I think she felt like a real doctor again for like 5 hours. Consider it my gift from me to you, Natalia.

After the second coming of Natalia, I anxiously anticipated this evening's night nurse. Ah, its 8:30 pm, the door is opening, who could it...CARLEEN??? Am I being punk'd?

To be fair, both Natalia and Carleen have given me their best versions of themselves today...leading me to believe that something happened after our discussion with the head nurse yesterday. Similarly, most of my favorite nurses who were on duty today paid me special visits.

Another day - about to be another month. Don't forget to move your clocks back.

The Bitch is Back

I'm back on the IV juice.

It all began late this morning. After a night of smooth sailing, I woke up for breakfast before 9, and fell back asleep for a little nap around 10. I was awaken by an emotionless Russian redhead named "Natalia" at 11, with words all too familiar at this point: "You're very irritable." Yes, Natalia, I am. And thus began the Cold War battle.

Natalia wanted to hook me up to the IV immediately. Brad and I suggested we once again take the approach of drinking water non-stop to see if things improved. Natalia wasn't interested. We explained this has been a recurring pattern - but Natalia had her mind set. Finally, she gave me 1/2 hour to drink water. I drank like I've never drunk before. 1/2 hour later, she was almost satisfied. But that all changed over the course of the next 1/2 hour. The battle intensified. Negotiations ensued.

During the time it took me to "bathe" and comb my hair, Natalia was back, bitching at me about being off the monitors. After explaining to her that one traditionally does not bathe while wearing monitors, she asked (for the second time today) if I'd (BOWEL MOVEMENT ALERT) "made poo-poo today." Yeah, I'm not sure when I became 6 years old either. Anyway, I had not, and explained that I seemed to be on an every other day schedule, reiterating that I'd "made poo-poo" on Wednesday. Her response? "Well, it's Friday." My response? "Yes, and there are still A LOT of hours left in the day."

I laid down in bed and she reattached the monitors. 5 mintues later, she wheeled in the IV machine and bags.

Oh no you did-int.

I'll never be convinced it wasn't out of spite. But I was so angry, primarily at her attitude and lack of empathy, that I moved through 4 of the 5 stages of truly angry Kiesha: 1) Sarcasm 2) Surliness 3) Tears 4) Silence. You do not want me to reach stage 5: "The Switch," defined as the moment when I completely lose my shit in a manner that, to the layperson, seems to come from nowhere, and like a monster, is loud, aggressive, unforgiving and terrifying. It is possible (and more common) for me to skip stages - usually 3 and 4 - depending on my level of vulnerability - and move straight to stage 5. To move through each stage is indicative of a near emotional breakdown.

Believe it or not, the day slowly improved - beginning with the ultrasound my doctor ordered in the room. My favorite tech, Julio (who invited me to the Ultrasound Tech Christmas Party this year), performed this one - and the news was the best so far. The baby exhibited fetal breathing for the first time, indicative of lung maturity. And my fluid level shot way up to 9.6! This is a normal fluid level for a pregnant woman whose water has not broken. So while I cannot fully explain why ample fluid intake seems to decrease irritability and contractions, I can confirm that it helps to regenerate lost amniotic fluid by filling the baby's bladder and making him pee (which in turn, becomes amniotic fluid). This is no doubt an overly simplistic explanation and analysis, but I only know of one actual medical doctor reading this blog (God bless you, Rebecca!).

After some great advice from a couple of friends in relevant fields, I decided it was time to take my care into my own hands and talk to the Head of Nursing. In the most diplomatic manner possible, I provided her with a tiered list of nurses to care for me, much like a Cold Stone Creamery menu - Love 'Em, Like 'Em and F*** 'Em. She took notes responsively, noting that while she couldn't necessarily always accommodate my wishes, she would do her best. It didn't stop there.

Brad had noticed that my labeled food has been disappearing from the general fridge - including leftover pork fried rice and half a carton of milk. Question: Who takes food from a pregnant woman? I'm on the Labor and Delivery floor of the hospital, so there's no mistaking the patient sticker on the food for someone not having a baby. It was only logical, then, to ask for a mini fridge in our room, which will help accommodate all of the incredible food you guys have sent me. (On that note: Clayton, it's really a compliment that I believed your thoughtful note was penned by a woman!)

Within an hour, a mini fridge arrived. And my night shift nurse? "Like 'Em" (quickly moving up the ranks to "Love 'Em") "Mary."

Things are looking up, indeed.

Leave Me the F*** Alone!!

Last night was not good.

There have been a higher than usual number of deliveries in the hospital lately - 13 babies were delivered yesterday, and the average number is 5 or 6. There have also been an unusual number of pre-term deliveries. There are at least 3 other women in the hospital who are in my situation, ranging from 27 to 31 weeks - at least one of them also broke her water (in Turks and Caicos!). Unfortunately, they're not lasting as long as I am - all delivering within a week of coming in. But the babies are apparently all doing well, which is great.

This has contributed to very inconsistent nurse care for the past couple of days. Typically, I have one day nurse and perhaps an assistant, and one night nurse. Yesterday, I believe I had 3 or 4 day nurses and a night nurse I'd never seen. The problem with this is that the more chefs there are in the kitchen, the less consistency of care I receive. That's not to say the care is bad - but there's a sense that pieces of my medical history get lost along the way, rendering me more of an expert in my own patient care than the nurses, frankly.

This came to a head at 5 am this morning. My nurse, "Emily," came bolting into the room, ranting that I was "irritable." Really, this shit again?? I rolled over and mumbled that I'd get up and go to the bathroom. When she returned 10 minutes later, she said that I was still irritable, and they'd have to hook me back up to the IV. As you all know by now, I am no fan of being hooked up to anything. So I kind of flipped out and said, "No, I don't want the IV." This came across with a combination of anger, fear, despair and frustration. She read my tone right away, and suggested that I drink water instead. I agreed...and then she said, "If you drink a pitcher (1 liter) of water in the next hour, we can hold off on the IV." My jaw dropped to the floor. "Wait, so are you telling me I need to drink while I'm sleeping?" And then it hit me - I'm not sleeping. I'm going to sit up at 5:00 in the morning drinking water like a damn elephant. Meanwhile, Emily said she was going to discuss the plan with the doctor, but not before lecturing me about her philosophy on the hep-lock always being in so that they can quickly insert an IV. Thank you, Emily, because yes, I removed the hep-lock myself.

As soon as she left the room, I came as close to a temper tantrum as a bed-ridden pregnant woman can come, and then flowed the first tears of this experience. I was tired and I wanted to go to sleep. I didn't want to drink all that water. Yet, the alternative was even more upsetting.

Emily returned and, as though bearing some sort of gift, said that I could drink the pitcher of water, and hope that worked. But she couldn't just exit on that note. Her parting words? "God, I don't know how you can do this. I don't even like water. If I had to do what you're about to do, I'd just start crying."

F*** YOU EMILY.

From 5:30 a.m. to 7:00 a.m., Brad sat in bed with me while I drank 1 liter and 1 cup of ice water. I was freezing from the rapid consumption of cold water. I got up to go to the bathroom 4 times. But apparently, I was successful enough, because Emily didn't return. And I swear to God, if she does return, I might take this pitcher and throw it at her head.

Now, some of you may be thinking that I'm not letting the nurses and doctors do their jobs and be the experts. But that is far from the case. This "irritability" they're seeing is exactly what a woman at my stage of pregnancy experiences. It's just that I'm hooked up to a monitor 24/7, allowing the most conservative of them to obsess over every little movement. Far more strange would be a woman who, at this point, did not have any contractions. So my frustration is the seeming lack of understanding of this simple fact, and lack of consistent philosophy amongst the staff on how to manage what some see as "issues" and others see as "norms."

After that nonsense, I went to sleep and ordered my day nurse not to disturb me so that I could sleep in. Unfortunately, they don't understand that "sleeping in" means 11 am, not 9:50 am, which is when Benny (pictured above during my outdoor excursion) showed up to draw blood. Figures.

It also figures that when I stated I was going to shower (I worked the doctors up to 2x/week!), Benny was still on duty.

Now, showering requires NO intervention of any sort from anyone. The little stall shower only accommodates a single individual. The bathroom had already been cleaned, so there was nothing to be done in there by anyone at that moment except for me. Yet, who opens the door and walks in while I'm standing stark naked about to get in the shower? You got it.

"Oh, sorry," she mutters. No you're not, Benny. You're not sorry. You're a pervert. You became a nurse to peep and molest.

She then tried to come back in after I got out of the shower! At least this time, she knocked and asked, "May I come in?" (Mind you, the door knob is turning.) "NO!" I yelled. "I'm just drying off, I'm fine!"

The little pervert managed to stay out of the bathroom this time.

I'm buying a padlock.

Manis, Pedis, Tyra and Disposable Underwear

At 3 am, my nurse woke me up to go pee. No, seriously. She wanted me to empty my bladder so that my uterus would calm down a little. So instead of allowing my body to naturally wake itself up if I really had to pee, she did it for me. Thank you for that.

Fortunately, the later morning much improved when my mani/pedi technician arrived just after 10 am! She was a large Serbian woman named Barbie. I note the irony. But for a solid 2+ hours, Barbie was my best friend. Armed with enough gear to build a salon in my hospital room, she set me up like a queen, massaging, moisturizing and polishing like her life depended on it. And when all was said and done and I asked her how much I owed, she confirmed that it had been covered already - by the fantastic new connection we made who set the whole thing up. God bless you, Melissa.

I pranced around all day displaying my hands and feet to anyone who'd look. And when I say I "pranced around," I mean I laid in my bed twinkling my toes.

Meanwhile, I didn't want to do anything to mess up my nails. So I watched a lot of TV, including an episode of Tyra about open marriages. To be clear - despite their talk of themselves as people with "open hearts," "the capacity to love many" and "powerful emotional energy," they are still just hos. Having long hair and wearing vintage scarves doesn't change that fact. Quote of the show, in response to a question about sexuality: "I am pretty straight." Yes, and apparently, also only "pretty married."

Meanwhile, because I have little in terms of material goods to appreciate in the hospital, I've become a huge fan of disposable hospital underwear (which, frighteningly, seems to be sold online to consumers who don't want to do laundry). That's right. I'm not afraid to talk about it. I mean, it's not like I can wear anything cute in here, so I have to make do. And believe me, if you'd spent 3 days sleeping bare-assed on a plastic sheet, you too would be excited when the nurses showed up with underwear in a bag.

The problem is, I think I'm not the only one around here excited about this precious commodity. They're doled out like bread in old Russia, and I'm beginning to think I need to grease the palms of the nurses to get an ample supply. Because I'm pretty sure they're being pilfered from my room and distributed to other patients on the black market.

Tonight, I convinced a nurse to give me an extra supply - 4 packs. That's 8 pairs of underwear. When she left, Brad hid them. Tomorrow, I'll ask a different nurse for an extra supply - and the cycle shall continue until I've cornered the Mount Sinai market.

Wish me luck.

Road Warriors

Okay, as much as I'd like to launch right into my outdoor excursion to Perinatology, I must first discuss the Bay Bridge debacle. You know it is not good when while 3,000 miles away, a leading news story is that your hometown bridge is falling down. Maybe if they'd spent more than 70 hours repairing a flaw discovered in the bridge over Labor Day weekend, it wouldn't be falling apart right now. Well guess what - I haven't crossed that bridge since the "repair," and I'm not crossing it until they build a new bridge that f-ing functions and doesn't try to kill people.

Now, onto better things. Today was my big day out! I woke up at 7:45, raring to go to Perinatology. I didn't know what time my appointment was (turns out it was 11:30), so I wanted to make sure I was ready whenever they came calling. You would have thought I was getting ready for prom. In my mind, I looked hot - and I don't give a damn what anyone else thought. With my gold Tory Burch sandals (referred to by my 50-year-old Asian nurse as "bling bling") and grey sweater robe (thank you Kerry and Susan!), I was unstoppable. So what if the extent of my outdoor time was approximately 15 seconds on the trip there, looking out across an overpass? Brad and I remedied that on the way back - more on that in a moment.

So in theory, they sent me to Perinatology for an ultrasound because they have much more advanced equipment (the techs are also supposedly better since they specialize in ultrasounds for pregnancy). However, Brad and I saw no difference whatsoever between their machines and the machines I've been hooked up to here at the hospital. As for the tech...well, she asked me to wipe the goop off my belly with tissue paper such as that you might stuff in a gift bag. Enough said. I might also add that for whatever strange reason, the Perinatology office featured pregnant women who were either barely pubescent, or, um, too large for me to identify them as expectant mothers. WTF.

The results of the ultrasound were the best I've received so far. I was awarded a perfect biophysical profile score of 8/8 (I had been 6/8 previously, due to low levels of amniotic fluid). However, my fluid level was up to 6.4, deemed good enough to net me 100% (in truth, they probably graded me on a somewhat generous curve, but I'll take it). The baby's estimated weight is 3lbs 10 oz, which my doctor referred to as a "chub," and he has a big head. Apparently, his head circumference estimates that he is more than 33 weeks of age. On the other hand, his abdomen circumference suggests he is just over 30 weeks of age. That said, our baby apparently currently looks like Nicole Richie.

Since the trip across campus with the nurses limited me to such little outdoor time (I think they were too hot in the humid, 90-degree weather), Brad and I organized a coup for the return. They dropped me off and said that we should have the office call them to pick me up when I was done. Well, that just didn't seem necessary. So when we were done, we bolted. Totally off the grid for a good 10 minutes, Brad wheeled me around the perimeter of the campus, outside, past the water and palm trees. It was so freeing - a little Thelma and Louise, if you will, only Brad's not a woman. Anyway, when we returned, the nurses asked where we were and how we got back. So I lied - kind of. I lied and said that Perinatology sent us on our way, which is neither true nor false. They didn't know what we were supposed to do, so we told them we were supposed to leave - and then made them think it was their idea. Oldest trick in the book.

Waiting for me upon our return was a beautiful flower delivery, which I somewhat inappropriately identified as mine when I saw it on our way out. Brad explained there are other patients in the hospital. I explained I get all the gifts. We also enjoyed some company this afternoon - bless you, Marcos, for the magazines and that Cuban food!

And speaking of gifts...the Snuggie giver revealed herself to me today - thank you, Sonia, for the most original gift yet! You rock.

In home news, my regular nail salon now apparently knows the whole story of our Miami "vacation." My mother-in-law stopped in for a manicure, and was immediately identified as "the woman who belongs to the tall, attractive, black lady." She proceeded to tell the nail tech (Fong) what had happened, and Fong in turn translated the whole story in Vietnamese to the other employees. Gasps abounded and much drama unfolded. Can we just get this story on Oprah already?

Finally, I know that many of you have wondered just how Brad spends his days. I mean, it's one thing for me to be stuck on bed rest, but Brad? So, no...he spends tons of time with me (the majority), but does get out to do a little bit of work, go for runs, and occasionally visit friends. Today, on the recommendation of our visitor friend Marcos, he joined a running group. Rather than spend a lot of time explaining Raven Run, I urge you to just click on the link. Much like Flavor of Love, each runner to complete the 8-mile run is assigned a nickname by the group's 59-year-old leader. Brad's is "Bay Breaker" based on hailing from San Francisco and being stuck here because my water broke - get it? And his new friend from the group? A guy named "All American," because of a bad movie he was in and the fact that he was a "college athlete." All American will be a contestant on the next season of Millionaire Matchmaker.

Only in Miami.

No, Seriously - Who Sent Me a Snuggie?

Today was a bit of a rough day. Not because of any news we received - everything is still great on that front. But because it's now been two weeks, and things that are annoying are really starting to stand out.

The nursing staff really makes or breaks your day. A good nurse wakes you up with a smile in the morning, is attentive but not overbearing, and is informed but doesn't pretend to be the doctor. The nurses the past couple of days have been less than that. Today's nurse couldn't ever remember if she'd taken my blood pressure or checked my temperature. It took her an unusually long time to respond to calls. And she generally seemed like she was about as medically informed as Moby.

I can't even remember yesterday's nurse. To give you an idea, I thought her name was Dolly - Brad thought her name was Lydia.

The good news is that the lack of intensity on the part of the nurses is indicative of my stable state. 90% of women who break their water deliver within one week - so at this point, I'm not quite a medical miracle, but certainly something special. Suddenly, 34 weeks does not seem so far away (I'll hit 32 weeks on Friday).

One thing that did brighten my day was the special delivery that arrived this morning. Tucked inside an unmarked box from Texas was a...Snuggie. I have no idea who it's from, so please holler if you're out there! I'm afraid I'm unlikely to don it while here in the 90-degree Miami heat. However, I promise you I will wear it proudly in San Francisco. Brad can attest to the fact that I wear a lot of ugly blankets around the house because I'm always cold. The Snuggie's freedom-granting sleeves will really be great for getting things done while staying warm!

Another very bright note today...my mani/pedi is scheduled for Wednesday morning! A friend of a friend set this up for me - I didn't have to lift a finger (no pun intended). "Barbara" will be coming by to hook me up. If only I'd thought to ask her if she could bring some hot wax with her - my eyebrows are going to need some help soon. Hmmm...if the physical therapists do massages (which I benefited from again today), do you think they also do hair removal?

Thankfully, I didn't get sucked into any horrible reality TV marathons today (though I did watch Angelina Jolies' E True Hollywood Story - that chick is crazy). So I feel just a little more intelligent than I did yesterday.

Wish me luck on my field trip to Perinatology tomorrow - look for that update next!

The Real Housewife of Mount Sinai Hospital

Today was a Lazy Sunday. It began with a visit from one of the Residents, usually seen trailing behind the doctors like anxious school kids. He simply wanted to check my vitals. Then I was permitted to bathe myself in the bathroom (note: this is not a shower). Eventually, the doctor (this time, sporting an AC/DC tshirt - God help me) came by and announced that we have a "very, very happy baby," based on activity they are seeing. So that was obviously great news! Finally, he reiterated that I will be taking that field trip on Tuesday to Perinatology. So I think I may have to put on some makeup and jazz up my hospital gown for the big day out!

There is now a new medicine in my arsenal called Lovenox. It will be administered to me as a daily injection to thin my blood in an effort to prevent blood clots - a concern for bed rest patients. I'm doing all of the leg exercises (and now arm exercises, with my weights!) that I can to stave this off. But I'll take the extra shot, too. Unfortunately, it's a little painful - not as bad as the two steroid injections I had early in my stay - but uncomfortable to be sure. Ironically, the nurse went to give the shot to me in my tricep, declaring that this is a nice area of "fatty tissue." However, when she turned my arm over, she grumbled, "Oh...mmmm...that's just a lot of muscle tissue." As she looked around for a better alternative, she didn't have one. So basically, I've spent my whole life building up areas of inadequate shot administration. Sigh. Nevertheless, I'm not letting anyone shoot me in the ass. That offer was extended once, and I'll turn it down every time.

So it must be Whitney Houston weekend on the Oxygen network. I guess now that she is fresh off the stuff that isn't crack and has a new album out, the media is giving her another shot. I watched The Bodyguard yesteday, and today was sucked into Waiting To Exhale. I have seen both of these movies before, and truth be told, they're not very good. However, the final scene of The Bodyguard makes the rest of the movie worth it. There is something about Whitney Houston running off her private jet into the arms of Kevin Costner to the tune of "I Will Always Love You" that is Oscar-worthy. Why is that song still so good? However - worst screen kiss of all time. They look like puppets.

Sadly, I'm afraid both of those movies look like cinematic genius compared to what I spent 5 hours watching after that...

The Real Housewives of Atlanta

I'm so ashamed. But once I started, I couldn't stop - and neither could my mother. Who are these crazy bitches?? Damn them, I am now determined to find out what becomes of Kim and NeNe's friendship. And what about Sheree (pronounced She-ray...HUH)? Will her terrible nose job ever be corrected? Is Lisa going to become a mother for the second time - and will it require IVF? And Kandi...oh Kandi. Will she figure out she does not fit in and move somewhere more innocuous, like Philadelphia?

As I watched the 5-hour marathon, it occurred to me that there are some cities where this would just never work. Can you imagine the snore-fest that would be The Real Housewives of San Francisco? It would be the story of 5 women armed with Blackberries, wearing very little makeup and sensible shoes, and driving Priuses. Their husbands wouldn't be NFL stars - they'd be Silicon Valley engineers, or maybe bankers with MBAs from Stanford. Zzzzzzz.

This Real Housewife of Mount Sinai Hospital will holler at you all tomorrow. Stay tuned!

My Baby the Gymnast

Today was another good day. But I have to say, had my first day here begun with my doctor showing up the way he looked today, I might have been outta here. Imagine little Isaac Mizrahi rolling up in a distressed tshirt with whale-print shorts, socks way too high and sneakers. I'm pretty sure when he walked in the room, I made a bit of a face and said, "Oh wow."

Outfit aside, the doc scored major points with me today. He not only freed me once again from the constraints of the IV, but removed the Hep-Lock from my arm so I no longer have any needles anywhere. The Hep-Lock was previously in place so they could very easily reattach the IV if necessary. But the drawback of that is it can weaken even the best of veins, which is not good when they need to draw blood, for example. So the consensus is that in a pinch, they can still get an IV going very quickly with my veins of steel (no, seriously - it's kinda weird how excited they get when they look at my veins to draw my blood).

I still have some sporadic uterine activity going on, but there's less concern about it now because it seems pretty apparent there's nothing really happening. There are a few theories on what this is: 1) Typical contractions a woman at my stage of pregnancy experiences 2) The baby moving - because I've felt like Mitch Gaylord has set up camp in my belly the last couple of days 3) The result of my small frame - apparently, those with, um, "more layers between the baby and the body" have a cushion that prevents every little movement from being picked up by the monitor. But I have my own theory - there's a lot of crap happening inside of me, such as, you know, harboring a life - and yes, it makes my uterus "irritable." I'm not sure why we need medical experts to explain this very simple phenomenon.

Another piece of great news delivered today was that I in fact do get that trip to Perinatology that I was hoping for! That's scheduled for Tuesday and...drumroll please...I get to ride in a wheelchair! I won't say too much on this subject because I don't want to ruin what I foresee to be the excitement of Tuesday's post. But picture a lot of stalling on my part when we are outside.

Last but not least, my mom made a run to Target today and returned with 2-pound weights for me to get an upper body workout. It's time for this bed rest nonsense to get a little more civilized. Word to my Bar Method girls - if I can do it, you certainly can - so get your butts in class!

So Fresh and So Clean

Today was the best day ever - I took a shower!

To all of you, that may not seem like much. But please understand, I had not taken a shower since Sunday 10/11. That's almost 2 weeks. It's a miracle I somehow had maintained some sense of cleanliness by way of bed baths and Benny's assault. But alas, today, I sat on a chair in the shower for 10 minutes and experienced the refreshing feeling of water raining down on my body - kinda like Flashdance - or at least that's what I told myself. I used proper shampoo and conditioner. I pampered myself with body lotion. It was like a spa retreat.

And speaking of spa retreats, the physical therapy team returned today, with a new arsenal of exercises. Still, no rocket science. But they also administered a brief yet satisfying back massage!

Add in the fact that I received 3 delightful packages today (thank you Bess, Ben, Kristie, Jason and Mason!), and you see why this was my best day ever.

Yes, I'm still hooked up to the IV. But the doctor (who looks a lot like a shorter Isaac Mizrahi, but with richer eyebrows) came in today and reiterated that he sees absolutely no reason for concern, and this is just a little something to help me along. That made me feel a lot better after a night during which I slept pretty poorly because, frankly, I was worried. When the nurse comes in your room at 3 am and laments that "it's still irritable," you feel pretty helpless. I appreciate the attentiveness, but it sure is nice when the doctor gives you his much less alarmist point of view.

Here's to week 31!

Back on the Juice

So unfortunately, I find myself hooked back up to IV fluids. It all started last night with an "irritable uterus." I'm not having labor contractions, feel no pain or discomfort, and a blood test confirmed that my white blood cell count is normal - all indicators of no infection and no imminent delivery. Still, it's something we'd like to treat. So the prescription is to pump as many fluids into me as possible. I'd originally thought that drinking 2 hospital pitchers of water per day was enough, but now I've learned I should be drinking 2 per 8-hour period. It's an inane amount of water is all I can tell you, but I'll do what I have to do, of course. And I welcome freedom from the IV once again.

This morning, the Perinatologist came by for another visit - spurred by rumors of my irritable uterus. It's awesome that one of my internal organs has developed such a reputation. Anyway, as it turns out, the Perinatologist looks exactly like Dr. Pierre Chang with the Dharma Initiative on Lost. Thus, I find myself distracted by questions about The Island when he's talking to me. Anyway, he is pleased with my progress. Unfortunately, this means that I do not have to get the 4-D scan my doctor suggested earlier. I was looking forward to that, because Perinatology is in another building. And there was a very good chance that they would not be able to come to me to do the scan, and I would have to be wheeled outside on a stretcher to them. The prospect of being outside, if even for 5 minutes, if even flat on my back, was so exciting I think I teared up. So thanks a lot, Dude from Lost.

Okay, I interrupt this program to say that a phantom voice just came over the intercom in my room - it was my night nurse. She is monitoring me from the nurses' station, and grilling me (politely) about my water intake. Apparently, I'm still not drinking enough. God damnit. I am sloshing around like a water buffalo and have to pee every 15 minutes. Please, by the way, note the irony of getting up to pee while dragging an IV unit behind you. This has just become really f-ing annoying.

I have run marathons, sprinted against Marion Jones on a track, done 12 hours of yoga in one weekend, and suffered through 6 am bootcamp sessions in the rain. But this is far and away the hardest physical job I've ever done. Lying in bed all day hooked up to monitors and IVs - trying to figure out how to rest on my side without my hips going numb, or remain on my back without it knotting up - eating, drinking and typing on a 20-degree incline - it's truly ironic how difficult it is to be so sedentary. And unfortunately, the physical therapists who came by today had very little relief to offer. First of all, they didn't tell me anything I didn't already know; and second of all, there's just not a whole lot I can do. Right now, I have one job - and it's to grow a baby. So for the (hopefully) next few weeks, that's just what I'm going to do.

I'm still gunning for a mani/pedi and a massage, and frankly, if the hospital staff knows what's best for them, they'll figure these demands out. If I'm still rocking I'm Not Really a Waitress on these toes come Sunday, there's going to be hell to pay.

Balloon Boy vs. Jon Gosselin - and More Crap on TV

There's not much of a medical update for me to share beyond what you already know if you've been reading my posts consistently (because what else do you have to do but read my blog?). So I'm going to take a break from nurse molestation and bowel movements to give you my point of view on the top stories in pop culture that I have learned about during my 10 days in the hospital:

1) Balloon Boy and His Family
Enough, already. Enough with the floating tin foil over Colorado and the insane man with the awkward wife. They're both obviously crazy, with their Wife Swap and storm chasing. And sweet Jesus, Asian women worldwide must get that same feeling when Mayumi Heene opens her mouth that I get when the news goes live into Oakland. Why must the media spend any amount of time on these people? At one point, nearly every TV channel had "live breaking news" on these fools. Perhaps I will ignite a hoax from this hospital so that I can really shake some things up around here. Although, wait - what I'm experiencing already feels like a hoax of some sort, only I'm not in on it.

2) Jon Gosselin
How is this stupid, ugly, fat, balding philanderer with 8 children rounding up more women? It's inconceivable. All the media attention in the world is not worth the embarrassment of being seen out in public with him - even for the most pathetic of star f***ers. One of the bad entertainment news shows I've fallen prey to watching lately actually had a debate about who made the worse father - Balloon Boy Dad or Jon Gosselin. Hmmm, let me see, how 'bout they both suck major ass?

3) LeAnn Rimes and Eddie Cibrian
Okay, so I think it's a real stretch to consider yourselves famous when you're starring in a Lifetime movie. I'm no country music fan, so maybe LeAnn is still a big deal on that scene and I just don't know it - but given that Lifetime movies generally star Meredith Baxter, Judith Light and Justine Bateman, it doesn't seem this channel is exactly the launching point of a hot career, but rather, marks the end of one. And who the hell is Eddie Cibrian? I had never heard of him until this scandal. Was this a ploy to resuscitate and/or advance their careers? Because an episode of Cheaters has more intrigue than this.

4) Bethenny Frankel
This Real Housewife is mad that the world knows she's only 2 months pregnant - so she had to make a formal statement to "quell the rumors." Um, did anyone tell her she starred in a reality TV series?

5) Khloe Kardashian and Lamar Odom
The not-that-famous sister and the not-that-famous Laker have a not-that-famous wedding. The best part is the pre-nup, which features courtside Laker tickets for the entire Kardashian clan. I'm surprised they don't already have those given the Kardashian girls' history.

Until tomorrow, when I sink my teeth into more stupidity, interspersed by episodes of Jeopardy! to renew my intelligence...

Molested

So this morning started pretty much like all the others. Beginning around 6:00 am, nurses and the such came in to administer antibiotics, draw blood, flush my hep-lock, check my vitals and change my fetal monitor paper. This kept me up for about an hour, because they'd come in, turn on the lights, turn off the lights, open the door, etc. So I was quite tired when I fell back asleep around 7, and slept in again until almost 10.

I am now on a great TV schedule. I catch the Today Show before 10, if I'm up. Then at 10, I check in on Dr. Oz. I follow that up with The View. Generally around this time, I'm due for my bath. This is when things got weird today.

Today's nurse assistant, Benny, is a perfectly nice woman. But she doesn't speak a lot of English (I am practically in Cuba, after all). She is a short, somewhat rotund woman with a bad dye job - you know that orange/blonde hair, typically gained from overuse of Sun-In? Uh huh, that. Anyway, I digress.

Benny was on bath duty today - or so she decided. She came in the room just as I was about to head to the bathroom, asking if I was ready to wash up. I said that I was, but just needed to go to the bathroom first (where I was also going to do my hair - mind you, "doing my hair" now means putting it in a high, somewhat disheveled ponytail in about 1 minute). Benny seemed confused by this.

She heads into the bathroom ahead of me and turns on the faucet. Okay, fine, she's heating up the water for my bath - understandable. I then go in, leave that water running, and proceed to sit on the toilet as traditionally happens when one goes to the restroom.

Yada yada, minding my own business, when there is a knock on the door - and then it's opening. "Um, yeah, hi, what?" Benny is now in the bathroom, door closed behind her, standing at the sink. "We will bathe you now." Um, okay, wow - can we maybe bathe me when I'm done peeing? Seems not. Benny makes her way over to me on the toilet (mind you, I am mid-pee and have toilet paper in my hand), and starts scrubbing away. WTF?!?!? Silently, I'm screaming, "Benny, get off of me! Off!" But no words come out. I am too stunned. She went to town, right then and there, armed with a wash cloth and medical soap. And when she's done, I'm left sitting on the toilet, a victimized lump of semi-cleanliness.

Benny didn't return after this episode. Brad saw her out at the nurses' desk, "innocently" going about her day, as though nothing had ever happened. But we know what she did. She knows what she did.

I will be looking over my shoulder tonight, and if Benny walks in, the lights are going on and I'm ringing the nurse call button. No more, Benny. No more.

Wait, So Is That His Face?

To be clear - this is not my ultrasound scan.

But my doctor did not like Saturday's ultrasound, so I had #4 today. He basically thought the technician did a crappy job, and wanted it done again for a better analysis. And frankly, I kind of agreed. Gonzalo the technician was a little bit weird, and I couldn't understand a word he was saying. Every time I asked a question, he just sort of mumbled something incoherent, and made a weird face. You do not want people making weird faces when they're rubbing gel on your belly and looking at your baby. In the end, he was like, "It's good." I'm not sure he even worked here.

So today's ultrasound was much better. The technician seemed to have real skills in his area of work, was able to identify interesting things (even if at times, I felt like Rachel in that Friends episode where she can't see anything in her ultrasound), and answered our questions in a coherent manner. As a result, we learned that I have a rating of 6.3 out of 8. This is very good. The rating is based on (amongst other factors) the baby's heart rate, movement, size, breathing and sucking, and the amount of amniotic fluid present. I scored perfectly in all areas except fluid amount, which is to be expected when your water has broken. But the amount of fluid has continued to rise since I first came in. I'm at about 6.7 vs. 5.4 the other day. As long as I keep drinking lots of fluids and the baby keeps peeing, this trend should maintain itself.

We also talked to a social worker today, who reassured us that indeed, our health care system is totally screwed up and there's really nothing that can be done to help cover non-hospital costs associated with this "trip." So when I'm wearing last season's shoes, you'll know why. Let's hope the shoe bootie continues to be a trend.

All in all, things continue to be uneventful, which is a good thing. Some fantastic deliveries started arriving today (thank you, Jenny!), and I'm frankly really starting to settle into the hospital as home. I have my favorite nurses - and those I never want to see again. Please note Carleen, who came in as my night nurse very temporarily, only to immediately start bitching about the air mattress leaned against the wall as a fire hazard. Because really, if there's a fire, my greatest concern is the air mattress in the room by the window that is not an exit. She then looked around at all of our things and urged us to "send a lot of it home." If I could have jumped out of bed and bitch-slapped her as I explained I was stuck here from my home in San Francisco for weeks, thank you very much, I would have. Carleen's shift mysteriously ended after that single interaction, and now Nurse Sam will be taking care of me until 7 am.

Thanks again to all for emailing, calling, texting, IM'ing, Facebooking and otherwise sending your good thoughts! I feel very fortunate, and hope that in addition to writing this blog for my own sanity, I'm providing you with some updates you want to hear that occasionally make you laugh.

On that note, today's bowel movement reference (just for you, Jim)... I was threatened with warm prune juice. Guess who magically found constitution tonight? Yup.

Am I Smarter Than a 5th Grader?

Well, not much to report today - which is a good thing.

I actually slept in this morning until 10:00. They generally bring by breakfast around 8, but I didn't wake up, and only noticed it sitting on the side of my bed when I opened my eyes 2 hours later. Breakfast is actually my favorite meal of the day here, because I can always count on at least cereal with milk and french toast or pancakes, which makes me very happy.

Otherwise, they come wake me twice during the night to administer antibiotics and check my vitals (namely, blood pressure and temperature) - once at 4:00 am, and again at 6:30 am. What a joy this is. So I guess I'm already training for night-time feedings... They also often like to take this special time to ask me about my bowel movements. This is what I've been reduced to - daily crap reports. Glamorous.

I spent the bulk of this day on an InTouch Weekly crossword puzzle. Should I be mortified that I can't answer questions geared towards the sophistication level of a 10-year-old girl, or happy that I actually don't know the name of Madonna's youngest daughter? And what about this Sudoku? If I read the instructions and don't quite understand the point, does that mean I'm stupid or above the level of the game?

Back home, I hear that Moby is doing very well. But unfortunately, my mother-in-law suffered a freak mishap while walking yesterday that sent her to the emergency room last night and now has her on bed rest with crutches due to torn ligaments in her foot. Might I ask - what the hell is happening with the Presner famiily?!? I'm a little afraid for Brad to leave the hospital room for fear of what might happen out there (though he did make it out for a run safely today).

Meanwhile, everyone will be happy to know that while I may not be able to keep up much of a fashion trend here, my mother has carried that torch proudly. For someone who threw together a suitcase for an emergency trip across the country of indefinite length, she certainly looks like she's ready to board a cruise ship at the Port of Miami. I've never seen such perfectly put together outfits, complete with fabulous shoes and jewelry, in a hospital. Her explanation? "It's all wrinkle-free." But she has at least confirmed that she only brought one handbag on the journey. Let's all take a moment of silence to consider how I became who I am today.

Until tomorrow...

I Got My Hair Done

Today began with a glorious beauty treatment from the hospital bed, complete with a shampoo. Granted, the nurse used Brad's Pert all-in-one shampoo/conditioner - so I've since had my mom bring my proper products from the hotel now that I know they run a salon around here - but regardless, it was a shampoo. Maybe if things get really good, I'll bust my flat iron out on them next.

A number of visitors came by today, bearing all sorts of goodies - from Cuban food to donuts. And Brad now has an air mattress - because as it turns out, the leather club chair that looks pretty nice for a convertible bed is far from a Sealy Posturpedic.

My prognosis continues to be positive. I had my third ultrasound since being here today, and the baby is growing nicely. I am not showing any signs of imminent delivery (as designated by cervix length and opening, and uterine contractions), and the baby and I are still free of infection. So the goal continues to be to get me to 34 weeks, if possible, and induce me from there. The reason for not pushing me past 34 weeks is that the risk of infection at that point far outweighs the insignificant developmental benefits of a baby that age.

I continue to relish in the freedom from IV hookups and the evil catheter, and I can even unhook myself from the fetal monitor and walk to the bathroom with minimal intervention from others. And today, I learned that I can free my legs from what Amazon.com refers to as "Deluxe Digital Massage Boots" for a whole hour each day! I still cannot figure out who is buying these for home usage, but it is pretty sad for a normal person to need a contraption to deliver an appropriate amount of circulation to their leg muscles. I mean, really, take a walk, people.

So for now, no news is good news - and I hope to provide you all with just that for the next few weeks. Indeed, I have finally accepted that I will not be returning to San Francisco for a long time, despite my private and highly delusional thoughts that we could rent a car and drive back across the country, maybe even allowing me to make my trip to Palm Springs next week... If all goes well, this baby will be a Scorpio and not a Capricorn, far from sharing a birthday with the Neiman Marcus Christmas Book. So we will not have to buy him his own backyard water park.

I Can Go To the Bathroom (And I Have a View)!

Big news today...

The catheter is out and I've been disconnected from all of my IVs (which previously consisted of Magnesium Sulfate, antibiotics and a standard fluid drip). This means that simply by disconnecting from the fetal monitor and releasing my legs from these weird compression current things to prevent muscle atrophy (who buys these for home usage, WTF??), I can go to the bathroom all by myself like a real adult! HUGE. However...no, I do not get to shower. So it's sponge baths in bed, along with teeth brushing, hair combing, etc... I must say, though, I believe the hospital staff is very impressed by my array of personal care products. I am trying to line up a mani/pedi next.

At this point, this is my only movement from the bed, but I'll take it however I can get it. At least I can eat whatever I want - a far cry from the first night, when I starved on a diet of ice chips. They even have menus for me to order special hospital food from - though admittedly, I've been supplementing that with yummy food we order in, have brought in by friends/family, etc.

Things are progressing very well so far. The Perinatologist came and spoke with us this morning, and he maintained that my condition and the baby's are both good. His heart rate is moving right along, we're both fighting infection, and I don't have uterine activity - this is a good thing. At this point, the goal is to get me as close to 34 weeks as possible, at which point they will deliver. The only meds I'm now on are oral antibiotics (amoxycillin) and, well, a stool softener - more information than you probably need, but let me tell you, I was mighty happy for that earlier today...

So it all continues to be one day at a time. Tomorrow should be exciting - we have a few visitors coming by, and it's College Football Saturday in football country - doesn't get much better than that. I am surrounded by books, magazines, DVDs and games (courtesy of many of you) I haven't even made it to yet because I've been busying myself with email, phone calls, and lists of getting crap done - this is what I'm good at. This little laptop and my Blackberry are way too much power for the bed-confined...

Many of you have asked where Brad is staying - he is right here in the hospital with me. I was moved to a beautiful room with a downtown ocean view, and he stays alongside me on a pretty fashionable pullout leather chair thing. I'm not sure how comfortably it sleeps, but no doubt it's better than the labor bed he was subjected to for the first four nights. Meanwhile, my mom is staying at the hotel we'd booked. Longer term, we have a lot of options in place - thanks to so many of you for reaching out on that.

In the meantime, keep the emails and phone calls coming - it helps keep me sane! In return, I'll continue to furnish you all with way more information about pregnancy in general and pre-term labor in particular than you could possibly have ever wanted to hear.

Welcome to Miami...Bienvenidos a Miami

So not exactly what I'd expected for my first pregnancy...though maybe I should have known.

By now, many of you have heard that less than 24 hours after landing in Miami for vacation on Monday 10/12, my water broke at the News Cafe on South Beach - at 29 weeks pregnant. For the less pregnancy informed, that's a good 11 weeks shy of an actual full term.

After dropping it like it was hot on the ground of the sidewalk cafe, Brad helped me amble to the men's bathroom (a line for the ladies - of course), call the doctor, walk back to our hotel, and high-tail it to the emergency room at my new home, Mount Sinai. Here, I've been laid up on bed rest, learning just how much to appreciate technology such as my Blackberry and (Brad's) laptop.

Thankfully, as Brad is from Miami, we have had lots of visitors come by - family and friends alike - and my mom is in town from LA for the forseeable future. I also look lovingly at a beautiful floral arrangement from my Google Retail colleagues every day, and am getting terrific treatment from the friendly staff here. The outpourings from strangers...courtesy of many of you...have also been incredible. From TP's uncle, a Neo-Natalogist at a nearby hospital...to Aaron's amazing connections that have helped get us a bit more notice around here...and the 14 parties who all volunteered to take care of Moby for us...it's been truly unreal. Suffice it to say, the little boy on the way is already building quite the story for himself, not the least of which is the fact that he is going to be a native...Floridian.

To give you a clearer view of the medical side of things, what has happened here is stressful, but not doomsday by any means. I hit 30 weeks tomorrow, which is a great milestone. The last few days have been really strong (I was freed from the constraints of the catheter today!), and frankly, I think the hospital staff expected to be delivering me by now. But the baby and I have fought hard with Magnesium supplements to keep contractions at bay. Combined with antibiotics to prevent infection in either of us, this has been a great cocktail. Today, we were both deemed strong enough to come off the Magnesium and see how we continue to fight naturally - and it's working. Should contractions start up (I am being monitored very closely by lots of machines), they will immediately administer more Magnesium. As long as there is no infection, this is the game we'll play - sit and wait. So this little boy could come in a day or 30 days...we just don't know!

There is the most remote possibility that the ruptured membrane (officially what broken water is - and btw, this experience is felt by only about 15% of pregnant women naturally) could seal itself. But we are not counting on that, as it is extremely rare in these cases. If that were to happen, I could be discharged, though hell if I'd be getting on another plane. All of that said, Miami is home for now.

In spite of the initial shock and fear, our spirits are high, and we're all looking at this experience as a moment that truly defines what our baby's entrance into the world would have to be, after all - full of drama. You didn't really think I'd just go have a baby like a normal person, now did you? He needs a podium story - now he has one.

On that final note, if you've still yet to see the movie "Knocked Up," it is on E right now - a lot. Naturally.