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.