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.