The Last Supper

Well, well, well...and so here we are.

Today has been a little scary and awesomely exciting, all at once. It began with my in-room hair appointment at 12:30. That was of course awesomely exciting. A couple hours later, my doctor came in with the nurse and a medical student to discuss my birthing plan. Great, I've been waiting for this! And then came the scary part...

So ladies. You know when you go in for your annual exam, you get in that fateful position on the table...and right after the audible "snap" of the medical glove around the doc's wrist as the death metal has you cranked wide open like a 6-lane highway, he or she says:

"You're going to feel a little bit of pressure."

And as we all know, that's a lie.

Well, I dream of that exam instead of what I experienced at approximately 3:30 this afternoon. Do you know where your cervix is? I mean, do you really know where your cervix is? And I don't mean theoretically. I mean literally. Yeah, so I didn't exactly either - until this afternoon. And let me tell you - it is quite far away from where it should be for any sort of medical exam - ever.

After putting my eyes back in their sockets and recommencing breathing, I learned that my cervix is "pretty soft" but still closed and posterior. It needs to be even softer and anterior - and of course, open. Thus, Cervidil will be employed to get things going. I'm looking forward to the insertion of this tampon-like drug at 3:00 this morning. It's been too long since something has visited my cervix.

At this time, my IV will be started, with a simultaneous blood draw. If the cramping that the Cervidil causes is too much for me to handle while I try to catch some sleep, I can opt for a sedative. On the plus side, this will help me drift off to sleep. On the minus side, it will prevent me from being able to get up and go to the bathroom - and with no catheter, that means a bed pan. And the fun begins - more on what comes next tomorrow.

After the cervical exam, the afternoon was a blur. But things really picked up around 6:30. That's when my mom wheeled me outside where, according to locals, it was "freezing." According to me, it was just shy of balmy. We spent a little more than 1/2 hour enjoying the scenery before returning to the room, where my mom presented me with some very stylish pajamas she instructed me to put on - complete with my bling bling sandals. I thought it was rather strange she demanded I put them on at that very moment, but I wasn't going to argue with anything that would get me out of a hospital gown for the first time in 5 weeks.

Once I had changed, Brad entered the room, and they escorted me to the labor and delivery room next door, which had been completely transformed into a beautiful little bistro. Flowers, candles (fake ones, as not to set off any alarms), a little table with two chairs, and a feast of all feasts awaited.

OH MY GOD.

I sat at a cloth-covered table, drank a glass of wine, and most important, did not have to eat while lying down (or drink my water out of a straw). The food was incredible. It came from Prime 112, a fantastic steakhouse on the beach. Our menu featured:

-Kobe beef meatballs
-A 22 oz. rib-eye with truffle butter (we split that)
-Creamed spinach with shallots
-Truffled french fries
-Fried oreos

This was one helluva last supper before they begin starving me at midnight.

If that wasn't enough, Brad further surprised me by asking if I'd like my push present before or after delivery (the timing is acceptable either way, by definition!). I think you know what I chose. After all, the baby is present enough for tomorrow, right?

After almost 3 hours out of bed (gasp!) and off the grid, I returned to my room next door, feeling about as calm and ready for this show to begin as possible. I thank you all for your many, many emails, phone calls, texts, blog comments and Facebook messages. While I may not always respond to them, that doesn't mean they aren't important to me - each and every one has helped me through this that much more.

The next time you hear from me, I'll be...a mom (of a human being - Moby, you will always be the first son)! Brad will do his best to send out an update, but fair warning: it's going to be more than a notion to remember all of the intended email addresses. That said, please come back to the blog for the most complete update (and at least one photo).

Wish me luck!

P.S. Thank you, Sherri. You done good.

The Final Countdown

Many of you have acknowledged that I seem to have reached the end of my rope. And I won't deny that. Everything annoys me now - including the nurse who introduced herself to me for the fourth time since I've been here. Really, Linda? Really, you didn't think I knew your name? How else would I have added it to the NURSES I HATE list?!?! And by the way, you know who else is getting added to that list? The genius who suggested I have another baby in a year.

Meanwhile, daytime TV is officially awful. All of the programming is designed to scare (primarily) stay-at-home-moms shitless about things like rare forms of bacteria dwelling on your kitchen countertops; diseases you can catch from your pets; and child abduction. When I seek to escape from that, I'm accosted by repeats of Valerie Bertinelli's E! True Hollywood Story.

And thus, it's become supremely important to infuse my days with special highlights from outside of my hospital room. For example, today was my second mani/pedi, to prepare for the big day. Tomorrow will be the second in-room hair appointment. Some have asked why I would dare primp before delivery, instead of waiting to reward myself afterwards. Well, gee, let me see. When do you think I'm going to have time for a leisurely mani/pedi and blow-out here after this kid is born? It would be pretty awkward to bounce out to a hair salon while my baby is in the NICU, no? And for those who have expressed concern that my hair will look terrible after delivery...puh-leeze. I pride myself on the fact that exercise becomes me, and I don't sweat. I expect to look better than I have for the past month.

Tomorrow afternoon should certainly be interesting. The doctor will administer an exam to determine the final induction plan, which may or may not include cervidil to "ripen" my cervix (sorry, that's gross, even if you have no idea what it means); and will definitely include pitocin. I look forward to bidding farewell to so many drugs in my system after Saturday (except for the epidural - that can stay as long as it wants).

When I post tomorrow's update, I'll fill you in on the plan, which is likely to commence very early Saturday morning. And yes, I will plan to post on Saturday, even if it's a one-liner like, "I'm still alive." But watch out - because I don't plan to spare a whole lot of details, people! You've hung in there with me for this long...don't bitch out at the end.

A Morning Narrative

2:00 am:
-"Doo-doo-doooo" sounds from the monitor to notify me there is no more paper.
-Nurse comes in to replace paper (at least I didn't have to call her).
-Nurse takes my blood pressure and temperature, while she's in here.

4:00 am
-My God, I have to pee so badly. But I hate getting out of bed. It takes me forever to reach my compression boots to unplug them, and rolling over and pulling myself up out of bed is agony, since the baby has decided to wedge himself on top of my birth canal.

4:10 am
-I'm out of bed.

6:30 am
-KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!
-"WHAT??"
-KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!
-Confused pause
-KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!
-"Come in, WTF?!"

6:31 am
-Enter night nurse and tag-along.
-All lights go on.
-Loud talking ensues between Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
-One says, "I need a blood pressure and temperature check."
-The other says, "And we're going to do a blood draw."
-I say, "Right now?? JESUS."

6:40 am
-Offenders exit the room.
-Brad and I talk shit about both of them and the annoyance of the situation.
-I notice that 2 of the lights are still on.

6:45 am
-Vampire re-enters the room - more loud talking, seemingly to herself.
-Brad rips into her with, "For future reference, we need to not have her blood drawn at 6:30 in the morning. She's delivering a baby on Saturday and needs her rest. Once it was midnight...another time, the middle of the afternoon..."
-Vampire retorts, "It's not me, it's your nurse. You need to talk to your nurse. It's not me!"
-Brad angrily responds, "Fine, we'll talk to the nurse."

9:30 am
-Awake, I realize no one has come back into the room.
-I also realize I have no breakfast tray.
-I've been punished.

10:30 am
-Whatever, I don't care that I have no breakfast - because I've just received a giant bagel delivery (thank you, Acumen Fund)!

11:30 am
-Brad's parents arrive - with bagels (and flowers). Clearly, we eat these first.

End morning - begin afternoon. T minus 3 days.

Really???

Today, I tasted the many flavors of incompetence that seem to be packaged so deliciously here at Mount Sinai Medical Center. And it all began at what was once my favorite Perinatology office.

Our appointment was at 2:00, but because we waited for 1/2 hour last week, the nurse called ahead to find out when we should really get there. We were advised to actually depart at 2:00, getting us there around 2:20 - too early for CP Time. And we still waited for 20-30 minutes - probably not the best thing for someone on bed rest.

When they called me back to the exam room, Brad wheeled me in. I got up on the table as usual, waiting for things to get started. And then the tech asked the most unusual question:

"What are you here for?"

Well, gee, I don't know, let's see. I'm pregnant. This is my third time here in three weeks. I'm in a room with an ultrasound machine. I'm going to hazard a guess that I'm here for a f***ing ultrasound.

But rather than answer as such, I provided her with a little bit of history:

"On vacation, yada yada, water broke at 29 weeks, stuck in the hospital on bed rest..."

That seemed to satisfy her enough to explain that I'd be getting a routine amniotic fluid check and a few other measurements to determine my biophysical profile score. Brad interjected, explaining that the doctor wanted us to make sure we also got a baby measurement and cervical length. Apparently, by saying this, he'd yelled expletives at her.

She snapped back that their office would perform neither of these measurements.

"Your last baby measurement was 2 weeks ago (actually it was 1 week ago at their office, and 2 days ago in my room, but Ms. Rules didn't need to know that), and we only perform this measurement once every three weeks due to inaccuracy. And we won't measure the cervix of a woman whose membranes have ruptured (that's a medical way of saying my water broke)."

We explain that this is what the doctor ordered, and that in fact my cervix has been measured before in a non-intrusive way. But this serves no purpose. She called the doctor she reports to, called my nurse back at the hospital, demanded a faxed prescription for the measurements (which she claimed she didn't have)...hell, she might have called President Obama about the matter.

After about 30 minutes lying down on a table with gel on my exposed belly, she was satisfied enough by her Spanish Inquisition to begin the exam. Things continued to go downhill from there, as she shook her head and mumbled under her breath that my fluid level was very low. (Only later did she note that the baby can hide the pockets of fluid, preventing her from being able to measure two of the four quadrants.) By this point, I was starting to quietly lose it. In the meantime, she stumbles around the room, getting ready to measure my cervix. Then came the following:

"Okay, we're just going to have you lower your legs. Hmmmm, I just need to figure out how this is going to work. It's been a really long time since I've done this."

In my head, I said, "Bitch, back the hell up off my cervix with your uneducated, non-knowing-how-to-perform-a-routine-exam ass!!"

In reality, I shot Brad one look as she stepped out of the room to get an education. And Brad knew to take that look and translate it back to her as, "We're outta here."

At that point, we still had to wait for our "report" to share with the doctor. It was supposed to take one minute. But we waited...and waited...and waited. And that's not the worst part. As we sat in that lobby, I started to get a whiff of something funky. Moments later, a staffer walked out spraying a can of Lysol, leading right up to a small, open trash can. Oh...no...she did-nt just fish a dirty diaper out of there. Whoooooo throws an unconcealed, shit-filled diaper into an office trash can in a public lobby?? This reminds me of the Google freaks, changing their baby on the floor of the cafe, then wielding the dirty diaper through the dessert trays like bio-terrorists before tossing the mess into a nearby compost bin. Really.

Let the countdown begin, because I am soooooo done.

You're Going to Force Feed My Baby?

So you know how in prison, the inmates trade goods with one another? Yeah, well so today, I traded my O Magazine to a nurse for some "Sweet Pea" body wash she stored in her locker. What has become of my life?

There were a couple of highlights today (aside from the nice soap). The first was my second trip out and about. Yes, we take the same route each time, because anything not along the water would simply take me through parking lots. But it's lovely! And the weather is really great now - it's in the low '80s and very breezy. Adding to the excitement was my doc's prescription for some (very limited) walking! So I actually walked the length of a hallway after we returned from our trip - and I didn't even fall over. That practice going back and forth between my bed and the bathroom has apparently been a great training regimen.

We also spoke to one of the Neonatologists today, who we've been trying to nail down for a couple of days, and he provided us with much more of a roadmap than we've had since getting here. As a 34-weeker, our little guy (or big guy, since he's now weighing in over 5 pounds - can you imagine him at 40 weeks??) thankfully escapes the biggest preemie concerns. The main issue he is likely to face is eating (hard to believe, coming from Brad and me). Essentially, his sucking and swallowing skills may not yet be fully up and running, which may require supplemented gavage feeding. I've always associated this practice with the production of foie gras - and it rather disturbs me to think of my baby as a duck or goose. But I digress. He is likely to figure things out within 3 to 10 days post-delivery, at which point he could be discharged and whisked straight to the airport. Pretty incredible! Bottom line - the likelihood of us being home for Thanksgiving is very strong.

Somehow, the big debate today seemed to be whether or not I am actually still leaking amniotic fluid. I'm not sure why this was debatable, considering that they performed a swab test yesterday that confirmed I am still leaking. It's also fairly apparent when fluid is coming out of you, but no one seems to want to listen to me. Everyone (especially today's doctor) seems to be trying to will me to seal over and go back home to San Francisco. Let me tell you something - sealed or not - I ain't coming home without a baby. I am not getting on a plane 34 weeks pregnant, just so that I can land at SFO and have to be rushed to the hospital for more bed rest. I have come to terms with my Miami baby and his November 14th birthday, and we're not changing the plan.

On the agenda for tomorrow - back to Perinatology - somebody call the cops, that'll be 3 days outside in a row!

Shut the Door and Get Me Out of Here!

The morning began at 5 am when my monitor ran out of paper. It has to be replaced every 8 hours, which means that more often than not, I get an unfortunate wake-up call at ass o'clock in the form of the most annoying "Doo doo dooo" alarm. Upon hearing this noise, I press the nurse call button (unless the nurse is really on top of it and manages to come in and change the paper right before or as the alarm is going off). These days, she just comes in and changes the paper without bothering me, which is nice - it used to be that I could also expect to have my vitals taken at this time.

For reasons completely unknown to me, the nurse left the door ajar when she left the room. What the hell? Seeing as it takes me a couple of minutes to actually get out of bed by the time I unhook my compression boots and disconnect myself from the monitor, I was none too excited to have the light from the hallway shining into my room. So I lay in bed for a few minutes, considering whether or not I could sleep with the door of my hospital room open. Futile.

Around 7:30, the door opened again. Now what?? It was too early for a visit from the doctor or breakfast. I swear to God, if someone had walked in to tell me I was "irritable," I would have punched them in the face.

So I didn't open my eyes and pretended to keep sleeping - this is a powerful hospital trick.

"Sleeping," someone whispers.
"Trying," I think to myself.

They exit, seemingly having done nothing, and leave the door ajar again. DAMNIT!!

This time I refuse to get up and close it.

9 am, someone is back. OMG, will this ever end? I pull my fake sleeping act again. I hear them put down my breakfast tray, and then they leave. Now the door is almost ALL THE WAY OPEN.

Okay, is this the world's most passive-aggressive attempt to force me to wake up? For what? So that I can make it to church on time?? GO AWAY!

This time, I get up and shut the door. As I do, I look around my room and start to feel my head pounding. And then it hits me - I've got to get the hell out of here. I need to leave the confines of this room and get some fresh air, even if I have to throw a brick through a window and stick my head out of it like a dog.

When Brad woke up (mysteriously, he slept through all of this), I told him I was losing it. I was certain that this bed rest prescription without outdoor privileges (minus the weekly Perinatology trip) was no longer good for my health. And so he did what the best husband in the world would do, of course. He marched to the nurse's station while I was in the bathroom, and politely demanded that he be given a wheelchair to take me outside. Apparently, the nurses were confused and asked Brad if the doctor had approved this. He answered in a roundabout manner that almost satisfied them.

10 minutes later, after he'd returned to the room, the doctor showed up.

Doc: "I understand you're getting a bit crazy in here."
Me: "Yes..."
Doc: "So we're going to let you go outside today. It's a beautiful day, you've been very good, and you should enjoy it."
Me: "Oh thank God!!"
Brad: "So I can take her out myself for 15 minutes, maybe 30?"
Doc: "Yes, 15-30."

After waiting an inordinate amount of time for a wheelchair to show up in a place where people, you know, need them, Brad lost his patience and found one on his own. Decked out in my "going out" robe and sandals, we hit the pavement. Hurricane Ida's wind blew through my hair (and thank God I'm still rocking this blow-out, else my hair would not have moved) - and it was awesome.

When we returned to the room after 40 minutes (shhhh), I felt so vindicated. And so I settled into the rest of my day - no pounding headache, no dog-like symptoms - and the hope that tomorrow's doctor has as much mercy on me.

It's Just Not That Interesting

Believe it or not, I actually have nothing to say. After watching Stanford outplay 8th ranked Oregon and beat them 51-42, I'm at a loss for words. No, this is not basketball - it's football.

Otherwise, today was very mellow. Because you know, I've spent all those other days just getting wild and crazy within the confines of my labor and delivery room. And speaking of my labor and delivery room, I'm a little creeped out by the notion that I will be having a baby in here. I feel like the room should be more "medical," but maybe that's just me. I might as well be giving birth at home in this set-up. But I digress. The big news here seems to be the anticipated arrival of Tropical Storm Ida. I am not amused. Brad, on the other hand, seems unbothered.

When not watching football, I've spent the day looking at the clock and wondering if, exactly a week from now, I'll have a baby. It's very surreal to think that in such a short matter of time, I will no longer be pregnant, and actually will be responsible for another human life. Here's when I really start hoping that dogs and babies aren't all that different. Shut up, let me have my fantasy.

And so with that, I'm going to sign off. Don't abandon the blog just because this post was short and not that interesting. I'll come back with a bang soon enough - trust me.