I apologize in advance for the contents of this post. While it might be somewhat entertaining and/or informative, it’s mostly just me whining. You have been warned.
So, yeah, there are things about pregnancy that nobody really tells you about. Which is probably a good thing, because if every current mom told everyone else exactly what pregnancy is like, the human species would have died out thousands of years ago. But seriously. This is ridiculous.
As some of you know, I was (again) seen at the hospital on Thursday with regards to contractions. They were annoying and uncomfortable and happening rather frequently, so we made some calls and headed to the hospital. Thankfully, we were not kept over night this time. I was, however, given medicine to help slow the contractions because they’d begun to cause some cervical changes. These changes were not significant (only one centimeter dilation and absolutely no effacement), but they were there, so.
The first medicine they gave me was terbutaline by injection. I got two doses. Side note (because the article I linked you to doesn’t say it), terbutaline was originally developed for the treatment of chronic lung problems like asthma. Yes. I looked it up. Anyway, the terbutaline may or may not have helped. I didn’t notice because I reacted rather poorly to it. Not allergic, just a bit sensitive, apparently. They warned me that it would most likely increase my heart rate a bit. What actually happened was my heart rate shot up into the 150s and I shook like I’d chased two Stackers with a Red Bull tallboy before running a few wind sprints. On the whole, a highly unpleasant sensation. I do not recommend it .
Seeing that this was not the way to go, my wonderful nurse called my doctor and we pursued a different course of action. They gave me an oral medication this time called Procardia. This seemed to help a bit and I didn’t have any noticeable side effects from this one. Awesome. So they sent me home on modified bedrest and a prescription for the Procardia. The medicine has to be taken, apparently, every six hours, which is annoying, but doable. The bedrest part… well. I’m not particularly happy about it.
“Modified bedrest” can mean a lot of different things. For me, it means that I’m not necessarily confined to bed, or the couch. I can get up for necessities like bathroom breaks and getting myself something to eat/drink. I can move from one room to another. Heck, I can even drive myself to the doctor! Beyond that, however, is a no-no. No taking walks, no standing around, no household chores, and certainly no traveling. Lame! This also means that can’t really go visit with friends. I can’t spend the weekend with my parents or siblings. I can’t go to parties (hello! Halloween?). I can’t cook. Oh, jeez, I can’t even go tour houses with Andrew. I get to sit around like the beached whale I feel like and have everybody else (read: Andrew) do everything for me. While that might sound like fun, after a couple of days of not doing anything, it gets pretty old.
So, I’m huge, I’m cranky, I’m incredibly sore through my hips, I can’t do anything, can’t go anywhere, can’t help Andrew… can’t can’t can’t can’t can’t! They tell me I can’t even give birth vaginally unless Mark decides to flip head-down between now and then! Oh, C-section, shouldn’t be that bad, right? None of that silly labor business, or at least not much, just plug in an epidural and thirty minutes later – babies! How easy is that? What people fail to mention or take into account is that a C-section is major abdominal surgery, okay? There are significant risks with this route, and even more so for me. Because of the Crohn’s and the medicine I take for it, not only do I heal very slowly, but I’m much more susceptible to infection. Case in point, I’m currently being treated for a staph infection. How did I get it? No idea. But I get them all the time. And since I heal so slowly, the pain associated with surgery tends to linger. Which is not to say that I hurt worse than anyone else or that I’m less able to handle it. I just hurt for longer.
I’m just so very frustrated. I am, and have been for a while, so incredibly done with being pregnant. I’m tired, I’m in pain, I feel astonishingly useless, and I just want them out of me. But, at the same time, I know that it’s too soon. My boys are not ready for the outside world, yet. So every day, I hope that it’ll be over that day, and I hope that it won’t. And I don’t want to be told that it’s almost over and to just hang in there. I don’t want anyone to tell me that they understand. I don’t want anyone to tell me that it’ll all be worth it. And if anyone so much as thinks in my direction to cherish these moments because I’ll never get them back (or anything remotely resembling that), I swear to God I will punch every puppy in the world directly in the face. This right now? This is not a feeling I wish to remember at all, much less cherish.
One day, I have no doubt that I’ll look back on my pregnancy fondly and miss it. I don’t anticipate that day coming any time soon.