"Reality" TV my ass

So I was watching "The Bold and the Beautiful" yesterday (come on now, I am on bedrest and I enjoy me some daytime TV) and one of the characters is pregnant and they found at her ultrasound that she has -- dum dum dummmmmmm -- incompetent cervix.

I almost screamed -- I mean how fabulous! I was expecting to see a character on bedrest with weekly doctor appointments and an emergency cerclage surgery. This was going to be great daytime drama. Will Brigit have bathroom privileges? What about shortening? And how would they show the vaginal ultrasounds?

Oh but no.

After a dramatic commercial break, her doctor told her she does not have to stop work or go on bedrest or do anything special, she's just at risk for delivering pre-term.

WHAT?!

What a totally unrealistic portrayal and a disservice to women who watch the show. Not to mention now everyone who knows me and saw this show probably thinks I am faking it. Great.

Hi, people I work with? If you are reading this? I am not faking it. I spend 23 hours a day on my back. Thanks.

I feel I should write to the producers of this show and cite the injustice of it all. What a load of shit.

Week 28

Blah blah turkey blah blah football blah blah Xbox 360 blah blah friend's wedding blah blah naps.

That was my Thanksgiving weekend. Dare I say more?

Today, as always, was Doctor Day. We discussed the possible use of the FFN test, of which my doctor is not a fan. She said it would not make her treat high-risk patients such as myself any differently, so she does not use it.

Then we did a manual cervix check, which started off with her announcing, "Whoa, OK there's something down there."

I of course am thinking the stitches have slipped, I am dilated, why didn't I bring the hospital bag, MYGODTHEBABYISCOMINGTODAYNOOOOO.

Josh asks for some clarification and she says, "Well it's just the baby's head. It's really low."

Yes, thank you, I know. I know this because he has been head-butting my completely non-capable, good-for-nothing cervix for weeks now. But as she pointed out, she has not examined me since my surgery, so we needed to have someplace to start from.

I am still tightly closed and measuring about 1 cm of thickness. So we're status quo.

She sent me on my merry way, bedrest continuing until 34 weeks, stitches out at 36. I have confirmation on that and I am clinging to the hope I get to the point where the stitches come out. I think I am going to scrapbook it. What fond memories this will bring in later years! Enjoyment for the whole family.

Gobble, gobble

So with tomorrow being Thanksgiving and all, I thought I would post the top 10 things I am thankful for.

10. I don't have the nasty dark line down the middle of this gigantic belly, making me look freakish and hairy.

9. I registered for high-quality, high-thread count sheets. Seeing as I spend all my time in bed, it is appreciated by my ass.

8. The condos across the street are not sold yet, so the people can't look in at me all day and night and see me in bed and just think I am lazy.

7. I did not purchase a $200 bridesmaid dress for the wedding I can no longer stand up in, which is taking place this Saturday. Man, that would have been one expensive-ass dust rag.

6. I am eating turkey in my own house, not the hospital. But be careful what you wish for: I have been begging Josh to let us host Thanksgiving at our house one year. But since his grandma can't travel, and we love three hours from her, it is not an option. This year? Thanksgiving at my house. I can't cook it, we have no kitchen, our dining room is full of boxes and our dining room table is not assembled. Pass the drumsticks.

5. The baby's room and guest room are finally painted! So the guests coming for the weekend no longer have to sleep in the upstairs hallway on a futon. Well, unless we feel like making them do so. For fun. Ya know, we're funny like that.

4. We are not making the thrice-annual "Trek Across Illinois and Wisconsin," which brings us such joy. Because if spending 3.5 hours in the car doesn't scream "HOLIDAY," I don't know what does.

3. I have plenty of fiber in my diet. Pooping and stitches really don't go hand in hand and, well darn it all, constipation is just no fun.

2. My husband, our families and our friends. Without their support and help, the last eight weeks would have been difficult, if not impossible.

1. The Blob staying in and reaching his milestone of 28 weeks. He is to continue cooking, like a turkey, until well after the new year. His internal temperature has not reached 185 degrees, and last time I checked, the timer on my stomach has not yet popped out. Stay in there little man, we don't want to meet you until January.

The void left behind

Please take this opportunity to share with me a moment of silence ... for the passing of the weekly vaginal ultrasound sessions with my ultrasound techs.

Today, at 27w2d, I submitted to the vaginal ultrasound for the final time. I will miss this highly intimate time with my ultrasound tech. And my husband, who stands helplessly near my head while the nice woman manuevers the wand like she's parking a Buick.

Ahhh, I will miss it.

My perinatologist released me from the weekly cervical ultrasounds since I will be the ripe old age of 28 weeks next week. From now on, I will see my OB weekly for manual cervix checks. The fun never stops in this pregnancy I tell you.

I will get a regular old growth scan via abdominal method in three weeks. Pretty much, they are kicking my ass to the curb in the high-risk group. They told me my OB would even be the one who takes out the stitches at 36 weeks.

So this is fabulous progress. It's a whole 10 weeks earlier than most women start their weekly OB appointments, but I am cool with it.

Of course, it goes without saying, that the bedrest continues. But the home bedrest has been working -- I was measuring 1.4 today -- so we are happy with that. My perinatologist's exact words were, "I am ecstatic that you made it to 27 weeks."

So I guess we know what I have to be thankful for this Thursday. The Blob is still baking, the stitches still holding.

Can I get a what-what for all that?

Blah

Home, home on the range. Where the cervix and uterus don't play.

Back to the old routine at home this week. Mom came to take care of me, Josh went to Bloomington and daytime television made a return to the bedroom.

I have not an iota of interesting things to say, so I won't pretend.

Just didn't want anyone to freak out and think I was in the hospital again.

Honey, I'm home

Honey, I'm hooooooooooooooome!

Had my big cervical length ultrasound this morning and things were looking stable so the doctors sprung me! I was once again measuring at 1.6 cm thick, making it a grand total of two weeks in a row.

So they determined I could go home if I promised to be good and stay lying down, yada yada yada. Day 17 of my hospital stay ended with my discharge. Thank you, creator of the universe.

Josh took some stuff home from my room, cleaned up the fiberglass insulation that was covering everything in our bedroom (long story) and came back for me at 4 p.m.

On the way home we stopped off at the mall, I ran a quick 2-miler and then we had sex.

Kidding.

I came straight home and planted myself on the couch, where I remain two hours later.

I spent 17 days in the perinatal surveillance unit and now I get to sleep in my own bed and pee in my own bathroom and no one will come in at 7 a.m. and ask me is I am having any pain, any discharge, any spotting or any gush of fluid. Well, unless Josh would like to carry on that delightful little tradition that is a morning visit by the resident.

The nurses were sad to see me go and sent me off with admonishments to stay in bed and keep the baby in me for another 12 weeks.

So here we are. It's good to be home!

By the foot

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

That is the sound of my feet sucking up the lotion from my pedicure that I got yesterday in my very own hospital room.

This was no ordinary pedicure. This one was conducted in my bed while I lounged and relaxed. Quite a different experience than sitting with your feet in a tub of water while a lovely woman speaks in a language you don't understand to another nail technician working in the next station.

I had called around without success in the last few weeks. All the usual suspects told me they could not send their people out because of licensing bullshit. But then I found a spa downtown that recommended a traveling spa service and they felt bad for me and scheduled me for the very next day.

So the very nice lady showed up right after lunch and got right to work.

I think she might have thrown up in her mouth when she saw the condition of these dry-ass feet, but she recovered well. I had not had a pedicure since the week before Labor Day, and I usually go once a month, so you can imagine the condition of my feet. Think lizard skin.

So she buffed and sanded and massaged and moisturized and painted and voila -- I was ready for a foot fetish film. I have never felt so calm.

It could also have been a high. You see, my room gets EXTREMELY warm during the daylight hours. Approximately the temperature of the planet Mercury. I could fry an egg on my forehead. And because I didn't want everyone in the entire hospital to see my feet, we kept the door shut.

Warm + no ventilation + polish remover fumes + pregnant lady = BAD

After the nice nail lady left, I got up to pee (something I do a shocking 43 times per day now) and I felt light-headed. So I thought I would mention it to my nurse by pressing the call button.

Amy: "Hi can you send my nurse in? I feel weird?"
Nurse comes in, I say I feel lightheaded.
Nurse" "Well, that would be because IT SMELLS LIKE FUMES IN HERE."

So we opened the door and turned on the fan and I felt much better.

Except then all the nurses and doctors who stopped by asked about my pedicure and then made fun of me about the fumes. Real nice, kick the pregnant lady when she's down. Or high, as the case may be.

A town called hope

There's no better way to get the pregnant lady in a tizzy than to come in and dangle the prospect of going home in front of her ass-white pale face.

One of the maternal fetal medicine specialists, coincidentally, the same one who read my ultrasound and placed me in the hospital, came in today and said, "Well if you stay the same at Monday's ultrasound, I think we can start talking about home care."

Had I not been confined to bed, I would have jumped out and kissed her, a big wet one right on the mouth.

I was very excited to even have the possibility of home mentioned. I promise I can be good and I will not get up or go downstairs or anything. I will sit down in the shower. I will not get up and go look at the baby room. I will be VERY well-behaved.

Josh seemed skeptical when I told him. My sister flat-out told me it is a bad idea. I say, what the hell. There's nothing they do here that I can't do at home. They can even monitor my contractions from there, or so I hear.

While I can see the value in staying here for a few more weeks, I also really want to sleep in my own bed. And see the cats. And have high-speed internet. And have Josh around instead of coming back and forth.

I am not getting my hopes up (can you tell) yet. It's just nice to have the idea of a possibility to look forward to.

But I am being realistic. My regular OB/GYN sat in this very room this morning and told me she did not see how I could possibly go home at 26 weeks. In fact, she said, "I do NOT want to deliver you at 26 weeks."

Conflicting reports, yes. But a glimmer of hope.

Bedrest v2.0: now with contractions

I swear, every weekend, it's something new with this pregnancy.

Saturday, I started with some weird crampy-type feelings in the later afternoon. I didn't feel like my uterus was getting hard during these cramps, but my sister convinced me to tell the nurse anyway.

So they hook me up to a monitor and sure as shit, I am having contractions.

The doctor came in and called it "irritable uterus" and they said I need to drink more water and lie on my left side. They don't seem terribly concerned and said unless they start coming every five minutes for an hour, they are not strong enough to send me into labor.

When we started paying attention, I had them at 8:45, 8:50, 9:00 and 9:25. So not regular at all.

It's kind of like a bus schedule. Never regular, and when you least expect it to arrive, it shows up and splashes you with muddy water from a puddle.

Today I had my weekly vaginal ultrasound session. I measured 1.6, but am soft and my membranes occasionally dip down to my stitches. So, length is good, but dynamic, and I have to stay here.

The doctor said the bedrest is doing me a world of good and I am handling it great.

I like to be rewarded for good behavior. But no reward for being good for the last 10 days. I want to go home and look at my new fence. I want to sleep in my own bed with my husband. I want to watch HBO. Bah.

Maybe next week. Ha. Ha ha ha ha. HaHA.

So we stay. And stew. I mean that literally as it is roughly 6,381 degrees in this room. I feel like I am cooking. They are fattening me up with all this food three times a day and waiting for me to get nice and plump so they can eat me for Thanksgiving.

Eight days a week

I have been here eight days now. You may ask yourself, what in the hell is that girl doing in that room all day? (Actually I know you are not asking that, but humor me so I have something to write about)

In the time I have been here, I have:

• Read six books


• Eaten 22 meals


• Had my temperature taken 31 times


• Had blood taken twice


• Slept 49 hours

There are of course numerous numerous other fun and exciting things. But when I sit here and look at that list, it is like I have accomplished nothing at all. Only 49 hours of sleep? That's nothing.

The fact I actually had the time to calculate that list is also sad.

I really need a hobby.

Yesterday I got to go outside for a whole 20 minutes. It was about 70 degrees so my mom wheeled me out and I sat in the sun for a bit. Coming back inside was depressing. I felt I was seeing the light for the final time. I am pathetic.

Today I have nothing to be snarky about. What a crappy post. I will make up for it on Monday, since I will have an ultrasound and will have something to actually report on.

However, my doctor is on vacation next week -- the lucky bastard is going to Jamaica -- so there is not even a twinkling glimmer of hope that I could maybe possibly go home. Not that there is anyway, but you never know.

Disconnected

I got belligerent with my bedrest today.

The hospital sent around a little note they would be upgrading the phone system and it would be down from about 7:30-8:30 a.m. Someone would come to the room to let me know when it was ready.

So no phone, no dialup. No dialup, no internets. No internets, no fun.

At 11:45 a.m. after my nurse asked them for like the zillionth time when it would work, they came in and assured me they would be "right back."

After much agitation and several calls, they finally sent someone to my room at 3 p.m. to tell me how to dial up. And when I finally did, it connected at 2.4 kbs. Yesterday, 56 kbs. Today, 2.4. I could not even get a page to load.

They informed me that would be about as good as it gets. WHAT!?

After much sulking and sighing and bitching and moaning to my mother-in-law, as well as threats I would never be able to stay here for 10 weeks without the internet, I connected again and got it up to 33.

I am scared to go offline. I think it will disappear forever.

Josh says we can get me a wireless modem or something. He knows the pain of my addiction. It's like crack, I swear. I need it, I crave it, I love it, my precious.

How did people LIVE like this? I honestly can't remember my life without high-speed access. It's like the stone age here. Who lives like this? How is it possible no other pregnant bedresting woman has ever needed the internet in her room at this hospital?

Wah. I am spoiled and I want my way.

Next up, Thanksgiving

So I made it to my first mini-milestone.

I found staring 17 weeks of bedrest in the face to be a wee bit daunting. So instead, I broke it up a little. First was to get to Halloween. Next up, Thanksgiving. After that, Christmas!

And wouldn't you know it, on the "Today Show" this morning, Al Roker announced there were 55 shopping days left until Christmas. That means I could potentially be here for FIFTY FIVE MORE DAYS. 5-5. That's, well, that's a long time.

I have decided that the one thing that would make this bedrest much more fun is drinking games. I mean how fun would some Asshole or Three-Man be right now? It would pass the time, I would be having loads of fun and I would be d-r-u-n-k.

It's always at times like this when you really need a drink that the annoying pregnancy rules kick in.

So instead of Three-Man, my mom and I played a rousing game of Crazy 8s today, where I kicked her ass up and down Wellington Avenue. I should have played for money.

So next up, Turkey Day. In 25 short days, I will be this close to being 28 weeks. There will be a parade and a huge celebratory meal in my honor. There will be green beans and stuffing and pie -- PIE! And it will all be in honor of me making it to 28 weeks.