This afternoon, Joey and I had our 36 week OB visit. We’re now bumped up to weekly appointments, which is just fine with me as I tend to get a little (OK, a LOT) nervous in between appointments. A history of miscarriage and infertility will do that to you.
Today’s appointment was more interesting than normal. I got to have my Group B Strep test (please come back negative, PLEASE!!) and then the doc decided to check to see if I was dilated any…just for fun. (Fun for HER, that is. Not for me.) Nope, no dilation. Just a tiny bit effaced.
Whatevs, I am just glad she’s not coming TODAY! She’s not full term until Wednesday.
Then we got to talking about fetal movement. A couple of months ago, my primary OB had told me to count fetal movement twice a day, and I needed to feel 6 kicks, etc within a period of an hour. Well. I was seeing a different doc today, and when she asked me if I was feeling five bits of movement every hour I was like, “Um, no…but I do notice her at least twice a day.”
The eyeballs on this doc got real big. ”OH.” She said.
And then I was like HOLY COW, DID I MISUNDERSTAND MY PRIMARY OB?!?! HAVE I BEEN DOING THIS ALL WRONG?
The doc leaned back on the counter and looked thoughtful. ”Can I have you do a fetal non-stress test, just to be sure?” She asked.
I was all, HECK YES. Test whatever you want to.
“I’m not convinced she’s moving enough,” said the doc. ”I just want to be good and certain that there are no bad surprises around the corner.”
Yeah, me too.
Worst Case Scenarios began flurrying around my brain even as I tried to act totally chill about the whole thing.
The doc left for a few minutes, then came back in. ”We’re out of monitors over here, do you mind if we take you over to triage?” Translated: can we push you over to the hospital in a wheelchair, have you go through the admitting process, give you an ID bracelet and THEN hook you up to the monitor.
“Sure,” I said. But I didn’t know about the wheelchair yet.
They pushed that puppy past me and I got all nervous. ”I don’t get to walk?” I asked the nurse.
“Nope,” she said.
I know, I know, liability. But srsly. Wheelchairs are an extra layer of freakiness.
So, off we went. Turns out wheelchairs are kind of fun if there’s nothing much the matter with you except for a bad case of nerves. Joey and I went through admitting (which, conveniently, basically pre-registered us for when I DO go into labor) and the clerk slapped an ID bracelet on my arm. I didn’t feel that was truly necessary because, like the wheelchair, it just made it more freaky.
I was wheeled into a room with a strange bed, a monitor setup, and a TV showing Dr. Oz. A few minutes later, I had two large circle monitors strapped to me and a clicker in my hand, and I was instructed to click that clicker whenever the baby moved.
She had been still for quite some time. I was convinced she wouldn’t move and then they’d make me have a C-section. I really don’t want a C-section. I know other people have had them and they survived just fine, but I just would really rather not do it. I don’t need two tummy scars, I already have a nice big one from last year and it’s way more than enough.
Five minutes into the test, the child awoke. And she was MAD about the monitors. They weren’t pressing very hard, but they were definitely impinging on her space, and she wasn’t having it. She laid into them both with a vengeance, and pretty soon the monitors were jumping around on my belly as she’d kick one then punch the other. I couldn’t keep up with her on the movement clicker, but I figured it was better to under-represent her wildness than overshoot it and miss a potential problem.
Joey had fortunately brought his iPad, so he was playing Angry Birds and checking email while I lay there getting pummeled by our child. I felt bad that this little detour was delaying his afternoon plans to blow some of the leaves out of our yard, but I was also super thankful that we were here in the first place, making sure that nothing was wrong with our kid. (Well, nothing aside from the DNA she received from her parents.)
Her kicks were often very well-placed so they’d make it onto the doppler thingy they had strapped to me, and the whole room would fill with a WHUMP sound that drowned out her steady little heartbeat.
After ten minutes of this, the triage nurse came in.
“She’s moving around quite a bit in there,” she said. She could hear all those WHUMPs out at the Nurse’s station.
“Um, yes,” I said. ”I didn’t think she would!”
Obviously she likes her space just like her mama.
The nurse repositioned one of the sensors. I’m not sure if this was to quite the WHUMP noises, or if it was to get a different reading. It did slightly quiet the WHUMPs, but not entirely. And then, the little girl got tired of fighting about another ten minutes later, and she buried herself somewhere deep inside her amniotic fluid and only made the occasional jab at the sensors.
After what seemed like ages, but was probably only 30 minutes, I was unhooked from the monitor and the nurse told me I was free to go. ”She sounds great,” she told us.
Whew.
Ugh.
I am really getting ready to have this whole thing over with. Not that I haven’t enjoyed being pregnant, which is not the truth, I don’t really mind any part of it. (Not even the fact that my right foot swells twice as much as my left foot.) I am just tired of being afraid all the time that something will go wrong in there and there won’t be anything I can do about it.
Like I said. Miscarriage and infertility baggage.
YAAAAAAY.
Anyway, all this to say, that’s why I have a hospital bracelet. And why Joey is only just now getting a chance to go at our leaves with the leaf blower.
