Okay, yes! This is another pregnancy oriented blog. Do you expect something different? I mean, LOOK AT ME!!! Oh, no! As a matter of fact, like I told Danielle last night,I am close to adorning a John Merrick burlap sack (with one eye hole cut out) on my head. Not that I was a fashion plate before-- but, believe it or not, I cared. Now, I don't care. I have read many women are edgy about having their water break in public. "Carry a jar of pickles to mask the spill and the smell of ammonia." At this point, I could poop my pants in the middle of a Farmer's Market and not care.
Wait, I've lost track here. That is one of the reasons why I have stopped going to work as of last Tuesday (my 36th week). My pain/discomfort is chronic enough as to make me unable to concentrate for too long without being interrupted with thoughts like, "My god! My back!" And, then I spending about ten minutes reorienting myself in a chair... making snorting, huffing noises like regulars at the Chinese buffet.
Which reminds me, the other day, my mother decided it was time to take me to get Chinese food. Well, why not? It worked for my cousin Karla and Glenda's daughter and... whatever, I go. Maybe it is all mind over matter. I am screwed for being so cynical (says the girl who believes in ginji and vampires). I waddle my way up to the brass bar, catching the peripheral of an INCREDIBLY obese woman double-timing it to the chaffing dish in front of me. Yeah, god forbid that the severely pregnant lady eat all the Lo Mein! Because, then, oh, dear! You would have to wait approximately two minutes for the cooks to bring out some more. Would I be exaggerating if I said I saw beads of sweat on her mustache? No. Then, at the other corner of the station, she leans into a waistless stretch to reach a soup bowl. The noise released from her air passages have recently only been heard on PBS nature shows. Am I making fun of "fat" people? No, I'm slightly Amazonian even pre-pregnancy AND there was nothing funny about the situation. The magic of MSG? Nah... no labor.
I am taking the time to write some of this because I have already gone through these events at least three times. And, that is two times too many. I DO realize I have been very fortunate not to have had any major health complications thus far (besides what I have mentioned previously). I should've expected having to submit to doctors' request at some point. I can also see the toll exhaustion and discomfort takes on one's temperament. Before, people would ask, "How ya doin'?" I would ALWAYS answer, "Fine. Thanks." Well, now, I am not going to answer at all. So, don't ask. I won't complain (unless you've known me for more than ten years). I will just stare at you blankly.
MOST IMPORTANTLY! The girls are look really well. Their heartbeats are strong. They're about six and a half pounds each. And, they are still wiggling almost constantly (where they find the room I have no clue). So, please realize despite my bitching, I am happy they are going past the expected 36 weeks. And, there are some brief moments where I experience a kinda of happiness they are comfy and warm inside of me. However, I would like them out before their high school graduation.
Let's review. Last Monday, I was told I was dilated to 2cm and 70% effaced (all cervix talk). "Cool," I projected, "time to get the ball rolling." I went to work the next day for a management meeting. It would prove to be my last day, which I think my co-workers appreciated (they were staring to look very nervous around me). Yup, a trooper! That's me! Tuesday night into Wednesday morning, I lost my mucus plug. My husband mentioned concern how he wanted to see it. But, once I explained it looked more like the by-product of a sinus infection and nothing like a wine cork or votile candle, he lost interest. Unfortunately, I read these events mean you could start labor in an hour or two weeks. And, the waiting kicks into high gear. I did experience some contractions but nothing regularly. Wait for it, wait for it. The impatience doubles, triples...
This Monday, first, I had my weekly NST (stress test) at the hospital. Mind you, I have been OVERLY polite to every health care provider involved with this ordeal whether I "like" them or not. Don't offer anyone a knife, a spear, or a sword as you remove your armor. The nurse who has given me my last few NSTs, I refer to her as Raisinette. She is a bottle blond with an Angie Dickenson bob (that sounds kinda cool, in an Amy Sedaris type of way) and a baby oil tan that makes my pigment cells ache. I know, I never go out in the sun and when I do, we have an experience like the Air Show sunburn. I know not of your tanning ways. However, every time she reaches over my belly, I can see the horrible damage done to her skin. And, I look up at her face with a sad sympathy in my eyes that I save to be shared with a legless child beggar in a sewage filled street somewhere in Central America. Anyway, nothing new. The girls look great.
Next, I had my sonogram. The sono-nurse has been extremely sweet. She can't believe I haven't had these babies yet, she says. Genevieve's head is so deep in my pelvis! Have I thought about induction, she asks. Sure, sure. Is it selfish? Yes, I think so. But, it sounds like you pay for it with the severity of contractions. But, the sono-nurse can't induce. Oh, if she could! I waddle down the corridor toward the exam room, tears building around my eyelashes. I can't even walk anymore, I pity myself. Dr. MNO, one of the five doctors I've seen since being inseminated, measures me again. Now, I am 3.5cm and 90% effaced. She tells me to go back to the hospital. I was just there. They sent me here, I explain. "I want to see if you dilate more," she answers. Fine. I make some calls. I grab my bags.
By 2pm, I am in a gown with Raisinette hooking me up again. I told my husband not to rush, but he shows up soon after. I've got this feeling they are yanking my chain. No emergencies... in the babies' best interest, of course. I am definitely experiencing uterine irritability. Oh, and thank god! I am reminded again, this irritability occurs because I am carrying two babies... TWINS, they say! You know what? NO SHIT! If I walked around town with a dairy cow on my shoulders and complained of a sore neck, it's not necessary to remind me, "Well, you are carrying a dairy cow on your shoulders, you know." No contractions noted, despite my gauging of reoccurring pain (on a scale of one to ten) at a seven. Apparently, unless the monitor picks something up (I later learn this varies wildly, depending on who hooks you up and where they place the paddles), this means nothing.
However, the shifts change and the next nurse, who I think is sweet although I become agitated by her bizarrely small mouth, starts finding contractions. Apparently, the irritability prevents the uterus from getting into any type of rhythm. I, however, have still not seen a doctor.
More soon... (lucky you).
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