Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Postcard From The Antepartum Wing @ St Luke's Roosevelt

Well, I finally have a reason to start posting again but I wish I could say it was because of more joyful circumstances.

I was admitted to the hospital on Sunday for preterm labor at 27 and 4/7 weeks gestation. I'd had two contractions Sunday morning at about 5 and 8 am, some blood-tinged discharge and of course freaked out. (Who wouldn't after my first pregnancy miscarried in March at only 11 weeks?) A quick call to me OB--who, it turns out is on vacation this week so I spoke with another doctor covering for her--sent us scurrying over the Brooklyn Bridge, across and up town to the Upper West Side.

We got to the hospital at about 10. They took a urine sample, examined me and then put me on a fetal heart monitor and a toco to measure contractions. I was contracting about 6 to 12 minutes apart. They discovered a urinary tract infection, a yeast infection and that i was dehydrated.

In goes the IV with some sort of water glucose mix and we wait.

Two hours later they discover I'd gone from 1-3.5 cm dilation and within five minutes all the talk of me going home ceased and I was immediately admitted to labor & delivery. A course of antibiotics, some steroids shots to speed lung development, and an NSAID to halt contractions and we settled in for the night: Rod sleeping on a pretty crappy excuse of a pull out chair and me in the most uncomfortable bed I've ever slept in.

The next afternoon, after the contractions had stopped I was moved upstairs to this wing, the antepartum wing and told to sit tight because they were keeping me here until 34 weeks--a little over 6 weeks from today.

I panicked.

And then slept. Woke to more contractions--perhaps linked to more dehydration. Back downstairs for more monitoring and discovered that after two bags of fluids contractions stopped and my cervix hadn't dilated any more.

So now here I am back at antepartum. I'm not allowed to sit up in bed--they're literally hoping gravity will help my little boy stay in my body for at least one more day. Every day counts they say. Every day he's inside me is another day of development, another day of maturation, a little better chance that if he does come out he'll survive with less of a risk of cognitive, developmental or physical problems.

I wish I could say that i wasn't feeling sorry for myself and for my son and for my husband. I wish I could say that there wasn't some part of me that's sitting here wondering why this whole thing has been so difficult--the time it took us to get pregnant, the first miscarriage, then this. But there's a bigger part of me that's hopeful: he could make it. He could survive. And my next pregnancy? Nothing's to say it won't be uneventful.

So tonight I'm celebrating that I made it through Tuesday November 25. One more day, my friends, one more day.

Please pray for us to whichever god or gods or forces you may believe in.

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