Continued from Reflections – Bed Rest
Dr. Binford: “I’m going to admit you.”
Me: “I’m sorry, you said you are not going to admit me?”
Dr. Binford: “No, I am going to admit you.”
As in to the hospital. March 17, 2008. I was wearing my favorite maternity top, a bright green number in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, that didn’t prove to be so lucky. Tears started rolling down my face as she gave me instructions on going to Labor and Delivery. She tried to reassure me by saying that she really wanted me monitored for a minimum of 24 hours, but she also said that I may end up staying until I have the babies, hopefully several weeks down the road. I couldn’t stop crying. Was I scared for the babies? Was I upset about having to go to the hospital so early? Was I selfishly just wanting to go back home? The flood of emotions was overwhelming, and the tears just kept on coming.
I cried through a phone call to Christian, during the short drive across the street to the hospital, as I parked my car in the garage, and as I explained to the lady at the ER desk that I needed to be admitted to L & D. It didn’t at all go like my OB said it would: that I could go to the ER, tell them I needed to go to L & D, and someone would come and take me up there in a wheelchair, due to my obviously delicate condition. Not so. I couldn’t register any of the directions the ER lady gave me to the L & D ward, so I cried some more as we wandered aimlessly, looking for an elevator that would actually take us to the second floor (those of you who delivered at that hedge maze they call Seton – you know what I’m talking about), until a nice man in a volunteer’s vest helped us to the staff elevators and made sure we got where we needed to be. I stood at a desk for what seemed like hours getting admitted – again, probably not good for my BP. Dr. Binford had called to let them know I was coming, but I don’t think it really did any good. But alas, I finally got my fancy bracelets and was sent to a room, where a nurse was waiting.
Labor and delivery wards are supposed to be soothing and relaxing, right? No. From the minute I got there I was getting more and more stressed. My arrival coincided perfectly with the remodeling of the L & D ward, so there was constant drilling, hammering, banging, you name it. Loud. The nurse said that it was actually louder further down the hall, which was unfortunate, because that’s where the babies were. Prove it, I thought to myself.
Then came my favorite part: the hospital gown. Was I supposed to undress completely? Leave my undies on? How the hell do you put this thing together??? There were snaps and ties, slits and strings. I stood in the tiny bathroom under the glaringly hot spotlight for what seemed like forever trying to figure it out. The nurse had left to give me my privacy, my mom was AWOL, and it was all I could do to keep from yelling “God@!#* stupid *#@!-ing gown!!!!! at the top of my lungs. Just as I was at my breaking point, I realized how incredibly simple it was and draped it over my enormous self and sheepishly climbed into bed, feeling more sorry for myself than ever.
I took in my new surroundings. The room was nice and big, with a bed, sink, bathroom, lots of cabinets, and a couch that pulled out into a bed. There was a computer next to my bed with fetal monitors that they came and hooked up to my belly so that they could hear both babies’ heartbeats and also monitor my contractions, which I was having pretty regularly at this point. In the corner of the room was (gulp) a little warmer bed for a baby. I seriously hoped that I wasn’t going to have to use that any time soon. I honestly had no idea what was going to happen.
All I knew was that I wasn’t supposed to be here yet.
To Be Continued…
This video is my first evening in the hospital, and our friends Chris and Lori came to pay us a visit. Please excuse my bloated appearance. It’s the preeclampsia making me all puffy.