On 12/27/2005 I went to see my high risk prego doctor and he informed me that I would HAVE to go on bed rest to prevent more dilation. I told him that I been on bed rest this entire time. I may have moved around more than I needed to but I am already on bed rest. That’s when the ball dropped. He informed me that I would be on hospital bed rest.
Scared, nervous, confused I started to think of how I can either talk him out of it or fix my problem. I was already too late for a cerclage. He said that Vic and I would either drive across the street to the hospital or he could call an ambulance.
This was the last picture I got of Tre` with an U/S.
I cried for so many reasons. I cried because I was scared. I cried because I knew no one will stay with me. I cried because I hated hospitals. I cried because of many things. I even cried because I cried.
Vic took me to the hospital where I was admitted into antepartum. With all my crying, hormone going from left to right, and feeling “pressured”; I had an instant attitude. I was mad at Vic because I felt he wasn’t as moved as I was, I was mad a the doctors for not “fixing” this before it got out of hand, I hated myself because I got up to go to the bathroom too many times, I was mad at the nurse that kept talking to me. I was mad because I was mad. I demanded that I had my own room. I was in no room for company and I think I made it clear.
Once my room was together I lay in the bed and asked Vic to close all curtains and blinds. I didn’t want to be reminded that I was now a prisoner or that I was in the hospital. Those curtains would remain closed until my departure.
At first we were quiet. He didn’t say much to me and I didn’t say much to him. Partly because I wanted to be comforted. To no avail we stayed silent until nurses, doctors, student, house keeping, etc. Came in with a bunch of questions.
Once the doctor from the NICU came to visit me and spoke of a survival rate by heart skipped a beat. The term “rate.” echoed like, “yeah rate as far as a measurement, a part, a ratio, not everything!” We immediately went looking for survival rates and from what we saw DIDN’T look good.
A pregnancy that I loved so much was starting to seem like it will be over soon and I would have nothing to show for it. I had no huge belly, swollen ankles, baby shower, etc. None of that. I wasn’t even pregnant long enough to get the standard glucose test.
On 1/6/2006
I could go on and on about my NICU experiences and adventures in antepartum but I’ll save that part for later.
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