Twisted Ovaries

Touchdown

The Lemonheads-called Nick and Nora in blogland-were born via emergency C-section at 1600 on October 3.  Everyone is fine, if a little tired, and Nick remains in special care.

Details to follow, pictures can be found here.

35 Weeks 3 Days

More monitoring yesterday, including a scan because one of the babies wasn't moving around very much.  Le Bebe is fine, just squished, so this is a shape of things to come, I guess - because he's not got much room I can expect fewer movements from him, whereas his sister is perched on the pillow of my diaphragm (and, if the increased pain and issues with heartburn are any indication, spends a lot of her time making my stomach uncomfortable).  She is very active still, and because she's nearly a full-sized baby her kicks hurt.  I've gained a total of 12 kilos (27 pounds) and am measuring as though I'm 38 weeks pregnant.  The skin on my stomach has lost feeling, it feels a lot like your cheek feels when you've been to the dentist and had Novocaine in your jaw - I can sort of feel it if I pull on my skin, but not really.

They get all the fun nutrients, whereas I get the remainders of bad health - my blood pressure is still far too high and I suffer headaches, starry vision, and have added dizzy spells to the frey.  I still have an infection, but since I'm keeping the pharmaceutical companies in business with antibiotics I remain on, I suppose that's ok.  Any and every time I give a urine sample it comes back positive for blood and leukocytes, so the doctors just resign themselves to me being Woman of Infection.  My kidneys are still overloaded dealing with my infections, my waste, and the waste of two babies. 

But hey - otherwise I'm fine.

I'm at 35 weeks 3 days today.  I go back in on Tuesday for a consultant appointment, whereby I will beg plead steal offer sexual services sell my soul make my case for a scheduled delivery week 37.  I'm ready.  I'm past ready.  We're also considering a C-Section now as it turns out turning a transverse baby (ECV) only has a 58% success rate, which is too low in my opinion.  The worst case scenario in this is if I am in labor for 10 days, push one out, then can't get the other one turned and have to have a C-section.  That's like getting hit by a bus AND an airplane. The doctors are sure that the babies won't be getting any larger, really, as they're out of space and the're a nice healthy size anyway.  If we give them a few more weeks for their livers to complete, we should be out of the woods.

Here's to hoping.

I don't know if you're bored of pics of pregnant women or anything yet, but I offer you up how I am looking these days (aka "like shit", as sleep is non-existant).

Don't laugh.

(You can click on the thumbnails to embiggen).

My Baby Can Beat Up Your Baby

Sorry about the silence - my family's been visiting, along with Aidan's kids.  It does not for easy blogging make. 

Things progress as usual here.  I'm in a real state, though - sleep has become something that one reminisces about, along with binge drinking and wearing size 8 clothes.  Over a 48 hour period I averaged 6 hours of sleep, and those 6 hours were constantly interrupted by contractions, trips to the toilet, and aches and pains - I can only sleep in one position now (on my right side, as there's a baby's head on the left that's poking out and if I lie on it it bangs painfully into my ribcage) and I'm not happy about it.  And although the doctors think I have lost my mucus plug, I've gained a new one in my head, so that when I sleep I'm something akin to Mr. Snuffleupagus. I have found comfort in the arms of one of my true lovers, a man I call Vick (last name Vap-o-Rub).  He's the man for me. 

On Sunday I had contractions every 4 minutes, for almost 24 hours.  At one point in the night (that point would be 3 am.  Not like I didn't notice that bastard sneak up on me or anything) I had contractions so painful I was trying to keep from vomiting.  I didn't go to the hospital because I didn't think I was in labor and sure enough, I wasn't (I know this as I haven't given birth yet, even though I want to.  That, and the contractions have slowed down.) 

Yeah, Sunday kinda' sucked.

We had our antenatal check today.  I'm going to be hauled in to the hospital every few days now as my blood pressure is much too high.  Pre-pregnancy my blood pressure was on the other side of dead it was so low.  Today I chalked up 140/93 and 160/85, both personal highs for me.  Blood tests last week showed my kidneys straining to handle both me and the twins, and a blood test today showed the uric acid levels a wee (ha!) bit higher still. 

But the babies are in fighting form.  Last week they were monitored and today they were monitored, and both times they were ruled "the most active babies the midwives had seen in some time".  Our daughter appears to be the firecest of the two, she takes some kind of personal exception to being monitored and gets a bit over-energized.  A midwife today proposed she's a bit sensitive to noise, which makes her rather like her mother, I think. 

The consultant today wanted us to consider a C-section, so we're considering it.  I don't mind having one, actually - it's the recovery time that I am worried about if I do have one, as I don't want to leave Aidan holding the bag, so to speak.  But we're in discussions here.

The consultant also said that he's confident I will go into labor soon, and if I don't he'll induce by 37 weeks.  Inductions seem to be hit and miss - last week we saw a female consultant and she said she'd induce around 38 weeks and a couple of days.  I like 37 weeks more.  I want 37 weeks.  My thoughts went something like this:

Consultant: I think that based on your blood pressure and the fact that the babies won't be growing very much more, and that they wouldn't need time in special care if born now, that we should induce you at 37 weeks.

Me: Don't fuck with me, doc.  Don't give me false hope.  I haven't slept since shoulder pads were still in fashion, don't even think about leading me down paths you have no hope of clearing.  If you say you'll induce me at 37 weeks, my gratitude will be huge.  I'll give you a baby, how's that?  That's fair.

I know I should be one of those who is all stomach-hugging, pregnancy-as-miracle-of-life type of women (because I am a vegetarian and a liberal, that is.  So obviously I must wear sandals and clothes made of hemp, right?).  I should be, but I'm not.  The babies are healthy.  If they are born now they will be ok.  So let's evict those suckers and get a move on with life, I can't take much more of this.  Constant infections, kidney problems, breathing problems, now sleep problems and massive contractions combined with blood pressure so high I see fucking stars?  Yeah.  Evict the babies. I'm mighty grateful my IVF cycle worked.  Now let's get on with things.

In the meantime, I'm on bedrest and lots of fluids.

You know, because asking a pregnant woman to get out of bed quickly is a real source of amusement.

PS-if I'm quiet, you can usually find me at my other site.  I can reach that one using my non-work PDA sometimes, so I'm more likely to update over there.

The Verdict

Eees no labor, Senora.

Or might be labor, but all ok still.

I went ahead and slept on it (or as much as I could sleep, anyway), and this morning - much to Aidan's delight - after calling L&D they did, as expected, ask me to come in.  I got wired up to the monitor, where both babies spent their time trying to kick the sensors off and succeeded about 50% of the time, and I was strapped in to a contractor sensor.  The bands were on quite tight and I felt not unlike a sausage wearing far too many belts, but this is the joy of pregnancy, right?

The babies are healthy and very, very active.  Surprisingly active according to the midwife.  And because of the way they are facing, they're causing my uterus great distress.  My uterus is not in great shape anyway - I've been diagnosed with Irritable Uterus (much like the rest of me) thanks to the many infections I've had (and am still showing traces of infection in my urine despite being on antibiotics, so there's something to keep me on edge) and due to the twins. 

I am having regular contractions and have done for about 24 hours now, but as they're only reaching max 25% on the uterine contraction "Scale of Heaven-o-Meter", they've been ruled Braxton-Hicks contractions.  Unfortunately, once again due to the babies' placement and the infections, the contractions will feel that much stronger to me than if I were, oh, I dunno, lucky.  The registrar said that there is a chance the uterine contractions are actually being caused by the twins' movement and my UTIs, so if there was ever a case for getting liquored up and then downing a few sleeping tablets, then surely this is it, right?  Right? 

Yes I'm kidding.  Relax.  I've been drinking whole lakes of water to keep the contractions at bay and that's not going to change any time soon.

But there are signs that things are going on.  The doctor wanted to keep me in for observation but I fought him on it, as we live quite close to the hospital anyway and neither Aidan nor I wanted a hospital stay in our future unless it involved serious vaginal action, and not in the "two girls at a slumber party and look! The hot pizza guy showed up!" kind of way.  After an ultrasound and a pelvic exam (hey, thank God I got waxed on Wednesday!  It hurt like fuck but had I not done it there was a good chance the doc's hand might have gotten ensnared in there) it's been determined that the boy twin is indeed engaged, and he's actually fully engaged.  As he's made room his sister has gone from breech to transverse, which maybe explains why suddenly my stomach has really changed in size. 

And although my cervix is still closed, it's now soft, which is not only new for me but is a sign that the body is beginning to ready itself for labor.  According to the midwife, the cervix goes through 3 steps to kick off the labor bandwagon: 1) cervix softens, 2) cervix shortens, 3) cervix peels back like a lotus blossom (seriously, those were her words.  Very Bhagavad Gita and all that, but I imagine the cervix peeling back is a somewhat messier process.)

I'm on short notice to be ready to dash to the hospital if my waters break or if the contractions get to 3-4 minutes apart.  For now, they continue at 8 minutes apart, and I'm to relax (ha!)  That's easy for them to say, as my compulsion to clean over the past few days has taken a turn for the mental, I literally MUST clean, the world might stop turning if I don't scrub out the vegetable drawer in the fridge, people may die, and do you really want that on your head?

But I'm home.  I'm waiting to see if my second round of false labor turns to labor.  The doctor gives me a 50/50 chance of early labor.  And there's something in the back of my head telling me that he might be right, and that the babies will be coming early.

Question....?

So, hypothetically speaking, what does it mean (if anything) if you have contractions that last 30-60 seconds long, happening about 8 minutes apart?  And have had them for about 6 hours now, regardless of whatever activity you're up to?  And when you're not contracting, your stomach is really tight?

And you can't stop cleaning?

And haven't been able to stop cleaning for about 24 hours now?

And your babies have been insanely active all day, far more than they usually are?

And you have a verrrrrrrrrry strange feeling low down inside, nearly (sorry!) in the vagina area?

Hypothetically, of course.

The Low Down

I've noticed that the handful of twin pregnancy moms are doing the same thing I am - not really blogging much.  Mostly, we're pretty quiet because we keep gathering around each others' kitchens with the gin and tonics and gossipping about the rest of you.

Yes, I'm kidding.

I can't speak for the other women (and if I could, I imagine they'd tell me to stop swearing so damn much), but I think it's safe to say that the reason we're suddenly all getting pretty quiet is because that's where we are.  I don't know about them, but suddenly I find myself pulling inwards a lot.  I don't have a lot to say, not because I don't want to talk, but because I'm just pretty quiet inside. The noise and chaos of the previous weeks of pregnancy are dying down now, and it's not that I'm spending all my time thinking about me, me, ME, it's more like...it's just quiet inside. 

I think it means I'm getting ready.

I would bet it's the same for them.

(I'd ask them, but they're usually too drunk on the G&Ts to comment.)

I also find that I'm getting pretty boring-there's only so much blogging about restless leg, infections, and contractions that you want to read about.  I could tell you that my life, it's really all of the same just now - swelling, contractions (in ever-increasing quantities), antibiotics, breathlessness, exhaustion...but I've said it all before. I worry this site is going to be a MySpace wanna be, in which I talk about fucking nothing whatsoever about my day and do it all in skater talk - "DOOOOD!  This site rulez!  Heehee!  LOL!  I have 48,693 friendz, nun who no me!  Time to clean my sk8tes!  C U L8ter!"

I could do that, but seriously, bad grammer drives me nuts.  Send me a text message using "u" instead of "you" and you probably won't get a response because I'm a grown-up, and grown-ups spell shit.  But the content of a MySpace page, well that's not too unlike what I worry this site is becoming - much of the same.  Click on any entry in the past 6 weeks and it's the same.  This must be what latter pregnancy is like - cramps, breathlessness, exhaustion, clumsiness, forgetfulness, and in my case, infections.

Until now.

Now I find myself still having all those fun side effects, only I'm getting quieter.  I am not so fast at replying to emails (also because sitting up in the chair is not easy these days.)  My humor isn't slipping, but it doesn't just come to hand, either (feel free to shout "You were NEVER funny!" at the screen here.  I know I talk to my monitor all the time, go ahead.)  I don't comment on other sites at all, really.  Oh I read them, I just don't say anything.  It's like I'm mute, or stuck behind glass, or in a fog or something.

Better mute than MySpace.

Gotta' go - the ladies are coming to mine for the drinks this afternoon, and no one drinks quite like an IVF veteran, you know?

32 Weeks

On Tuesday we had our usual scan - the babies are both fine, the boy gunning for my cervix in that head-down kind of way, the girl well and truly snuggled in amongst my lungs, and as they're completely out of space in there it looks like they'll stay that way.  Both babies are coming in at around 4 pounds 2 ounces, and they are very large babies-95th percentile.  Neither Aidan nor I are short, shrinking violets ourselves, and it looks like we're having hearty babies, too, both with whopping long legs. 

I'll continue on antibiotics for the rest of the pregnancy, which the consultant has tentatively listed as 38 weeks.  So that's about 6 weeks to go.  I can make 6 weeks, right?  6 more weeks? 

As far as how we've been planning things: since the boy is cephalic (head down) we're going to try for a regular birth, not a C-section.  The consultant believes that once the boy is out the breech little girl has a good chance of turning on her own and since Aidan and I worry about their breathing and a vaginal birth has the best odds for their lungs, we're going to try that route.

But I'm taking drugs for the birth.

Anything and everything the pharmacy will give me.

Fuckit, I'll take the paracetamol, the cough syrup and the Preparation-H if need be.  Call me Miss Epidural.  I heard the women screaming on the delivery ward.  I won't be going there.

My breasts were leaking colostrum for a little while, which shocked the shit out of me, as I had a radical breast reduction years ago.  I was told by my smirking blond plastic surgeon that I would never breast feed, ever, so when I started dripping yellow fluid I was shocked.

(Actually, the first time I felt the fluid I kept looking up at the ceiling, convinced the roof was leaking.  But once I figured out the leaking was coming from my breasts, then I was shocked.)

Aidan is very keen on breastfeeding.

I am really freaked out by it.

I completely accept it's best for baby, and I fully support any woman in her decision to breast or bottle feed, I think it's up to the mother to assess. I tend to err on the side of "Seriously Stressed Out" most of the time, and the idea of breast feeding sent me over the top. I had never considered it before.  It was always a non-option.  I'm having twins.  Of course they'll be bottle fed.

Aidan and I were heading for an argument.

But then the midwife told us that colostrum likely came from a small duct still intact behind my nipples, which would have survived the surgery.  Since my nipples were removed and re-sized, she said that although there was a chance a few tubes grew back to access milk, there was no way I'd be feeding one baby completely, let alone two.  She recommended we not even try to breast feed, that the colostrum would dry up, too (it has).

Cue relief.

So here we are...waiting.  The boy, who was already quite low, has dropped today I believe.  I had some cramping, and it now feels like there's something in my pelvis, taking up space and threatening to come out.  The bladder issues are worse, and it feels very heavy and uncomfortable low inside.  Since I'm out of space, the girl continues to hang out and make breathing hard.  Contractions come much more often, very mild but noticeable, a long smooth tightening of the stomach.

I wonder if the babies are thinking of coming on their own instead of being induced at 38 weeks.

Only time will tell.

(Apologies-this post, she is not funny.  But I haven't been sleeping so well, and with no sleep means no funny.)

Memes, Updates, and Offers

DD (don't you know DD?  Shouldn't you know DD?  She's worth it, I promise!) nominated me as a Rocking Girl Blogger (it comes with a nifty little bloggy button.  I am incapable of html anything, apart from html fuck-ups in which suddenly my entire blog is translated into Norwegian.  So imagine a nifty little bloggy button and we'll be there.)  I'm supposed to nominate 5 other of these cutely titled Rocking Girl Bloggers, and as I have nothing today and I love DD and she told me to do this (and why yes, I WOULD jump off the bridge if she asked me to, how'd you know?) I'm going to do so, but I want to be clear here-I don't play favorites.  I read more blogs than this, but am not a good commenter, mostly because I do not give good comment.  And I'm forgetful.  Very forgetful.  So forgetful I not only forget to comment, but often forget what sites I saw things on.  So my list of 5 comes mostly from the emails I've had with people, because good people are out there and need big thanking.

Five bloggers that I think are of the Rocking Girl variety:

Patience, who I see already has that nifty little bloggy button on her blog, which makes me want to un-nominate her as clearly her html skills are superior to mine and I am the kind of girl to trash-talk someone who's wearing the same dress I am and looks better in it, too.  But Patience has been through more IVF than anyone else I know, ever, and she's one of those that is still trying and doesn't seem to ever begrudge those in blog-land that are knocked up.  She's nice like that.  Really.  Even if she does good html.

Becks, whom I've had some emails with.  Becks is on round 2 and is in the middle of a tense 2ww.  She swears, and I love me a girl who swears.   She makes me laugh, and she has good names for her pets.  I think she solidly counts as a rocker.  Solidly.

Marie-Baguette not only just gave birth, but had a harrowing story-she was pregnant with quads, faced many battles, a reduction, and a few scares, and she still was there for me to endlessly email her with CVS questions.  Somehow, she makes it all look easy and she's still here and still supportive for the land of Us with Too Many Questions.

Watson is mental in that loveable squeezable Elmo way.  She makes me laugh, even when it's serious, which is a pretty hard thing to do.  She's one of about 5 women knocked up with IVF twins and due around the same time I am.  I love Watson, but if she gains less weight than I do or gets her figure back really fast then we may have to talk about our relationship.

Ms Prufrock, whom I am happy to see is also of the I-don't-do-nifty-bloggy-buttons, is a great chick, even if she lives in southern Hampshire and we all know all the cool cats hang in the north of the county.  She lets me snark.  She lets me snark about babies.  That is worth its weight in gold right there. 

Right, so in other news my next scan is tomorrow, where I'm planning on busting into tears and offering to bribe the doctor to give me a date we can schedule an induction.  I'm prepared to even offer sexual favors if he'll just give me an end date (Aidan won't mind, surely.  After all, he got to sleep next to me last night while I had restless leg syndrome and was doing my best Bend it Like Beckham impression, plus he cruised through the "Vanessa Temper Tantrum" that was this morning.  I'm pretty sure he'd offer the doctor sexual favors at this point, too.)  The house is a serious fucking disaster, because Aidan and his brother moved furniture this weekend to start the early preparation of the nursery.  Our house, as a result, looks like a bunch of movers took some boxes, emptied the contents in the middle of every room, and ran.  Am sure it will resolve itself, but in the meantime it's kinda' tiring walking  amongst the train wreck that is our house ("Your shoes, honey?  All the shoes are under the kitchen table.  You'll find them there.  I'm pretty sure the home phone is in that pile, too.")

(The really sad part is, that last pretend comment wasn't pretend.  All of our shoes really are under the kitchen table.  I'm not sure how they got there, but what's worse is I'm less sure of when they'll be evicted.)

And one last thing-I came across a Puregon Pen that I have.  I'm quite happy to donate it to anyone who's going to cycle and needs a pen, as I know they're expensive.  You need a new needle, but that part's cheap, so if anyone needs a Puregon Pen let me know and I'll post it off to you.

Gotta' run.

Somewhere in the house is a cat and a handful of Fig Newtons (hopefully not together) and I'd like to spend time with both.

Choices-And Not Just a Chi-Chi Name for an Insurance Programme

I'm home now.  I have been dwelling in the Eternal Land of Suckvile for three days, and finally busted loose in a blaze of NHS tea and lactated ringers late yesterday.

This hospital stay was the worst yet.  It was bad because I knew as soon as we had to go to the hospital that I would be checked in for a short while, and nothing pleases one as much as getting winged into the hospital.  I did also have reason to believe the babies were about to make a grand entrance-I was having contractions and I was leaking fluid down my leg (if that doesn't make you want to push your coffee away, then give it time.  I have more.) 

I was admitted pretty swiftly, and put on monitors. I was, at one point, contracting every three minutes.  And lemme just say, I always thought of contractions as "mildly powerful menstrual cramps".  I see I need to apologize to womankind for that kind of assumption.  Contractions really mean "Don't talk to me.  Don't move me.  Don't even fucking think of touching me. I just want to get the Suzanne Somer's Abdominizer out of my insides."  Luckily this time they took pity on me and gave me painkillers for grown-ups, so I got really trippy and enjoyed my great space coaster.

The cervix, she is closed and thick.  I know this as three different doctors felt the need to check themselves.  I am so used to the sparkle of the stainless steel speculum heading for me that I just spread my legs if you flash so much as a serving spoon my way.  My waters didn't break either-my bladder was just so badly infected and in shit shape that it randomly started leaking.  So what happened was, I basically wet myself.  Yup.  I went to kindergarten and everything, but I apparently missed that "learn how to not wee on yourself" lesson for the day. I couldn't even differentiate between one hole and the other it all hurt too much.  They gave me Super Maxi Pads that could have been used to staunch the wounds of any major battlefield to help the leakage.  My embarrassment was complete.  Thankfully, the antibiotics now have all that under control. 

I am not in good shape.  I was dehydrated so was on IV fluids.  I was contracting pretty severely, so they gave me relaxants to dial down the contractions.  My bladder and kidneys were in abyssmal shape-at one point the doctor simply touched my back where my right kidney is and I came clear off the bed in a very cool Exorcist kind of way.   I am anemic.  Once on Tuesday when I donated a urine sample it had about half a dozen stones in it, either from my ureter or my kidney, I dunno (luckily this was during a great space coaster period, so I didn't feel a thing), which, upon seeing them floating in the recycled cardboard speciman hat they make you wee in, fascinated me on a level that sticking safety pins under the skin of my fingers as a kid never quite managed.  When I was admitted I was mildly pre-eclamptic (resolved now).  I have a hemorrhoid, courtesy not of pregnancy constipation but of trying to force wee out too hard.  I am covered in bruises (thanks to the anemia) and I got to be the guinea pig of a new IV cannula type, which no one knew how to insert.  They blew clean through a vein on my left hand, and now I have a massive bruise covering the entire hand.  The needle also eventually punctured through the vein on my right arm, and now I have a golf ball-sized cyst on my arm which will go down in time but which hurts like a mother fucker right now.  So the good news is, I'm ambidextrous.  The bad news is they shagged both my hands in one go.  The pee, she is still not good, but at least I am not on the toilet screaming anymore, and at least there is no blood in it, so hey-beggars and all that. 

The first person who tells me that I should be more grateful about being pregnant is going to get sucker punched.

I am grateful that the Lemonheads are healthy and ok, believe me.  I could be doing without the E.R. style drama, however.

The babies are actually ok.  They didn't like me having contractions, but even more so they didn't like being on the Central Delivery Ward.  Even though I had a private room, there was an incredible amount of stress there (Dear NHS-I like you. I think you get a bad rap most of the time, but I have no problems with you.  But one thing you might consider, besides more midwives which you'll pay better?  Yeah.  Soundproofing the walls in the Delivery ward.  Just an idea.)  Tuesday night was the worst ever.  I was rocking in pain and waiting for my next great space coaster ride, which I was pursuing with the frenzy of a crack addict and I didn't care for a minute that they may think I was being a bit drug needy, because I most certainly was.  But all of a sudden, the Delivery ward went from me and one other woman there to being heaving full, so I just waited. 

It wasn't just full, though.

Judging by the sounds of it, they were having an old-fashioned taffy pull and using pregnant women as the taffy.

I was bordered on three sides by screaming the likes of which I have never heard, ever.  EVER.  Not even the kind of screaming one hears when seeing someone wearing white stilettos, baby.  This was pure, unmitigated pain.  It was loud.  It was constant. It was endless.

At one point a midwife popped her head in and saw me looking like a deer in the headlights.

"It's a full moon, darling, this always happens," she clucked.  "And these women didn't choose to have any pain modification, and perhaps their pain tolerance wasn't what they thought it would be."

Right.  That would be why it sounded like they were being torn apart by wolves, then.

It wasn't just me that was freaked out-with each scream the Lemonheads went mental.  I tried to calm them.  I turned the fan on in the room to try to drown out sound.  I tried rubbing them and talking to them, but they were like: Woman.  Wo-MAN.  Where have you brought us?  What is this place of ritual sacrifice, and why are we here?  They were having none of it. I know that women say of the movies that women don't go around screaming like that when they're in labor, but, um, seriously?  Yeah.  Some women who have overestimated their pain tolerance thresholds and choose no pain relief DO. 

It was awful.

I can tell you, my choice of delivery is crystal clear to me (and I should be clear-these are my choices, and I fully respect that other women have other choices.  Honest.  In case you wanted to send hate mail or anything, I just wanted to head you off at the pass.)  I have chosen to try to have them vaginally if at all possible (which is looking likely as the first baby out - the boy - is head down against the cervix and has been for ages).  But I will be drugged with everything the pharmacy will give me.  Painkillers?  Yes.  Epidural?  Yes please.  As far as the other pain methods - breathing?  TENS machine?  Gas?  Don't waste my time.  I've heard what can happen if you don't handle pain well and don't choose pain meds, and lemme just say this now-I'm a tough chick in many ways, but when it comes to my uterus I am one big pussy.  Drug me.  Right away.  Double it while you're at it. 

I was moved to the antenatal ward the next day after begging the doctor, who wanted to keep me in Delivery as I was still contracting.  "But the antenatal ward is just through those doors," I pointed out.  "I can drag myself in if need be.  You can follow my urine trail, I'll be like Hansel and Gretel for the infectious."  I was put into a room with 4 others and was the only one not being induced.   Two of the women were at 42 weeks.  They looked even more tired than I did.

I am home now and on "lighter duties" for the duration of the pregnancy.  I have the most complicated meds routine known to man.  As the registrar gave me my instructions yesterday, it occurred to me that they don't really think things through.  They gave me instructions on the diagnostics and meds I would be on for the next three months, and then they'd review after the babies were born.

Let's review.

Meds and tests for three months, then birthing.

I am 31 weeks 2 days pregnant.

I smile at the doctor. "I get it that you want the babies to be in me as long as possible," I say sweetly.  "But how long do you want me to be pregnant for?  Because I can tell you, I'll be doing all I can to drag them out of me by 37 weeks.  I'm heading for 32 weeks pregnant.  Now, math has never been my strong point, but 37 minus 31 does not make 3 months, not even in a politician's world."

He realized his math error.

We'll see what we'll see.  In the meantime, I have been diagnosed with recurrent UTI and kidney infections, an Irritable Uterus (which is just as irritable as the rest of me, really) and anemia. 

Whee.

Naughty Babies

I'm back in the hospital.

Four days after finishing my month of antibiotics, my UTI/kidney woes returned.  At 3 am on Tuesday I was crying in the bathtub trying to give birth to wee.  Based on new symptoms-contractions and fluid trickling down my leg-we got thee to our hospital.  At one point I was having 1 contraction every 3 minutes and my cervix was inspected more than if I was a professional working it dockside.  I'm happy to report so far I'm not in labor, and have been moved (at my insistence) to the ante-natal ward from the Delivery Ward.  They were shocked I WANTED to move from a private room to a room shared with 5 women, but after last night when I was bordered on three sides by epidural-refusing women that were literally screaming for hours, I can tell you that a shared room with women that are merely pregnant and not, in fact, being torn in half, is heaven.

I hope-as does Aidan, who is well sick of hospitals-to go home tomorrow, but they're saying 'we'll see' in that parental 'that means no' way.  I still have a raging infection.  I'm still contracting, but just 4 times an hour now.

The Lemonheads are fine.  Its become a sport here amongst the midwives to do traces of them with the CTG/Baby Doppler-the Lemonheads have gained notoriety for being thoroughly uncooperative and in fact like to kick the leads off my stomach.

They'll be grounded for years to come, not least because I'm still screamingly infected and trying to avoid labor.