Reliving Friday the Thirteenth

Friday the 13th.  I don't view myself as particularly superstitious, though I've had my share of bad experiences on Fridays that happened to fall on the 13th.  I started my ten day hospital stay with Elena on a Friday the 13th. 

I was working part-time, and my schedule was to work half days on Fridays.  I noticed the bleeding that morning in the bathroom at work, wondering if it was getting worse or if it was just in my head.  It had been going on for three weeks, starting as some limited spotting and then gradually increasing.  I had already had multiple appointments checking on it.  I had just had a sonogram the previous week and was scheduled for another the following week.  We had planned to let the sex of the baby be a surprise, as we enjoyed the surprise we had with our first, but once the bleeding started with no answers about it, we wanted to know SOMETHING, so at that sonogram eleven days earlier, we had just found out that our baby was a girl.  I had been put on limited activity restrictions, no exercise, extended walking, anything strenuous, but I was still working as I was able to sit as much as I needed at work.  Everything looked perfect at the sonogram.  My cervix was long and closed.  The bleeding was unexplained.  So I didn't want to call the doctor when I expected no answers anyway.  I still wish I had called my OB earlier.

I met with some teachers that morning in a classroom.  I stood there and talked with them for a while.  After some time, I realized that I was feeling heavy and should probably sit down.  So I did.  I still wish I had sat down sooner. 

I left that afternoon, on schedule, and decided that I wanted some Long John Silver's for lunch.  I went to their drive-through on the way home from work and picked up a box of fish and fries.  It was oh so greasy and delightful.  I was obsessed with LJS during my pregnancy with Elena.  I forced myself to only have it once a week, but I wanted it every day.  Gross, I know, but try telling that to my pregnant hormones.

After enjoying most of it at home, it was time to pick up my 23 month old son from MDO.  I drove the half mile to his school, where I realized I did not have the umbrella stroller in my trunk.  I arrived to his classroom and found him napping.  Since I didn't have the stroller and didn't want to inconvenience anyone, I decided to just carry him to the car myself.  It's not like it was a far walk.  So his teacher lifted him out of the crib and handed him to me, and I carried him to the car and buckled him in his car seat.  I still wish I had asked his teacher to carry him to the car for me.

By the time we arrived back home, I could no longer deny that the bleeding was indeed worse.  My OB does not work on Friday afternoons, but I did not want to worry all weekend, so I called his office anyway, asking to speak with one his partners or a nurse.  One of the partner's nurses called me back to advise me to head up to labor & delivery.  She said if I went to the ER, they would just send me to L&D anyway, since I was only a few hours away from 20 weeks.  Apparently at 20 weeks the ER does not see pregnancy-related concerns and transfers to L&D.  I had no idea about that, and no idea why I remember that random bit of information.

I called my husband and asked him to come home from work to take me.  I would have just driven myself, but didn't know what I would do with our son.  He was still napping - I remember that too, wondering if I should just wait until hubby got home and little man woke up.  I felt a little silly asking my husband to come home early - I figured I was probably overreacting.  I was scared, but I still hoped, and part of me really believed, that they would tell me the same thing they'd been telling me for the last three weeks.  Yes, we know you are bleeding, but we don't know why, we don't see anything wrong on the sonogram, some women just have bleeds, everything looks fine.

The nurses in L&D were expecting me.  I was given a room fairly quickly, a big delivery room, lots of space.  It was very much like the room where I had delivered my first, only it was the mirror of it, with the bathroom to the right of the entrance instead of to the left.  And the bathroom was at the rear of the room instead of near the entrance.  Strange, the details I remember.  The nurse helped me into a gown in the bathroom. 

My OB arrived to examine me.  It seems like he arrived quickly, though I'm not sure.  He was wearing shorts.  And a polo-style shirt, if memory serves correctly.  I remember being surprised to see him in shorts, definitely not the scrubs I was accustomed to seeing him wear, or even the occasional slacks that he wore in his office.  He was friendly and smiled brightly in his usual fashion, even though I'm sure I had disturbed the start of his weekend and he had been called to come up to the hospital from his home and family a half hour away.  He asked a few questions as he began his exam, looking at my fresh pad and asking if that was the amount of bleeding I was having (minimal at that time), and again, I felt a little silly, surely I was the crazy, paranoid, pregnant lady crying "wolf."  The nurse was quick to answer that no, I was experiencing more than that, it was a new pad.  He did the internal exam and immediately his face fell, his demeanor changing instantly.  There was a lot of blood, he said.  The "a lot" seemed emphasized, the words hanging heavy in the air.  He was obviously concerned.  I would not learn until the next morning just how concerned he truly was. 

While he was examining me, the MFM arrived with her sonogram equipment.  She set up in the room while my OB finished, and then began her own exam.  My daughter, still unnamed at the time, danced on the screen.  She was perfect.  My incompetent cervix was definitively diagnosed.  There was no apparent cause for the bleeding, no tears or anything.  After the exam, the doctor and the MFM stepped out into the hall to talk.  At some point during all of it (I'm not sure exactly when), the MFM looked me in the eye, gave me a small, reassuring nod, and said, "You were right to come in."  Oddly enough, it was comforting to hear her say that.  Things were bad, but at least I was where I needed to be, and I wasn't the crazy, paranoid, pregnant lady.  How I wish I would have been!

My mom arrived.  I don't remember if she was there for the exams or to see both or either of the doctors.  I just know she came at some point.

After consulting in the hall, my OB returned to the room.  He told me I would be staying in the hospital until I delivered.  He would not give me any guesses on how long that might be.  They planned to keep me in L&D instead of transferring me to the antepartum unit.  When could I be transferred over there?  He couldn't tell me that night; we would discuss it after the weekend.  A cerclage, which had been deemed unnecessary a couple of months before, was now back on the table, but only if the significant bleeding could be gotten back in control.  With the bleeding, they were worried about irritating my cervix further and felt it was the wrong course of action.  I don't know how long we talked, or what options were discussed that evening.  I believe he gave me a little information each time I saw him over the course of the next week and a half.  I'm sure he knew I could not process it all that first evening.  At some point he left and said he would see me the next day.  I still wish I had fought for a cerclage in the first trimester. 

My nurse that afternoon kept apologizing again and again.  "I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry."  I remember feeling very agitated with her.  Why did she keep saying that?  My baby was fine, I had just seen her dancing on the sonogram screen.  I knew things weren't great, I was lying in a hospital bed, but it was going to be okay.  I was just going to have to spend 20 weeks in the hospital.  That was not a fun prospect, but my baby was not being delivered that night.  I had spent some time in the hospital with my first child too, and he was a preemie, but everything was fine.  I wanted to yell at her to quit apologizing.  Honestly, she was scaring me.  What did she know that I didn't?  The doctor had already given me some pretty grim news, what more hadn't he told me?  (I learned the next morning that he had expected me to deliver that night, or at least believed it was a very real possibility; I doubt he told the nurse that, but I'm sure she knew enough to know.) 

It seems like they moved me to another delivery room, but that would not make sense, so I'm not sure if that happened or not.  I asked if I would have to have an IV.  I said I absolutely did NOT want one (my experience with one with my son was horrific - the absolute worst part of a natural labor and birth).  She didn't know if I would need one or not that night, I didn't need one that moment; but wouldn't I want one if it would help the baby?  Yes, I immediately knew if it would help baby girl I would not argue for a second.  Anything for my baby.  The nurse did say she would inform the next nurse about my IV concerns at shift change (I was grateful for that), and she continued to say how sorry she was.  I was relieved when the 7 p.m. shift change rolled around and I got a new nurse that was not so doom and gloom and full of apologies.

My mom took our son home with her so that my husband could spend the night with me.  It was our very first night ever without our son with us.  I cried.  We had missed the window for getting a hospital dinner.  My mom brought us dinner from the Italian restaurant on the corner that I had been wanting to try.  It was not good.  I was scared.  I was hopeful.  Everything would be okay, right?  Everyone always says it will be.  It was the worst Friday the 13th I'd ever had.  I'm sure my husband and I talked, but I can't recall the conversation.  I know we let people know we were in the hospital.  We asked for prayers.  We didn't name the baby that night.  She was still just our daughter, our baby girl.  Elena Marie was at the top of a short list, but we hadn't definitely decided on it yet.  There were still a few more on the list.  And honestly, it did cross my mind if we should use it or change it if she were to be born then.  I never said that out loud, but I did think it.  I'm sorry I thought about changing it.  I didn't know what to do.  I don't know if we watched TV, or talked a lot, or sat in relative silence, or just slept.  I do know that I woke the next morning, and I was still pregnant with my sweet daughter.

So, yeah, I'm not a huge fan of Friday the 13th.  Elena was born 10 days later on the 23rd.  It was a Monday.  The 23rd of this month will be a Monday too.  Even though Elena wasn't born in September, it is hard for me when the dates fall on the days (and September in general is not easy for me either).  I can't imagine what it will be like when I have to go through the dates on the days for the first time in May.  It will be 2016.  It will be Elena's fifth angelversary.