Part 3: The Appointment

“Wish we could turn back time

To the good old days

When our mamas sang us to sleep

But now we’re stressed out”

-Twenty One Pilots, Stressed Out

Adulting is hard. I’d far rather go back to the simpler times when my biggest concerns were if the tooth fairy would come and how many days were still left until my next birthday! I want to be tucked in and read bedtime stories, not headed into the appointment that turned my world upside down. Instead I was greeted with bad news and then the stress began.

Romans 8:18 For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.

I’ve said a few times that Romans 8:16-17 is my favorite scripture, but it’s actually verse 18 that I appreciate the most. I like to think of it as a balance scale. The suffering is the heavy burden that adds weight to the one side of the scale while the glory is weight free and rises to the top as the weighted side sinks to the bottom. The greater the suffering, the heavier the weight. The heavier the weight, the lower the scale falls on the one side and rises on the other. The heavier the burden, the higher the glory. Make sense? And so continued the suffering in new, unexpected ways.

Nick and I were called back by the ultrasound technician. Because of my history, my doctor scheduled an ultrasound for my 30 week appointment to make sure everything still looked good with baby and the placenta. Of course everything looked perfect just like when it was done with Shelby. We went back to the waiting room and then were called back for my appointment with my doctor. I had to give a urine sample and when I did it came out brown. This can’t be good. I should mention that being at summer camp all morning, my steps tracker said I had already walked 2.5 miles and since camp was mostly outside, I had been drinking TONS of water before my appointment.

Afterwards I went to the exam room and waited with Nick for my doctor to come in. I sat up on the exam table because I knew the nurse would pop in to take my blood pressure. While waiting I told Nick what my pee looked like and after he googled it he said he wasn’t going to tell me what he read. He didn’t have to. I already knew bad things were unraveling quickly. The nurse came in and said there was protein in my urine and then took my blood pressure. It was high. I knew we’d be headed upstairs to labor and delivery after my doctor came in.

He came in and sure enough he said I needed to go upstairs for monitoring and magnesium. Ugh. I didn’t see that coming. Magnesium is the worst. I said before I hate pregnancy as much as child abuse and politics. Magnesium is right up there too; probably more than the others. In fact, I’m deciding right now that it claims the number one spot on the list of things I hate! New life goal: never need magnesium again!

“We can skip the catheter sample, right? We know it’s preeclampsia. We’ve done this twice before. We don’t really need a direct sample to confirm, right?” He laughed, but reassured me we didn’t have to do a catheter. We stood to leave his office and he hugged me saying he was sorry we were going through this again. I told him I was just proud of myself that I wasn’t crying! He hugged Nick too and mentioned being transferred to Ogden and we went on our merry way up to the second floor. As we walked to the elevator the tears started flowing. I was doing fine until he mentioned me being transferred. What? How is this happening? Clearly I’m in the wrong story. It NEVER occurred to me that there was even a remote possibility that I would be transferred. I always knew there was a possibility for the baby, but not me; not while I was pregnant. I never dreamed of delivering anywhere other than Logan and now everything as I knew it was being ripped away from me. Moving out of Cache Valley was never an option until we were done having kids and here I found myself being forced to leave under the worst circumstances. I felt like a Pioneer being pushed out by the mob when all I wanted was the security of staying where I felt comfortable and safe.

When we made it upstairs to the waiting room I told Nick we needed to find someone that could come assist him in giving me a blessing. I sat down in a chair in the waiting room and his response was, “oh, you mean right now”. Um, yes, right now. Preferably yesterday. We should have already had someone lined up just in case. He sent a text to his sister that was watching our girls asking if her husband could come. She said most likely, but would let us know. I wanted to wait until I knew for sure. I wanted someone lined up and coming before I went back to be monitored. I wanted to sink into that chair and disappear. I wanted to stay in my comfort zone where I could predict my already traumatic child-bearing experience because I’ve done it twice before. Of course I didn’t get a choice and while I wanted to stay sitting there until my story was rewritten and the words “transfer to Ogden” weren’t used, Nick felt we needed to check in. Ugh. And so I stood. And my legs moved. And I went through the motions while wishing I was anywhere but there on the 2^nd floor of the hospital.

As we went back to the nurse’s station, they were all friendly and welcoming and teasing me about being the trouble maker that just got sent upstairs. Oh, the problem child. While I’d love to slip under the radar and have a textbook delivery, I’ve yet to be so lucky. And since this is the last baby my body would carry, it was clear I never would. A nurse led us to a room and instructed me to “take everything off and put on a gown”. And so climbed my blood pressure. She then told me not to tie the gown closed. “When you come out, climb in the bed and have the back drape completely open.” Yeah, that’s never going to happen. And so I put on a gown and did up the ties. I debated leaving my garment bottoms on. I wasn’t getting a catheter so why did I need to take them off? Sure, I was about to get a shot in my butt, but they could move my garments for that. Okay fine, I’ll take them off, but I won’t be happy about it! I debated leaving my garment top on too, but it would be in the way of the monitors so I compromised with myself that I would still leave my bra on. And I’m certain my blood pressure climbed higher and higher as I fought this inner battle of feeling so vulnerable.

I reluctantly came out of the bathroom and crawled into the bed. While I wanted so much to be done being pregnant, everything was happening sooner than I wanted. This experience was coming too quickly and life as I knew it was spinning out of control. Monitors were placed across my belly. Baby’s heartbeat was good and strong. They got an IV started. Someone came in and drew my blood. I was given a steroid shot in my butt for baby girl. The blood pressure cuff was set to go off every 15 minutes. And then came the magnesium. Thankfully the bolus that ran for 20 minutes wasn’t set at the highest dose so it didn’t have such a harsh effect on my system all at once. After 20 minutes the dose was turned down, but continued to run for the unforeseeable future. Strict bed rest. No food or drink. Can this day get any worse? What a silly question. Of course it can.

We knew it was a waiting game at this point. Judging from past experience it was all a big game of hurry up and wait. So that’s what we did. Our brother in law arrived a couple hours later and assisted Nick in giving me a blessing. I knew from the blessing that baby and I would be okay, but I also knew that we were going to be transferred. And while I didn’t want to accept it, I felt calm at least for the moment.

Eventually my doctor came in to talk to me about being transferred. Our hospital NCU doesn’t take babies born earlier than 32 weeks. Since I was 30 weeks and things weren’t looking good, my doctor felt it was best for me to go to a hospital better equipped to receive the baby. He told me how hard it would be to deliver her here and be separated from her for a few days after delivery if she was transported and I was still admitted in the hospital. Plus transporting the baby after delivery would be hard on her so it’s better to transfer both of us before she’s born.

My inner dialogue went into panic mode. No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. I don’t want this. Please, I need you to get me through this delivery. Sara, say something. Anything. Tell him what you’re thinking. Tell him you don’t want to go; that you’d rather be separated for a few days than passed around from one doctor to the next until one of them gets stuck delivering you. Tell him you want to stay. Tell him you’ve been feeling abandoned and alone and you need to rely on his faith to make it through everything that’s happening since your faith is pretty much nonexistent right now. Because if God really cared about you, you wouldn’t be facing any of this right now; at least not yet. And there especially wouldn’t be any talk of being shipped off to an unfamiliar place with a bunch of strangers because He’s supposed to know your heart and what you can handle and this isn’t one of those things. Seriously, stop nodding your head and start moving your lips.

But of course I said nothing.

I understood why he wanted me to go. I knew he was doing what he felt was best for me and the baby. I knew he wasn’t actually abandoning me, but it was sure hard not to feel that way. I felt crushed—defeated. The two things I needed to make it through the delivery, my Heavenly Father and my doctor, and here I’ve lost both of them. I felt so alone. So brokenhearted and alone. I was headed into the part of my pregnancy that I was most afraid of and I no longer had my security blanket. Sure I still had Nick, but he wasn’t the one doing the surgery. He wasn’t the one I had to trust with my life. I love him and I need him, but not the same way I needed my doctor.

So that settles it then. I’m switching hospitals whether I like it or not. It’s funny because with Shasta my doctor missed her delivery by a couple of hours due to being out of town. Then with Shelby I was put on bed rest and for the next eleven days my doctor was out of town. It happened to be spring break and I saw a different doctor every day that I was in the hospital. It was miserable to feel like I was just a name on a chart and all they wanted was to get me through the day so they could pass me off to the next doctor. Nobody wanted to be responsible for the problem child. Thankfully my doctor made it back in time to deliver. With Shasta and Shelby both, my doctor was out of town for most of the hospital drama I went through and here he’s finally in town and I’m the one being sent away.

Before my doctor left he made sure to ask me if I had received a blessing. I reassured him that I did, but more inner dialogue broke out. This is why I need you. I need someone to deliver who holds the priesthood. I need that added comfort that if something goes wrong you could channel your priesthood power and your hands and mind would be guided. One of the biggest factors that made me decide to take a chance on Nick before we started dating was the fact that he offered me a priesthood blessing when he hardly even knew me. For the first time in my life someone saw a need and offered me a blessing without me having to ask. In that moment I knew I wanted more of that in my life! And here my doctor just did the same thing. Maybe it wasn’t an offer, but I’m pretty sure he would have assisted Nick in giving me a blessing if I hadn’t already received one. Have I made it clear why I didn’t want to lose my doctor? It was always more than just being in his capable hands; and definitely more than some crazy obsession which is probably what it sounds like with how much I’ve said I didn’t want to lose him.

Afterwards, Nick decided to go ahead and leave so he could gather some things from home, pick up the girls from his sister’s, and meet me in Ogden. And so I laid there in my broken state and waited alone for the ambulance to arrive. And while I waited, the nurse came in and told me she could either place a catheter before I left or they could place one in Ogden as soon as I arrived, but either way I’d be getting a catheter. Ugh. She recommended getting it before the transport because it would be a bumpy ride and there’s no telling what traffic would be like, plus my IV would still be running.  Double ugh. Don’t make me decide. I choose neither. Where’s the third option where Ashton Kutcher comes out laughing that I’ve been Punk’d and I get sent home? I want that option. But of course I know how miserable it is to need to pee while pregnant. Fine, whatever, just get it over with.

And then I waited some more. I was finally allowed a popsicle and I gladly accepted. In my haste to get from summer camp to my doctor’s appointment, there wasn’t time for lunch. Magnesium and fasting are quite possibly the worst combination. Lucky for me I would get to have this experience three times before baby girl finally made her debut.

When the EMT’s strolled in with a gurney my anxiety kicked into high gear. In fact my blood pressure readings while they were there were at an all time high. They pushed so much medication through my IV in an attempt to bring me back down and eventually it worked enough they felt comfortable sending me on my way. I moved from the hospital bed to the gurney and sat there all strapped in for what felt like forever. And although I did my best to convince myself it was no big deal, I couldn’t stop shaking. When I feel nervous I experience uncontrollable shaking kind of like mild muscle spasms. The nurse asked if I would like another popsicle and I knew I better say yes because once I got to Ogden I’d likely be put back on a strict no food or drink policy. But once she gave it to me I didn’t have enough appetite to actually eat it. Funny since I was starving, but I was too nervous to eat anything.

Finally my blood pressure was down enough to send us off. I was disconnected from magnesium (good riddance) and we were on the move. The EMT’s did their best to carry lighthearted conversation and made fun of me when I took a selfie once I was loaded into the ambulance. But I had decided I was going to document this experience and turn it into a positive mind game. And so began my “stay-cation”!

The ambulance ride was anything but pleasant. One of the EMT’s asked me if I had ever ridden in a cattle car (I wonder if anyone ever actually says yes to that question) and then said the ambulance ride felt basically the same way. He wasn’t joking. Although I’ve never ridden in a cattle car, I could very much imagine what it would be like while I was in the ambulance. All that was missing was the smell! Along with the bumpy ride, there was also a window on the side which happened to be to the west and we were headed to Ogden around 7pm. In other words, the sun was in my face the whole way. But one positive was that I got to watch Cache Valley fade away right before my very eyes. It’s definitely a different experience to leave the Valley facing it!

I decided I would keep friends and family updated because I believe in the power of prayer and the more prayer warriors I had the better off I’d be. The whole ambulance ride I thought about what my first post would say and felt pretty proud of my cleverness! But I didn’t end up posting it until the next morning so I’ll wait until I reach that point in the story to share it.

We finally arrived at McKay-Dee Hospital and I was placed in a room in labor and delivery. I wasn’t put back on magnesium (hallelujah) and my catheter was removed (thanks a lot nurse who said they’d place one as soon as I arrived if I didn’t get one before I left), but I still wasn’t allowed to eat anything. Nick, the girls, and his mom arrived not long after I did and it felt so good to see those tiny faces and have Nick there. The girls only visited for a short time before going back with grandma to Bountiful for a week long sleep over. Once it was decided I wasn’t going to be rushed into delivery, we decided Nick didn’t need to stay the night so he left and slept at his parent’s house with the girls.

At some point the nurse explained to me that I would have a different doctor every day. It was my understanding that I would see a doctor from Maternal Fetal Medicine (the high risk doctors) and she told me I would during the day, but in the evenings it would be whoever was on duty. And then came the tears. I told her how awful it was to lose the doctor I trusted and had been there for me through three pregnancies and then be told I’d be passed from one doctor to the next, never to build any kind of relationship and always feeling like I was just a name on a chart. She then asked me if I’d be okay with interns rounding on me. Um, hard pass. It’s bad enough I’ll see a different doctor every day. Don’t throw anyone else into the mix.

Later, the first of many doctors came in to chat with me. I liked her well enough, but I didn’t want her to deliver. And while I was pleasant, I don’t remember anything she said to me. Tomorrow would be a new doctor and I had already moved on. Next. When the nurse came back in she said she had given some thought to what I said about not wanting to be passed from one doctor to the next and asked how I felt about being assigned to the doctor I just saw. Of course it would only be when she was on duty so I’d still see other doctors, but at least I’d see her more often. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. She’s not the doctor I want, none of them are, so what difference does it make?

Around midnight it was decided that I was stable enough to be moved to postpartum. The hope was to keep me pregnant until I reached 34 weeks and it’s cheaper to be in postpartum than labor and delivery so the plan was to stay there until it was time to deliver. Once in my room I was finally allowed to eat again. Of course I didn’t feel the greatest and wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep anything down so the plan was to eat and go straight to sleep. Ha! What a joke. Trying to sleep when you’re a patient in a hospital is impossible. Nurses were in and out of my room regularly for the remainder of my stay. The longest stretch they went was four hours between rounds.

The next morning I made my first of many posts to social media.

“I have the best doctor! Lately I’ve been itching for a stay-cation. Thankfully my doctor has all the hookups. Yesterday he connected me with an ambulance ride to the finest hospital my insurance would cover. Round the clock service responding to my every need, the push of a button and a nurse comes running, every meal served to me, a room with a view… this is the life! My checkout date is still to be determined, but baby girl will most likely be evicted from her vacation home before I am from mine. Prayers for a healthy baby. I’m only 30 weeks.”

I tried to keep that mentality, but as time wore on, my optimism faded. But for the time being, it helped me stay positive. And then I rolled out a new mission. And so commenced Operation: Stay Pregnant Long Enough to Return to Doctor Horsley. The doctor that came in the night before was the same doctor that checked on me the next morning and she didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t transfer back if I was still pregnant in a couple weeks. Every nurse and doctor after that said the same thing except for one. He told me he’d only seen it happen one time in his 20 years of practice and it was a mom who happened to be a lawyer who was able to argue her case with insurance. Insert eye roll. That’s fine and all, but I was ready to put up the biggest fight of my life if it meant I could go back to Logan. Even if I had to foot the bill myself, I was going back!

Later that afternoon I was given a second steroid shot in my butt for baby girl. I’ve been told these shots are pretty painful, but I’ve never thought twice about them. I’ve officially had six of them now (two for each of my babies) and the first five were nothing. Guess sixth time’s the charm though. While it wasn’t the most painful thing I’ve experienced, it was definitely uncomfortable in the burning, pressure kind of way, but not so much in the stinging, gonna scream kind of way! Regardless, I’m glad I won’t ever have to get one again.

Every morning a different doctor would come into my room and talk to me about my blood pressure. They always asked if this was my first pregnancy or my first time with preeclampsia and I always had to explain my history. Same with every shift change. A new nurse would come in and take my blood pressure which would be high and every single time they’d ask, “have you had high blood pressure?” in which I wanted to respond with, “WHAT??? No! That’s so unexpected”. But of course I was always pleasant. I also got wheeled to the Maternal Fetal Medicine office everyday to have a non-stress test done to make sure baby was doing okay. I had two more ultrasounds while there making five total with this pregnancy. While there I always met with one of the high risk doctors. I saw three different ones in my 6 visits before I delivered and I decided if I couldn’t have my doctor deliver, which I was still determined he would, they were the next best thing. Every morning a new doctor rounded on me, sometimes a different doctor would pop in at night to check on me, appointments daily never knowing which high risk doctor I would see, and new nurses at least twice a day, sometimes more depending on which unit I was in or moved to. So many faces. So many times I had to repeat my story. So many reminders why I didn’t want to be there. So much heartache and sorrow.

Friday morning my blood pressure was extra high. They pushed meds through my IV and nothing changed. They pushed meds a second time at a higher dose and still nothing. They pushed meds a third time at an even higher dose and my blood pressure was still too high. A new doctor came in that I hadn’t met before and told me I might be delivering a baby today. She then told me she never recommends a tubal ligation with preterm deliveries because there’s no telling what might happen to the baby and she didn’t want me to change my mind that I would want another baby later down the road or have regrets if my baby died and I couldn’t have more. She told me the only way she’d do it was if I could look her in the eyes and tell her I still wanted one. And suddenly I felt angry. Nick and I had decided long before any of the crazy started happening that this was going to be our last. We had talked to my doctor about it at my very first appointment. I shouldn’t have to defend that choice to anyone, especially a perfect stranger who knows nothing about me or my history. But of course with a smile on my face, I told her why I wanted one and that I wasn’t going to change my mind or have any regrets. It was a good enough answer for her, but I told myself there was no way I was letting her deliver my baby; a conversation I had with myself a few times after meeting a new doctor…or hearing their name and never actually meeting them which happened twice.

After three rounds of meds and meeting with the doctor of the day, I was moved to labor and delivery for another round of magnesium and fasting. I had tried getting a hold of Nick a few times because he had stayed the night at his parents and wasn’t at the hospital yet, but he wasn’t responding. And it made me feel panicked that not only would a perfect stranger deliver this baby, but my husband wouldn’t be there either to hold my hand and keep me calm. Oh the horror. It wasn’t too much later before he got there and it was the biggest relief to see his face. I changed into a gown, this time leaving my garment bottoms on because I was determined I wouldn’t be delivering a baby, and crawled into bed to experience the worst night of my stay-cation so far.

Being put on magnesium typically means being put on strict bed rest, but not to the doctors and nurses at McKay-Dee Hospital. Every time I had to use the bathroom (which was far more often than I would have liked thanks to the fluids they were pumping into me), a nurse would unhook me from all the monitors and walk me to the bathroom while wheeling my IV stand. The problem with magnesium (one of many) is that it slows down all muscle use and the longer it was pumped into me, the weaker I got. At one point I didn’t think my legs were going to hold my weight. My balance was questionable and my vision was unfocused and worsened as time went on. I gave the nurse a good scare when I nearly fell over and after that Nick made sure to assist me along with the nurse. As much as I hate catheters, it seemed a little crazy that they felt the alternative was better.

Around midnight, while in my weakened state where it was hard to concentrate and everything was blurry, I got to listen to a mother scream in pain while delivering her baby most likely without any pain meds. From the sounds of it she was being tortured in the most inhumane way. That’s the second time I’ve listened to a mom scream during delivery while I was on magnesium and struggling to process what I was hearing. The first time was with Shasta.

Since it was evening and a new doctor was on duty, I made sure to ask the nurse who it was with the intention of next asking to send him or her in at their earliest convenience so I could meet the person that could possibly be delivering my baby. As soon as she told me his name, panic set in. Of all the names in all the world, she had to say that one. And although I knew it wasn’t possible for it to be the same doctor, I still felt so afraid that it would be him. I’ve intentionally left out names along the way, especially where my thoughts and feelings towards those people have been negative, because I don’t want what I say to affect their well-being in any way, so I won’t say this doctor’s name here, but I should insert a back story to explain why hearing this doctor’s name triggered some unrealistic fears. Instead I’ll just leave it at saying my first gynecology experience was traumatizing! After the nurse left the room the first thing Nick commented about was the name of the doctor on duty. “Right? Could you even imagine?” And that’s when I started fantasizing that my doctor would magically show up and save the day. I didn’t have anything to worry about because he was going to stop by to see how things were going right as they were getting ready to deliver and instead he would be allowed to do the c-section. Because that happens right? It was totally realistic for me to hope for that! And so I did. Every day after that I imagined my doctor coming to my rescue and relieving me of all the heartache I had been feeling even though I knew it would never actually happen.

Morning finally came and it was looking promising that they would stop the magnesium and I’d be taken back to postpartum to wait out my sentence. I was told I could eat again, but I felt so sick from going so long without anything that all I wanted was a popsicle. When I asked I was told they didn’t have any. Seriously? How is that even possible? Instead the nurse brought me ice chips with snow cone syrup on it. So not the same thing. I eventually asked for orange juice which made all the difference in feeling like I’d be able to eat something without throwing up. And so I was taken back to postpartum. They had actually decided they wouldn’t make us move out of my postpartum room. If I was transferred to labor and delivery we didn’t have to pack up all our stuff, I still had a room in postpartum and that’s the room I always returned to, even after delivering. I was a little worried that we would be charged for two rooms at the same time, but realistically it didn’t matter because we were going to hit our out of pocket anyway and everything after that would be covered 100%.

I felt so discouraged after that awful night of magnesium and fasting. It was truly so miserable and I knew I’d still have to do it again at least once more because once they decided to officially deliver I’d go on magnesium yet again and wouldn’t be allowed to eat due to having a c-section. I didn’t think I had it in me to go through that again. I especially didn’t have it in me to keep going back and forth. One day I might have a baby, the next day I was stable enough to wait out my time in postpartum. It was exhausting. I had officially reached my breaking point. I decided then that if I was moved back to labor and delivery for monitoring, fasting, and magnesium, I was going to think every stressful thought I could come up with to keep my blood pressure high and buy my ticket into the OR. Forget Operation: Stay Pregnant Long Enough to Return to Doctor Horsley. I wanted to be done. I had suffered enough. I couldn’t do it anymore. I’ve done the premie baby thing twice before. It’s all I’ve ever known so I wasn’t afraid of her coming early. And while I knew it would be a lot more complicated with her being an hour from home, I wanted so much to have my health back so I could focus on her and my other kids. As far as I was concerned it was time for baby girl to be evicted.

One morning a charge nurse asked me if there was anything she could do to make my stay better. I told her my frustration with losing my doctor and ultimately having no doctor to call my own because I was just passed around from one to the next. I knew full well there was nothing she could do about it, but with how hard it was for me to leave my doctor, it made it that much worse to not have any doctor. Next thing I knew there was a case worker in my room telling me she understood my frustration and although there’s nothing she could do about it, she wanted to know what she could do to help. Um, you just said there’s nothing you can do to better my situation so why are we having this conversation? The sad thing is I could name every single doctor I had seen at that point and she was impressed I could list so many by name. Isn’t that kind of a sign how important it is to me to have some kind of relationship with my doctor? I’ve seen all of these doctors one time, but yet I can call all of them by name and give details about them because how can I trust them if I know nothing about them?

Not only was I frustrated about the doctor situation, but I wasn’t impressed with how my care was handled either. Being that I had been through this twice before, I was pretty familiar with how things worked. In Logan a nurse would take my blood pressure, get a reading she didn’t like, lay my bed down, make me lay on my side, dim the lights, tell me to close my eyes and think calming thoughts, wouldn’t talk to me, couldn’t talk to them, and take my blood pressure again. In Ogden a nurse would take my blood pressure, get a reading she didn’t like, tell me she wanted to wait a couple minutes before trying again, laugh and chat with me while we waited, ask me questions and chat with me while taking the second blood pressure, then record whichever reading was better which usually there wasn’t much difference between the two. They never told me to uncross my legs, never lowered my bed or made me lay on my side, for sure never changed the lighting or told me to think calming thoughts. They didn’t even care if the TV was on or if I was texting while the blood pressure cuff was going. How is this better care than what I’d get in Logan? I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t there for me, I was there for the baby. We were transferred so she could be in their NICU if she was born before 32 weeks. Although keeping me pregnant as long as possible seemed equally as important, but what do I know.

Tuesday morning I had officially reached 31 weeks and I asked if I could celebrate by taking a wheelchair ride outside. Oh how pathetic my life had become! My blood pressure was almost normal, baby was good, so I was given permission to go for a ride. Before leaving, I used the restroom and noticed some brown discharge. If it wasn’t for being pregnant I would have thought it meant my period was coming so I decided to tell the nurse just to be safe. “So…this is awkward. I used the bathroom and had some brown colored discharge kind of like what I’d expect to see if I was going to start my period. I don’t really know what it means, so I thought I should tell you. I can still go outside though, right?” After telling her about the discharge and showing her the toilet paper because I figured she’d ask, she told me to just keep an eye on it and let her know if it got any worse. And so we were off to the great outdoors. My room had an awesome view of a water fountain and that’s exactly where I wanted to go to take in the fresh air. I wasn’t given a time limit and as far as I was concerned I was going to stay out there until the sun went down. Of course after an hour Nick was bored out of his mind and even in the shade it was pretty toasty so we decided to head back in.

Not long after we went inside, I was sitting on the bed and noticed I felt wet. I wanted to make sure nothing out of the ordinary was going on so I decided to use the bathroom. When I got out of the bed I looked back where I was sitting and there was a great big red spot on the sheets easily the size of my hand, maybe bigger. I didn’t exactly measure it. My heart sunk. I’ve never had any kind of bleeding during pregnancy so I had no idea what it meant, but I figured it wasn’t anything good. I pressed the nurse call button and waited for her to come. When she came in I told her I got up to use the bathroom because I was feeling wet and then pointed to the bed. She asked me if there were any clots when I used the toilet and I said I hadn’t even gone in the bathroom yet because I didn’t want to pull the same clothes back on and didn’t have any sanitary napkins. She called in an Aide to bring me what I needed and I went into the bathroom to clean up while they changed my bedding.

I sat on the toilet and quickly realized there was too much mess for any amount of toilet paper to clean up so I took a quick shower and had to change into a hospital gown since I no longer had any clean clothes to put on. And a hospital gown is what I was stuck with for the next three days before I had fresh clothes again. Ugh. Hospital gowns are the worst. However, I left my bra and shirt on because even with the gown all tied up, it only stayed closed at the ties and the space between the ties remained a gaping hole. I didn’t feel comfortable with my back hanging out so I put my shirt back on.

The nurse wasn’t too concerned about the bleeding, but she called the doctor from Maternal Fetal Medicine to come talk to me. He explained it could be the placenta separating from the uterine wall, but he didn’t seem very concerned either. As long as baby was still doing good and the bleeding lessened then my care would remain the same. Bleeding during pregnancy was new to me and rather alarming, but if it wasn’t a big deal to the doctors or nurses then I guess there was nothing for me to worry about.

The next morning came and I was taken over to Maternal Fetal Medicine for a non-stress test on baby. My blood pressure had been running higher that morning even though I was officially on oral blood pressure medication. They always take my blood pressure when they monitor the baby and this time it was alarmingly high. The high risk doctor came in to talk to me. She told me I’d be headed back over to labor and delivery for monitoring. If they couldn’t keep my blood pressure down with medication I’d be delivering a baby that day. Either way, labor and delivery was my new home until baby came. They wanted her on monitors continuously until I delivered and they don’t have the staff to do it in postpartum.

And so my wheelchair rolled me over to labor and delivery as if I was on a roller coaster climbing to the top of the final peak, knowing it’ll drop me on the other side and all I can do is hold on for dear life and pray I’m still alive when the ride comes to a stop! This is the part where I’d like to turn back and not get on the ride, but there aren’t any exit signs; not for me. My only way out is to complete the ride. And so it began. The wheelchair slowly made its way to the top of the peak and now it’s time for that final drop that throws in the biggest twists and turns, the part of the ride with the most suffering and the heaviest weights on the scale; the delivery.