Ah, week 31. It shall forever live in infamy as […]
Ah, week 31. It shall forever live in infamy as the week of the stomach bug. Or the food poisoning. Either way, it will live forever as the week I got to take a sneak peek at what my life will entail in nine short weeks: a trip to the hospital.
It was a lovely little Saturday. We did things around the house, ran errands and went to Mass. After Mass, there was a blessing for expectant mothers (I love that!), and then we went to dinner at Qdoba. I had a delicious rice bowl, my husband had a burrito, and our daughter refused her cheese quesadilla. It was a fairly uneventful dinner.
After putting Olivia to bed and watching National Treasure on TV, we went to bed, only to be woken up at 3 a.m. by our darling daughter. She’s working on a few new teeth (a joy to any parent!), and the discomfort must have woken her up. I cuddled with her for a while and then handed her over to daddy who graciously took her into the guest room and lay down with her to get her back to sleep. I dozed back off around 3:45 a.m.
At 4:15 am, I woke up again—this time, it had nothing to do with Olivia. It was due to stomach pain. It wasn’t from the baby (which was a relief), this much I knew. It was from something else. You know the feeling—the beginnings of a stomach sickness. That kind of sickness where you don’t know if you’re going to need to sit on the toilet or stick your head in it. Yeah. That kind.
I visited the restroom then trudged downstairs to grab a handful of Tums and prayed that I would be able to fall back asleep.
No such luck.
I was up two or three more times before my husband brought our daughter back into our room at 6 a.m. I lay around a little bit longer and made a major decision. Anyone who knows me well (especially my high school friends who nicknamed me Powder Puff) knows this decision meant I really felt like crap: I decided not to put any makeup on. GASP! I know. I told you it was a major decision. I pulled on some yoga pants and a tee and flopped myself down on the couch.
I nibbled on some dry Cheerios and sipped 7Up, hoping something would kick in as we watched The Princess and the Frog on Disney Channel. As the morning wore on, I started feeling a bit better … and then a lot worse. As you fellow pregnant ladies know, we are very limited on what we can take when we are sick. Other than my Tums, I had nothing at my disposal to help me.
We put Olivia down for a nap, and I went back to sleep. After two hours, I woke up and went back down stairs to watch TV. Then, just for good measure, I threw up four times.
I’d been trying to drink water to keep my fluids up. I really was. But the call I made to my doctor, instead of ending in tips and suggestions of what to do next, ended in a request for me to go to the hospital for blood work and fluids. IV fluids.
Honestly, I felt kind of foolish. As my husband drove me to the hospital where I will soon deliver Baby P, I was feeling better. I didn’t know if the trip was necessary. I almost told him to turn around. But I didn’t. And I’m sure glad.
Turns out I was very dehydrated. They strapped a fetal heart rate monitor to me and a monitor to watch contractions. The dehydration was causing subtle contractions (no good at 31 weeks gestation), so they hooked me up to an IV and I received two bags of fluids as well as some blood work (plus some medicine to help with the nausea). My good feeling went to really nasty again when I got up to go to the restroom. I almost had to use the bucket (but I didn’t!). My nurse Carol was just lovely and gave us her favorite room. She continued to check on me and reassure me that our baby was doing well. In fact, at one point, she told me I had a very active little baby. “Tell me about it!” was my response.
After about four-and-a-half hours, I was given my doctor’s approval to go home and enjoy the Super Bowl. I walked out of the hospital doors that night with an armful of saltines and thinking, The next time I leave these doors, it will probably be with an armful with adorable.