if it ain’t one thing…

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I have one of these about once or twice a month. Well-done. With bacon. Now verboten. This makes me so sad. Thanks A LOT, Aisha. 😦

I was back at L&D bright and early Sunday morning. I got my dad to drop me off, and texted the boy to meet me later. Upon my arrival, I didn’t even have to re-process; I showed up and explained why I was there, and the reception nurses were all, “oh, yes… you were here last night, abdominal pains, come right in.”

I was set up on a bed in triage, hooked up to the NST monitors again (netting, dopplers, and movement clicker thingy) and told to hang tight while they located an ultrasound tech.

Even though it was empty, triage is a white-noise cacophony of the whirs and buzzing of various machines. Over the rapid “squooshing” of Aisha’s heartbeat on the fetal monitor, I could hear the primal, pained vocalizations of a lady in the throes of labour down the hall. After about ten minutes of grunts and sceams, there was momentary silence… and then the faint wail of a baby. I smiled, recalling how much I enjoyed hearing that sound during my stay last September. Continue reading

repeat offender.

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This time, it ain’t my baby that ails me.

I just got back home from being in hospital – again! This makes visit number five since September.

I went in yesterday evening for sharp, stabbing pains at the top right of my abdomen. It’s been ongoing since Peanut dropped sometime on Thursday night, and I worried (briefly) that it might be placental abruption. There has been no bleeding and no nausea, chills or fever, so I was pretty sure I wasn’t in the throes of anything serious. However, the area was tender to the touch, and since my name is not Doc McStuffins, I thought it would be better if I made a visit to Labour & Delivery to get checked out.

The nurses at L&D at my home hospital are more than familiar with me, so admission was a breeze. Besides, it’s rare that anyone wanders into L&D after 10pm, so it was a light night. I was set up in a bed in triage, asked to give a urine sample and squeeze into the netting that holds the various monitors required to assess me, and was told that a nurse would be in momentarily.

I was hooked up to sensors to follow Peanut’s heartbeat and movement, and after about 30 minutes the printouts from the machine led the nurse to determine that the baby was fine. Since I’d come in complaining of abdominal pain, she wondered if it might not be some kind of heartburn? And perhaps if I took sodium citrate I might feel better? Continue reading

kvetch me if you can.

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Suck it up, buttercup. You wanted this. 

It’s 5:37am, and I’m up because I’m wholly uncomfortable.

Today is 33 weeks. Peanut is the size of a pineapple (another one of my least-liked fruits/veggies) and I read someplace that this is around the time that she will settle into her final position before birth. She’s always been active, but lately her movements are bigger – stop-me-in-my-tracks shocking – as if she’s a rabbit burrowing a den for the winter. I’m feeling her feet (hands? elbows? heels?) dig into parts of my body she never bothered with before. I’m pretty sure my ribs are bruised from the inside.

Pelvic Girdle Pain has set in, making it near-impossible at times to walk with my legs together. I look like I just got off a horse, or as though someone gave me a good, hard boot to the crotch. I alternate between pain that keeps me awake, and pain (mostly from the back) that knocks me out. I’ve also developed Restless Legs Syndrome, which hits me hard at night. I literally feel as though I have ants in my pants (or under my skin) and constantly have kick and rub my legs and frequently change positions to get the sensations to stop. Continue reading

Braxton-Hicksville.

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The shape of things to come?

I have been dealing with Braxton-Hicks probably since early in month six. They have been frequent and uncomfortable from day one. In spite of the discomfort, the B. Hicks are usually mild and painless; my belly contorts and makes interesting shapes, much like the image above. Right now, though, I feel like I might be in the throes of early labour. It’s 6:49 am, and I was awakened not too long ago by a hard kick from Aisha, and severe pressure around my mid-section.

1. 6:49 am – 30 seconds.
2. 6:50 am – 31 seconds.

Because the sensation is more painful than usual, I am timing these cramps/contractions. They’re coming about a minute to three minutes apart and lasting for about 30 seconds. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m in more pain/discomfort than usual. I really hope it’s not labour.

3. 6:53 am – 35 seconds.

Perhaps I’m just dehydrated, and these are ridiculous Braxton-Hicks. I quickly consulted Dr. Google, and nothing he says indicates that this might be labour (no bleeding, discharge or anything like that. Will keep searching. And praying).

This can’t be labour. Aisha’s still kicking about in there. Continue reading

TMI tuesday: the view from here.

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Aerial view. Has anyone seen my toes? They were here a few weeks ago…

This isn’t so much a TMI as it is an update – although the attached image of me below, semi-clothed, might be a little more of me than some are comfortable with.

I haven’t been one for pictures during this pregnancy, but I thought it might be good to post a recent image of my current form. I’ve already posted about being too big to shave, but really, I just feel so big in general. It’s amazing how, in a few short weeks I’ve gone to half of my wardrobe fitting to nothing fitting at all.

I’ve spent the first five months of this pregnancy feeling pretty good. This Friday marks my entry into the 24th week, and I gotta say, I’m pretty much over it now.

I’m in a constant state of discomfort: I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t eat without crippling heartburn or reflux. I have blurred vision and a bad memory. My bodily functions are out of whack, my centre of gravity is shot all to hell, and I hurt. Everywhere. All of the time.

I would give anything to be able to poop like a normal person. Continue reading

the codeine conundrum.

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Mother’s little helper ain’t what it used to be.

Any relief I get from taking codeine and morphine is superseded by the guilt about the real or perceived damage I’m inflicting on my little one.

But I’m simply in too much pain to function, think, or even breathe. The halfway mark is approaching, and I don’t want to spend the next 20 weeks on narcotics. For the most part I try to hold off for as long as possible before I pop a pill, but I’m this ( – ) close to admitting myself back into hospital so I can get a dose of morphine to lower the volume on the pain from nerve-jangling throbbing to something a little less crazy-making.

When I’m playing superwoman (and opting out of downing a tab), my coping methods involve Lamaze-inspired breathing techniques and pacing. These don’t lessen the pain by any means, but they certainly distract.

There’s also the worry about the prolonged damage to my liver. Dr. Freedman assures me that it would take more than the occasional Tylenol 3 to ruin me, but it’s still a concern. No matter how beneficial these drugs are in the short term, the long-term implications weigh on my mind.

pity-party.

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We’ll return to our regularly-scheduled happy person tomorrow.

Pardon me for a moment. I’ve been trying so hard to stay upbeat, and today the façade just cracked. I’ve spent the better part of two days breathing through pain. The only things that provide relief are hot showers or hot sex. And I’m not getting nearly enough of the latter right now to make me feel better.

Having this kind of unabated pain is isolating. I mean, my parents and the boy know that I’m not doing so well, I just don’t think they understand what it is I’m dealing with. Most of my day is spent willing myself to make it through another 30 seconds. One minute. Five. Ten minutes. Half-hour. Hour. It’s certainly a test of endurance – I mean, how much longer can I do this? How much longer until I can take another Codeine? How long can I make it without one?

Tonight, while in the shower – and for the first time since this whole ordeal started – I cried. Everything just hurts so much. I know that this will pass, but I’m just frazzled. Exhausted and scared. What are all these drugs going to do to my baby? How long am I going to have to continue taking them? How will I manage without them?

Speaking of my baby, while I am a total basket-case, she (she! heh) has been a little trooper. She’s active in there, rolling and flailing about, seemingly unaffected by the hardcore drugs filtering through my system. Feeling her move reassures me that I’ve not ruined her health or turned her into a vegetable with my pill-popping.

I’ll keep holding on for now.

For her.