Yesterday I turned myself in. Gestational incarceration, known also as Hospital Bed Rest, has begun.
So far I am unimpressed with this place. (I’m in a different hospital this time than the one I stayed in after my water broke. This is also the hospital I’ll deliver at.)
Firstly, it took them an entire HOUR to check me in. I got sick of pacing the floor and waiting around, so I walked to the Starbucks, which just happens to be inside the hospital, and treated myself to a salted caramel mocha.
By the time I got back, they were waiting on ME to check me in. Hmmph. That’s more like it! After all, my insurance company is paying $2,000 a night for this joint. My next complaint is that by this time I was dying of thirst, and I politely asked the triage nurse to get me some water, twice, and it took her 2 entire hours to do so. (The ice and water station are right outside my room! I would’ve gotten it myself, but by this time I was hooked to two monitors and an IV.)
I’m trying to block out the fact that the handrail on my bed had a long streak of dried blood on it, that my bathroom was out of soap when I arrived, then promptly ran out of paper towels. Thank goodness I brought my Thieves essential oil blend to spray around the room, because clearly the people responsible for cleaning stuff around here are slacking.
When my actual nurse came in to start my IV, she mucked the first attempt, claiming my veins were “all twisted up”. (Funny, the next person who came in to draw blood said I had nice veins.) She was a sweet woman, but her skills as a phlebotomist left something to be desired. She had to pull the whole contraption out and start over again on the other side.
There is one good thing about my room: I have a large window, and lots of natural light. For this I am thankful. Except when I forget that I am constantly flashing the garbage engineers and construction workers my bum whilst trying to pull the very top-heavy IV stand into the bathroom while juggling 4 wires hanging from my neck. Hopefully my bum is so tiny way up here on the 7th floor that it’s impossible to discern.
I would take a belly shot, but the aforementioned is a problem. Hospital attire bring new meaning to the term “backless gown”. Another reason is because my face is horribly puffy from not moving around enough.
On the baby front, I have nothing new to report. Which is good. I’m still pregnant today, at 21 weeks plus 1 day (yes, when one is likely to deliver a preemie, one counts their pregnancy in weeks AND days.) They have a saying, that 1 day in the belly saves 3 days in the NICU, so I am thankful for every day that baby stays put.
Hospitals: All Rest and No Sleep
What is it with hospitals making it impossible to sleep for more than an hour at a time?
Every 30-60 minutes last night, I was up doing one of the following: having my temperature and/or blood pressure taken, turning off the BP cuff alarm, fumbling around in the dark looking for the phone and squinting at the dry-erase board to find the nurse’s number so I could ask her to please turn off the IV pump alarm (because the call buttons on my bed do.not.work, and why oh why manufacturers of medical equipment, does the incessant beeping not automatically alert the nurses so they can change the fluids or medicine or whatever without it being up to the patient to notify them over and over all night?), and at one point, a PA from the NICU came into my room at around 11 and woke me up to talk to me about what to expect with a premature baby.
That couldn’t have waited until the next morning? She didn’t tell me one thing I didn’t already know from my reading, and worse she had absolutely no sense of humor atall.
Add to that, one nurse came in to close my blinds, informing me that there was a tornado watch in the area. Lovely.
The good news is, tomorrow they remove my IV so I can move around. Thus will commence my exercise routine. And my new nurse took pity on me and is retrieving me some panties (so I can wear a pad!).
Yes, you know your priorities in life have changed dramatically when having someone remove a needle from your arm and supplying you with mesh Granny panties make it a good day!
(You didn’t know that ruptured moms aren’t usually allowed to wear undies? Indeed. We have to suffer the indignity of rising to use the bathroom and trying not to leak baby pee all down our legs and onto the floor on the way.)
Bless this nurse.
Despite my many complaints, I’m very happy to be here. pPROM babies come very fast, and often under emergency situations (cord prolapse/compression, placenta abruption, infection, precipitous labor due to baby’s tiny size, etc). I’m just where I need to be, and I have far less anxiety about my little one.