Holy smokes, I’m very whiny and having a moment. My personal rule is when I’m feeling a good vent coming on, I wait a day to blog, in case I feel better the next day and it was a passing thing. Woke up this morning and nope, it’s still there. Post away.
Google reader is no longer a thing so I might not have a lot of people read this but really, that’s fine with me. When someone whines and complains a lot, it starts to make them look pathetic, which is not my goal. But I can’t go another day without bitching!
Because I’m 5 cm dilated and 100% effaced, I am not allowed to leave this hospital (or even my room) until I give birth. I get that, but I’m barely even contracting. It’s very quiet.
Let me first say that I understand this is a good thing. I’m not in labor, the babies keep cooking, I get that. My brain understands that fact. Don’t remind me. In no way does it change my feelings and emotions about being on hospital bed rest. So I’m not even going there about the babies in this post. I’m grateful they are healthy and continue to cook. But.
I have been on bed rest for 10 weeks. Since the end of April. I have missed – everything. You know what I took for granted? Walking. Having access to more than a couch/bed and a bathroom. Looking and feeling clean, and not itchy. Shaving. Feeling the sun. Driving. Being in a car at all.
But it was somehow being managed until I was put on hospital bed rest and now I feel like I’ve totally lost my mind. I’ve been here a week and a half. In that time, I’ve had bursitis in my hip (thankfully so much better) and spasms in a nerve/ligament in my rib where Goat’s body is. Not sure which was more painful. My rash went away – it was heat rash.
The doctor came in this morning and told me that there’s no reason to plan on a c-section date at this point when I don’t have any infections and the babies are doing well. The plan is to let them cook as long as they can. Again, I understand this and it makes sense. Deep down, I agree. But that means I could be going another month in this room. A month. That would be full term, which would be amazing. But still.
Bed rest really sucks. I can’t believe how long I’ve been on it. But hospital bed rest is a whole other matter. I can’t stand relying on nurses, all 5,000 of them I’ve met. Some are okay and some suck. Asking me questions like I don’t know what a contraction is. Discussing my “bowel movements” like we are discussing the weather. Waiting and watching for me to drink Miralax because they can’t leave drugs with me. Really, Miralax? You’ll be standing there a while because I’m not chugging it.
The food – it’s horrible. I’m still eating gluten free and that little menu has 5 choices on it. I just keep rotating and it’s all disgusting. This one food lady is trying to make me mad. I keep asking for ranch dressing with my little salad and she keeps bringing Italian because she says the ranch isn’t gluten free. But it is gluten free, I read the package myself. She’s mad because the computer doesn’t have me registered as gluten free so she doesn’t understand why I can’t eat off the regular menu, which by the way has foods on it a pregnant person can’t eat, like cold deli meat. Dinner comes at 4:30, and I’m not hungry and I want to wait for my husband. Then someone comes back an hour later and wonders why I have to say I haven’t eaten yet. Every. Day.
I had myself a little breakdown yesterday at lunch because my nasty hamburger came without any condiments. The day before it came with ketchup and mayo. The helplessness I felt, not having access to ketchup was enough to send me right over the edge. Maybe the woman was trying to piss me off. So I had to call the main desk, have them hunt down the woman. It’s just the most degrading thing. Or when today, after a successful NST in my room, the nurse was just about to unhook me from the monitors when she got called away by a doctor. 45 minutes later and I can’t get up, can’t get my water because I’m still hooked up and helpless. I think she forgot about me. Cue another mini meltdown.
I’ve started grabbing the monitors from the nurses’ hands and putting them on my stomach myself. If I hear that baby voice, “do you happen to know where you think the heartbeats are?” one more time, I swear. You check every few hours and I’m stuffed with babies who won’t be moving much. And we have been doing this for a week and a half. I don’t care that you’re a nurse I haven’t met before. Give me the damn monitors so you don’t spend a half hour trying to find heartbeats covering my whole stomach in gel when I know exactly where they are.
I have a needle permanently taped into my arm, in case I need fluids quickly. My muscles, after 10 weeks, are totally gone. My legs are just bones with the remains of muscles hanging off. They get sore so easily. After birth, I’ll be lucky if I can walk to the mailbox. The recovery is going to suck more than it does for others. No, don’t tell me that I need to savor this quiet time. Who enjoys living in a hospital?? No one. I miss my dogs. Their schedules have been completely disrupted and they might have forgotten about me.
I guess I’m more than whiny. I’m pissed. Mad that the joys of pregnancy have been taken away from me on my first time, making me never want to do this again. Mad that I missed my own shower, that I bought cute maternity clothes I couldn’t wear, and mostly mad that I can’t mentally prepare for babies. See, if I had prepared I probably wouldn’t complain so much right now. I want to be home, folding all the washed baby clothes (that I still need to buy), lounging in someone’s pool, getting my nails done and decorating a nursery (that doesn’t even have carpet yet). Obviously we are going to be exhausted when they are here. Obviously. It won’t be easy. But the transition from hospital bed rest to twins at home is such a major one. It is what it is and there’s nothing I can do about it. I am not mentally ready for this at all. And it’s hard to be in a hospital. I don’t want to read about it or do research. We will somehow figure it out.
I’ve had more mini meltdowns here in a week and a half than I did at home in 8 weeks. I’m totally feeling sorry for myself. But I have to make it quick because a nurse will walk in and that’s embarrassing, crying by myself. One nurse keeps wanting to get me “art therapy”. I’m not kidding. I’m fine, I just can’t believe this is still going on.
So here’s what I’m thankful for. One – I have my own room. I can’t even fathom the nightmare that is sharing a room. Two – my mother has been keeping my dogs, which, after my house, is their second favorite place. And my mom isn’t a dog person (thanks!). It’s one less thing to worry about. Three – I have healthy babies. A boy and a girl. After two years of infertility. That I’m even in this position. And four – my husband. I can’t brag about him enough. You’d think this would all be another test, a hurdle for us but it’s been the opposite. He’s been sleeping on a chair for a week and a half without complaints. He helps me with every single thing. He makes me laugh, and our “bonding moment” of each night is a head scratch/rub for him. He’s going to work during the day if I feel okay, which makes it lonely but I understand. But if I’m having a rough day he can stay and work from his laptop. He’s excited for these babies and he’s still running home on the weekends to finish our house construction. One month tops to finish it. He has been so amazing, it just solidifies and strengthens how I feel about him. I’m very lucky.
Okay. That’s about it for now. I know it’s temporary, I know how lucky I am for healthy babies, and I know I’m kind of almost there. What I am most looking forward to is seeing those babies with my husband and being able to say to him, “This was all worth it.”