So yesterday I had a glucose screening test. I was curious, because I’d heard such awful things about how horrible the glucose solution tastes, that it makes you gag, that it can make you throw up, etc. It wasn’t that bad. Frankly, add some fizz and I’ll drink it for fun. But as previously mentioned, I’ve never met a sugar molecule that I didn’t love. This time I was smart about things – I make an appointment at Quest for 8 a.m. I got there bright and early and eventually managed to get someone’s attention. As far as I can tell, they don’t keep track in any fashion of the people who make appointments – at least not the ones who make them online. I’m pretty sure that you could walk in off the street, say "I have an appointment," and jump the line with impunity. But I digress.
I got to drink 50ml of what tasted like flat orange soda and go hang out in the waiting room for an hour. Let me tell you – the conversational possibilities at Quest Labs at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday are not exactly scintillating. I think the only other person who came in while I was there who was under 60 was the girl who was driving her grandmother. It’s always like that in the mornings – right during the prime hours when people with jobs are trying to get in and out so that they don’t miss too much work. But I digress again. I had my newspaper and the crossword, and that held my attention for the hour I had to sit there. One very nice lady actually offered to let me go before her because I had been there first. I explained that I was on a timer, and thanked her very much. When my timer went off the nice man took two vials of blood and sent me on my way. Only two this time – I’m underachieving these days. The results will be posted on the hospital’s online test results page, so I’ll start keeping an eye on that in a day or two. Everything else is going so well that I’m pretty much expecting this to trip me up. Keep your fingers crossed - I really want to pass this test.
Childbirth class was Monday this week instead of the usual Tuesday. This week the nurse went through the after care package they send home with you. I wasn’t taking notes because we’re not using that hospital, but I sincerely hope they send instructions with the bag because there’s no way I’d remember all of that. Then we took the tour. Again – we’re not using that hospital, but it was interesting. The thing that I find intriguing is the amount of pressure they exert on you to have the baby "room in" with you. They say that it’s your choice, but everything is peppered with statements like "we leave the baby with you where they belong." The comment in the nursery was "You’re wondering where all the babies are. They’re with their mothers, where they should be." Now this is all well and good, but one of the best pieces of advice I’ve gotten has been from my boss who said to send that child to the nursery. She has three, and she roomed in two of them and didn’t with the last. She remembers that an hour or so after having one of her girls, having not slept in over 36 hours and being delirious with exhaustion (her words) a nurse came in and said to her "haven’t you bathed that baby yet?" Her advice was that you’ve got the next several decades to bond. In the meantime, let the nursing staff change, bathe, and otherwise take care of the baby. They’ll bring it to you to nurse and whenever you ask – in the meantime get as much rest as you can because there won’t be any respite or escape at home. If you have the baby in the room you may as well go home, because there won’t be any recuperation time for you. That makes very good sense to me. I didn’t bother to argue with the nurse at all because... we’re not going to that hospital. I’ll be interested to see if I get the same push from UConn. You never know, I may change my mind. If so, it’s an easy change to make. But I think that Diane was making an awful lot of sense.
I’m also interested watching the other couples in class. They’re all much younger than either of us. I suspect that I’ve probably got fifteen years on all of them. I don’t know if it’s the extra years, or if it’s just the weird way that I’m wired, but I just can’t seem to get as worked up about things as they do. The way I’m looking at it is that she’s coming out one way or the other – either I’m doing it, or some nice man with sharp implements is. I know what my pain control options are, I know that regardless of those it’s going to hurt like hell, and it sounds like it’s all really rather going to suck. Okay – it’s a temporary situation. If not A., then B. This isn’t complicated. I’ve got bigger things in my life to stress about – like paying for daycare. But we’ve got a couple who are absolutely terrified by the idea of labor. Come on – it’s not like they’re going to leave to die n agony.
Maybe I just can’t get worked up about it because I spent six months having non-stop gallstone attacks. There’s something that’ll wear you down. Most people say "writhing in pain" without really understanding the phrase. I’ve actually done it. It sucked. But who knew that ten years later it would come in handy? So I’m actually fairly comfortable with the idea of pain. Looking forward to it? Hell no. But I’ve already got a lot of coping mechanisms from the gall bladder and from my back. And unlike the gallstone attacks, there will be no element of watching the clock, wondering if I need to go to the emergency room, and wondering if this is the one that will require emergency surgery with no insurance. When you take the element of fear out of it – it’s just pain.
Someone remind me in October that I said all of that. It should be good for a laugh.
I was fascinated by the girl who asked what she should wear to come to the hospital because she heard that they throw your clothes away. Who on earth has she been listening to?
Next week’s class will bring us "pushing positions," and possibly a pediatrician as a guest speaker. That’s something else that I need to investigate. My sister-in-law’s sister is an RN who works for a pediatrician and got some recommendations at the office for me. I need to see if any of them are in my insurance plan and then figure out what I’m supposed to do next.
Let’s see, inventory:
Back: still have that damn spasm knifing me. I have made the discovery that riding in Bob’s car makes it worse. So hopefully by avoiding his car I can stop "refreshing" it so that the chiropractor and the massage therapist can make it go away. Other than that, so far, so good. Shoulders are really tight, but I can ignore that.
Hips: achy. As far as I can tell, this is just One Of Those Things. The joints themselves and down the thighs ache like I’ve over-exerted myself doing heavy work. It stinks, but it’s tolerable. I’m pretty sure that it’s something I can shrug off for the next three months.
Knees: killing me. I’m not quite sure what this is all about. They hurt during the day fairly often, but the weird part is what they do at night. I’ll wake up and whichever knee is on the bottom (sleeping on my side) will be locked into whatever position it happens to be in. I can’t flex or straighten it without excruciating pain at a spot at the inside top of the kneecap. What I’ve been doing is very, very carefully pulling the top leg off of it (sometimes the removal of that weight triggers the pain, or it may be the tensing of the muscles in the affected leg as I shift position. I can’t tell.) then using my hands to pick the affected leg up off of the mattress. Once I’m lying on my back with that leg up in the air I can put pressure on the painful spot and very slowly flex the joint a few times to get it moving again. It’s really, really strange. I need to spend some time with Gray’s Anatomy or Anatomica to try to figure out exactly what that spot is so that I can describe this to my assorted health care people.
Feet: fine. No different than usual.
Belly: I think I’m quite large. My husband doesn’t look at me, so I don’t know what he thinks. The two co-workers who know that I’m pregnant say that I don’t look like it, and no one else in the office has noticed anything that I’m aware of. I think they’re either blind (possible) or being polite (fairly unlikely.)
I think that’s all the major body parts that I’m willing to discuss. I’m getting two-hour catnaps at night, so I’ve got that constant nagging fatigue. I’m reliably informed that will get better in six or seven years. The doctor said that I can take a Benadryl to help me sleep, but I’m saving that for when I really need it.
That’s about it. Depending on which doctor/website you decide to believe, I am in my third trimester either today or next Wednesday. Perhaps it’s time to pick up the pace on preparations. It might also be time to talk about names.