…I have to call labor & delivery to see if they’ll have a bed for me today for an induction. Yes, that’s 4am. I’m not particularly thrilled about that. I’m not particularly thrilled about any of the circumstances, actually.
Tomorrow, I’m only 41 weeks. That’s not even past term, but I had to argue with my OB to let me go this far – he wanted to induce me before my due date! I had to argue and fight and read and back out of having one a week ago, it was just too damn early. I thank God I took that epidemiology master’s course. It gave me a good understanding of risk as a concept, and helped me differentiate between risk that is in my power to control versus risk that is not.
The risks of induction scare me. A lot. There’s risk for the baby, there’s risk for me, there’s a heck of a lot more pain involved. I’ll have to be continuously monitored, so I won’t be able to walk around. I’m most comfortable walking generally, and least comfy lying down. Maybe if I bring donuts the nurses will let me sit calmly on my exercise ball next to the pitocin pump and monitoring apparatus. But I don’t hold out a lot of hope.
There’s the increased risk of a c-section, which means I’ll never be allowed to have a vaginal birth.
The Husband has had the bad luck to get sick NOW, of all times. And he never gets sick. He hasn’t even slept in the same bed as me for the last 2 days. And they might not let him into the maternity ward, which just breaks my heart. And frankly, scares the shit out of me, because I need him. He helps me be better, he always has, and the idea of facing this without him has me in a (carefully concealed) emotional puddle. Letting him see how much him not being there will bother me just makes him feel worse, and he feels pretty damn miserable as it is.
And people are driving me crazy checking up on me. For some reason, “we will call when we know ANYTHING” means precisely nothing. No one trusts us, no one will leave us alone to try and relax in these last few, very stressful, days. When we manage to forget about the looming medical intervention, someone calls, or IMs, or emails, or smoke signals, or whatever. I just can’t get away.
But worst of all, I am having contractions. They just don’t hurt, not usually, or if they do, not very much. They’ve been going on all week, and I can’t help feeling that if I just had a little more time, things would happen on their own. And I can’t forgive my body for not cooperating in this. It took us three tries to keep one, and now he won’t come out.
So right now, the summation of my mental state is: I can’t sleep because I’m stressed, and I haven’t been sleeping well for the last week. I’m emotionally lonely, and trying not to show it so it doesn’t make The Husband even more miserable and guilty feeling than he is now. I’m worried about the legitimate risks of the medical intervention. I’m contract-y, and achey, and sore. I’m tired of my uterus not cooperating. I’m tired of the “this baby, he’s just like his mother” jokes about my procrastination, or my stubbornness, or whatever uncomplimentary trait people choose to twit me about.
I know I can do this. I made it up to that glacier last summer, I can survive giving birth this summer. But whoever’s reading this, if you would pray for me tomorrow, I will really, really appreciate it.
[Edit: Oh, and did I mention there’s a tropical storm bearing down on the Texas/Mexico border that has everyone freaked out?]
[Edit 2: Called at 4am, told to call back at 8:30. Called at 8:30, told to call back at 10:30.]