Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

"...besides love, independence of thought is the greatest gift an adult can give a child." - Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One

For old quotes, look here.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Like That Beduin Curse

Yesterday was...interesting.

I know I've said this before...and will likely say it many times in the future...but if you want to make the Gods laugh, tell them your plans.

I went to the OB as planned. They were busy - last week's snow meant closed offices and re-scheduled appointments, which meant lots of very pregnant (and not pregnant) women in a holding pattern in the waiting room. I sat for over an hour before finally being led back to my nemesis the scale.

If you've never been pregnant you may not know this, but they like to weigh us. Every time we go in. On devastatingly accurate scales. Sigh. At least they've learned to take the blood pressure before they weigh, and not after. I think they used to do it the other way around for entertainment purposes. Hey, nurses need a laugh, too...

So I was weighed, Sphygmomanometered (hey, want to give spell-check fits? Write "Sphygmomanometered" and then check spelling...heh...), asked to pee in a cup (And whose idea was it to ask pregnant women with a girth approximating that of a municipal water tower to pee into a tiny plastic cup?? Without offering us a glove or anything? I'd like a word with that person...) and hooked up to the machine that goes "hummmmmmmmmm". The machine that goes "hummmmmmmmmm" has two sensors that are secured onto a pregnant woman's middle using web-and Velcro belts and what I like to call "the icky-sticky", a sort of gel substance that I am convinced is actually something invented for use as lubricant in alien space craft.

The gel is to help fine-tune the placement of one of the sensors, which reads the baby's heart rate and movement.

In a perfect world, the baby moves, her heart rate accelerates, and the machine goes "hummmmmmmmmm" and makes a tidy little printout of what's going on. The doctor reads the printout, nods and looks wise, says something incomprehensible and then the pregnant woman is evicted from the nice, comfy chair and back out into the world for another week.

I do not, as I believe I've mentioned, live in a perfect world. Things go haywire around me. Machines especially, and most especially delicate machines. I don't even have to touch them!

The belts have to be put extra tight on me because I was all soft in the middle before getting knocked up, and that soft-in-the-middleness translates into "we need the Michelin Man size, Jane!!" and a tight fit on the belts. I also have to press down on the monitoring doohickey because it has a tough time catching the baby's heart and wriggles.

So the machine went "hummmmmmmmmm", I listened and felt as she wriggled and thumped...and the printout...er...ahem...the printout...hello? Printout?? Hello???

Aww dang.

The machine was picking up two hearts - which is a good thing, because it proves I have one - and it was confused, so it pinged and beeped and got surly.

After an hour trying to get it to behave, the doctor finally sent me for an ultrasound.

The ultrasound tech was very sweet, and she did her best, but Sprout decided it was nap time and would. Not. Move. I poked. I prodded. I wiggled (and, alas, jiggled). I turned this way and that. Sprout slept on, the sleep of the supremely annoying.

Thirty minutes. That's how long we tried to get her to do something...anything. Mind, her heart was beating (I could see it, and how awesome is that???), she was "breathing" just fine, and nothing looked out of the ordinary...she was just refusing to have anything to do with her audience.

So the doctor said maybe I would have to go on over to the horspital and have a baby.

Uh...beg pardon?

No, no, no...she cannot be born on an even-numbered day, and not before the 20'th, and I didn't have my suitcase, and I needed to run to the bank, and refill prescriptions because I was out of insulin, and had sewing to do, and did I mention that my son was with his father (more than an hour away) and would need picking up? So no, no, sorry, perhaps we could schedule something for next week when I'm not so busy...

The doctor allowed as how I could come back in the afternoon (it was just about afternoon, anyway) and be re-monitored, and we could decide then.

Yes, thank you, because then I could go home and have some lunch (I am diabetic and on insulin for the pregnancy, and I'd been in the office for almost four hours with nothing to eat or drink - I needed to refuel, dang it), grab my suitcase (oh, yeah, and maybe Someone, since he has something of an interest in all of this) and make a call or two to arrange a ride for the Evil Genius on the off chance I was preoccupied with...something.

I placed calls on the way home, missed my exit (thanks a lot, you rat bastards who wouldn't make a space for the Astro with her signal on for MILES!! to get over into the exit lane)(really...miles...) and had to take the next one (four miles South) and take the back roads home (and if you were the person in the white Jeep Whateveritwas, umm...you were in a bloody JEEP! You don't have to slow down when the PAVED road curves or goes down a hill...because it's a JEEP!! on clear, dry roads!!! Just sayin'.). I had just enough time at home to slap together a sandwich and a hasty e-mail, eat, and fling suitcases, cameras, and Someone into the back of the van...whoopsie...sorry, Someone...you're not cargo...

He was sweet and drove us back to the doctor's office, where we waited in the holding pattern. Whee.

At least this time they didn't weigh me.

Luckily, Sprout was feeling more obliging. It could have been lunch...or that she'd rested well during her nap...or maybe, just maybe, it was the near half-gallon of iced tea I drank on the way over...but whatever the reason, once we were being monitored she wriggled like a champ, the machine went "hummmmmmmmmm", the printout printed, and the doctor said I could go on home after I scheduled my c-section...for next week. Sprout has until Tuesday to make her own entrance, then she gets an assist.

Most of the day was shot by then, and all I'd managed to do was sit on my arse waiting for things to happen. Sigh...

We got home, I did get one sewing project worked on, and then I had to go pick up the Evil Genius (T couldn't drive him home) - I had hopes that he'd get another night with his dad, but T had to work - and head on home.

Long day.

Today we really need to get the old washer and dryer out, the laundry area cleaned up a bit (ten years of laundry, lint, and who knows what shenanigans need dealing with down there...groan...), and the replacement machines fetched hither from Mum's place. As Sprout seems content to hang about where she is for the nonce, I'm going to get to it...just as soon as Someone's laundry is done drying (we thought we were done with the laundry last night, but one of the cats decided that Someone's shirts that had fallen onto the floor looked like a fine place to pee in the middle of the night. Sigh.).

What're your plans for the day? It's OK to share 'em here...I'm pretty sure the gods don't read my blog...


Susan said...

You just scared the ever lovin' brains out of me - all 2 oz. of them!! So glad that Sprout decided to cooperate and that she's okay. And now I can't get over the cat pee shirts. Thinking of you hourly!!!

darsden said...

I am just worn out...worn out I tell you, by your day....

HermitJim said...

Never a dull moment for ya, huh?

Every day is a holiday, every meal a banquet!

I heard that in a movie somewhere!

Good luck with everything!