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A long long Wednesday

September 7, 2011

Today has been the longest day …

after virtually no sleep, we were at the MFAU bang on opening time, me feeling like a leaky tap … sorry for the squeamish of you … not just discharge (which is apparently to be expected) but fluid and a reasonable amount of it soaking my knickers and feeling damp on my thighs.

Sitting waiting feeling very weary, very afraid and very crampy and painful around The Spaniard’s living quarters felt like a very long wait… Eventually Uma (or maybe Una) a cheery thin Irish midwife came out and ushered us into a room with an uncomfy trolly to lie on and went through the raft of tests I needed before progressing to Doctor.

She listened – eventually – to The Spaniard and bless it’s little Toreador soul it was moving around with gusto although at 130 beats per minute, it’s heartbeat was a little slower than before, but still within the ‘correct’ parameters (110 – 160 bpm) so not a cause for concern. I couldn’t stop shaking at this point … the relief in hearing that now familiar thudding determined sound was almost overwhelming. Then she said something about “not necessarily leading to a delivery” which I only half heard … she repeated it and all relief evaporated.

I asked about amniotic fluid and if it tops itself back up, apparently it can, and if little spaces it might be ‘leaking’ from can reseal … apparently they can … with bed rest and care and monitoring.

Various tests followed and more waiting on the trolly bed thing, and then, in contrast to the tall dark smiling Irish midwife, in walked a female Bond villain. Or at least that’s how she appeared to me. The doctor I saw today was Russian or Polish, incredibly beautiful and calm to the point of cold with white blonde hair back in a pony tail and a slash of red lipstick … she really did look like a perfect James Bond villain from some cold war 007 adventure. Her name began with P … I forget what it was, lets call her Dr Pravda (being the only Russian word I know).

Dr Pravda informed me I had to have a speculum examination, something I’ve refused before. I was too upset, and scared of her, to say anything so nodded and she unwrapped a clear plastic instrument of torture (“I confess, I confess” … sorry) and examined me and then informed me that there was fluid but also a lot of discharge (normal). She was surprised I’d waited so long to go into the hospital and would have done the same. She said I needed to rest but was concerned that I have a full scan of everything tomorrow and not just the normal 20 weeks scan. She then took a swab or 3 to ensure no infection, no random other issues and importantly that the cancer cells they found and removed with a horrible loop diathermy LETZ procedure from there a few years back hadn’t reappeared. “After LETZ procedure your cervix is more weak so the risk of miscarriage is higher”, she cheerily informed me … I tell you if The Spaniard does make it all the way to being born it really should be called Miracle after all the reasons why not.

The gentle Irish midwife kept trying to rephrase everything Dr P was saying into wording that was easier for a tearful numb confused me to understand and in the end Dr P turned round and snapped at her, “I have examined this patient, I will tell her diagnosis” (told you she was scary) … at which point Uma / Una fled. She crept back before we finally left to tell me to rest and not to worry that a friend of hers had twins at the age of 47 … I liked her. Efficient and meticulous as she was (which I’m very grateful for), I found Dr P’s bedside manner a little difficult, especially the curt “good luck” she barked from her desk when we left … but she was detailed, thorough and well informed and that is what counts … and am sure she’s probably bedding Bond as I type.

The whole thing seemed to go on for hours and hours, the end result was good… my waters hadn’t broken and The Spaniard is ok … I need to have bed rest and take it easy… and seeing as Mother’s house is closer to the Maternity Unit that the hospital wards, I was sent home to her peaceful haven with instruction to rest and sleep and drink plenty of water and come back in the morning.

So … there it is … my day. I’ve slept, I’ve eaten, I feel like death warmed up, I am still leaking like a rusty old tap … this whole pregnancy thing plays havoc with your underwear … and it all still feels very daunting and uncertain.

However, I’m very very pleased I have the huge raft of scans and check ups in the morning … and that we are so close to the hospital.

Thank you so much for your support, texts, calls and so on today… and all the positive thoughts. It sounds dumb to say it (I will though), I thought that getting pregnant would be the hardest part … this journey gets more difficult as it progresses, I’m sure because the stakes are higher.

One of the things that made me the saddest today was that the thought that if The Spaniard had to be delivered at this point it would simply be counted as a miscarriage… after 24 weeks if a baby dies in the womb it is considered to be still born and has to be registered as a ‘person’ … that would have been very hard to bear and seems so cruel when the little soul has hair, finger nails, a pounding heart and so on at this point. Anyway, today, thankfully that hasn’t been the case … and for now the aim is to get through tomorrow’s tests and scans and then get to 24 weeks, then 25 and so on …

Time to for a short walk round the garden (as per instruction from Dr P) and then back to bed again.

What a long long Wednesday.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. September 9, 2011 11:58 pm

    Just wanted to let you know I am thinking of you. Sending ‘stay put!’ vibes to the Spanish miracle.

  2. September 10, 2011 3:10 am

    Milagro is Spanish for miracle. Pronounced me-lag-ro. Or in this case me -la – GROW little Spaniard of ours!

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