23w0d: A night in L&D

(Spoiler: Everything's fine.)

Last night, I had 4 very painful contractions in about 45 minutes. And yes, I know the rule is "6 per hour" for a hospital run, but I was very, very scared. I decided I could forgive myself for freaking out over nothing, but not for ignoring something I thought could be serious. My husband was on the same page, so off we went, to L&D.

I apparently get very, very stupid when stressed. They gave me a gown, a sheet, and a belly band. I didn't know what to do with the belly band, so I just left it on the bed. (Hint: it goes around your belly, and you have to wear it because it holds the monitors in place.) When being asked about my medical history and such, I couldn't remember what medications I was on. I in fact replied "none". "No pre-natal?" Oh yes, that. Oh, and Zofran. Oh yeah, phenegran too. And Colace! To "When did you last take these", I answered incorrectly to every single question. I haven't taken my pre-natals in the morning since I discovered the joys of hyperemesis. I didn't last take my Zofran at "noon", which just sounded like a good time.

They asked me how old I was, and I replied, "23". My babies' gestational age in weeks--they only thing that mattered. But not, actually, how old I am.

"Is this your first pregnancy?" Well, I got that one right. But I told them I lost Isaiah at 10 weeks. I have no idea why. The 7w6d is forever branded in my mind. I usually round up to 8 weeks. 10? Came out of nowhere.

And by the way. Everyone, everyone asked "what number is this". Lab techs, doctor, nurses, CNAs. I don't know if it was small talk or if it really matters, but please, read my chart. Because being reminded, over and over again, about my loss, in the week of my unfulfilled due date, while fearing for the lives of my current children, is not fun.

Sometime in the past month or so (and I'm not sure if it was the anatomy scan or the frequent reassurance of movement), I've stopped believing that one or more of my babies is dead. That was pretty much how I felt for the first 18 weeks of my pregnancy. Every time I pulled out the doppler or sat on the table, I was honestly expecting 0-1 heartbeat. That has changed. Although I know (sadly, for my heart aches for these women) that babies do die in utero in tne 2nd and 3rd trimesters, I tend to think mine are alive. So when it took the nurse almost a minute to find the second heart-beat, I did not freak out (any more than I already was). I assumed both babies were alive--I was worried I would kill them by giving birth too early.

I didn't, though. My contractions stopped when I walked in the doors. I had a grand total of one during the two hours of monitoring. But the best possible news is: the fetal fibronectin test came back negative!! While a positive doesn't tell you much, a negative is almost dispositive of no impending labor. I believe it's something like "a 94% chance you will not go into labor in the next two weeks." Which wasn't enough to get me off bedrest or anything, but THANK YOU, CERVIX, for doing your job. And thank you babies, for staying safe in your firmly-closed sacs.

Let's not do this again any time soon.