The Ugly Reality of Bed Rest

I've been on bed rest for 30 days, I have 12 left.

But who's counting?

Oh wait, I am. EVERY DAY.

A ring left for each day... I still need to take today's off.

Now, in reality, I know it hasn't been that bad.

After Jen left, my MIL Bev came out to keep me company. I learned that she had been planning a surprise baby shower for me in Idaho during the weekend of Phil's (Eric's brother) wedding. Sadly, since I'm obviously not allowed to travel hundreds of miles, we missed out on the festivities and if you know ANYTHING about me, I'm mostly sad I had to miss an opportunity to be the center of attention. ;) But really, I am bummed. I would have loved to have been there for the marriage and see everyone... mostly Paislen and Kathryn's dress.

Bev brought out some of the decorations she'd been making for the shower so when I got home from the hospital, I found these:
"Welcome Baby" Banner
"Diaper cake" filled with items we were in desperate need of (i.e. bottles, towels, blankets)
and she also brought some Preemie sized clothes bc the Drs are sure I'm not going to make it to term (although, with my luck, they'll take me off the medication and bed rest and I'll end up overdue and they'll have to induce me at 42 weeks when I'm huge. This might be my worst fear at this point. Have I mentioned Eric weighed 10 lbs 4 oz when he was born? And on the ultrasound, Taylor looks very Teichert... you should see the width of her feet...). So, assuming the Drs are correct, this is the outfit she'll be coming home from the hospital in. It is so tiny it looks like doll clothes. We can't wait to put her in them and finally hold her.
So, by way of announcement, her name will be Taylor. Jen and I made this during the hospital stay and I've finished since I've been home. I'm not sure it will actually be displayed anywhere bc it's not the most beautiful creation I've seen, but it passed the time. I realize the alliteration of Taylor Teichert might not be some ppl's favorite, but I like it. I mean, I was Michelle Miller for awhile there, and it served me well.

After Bev left, my Grammy Miller came out and doted on me hand and foot. My apartment was SPOTLESS, meals were frozen for later consumption and she was willing to just sit and chat with me. She is the greatest Grandma ever. She even got all of Taylor's things organized and got the hospital bags packed up for whenever we'll need them.

And, on top of all of this service we've received, our ward at church has been outstanding. They have been bringing us meals (DELICIOUS, award-winning meals), checking in on me, coming to chat with me, bringing me movies, magazines, books and chocolate. Seriously, we are so blessed.

But despite all of that (bc I really am grateful for everything and having kept her in thus far or even having the opportunity to be pregnant), let me complain:

I'm huge and can hardly move as I grow exponentially larger each day and my muscles continue to atrophy. It is seriously so hard to sit up or stand up if I lay down on the floor.

Our leather couch is about the most uncomfortable furniture to lay on for hours a day because it has absolutely no give. I'd trade it at any moment for a soft, fabric couch even in the most hideous floral print you could find.

I feel bad for Eric bc he has to wait on me ALL DAY LONG. I swear he just sits down when I run out of water, or need my computer charged, or laundry done, or accidentally dump chips on the floor. Then, I just have to look at him and hope he still loves me enough to endure (and I never get dressed or wear make-up so I know the ice gets thinner every day).

Lastly, my largest complaint (bc I can handle the boredom pretty well) is the

LACK OF SLEEP!

I swear, I am going to die if I don't find a solution soon. (That solution may be in the form of Tylenol PM.) First, I lay around all day so I don't exactly wear myself out. As I struggle to get comfortable, I flip over about a million times (which in itself is painful as all my ligaments readjust). Then, just as I get into a decent position, I realize I'm hungry, or thirsty, or Taylor starts to kick with all the fury she can muster, or she gets violent hiccups. Either way, the cycle takes about 2 hours to run its course and then I realize I need to pee. I get back in bed and suddenly... I'm hungry... and thirsty... and Taylor's awake again kicking my stomach so I'm nauseous... and then it finally stops when I start feeling hiccups... and then I have to pee...

IT IS RIDICULOUS!

I even bought this special, $60 pregnancy pillow bc everyone said it would solve all my problems. It hasn't. Well, except that it may have bought me a little extra patience from Eric. He seems to have gotten the hang of "bed rest" much better.


He calls this particular position with the pillow: "Diva Dozing"
and no, I didn't make that up.

Pre-Term Labor and the Worst 2 Weeks of My Life

I went for a routine Dr appointment on Tuesday, January 24th. I mentioned I had been experiencing some cramping and tightening lately. We decided to schedule an ultrasound for later in the week to take a look at my cervical length, but thought I may have just been experiencing some intense Braxton-Hicks.

I woke up early on Friday, January 27th because I was so excited for the ultrasound we had scheduled for that day. I figured we would get to see Baby and everything would be fine. When I was getting dressed that morning I put on some of my less-comfy clothes thinking I'd only be in them for a little while.

Well, the ultrasound tech said Baby looked fine and Eric had to get to class so he took off. After he left we measured the cervical length and found it to be about half the length it was at my 20 week appointment. The ultrasound tech hinted that I might be put on bed rest, but referred me to the Dr for an immediate follow up.

I met with the Dr and she tells me that she's going to send me over to the hospital to monitor these contractions. I'm sitting there, honestly shocked by what is happening.

THE HOSPITAL?

I text Eric to let him know where I'll be and he thinks I'm joking. Neither of us saw this coming AT ALL. We were going to have a normal Friday and a wonderful weekend.

As I'm being monitored the pain gets worse they tell me I'm having contractions about every 3 minutes. They're going to ADMIT me.

I kept saying, "This is so weird... this is not what I'm supposed to be doing today... this is so weird...I need to tell someone at work..."

The Drs and nurses kept assuring me that everything was going to be "fine" and this was all just "precautionary," to be on the safe side. As long as I wasn't dilating, nothing to worry about.

So they hook me up to all these machines and start a drip of magnesium. They also give me some steroids to help Baby's lungs in case she does decide it's time to see the world. Which, by the way, was quite a painful shot.

So the magnesium gets the contractions to slow down, but they're definitely not stopped by any means. The meds make me miserable and I get absolutely no sleep that night. Everyone keeps assuring me that I'll go home soon, for sure by Monday.

Anyway, the weekend continues like that. I hardly sleep, feel horrible, worry, and am not allowed to shower until the magnesium is stopped. I'm still wearing that less comfy shirt I put on Friday morning before leaving for the ultrasound.

Saturday night Eric starts to not feel so good. When I talk to him on Sunday morning he says he was up all night and he feels so much pressure and pain. I assume he must have gotten food poisoning and will start violently purging bodily fluids soon.

He doesn't.

On Monday my contractions get way more intense. They decide to transfer me to another hospital as the hospital I'm currently enjoying can only take babies after 32 weeks gestation... I'm only 30 weeks.

They take me off the magnesium and start me on Procardia.

They call an ambulance.

I'm dilated to 1 cm.

Eric still feels horrible.

I tell Jen I need her to come out... ASAP. She books a flight and will arrive at 6:20. That seems forever away.

We get to the new hospital. I feel slightly better. But they start giving me penicillin bc they haven't done a Group B Strep test on me.

They keep telling me everything is "fine" and this is all "precautionary."

Eric still feels horrible so I send him to Urgent Care thinking maybe he has a kidney stone or something.

Jen shows up.

I'm still contracting every 5 minutes.

Eric comes back to tell me the news - IT'S AN APPENDICITIS.

He goes to the emergency room.

My contractions get much worse. I'm nauseous. I'm in pain. It's late.

They give me a shot of terbutaline.

It makes my pulse race and I shake like I am coming off cocaine for about 3 hours.

Basically this is the worst night of my life. I just want it to all be over with. I'm certain that my baby is going to be born with horrible medical complications, Eric will die during surgery, or, if he makes it through, he probably forgot to tell the Drs that he's allergic to penicillin and he'll die shortly thereafter. We lie to Eric and tell him everything is "fine" (we'd learned this tactic from all the ppl using it on me).

*The Dr tells me weeks later that she was sure I was going to deliver that night. She doesn't know why the contractions slowed and I didn't dilate any further. I didn't divulge to her, but I know what stopped that from being the worst-case-scenario it was leading up to: my family started fasting and praying for us that day. I also had ppl all over the country putting our names in the temple. I know, without any hesitation or shadow of a doubt, that it was answered prayers. I don't know how anyone in this world gets through anything without a knowledge of Christ in their lives.*

Jen rubs my legs for hours bc I find it the only comfort in that room. She also convinces me to take some Zofran and Ambien (against my will bc I don't want Baby to be accosted by so many drugs) and I finally sleep.

The next day I am feeling better. I even managed to eat a little and except for one horrible bout of contractions in the morning, the day passes without incident. Eric even makes a visit over to my room from his. Everyone in the hospital can hardly believe the timing of the whole fiasco. I still don't feel awesome and the anxiety is probably causing the worst of the symptoms. Especially at night.

Anyway, over the course of the week, with a LOT of help from Jen (making sure I eat, sleep, shower, and even negotiating a wheelchair ride for me once daily so that I can get out of my prison cell, I mean hospital room) I start making some progress and I get less and less depressed every day. She even put up a board that she would update each day to show that I had made it one more day. It made a huge difference. I even started to gain back the 5 lbs I'd lost since checking in.
She slept in this horrible sleeper chair for a week, never left the room, either, and never complained. I have the best sister, EVER. For real. As much as I keep saying Baby is going to be an only child, I don't think I'd forgive myself if I didn't at least try to give her a sister. I don't think I'd have made it through a few horrible experiences without her. This one takes the cake, though.

Anyway, after two weeks in the hospital, they finally sent me home. I'll update more about that later...