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...