Friday, September 19, 2008

Just shut up already.

We finally saw Juno last night. Loved it. I find myself wishing I were an unwed teenager just so I could call myself "the cautionary whale".

I started today full of hope and excitement.

I've been walking, walking, walking every day for a few reasons. One, I don't want to wake up the day after my mom's last day here and realize that my legs are totally useless for anything except walking to the fridge. Two, I like walks. And the sun. And even when I don't like them, I know that I will slip into a depression and die if I don't get my sunlight quota every day. Three, it's the only thing that helps my muscle pain go away. On Saturday, it went from "mild stretching sensation" to "oh crap I can't walk anymore." Four, BABY COME OUT NOW.

I thought after Tuesday, that maybe things were gearing up to get moving. Maybe, at least, I would show some progress.

Not so! Nothing. Zilch. A few things I learned today:

1) False labor is good because it means my body is gearing up for the big day. But that doesn't mean the big day is anytime soon.

2) Horrible, horrible wrenching pain in my groin (TMI! Sorry!) and an inability to stand up quickly due to my abs ripping themselves from my body is totally normal and there's nothing I can do about it. Comfort (your baby is not trying to come out through your hip bone!) and discouragement (you'll just have to suffer because Tylenol is USELESS, you filthy Excedrin addict) at the same time.

3) Walking probably doesn't do anything to bring labor on sooner. "It just makes you tired." Those were his exact words. I kind of knew that, but I was hoping.

4) Absolutely no dilation whatsoever.

Excellent. I know, I know. I could dilate five centimeters by tomorrow morning and have my baby by Sunday. But I like having something I can point to and say, "There! See! She'll be here soon!" It's all psychological, I know, but I need it.

I do love my doctors, though. Have I mentioned that? The first thing Dr. M said to me today (after reassuring me that last week's alarm over a narrow pelvis was probably not that big a deal) was, "Dr. S just had a patient deliver a 10 lb 8 oz baby a couple days ago. Perfectly smooth delivery." I said, "Was she built anything like me?" He said, "As a matter of fact, yes." And I felt better.

I requested to have either him or Dr. S for my next appointment. I haven't done that before, since I did want to get to know all of them. But I'm so oogy about being poked at that I've reached my limit, and now every appointment involves The Pokening. If I have to get used to one more doctor, I will need tranquilizers. I'm to the point with Dr. M and S that I can actually eat before coming to my appointments.

I've met with and very much like and trust the other two, but we've only ever talked to each other, nothing more, and I am twelve. Also, Dr. C is a very tall man and probably has large hands. 'Nuff said.

The receptionist (who is awesome, by the way--she greets me by name as I walk up to the desk before every appointment) said to me, "You do know it could be any of the four that actually deliver the baby?" Which is totally beside the point. I don't think I'll really care too much who is looking at and touching what when my body is beating me to death with a small, giant-headed human. However, when I need to lie calmly (hah!) on a table with a paper sheet while a stranger pokes around my innards, I care very much.

One other thing I like about this practice is that the lighting is awesome. I didn't realize that until we went to meet with a pediatrician on Wednesday, and the fluorescent lights had me craving a bottle of anti-depressants. Small, windowless room in varying shades of beige + cold lighting is a nasty equation. I nearly climbed up the wall and out through the ceiling tiles.

Which brings me to my next point*. What on earth makes a person want to become a gynecologist? I would think that would be up there with **proctology (which, again, huh?). I can see becoming an OB/GYN because BABIES! But gynecology? Why?

*I am not disparaging these professions at all, obviously, since I love my doctors and trust them with my own baby. I just don't understand the appeal. I've always been curious as to what draws someone to gynecology and other fields like it.
**Okay, Firefox. I'm willing to accept that you prefer certain spellings of words, like "dialog" over "dialogue", but I don't think a whole branch of medicine has ceased to exist by the power of your word.

Remember how last time I said something like, "Enough of this pregnancy crap. I won't bored you anymore"? Yeah, me too. I'm sorry! I can't help it.

It's not even that I'm obsessed with the baby. I mean, I am, but that's not what all the writing is for.

What I'm obsessed with is getting that baby out and making progress and losing my girth and being able to lie down comfortably again. Sometime in the last week or so, it stopped being fun. I'm not miserable or anything. But everything--everything!--is hard now. Even writing this is a task because I have to sit up to do it, which is wearying. I shaved my legs today all by myself, and it was like I'd conquered Mt. Everest. I was so proud. I've tried to explain it to James like this: It's like having to type with your elbows all of the time--not misery-inducing by any means, but incredibly awkward and hard and ugh. Even the fun things have lost much of their appeal.

It's been a long day. I didn't get my nap. I need my bed.

No comments:

Post a Comment