So… this morning I woke up to wet. Sweet smelling wet. Watery, textureless, sweet smelling wet. Every. Freaking. Where. (OK, everywhere was really just my underwear and a little on my sheet, but it was enough to freak me out.)
Naturally, I went to work.
Because, it can’t be bad if I’m at work, right. They’ll tell me not to worry and come in on Monday as scheduled. Not right. No, the nurse on call said “come in right away it might be amniotic fluid!” Because that definitely calms an anxious mother. So, I got there, she did the ph test, not amniotic fluid… WHEW! Just a yeast infection. No big deal, then. Great.
But, just for shits and giggles let’s take the vitals. OK, whatevs, my vitals are perfect for a skinny chick, they are normally CRAZY good for a fat girl. Except today. Today my BP was 150/110. So, let’s wait 10 and take again… 140/111. Mother fucker! There is now talk of admitting me into the hospital. FUCK!
So, I walk my happy ass to L&D making calls as I go “Come home, I’m in the hospital.” & “Cancel my meetings for today.” & “Can’t pick up the C’s, being admitted.” etc… I get there, and the nurse starts trying to run an NST. I’m 21 weeks. It doesn’t work. I freak out because hello, she’s acting like there’s a problem. Then she says “you sure you’re due on 5/10?” (Well, I would have been if that baby hadn’t died…) Uh, no I’m due 9/10. “Oh, you can’t do a NST on a 21 weeker!” (I refrained from strangling her)
Then she started my continuous pressures… 105/64… 103/58… 104/55. Anything look a little odd here? Yeah, they’re SPOT ON F’ing perfect. So, the nurse says “they did your pressure wrong, your arm isn’t shaped so that you can do it on top, there’s nothing wrong with you let me go find a dr.”
She found a doctor, he let me go home.
But, I’m taking this event as my “don’t go counting your chickens just yet” warning. Duly noted. Please don’t send anymore helpful warnings my way…