I need a new bra. Preferably a nursing bra. I’ve lost a lot of weight, but not a lot of boobage and the girls are feeling a bit unsupported of late. This is probably because they need a lot of support (44/46 DDDD worth of support). Because of the size change and the whole not all brands fit the same situation, I kind of prefer to try bras on when buying them. This requires a trip out of the house. A trip to Target and/or Walmart and/or the mall. Under normal circumstances that would be inconvenient, but not asking too much of my body. My patience, yes, it would be asking too much of that, but my body could handle it just fine.
COULD. As in, now cannot.
Last night we dropped the boys off and I was feeling pretty good so I suggested making a trip to Target. Because I’m an idiot. But, there you have it. So, G dropped me off at the door. I went potty (it had been 30 minutes since my last trip), and waddled back to the lingerie section (please remind to tell you about my cat named Lingerie at some point, ‘tis a funny story involving my gay friend Sergio and my Mamaw) and began to look for nursing bras. I found the rack, OK, G found the rack, as he had beaten me back there, and began my search. Turns out Target only carries bras up to 44DD. Which.is.NOT.big.enough. Just a couple of D’s off… I was in the store searching for 15 minutes. G did not let me bend over, he checked all of the bottom rows. We decided to leave, so we headed for the door.
This does not seem like excessive activity to me. It seems a little like light activity to me. Anyhoo, on the way to the door I noticed that my lip felt funny. Then that my hands were wicked swollen. Also, my heart was rather pounding. Uh-oh, we know where this is headed… Headache, check! Light headed, check! Facial swelling, check! Unattractive purple face, check! Yep, my BP’s a climbing.
So, G called the doctor as he said he would. He spoke with the girl at the medical society. She paged the doctor on call (NOT my doctor, unfortunately). We drove up to the grocery to use their BP cuff to check my pressure while we waited. It was 149/91 and my heart rate was 112. After I had been sitting for 20 minutes and was starting to feel better. What had it been when I was feeling really ill? How close was I to an actual cardiac event? Am I really blowing things out of proportion and things aren’t as bad as I think? Maybe this is normal for 35 weeks? All questions I would love to have asked the doctor.
But… he never called back. He may have been in delivery. He may have had a personal emergency. He may have had an actual medical emergency that was more important than me and my high blood pressure. There are plenty of valid reasons for not calling… wait, no there aren’t. He’s the doctor ON CALL. If he couldn’t take the call, he should have notified someone so that someone could have called me back. If I’d have been experiencing something like placental abruption… I would have gone to the ER and said fuck calling the doctor, is what I’ve have done. So, I’m back to my original question, am I making too much of this? Should I take the lack of concern from my doctor as a sign? Should I just got to the ER next time? Because there will be a next time. There’s always a next time.
Here’s the thing. If I thought the primary danger was to Baby G, no question, I’d have been at the ER last night. No question. But, the primary danger is to me. At this point the primary danger is to my kidneys, brain and liver. Oh, yeah and you know MY HEART.
Don’t get me wrong, here. I don’t think my BP is crazy out of control and I’m going to stroke out any second. I don’t think they should be dropping everything and putting me in the hospital. I really don’t. I just think they should be monitoring me more closely, doing a more thorough check for pre-eclampsia and generally watching for signs of badness. Everyone I know keeps saying “you should be on bedrest” and maybe I should, but I really just want to be sure that the doc’s are watching for if/when that becomes the right decision. I just want to know that they’re going to catch it fast if/when I or the Baby G gets into distress.