Sunday, February 16, 2003
Part II: I Don't Like Mondays.
We parked in the Emergency Entrance parking lot. It still seemed like an interminable walk to the entrance. This was not helped by the fact I was laden like a Sherpa at an Everest base camp. We checked in.
"What's the problem?"
"Labor."
"I'll get the wheelchair."
We were checked in quickly, with a cheery and perfunctory verification of the address and insurance information. The night cleaning staffers were delighted, offering encouragement. Heather was wheeled up to the Family Birthing Center, Dale Sherpa chugging alongside with our baggage. The security officer with the wheelchair was friendly and talkative, which helped pass the time in a corridor that never seemed to end. We got to the third floor and checked in at the Birthing Center. Heather was taken to her room and hooked up to the contraction monitor, with the little buddy hooked up to the fetal heart monitor. We settled in, watched the periodic contractions, and the steady, reassuring heart rate.
Bonus--I remembered the hospital TV has cable! SportsCenter! No, actually, Heather quickly asserted control over the remote. She tuned into the hospital channel, which had an Important Instructional Program on breastfeeding.
"If you are having difficulty with plugged ducts...."
I began to have difficulty staying awake. We were safely at the hospital, and the adrenaline was wearing off. I had no coffee to compensate--we didn't stop to fill the thermos.
It was at this point that the on-call doctor came in. Good news: It was Dr. P, the same physician who had helped Heather's Ob-Gyn with Maddie's birth. Heather and I liked her. There were others we didn't like, and Heather has particularly pungent opinions about one fellow we'll simply call Dr. Doofus. Dr. Doofus asked Heather questions that only the Doctor should have known, and at a particularly awkward time--not a confidence builder.
Doctor P. checked Heather out, and provided some rather surprising information. Heather's cervix was only dilated to 1 centimeter (for those of you who don't know, the cervix has to be dilated to 10 before vaginal delivery is possible). Plus, Heather had a urinary tract infection. News to Heather, who had noticed nothing amiss. The regular contractions had apparently been caused by the UTI. The contractions were also slowing and becoming more irregular. They were going to monitor her for another hour or so, and check with her Ob-Gyn.
But it was entirely likely that we would be going home today. With the lad still on the inside. I reeled my jaw back in, and we both settled in--Nap time.
Two minutes later, Dr. P came back in and said Heather was being discharged. Our Ob-Gyn decided that there was no point in waiting another hour. Advice: here's a prescription for some antibiotics, and make sure to swill plenty of cranberry juice. And come back in if the contractions return.
No nap for Mommy and Daddy. Heather got dressed, I made sure we had all our stuff, and we left. Still more than a little discombobulated, and still more than a little dubious. Regular contractions, intensifying--all caused by an infection.
Well, they're the doctors. The contractions had tailed off, too. Heather called Lou and Misty to advise that it had been a false alarm.
"Wanna eat breakfast?"
"Sure."
CONTINUED IN PART III ABOVE
We parked in the Emergency Entrance parking lot. It still seemed like an interminable walk to the entrance. This was not helped by the fact I was laden like a Sherpa at an Everest base camp. We checked in.
"What's the problem?"
"Labor."
"I'll get the wheelchair."
We were checked in quickly, with a cheery and perfunctory verification of the address and insurance information. The night cleaning staffers were delighted, offering encouragement. Heather was wheeled up to the Family Birthing Center, Dale Sherpa chugging alongside with our baggage. The security officer with the wheelchair was friendly and talkative, which helped pass the time in a corridor that never seemed to end. We got to the third floor and checked in at the Birthing Center. Heather was taken to her room and hooked up to the contraction monitor, with the little buddy hooked up to the fetal heart monitor. We settled in, watched the periodic contractions, and the steady, reassuring heart rate.
Bonus--I remembered the hospital TV has cable! SportsCenter! No, actually, Heather quickly asserted control over the remote. She tuned into the hospital channel, which had an Important Instructional Program on breastfeeding.
"If you are having difficulty with plugged ducts...."
I began to have difficulty staying awake. We were safely at the hospital, and the adrenaline was wearing off. I had no coffee to compensate--we didn't stop to fill the thermos.
It was at this point that the on-call doctor came in. Good news: It was Dr. P, the same physician who had helped Heather's Ob-Gyn with Maddie's birth. Heather and I liked her. There were others we didn't like, and Heather has particularly pungent opinions about one fellow we'll simply call Dr. Doofus. Dr. Doofus asked Heather questions that only the Doctor should have known, and at a particularly awkward time--not a confidence builder.
Doctor P. checked Heather out, and provided some rather surprising information. Heather's cervix was only dilated to 1 centimeter (for those of you who don't know, the cervix has to be dilated to 10 before vaginal delivery is possible). Plus, Heather had a urinary tract infection. News to Heather, who had noticed nothing amiss. The regular contractions had apparently been caused by the UTI. The contractions were also slowing and becoming more irregular. They were going to monitor her for another hour or so, and check with her Ob-Gyn.
But it was entirely likely that we would be going home today. With the lad still on the inside. I reeled my jaw back in, and we both settled in--Nap time.
Two minutes later, Dr. P came back in and said Heather was being discharged. Our Ob-Gyn decided that there was no point in waiting another hour. Advice: here's a prescription for some antibiotics, and make sure to swill plenty of cranberry juice. And come back in if the contractions return.
No nap for Mommy and Daddy. Heather got dressed, I made sure we had all our stuff, and we left. Still more than a little discombobulated, and still more than a little dubious. Regular contractions, intensifying--all caused by an infection.
Well, they're the doctors. The contractions had tailed off, too. Heather called Lou and Misty to advise that it had been a false alarm.
"Wanna eat breakfast?"
"Sure."
CONTINUED IN PART III ABOVE
