Tuesday.

On last Tuesday I landed myself in the hospital.

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It seems I have a special knack for getting myself into trouble at the worst possible times: John was out of town at a funeral and his parents (who live nearby and upon whom I lean on HARD at times like these) were also out of town.

A perfect storm, if you will.

On Monday morning I woke up feeling very nauseated. The night before had been rough. I'd forgotten to take my nightly dose of Zantac and struggled terribly with reflux all night. In between tossing and turning I have no idea how many Tums I ate. When I woke up with a sour stomach I suspected I'd eaten too many Tums. I powered through getting the kids fed and Syd off to school (thank you Zofran!) and took off with Elijah for our normal Monday shopping trip despite temps in the 90s. I was determined to catch up a lot of errands and I started to feel better. So, off we went! We got it all done, I picked up Syd from school, fed the kids lunch, put Elijah down for his nap and slothed about on the couch while Syd puttered around. She'd gotten enough checks on her chore and behavior chart to earn a movie night that night so we watched Wreck It Ralph on the couch with our dinner (which is a super special treat).

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I forced myself to eat even though I was starting to not feel well again. I drank as much water as I could, figuring that I'd overdone it in the heat and that was probably my issue. The movie ended and I got the kids in the shower and ready for bed, feeling worse all the while. I had to cut our nighttime routine short, bailing out in the middle of our goodnight songs. Luckily everyone was tired and stayed in bed.

I lay in my bed, struggling. I tweeted a few of my symptoms … really more as an indulgent "woe is me, I'm here alone and of course I feel like crap" whining session. A few people recommended that I call the doctor. I did. He was great, and recommended that I take Zantac, another Zofran, a Unisom, and get some rest. By then it was 10:30. I got up, took the meds, turned off the lights and got into bed, my stomach killing me. It was about 15 minutes before I finally got up and barfed spectacularly … which sadly? Made me feel a whole lot better, even though I totally panicked and texted a few friends. What on EARTH was I going to do if I had the stomach flu (which as you'll remember, I do not tolerate well) on my own with the kids?! I called the on-call OB line again and left a message, and passed the rest of the night dozing in and out, up and down with diarrhea and still feeling gross. The doctor called back at 5 AM. I took the call, and he said that when I got up if I still felt poorly that I needed to come in and get checked out at L&D. He was concerned about my blood pressure.

I lay in bed for the next few hours, thinking about who I would ask to watch the kids. Thankfully a friend's daughter who babysits for us had just come home from college and I was pretty sure she'd be home. Another friend had offered to come over when she got off work at 12:30. My in-laws were headed back to town that afternoon. We still have our college student friend staying with us and I'd given him a heads up the night before that I was sick, and he offered to back me up with the kids in the morning when they woke up. Everything (thankfully) worked out. People were on their way to cover me with the kids. I got up, got into the shower, and got dressed. My (brilliant!) plan was to drive myself to the hospital. I was going to take city streets and pull over if necessary! Brilliant! Unfortunately, I was lightheaded and shaky after being up getting ready. I had to ask my college student to drive me in when our babysitter friend arrived.

An hour later I was in a bed at L&D, strapped to monitors, awaiting IV fluids. My blood pressure (thankfully) was normal. The urine sample I'd offered the nurse was so dark it was laughable. I expected a few hours of fluids, some Zofran, some rest, and then to be sent home by lunch time.

Well, you can guess how THAT went. Around noon the nurse came in and said, "Well, you're having contractions every 4-5 minutes. Can you feel them?" (Nope.) "The doctor wants to run a febrile fibronectin test to find out if you're in labor." (Oh dear lord.) And then an hour passed and they came back gather a sample for the test (it involved a speculum. Awesome.) and then a few more hours passed and the lab called to say they'd lost the sample (seriously?). And just as we were preparing to gather another sample (with another speculum! FUN!) they called to say that they'd found the specimen and I'd tested negative! Not in labor! And then the doctor said I could go home so long as I was not dilated. So they checked for that and guess what! I was dilated to 1 cm! So! Not technically "closed"! Great! And it was hours of this back and forth. Finally, they gave me a pill to stop contractions. Finally they discharged me. I'd received 3L of fluid with glucose, two doses of IV Zofran, a pepcid, and orders to drink as much fluid as I could and to eat at soon as I could.

And then I was wheeled straight down to my perinatologist (with whom I had an appointment that day anyway) and he checked the baby and my cervix via ultrasound and all was well.

All was very, very well.

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She is measuring correctly, she is "large," she is healthy, she has lips like her mother.

By the time we left the hospital, John's plane was touching down (8:45 PM). We went straight to the airport to get him, and then home. Grandma was there and had fed the kids and put them to bed. I have never been so happy to see my own bed.

(more soon. I went to my regular doctor the following day and that appointment was a doozy.)

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