Get pregnant and the horror stories begin. Some of your closer family members and friends will be all too willing to share with you tales of blood, guts and gore, while others will simply smile, wait for you to give birth and then gab with you about how terrible it was. Still others, like me, are more than willing to give you a candid look inside the world of creating a human. You're welcome.
As I've mentioned a few times, I have been lucky enough to enjoy a relatively pain/symptom free pregnancy. Sure, I struggled with some raging hormones...excessive peeing...and a week or two of being revolted by certain foods...but I dodged the morning sickness, high blood pressure, diabetes and other horrible things some of my mommy friends/family member have not been so lucky to miss. At nearly 35 weeks, I've only gained 16 pounds and have been rather healthy in general. As my due date approaches, I've started to be minorly bothered by some less than comfortable side effects...not being able to bend over...increased constipation...anxiety...but nothing...NOTHING prepared me for what happened on Monday night.
I will preface this by saying it only happens to about 1 percent of pregnant women, so if you're newly expecting or planning to procreate, you will probably avoid this horror.
Monday night was a typical evening of excessive peeing. At about 1am, I woke up for my 17th pee. Getting out of bed in the third trimester is an artform. I usually roll to my hands and knees and back out like a human dump truck. This time, however, when I rolled over, I heard a very loud POP. From my vagina.
I had read that sometimes, when your water breaks, you can hear an audible pop followed by a gush of water. I froze, waiting for the gush in horrified silence...I was 34 weeks to the day and the idea that Baby K could be on her way was terrifying. I thought maybe if I didn't move, she wouldn't either. Instead of a gush of water, however, there came a flood of the most intense, horrific pain I have ever felt.
It radiated from my lady parts to my hips to my legs. If I moved, it was searing. Depsite this, I thought that maybe this sensation was a precursor to the most impressive poop I would ever take. (Not to be gross, but I've had some pretty terrible digestive issues this whole pregnancy.) I limped and sobbed my way silently to the bathroom, trying not to wake up poor Dustin who had to work in a few hours.
Upon closer inspection of myself, there was no blood, no liquid and no poop. I sat on the edge of the tub, trying to fight the urge to pass out or vomit from pain. I wondered if this was labor, but it was so localized...and so not what I had heard labor felt like, that I sort of instinctively knew it wasn't. I took some tylenol (that's how you know it was bad...I've avoided pain killers at all costs) and hobbled my way back into bed.
At the same time this was happening, I was struggling through a mild allergic reaction. I have varying degrees of such reactions and was dealing with what I call the "roaming hives." This is when I get an outbreak of hives but catch it early enough to treat it with benadryl, which results in about five big hives moving around my body. One day they'll be on my arms, then my belly, then my legs, etc. I prefer the roaming hives to the "anchored hives," (another phrase I've coined.) My anchor hives stay in one place for at least two weeks and get as big as dinner plates.
I mention this because I've experienced hives inside of my throat, ears and...ahem...bathing suit area. INSIDE my lady parts. Yeah, sit with THAT pretty image for a sec. Sometimes, these "insidesies hives" (don't think about stealing all my medical terminology, k?) will cause pain. So I lay in bed, crying, cursing my mother for not breast feeding me and therefore forcing me to live with painful allergic reactions.
After a few hours of flopping between sort of sleeping and crying, I woke up the next day after Dustin had left for work to discover I was still in pretty horrible pain. Not wanting to worry Dustin, I downplayed the situation, telling him when he came home for lunch that I had heard a "pop" and was experiencing some pain. Level headed, practical man that he is, he urged I call the doctor.
I'm not SCARED of the doctor, but I don't like going. I know, selfish. But it takes a lot for me to decide to seek care. By the time Tuesday night rolled around, I was practically immobile and couldn't stop crying. Instead of going to the hospital, as Dustin was now pretty much demanding, I told him I'd take more tylenol and wait one more night to see if I got better.
Wednesday morning (yesterday) I reached my breaking point. I couldn't move AT ALL without pretty much screaming. I hadn't slept in two nights. Something was seriously wrong. So, I called my doctor's office and spoke to the on call nurse, explaining my symptoms. She was quiet and told me she needed to talk to the doctor about all of this. I got a call back instructing me to head to Labor and Delivery at my hospital ASAP.
I sat for ten minutes with these directions before calling Dustin and telling him. I cried and begged him not to make me go, that I wasn't ready to give birth...that I felt better (lie.) He smartly and gently ignored me, somehow got my fat ass into the car and took us to the hospital.
I was shaking when we checked in. They were waiting for me, and as it turned out my delivering doctor was actually there. They quickly got me all hooked up with the belly monitors, took my pee and blood pressure and another gallon or so of blood. The wonderful, comforting news was that the baby was fine. Both her heartrate and mine were a bit on the high side, but I was scared out of my mind and in incredible pain, so that was to be expected. In fact, once they told me she was ok and Dustin did some nicies (gentle stroking) on my arm, I calmed down and so did she.
The hospital staff was wonderful. My nurse, Patty, was amazing and calm and reassuring. We weren't left alone with our worries for more than a few minutes before she popped in to reassure us and make sure we were ok.
They ruled out early labor, thank Goodness. Suddenly, I found that I could be honest with my level of pain, now that I knew the kid wasn't en route. Yeah, I was pretty much dying, and I finally admitted it.
After my bloodwork came back, (stellar) my doctor appeared in between delivering babies. Before he emerged behind my curtain, we heard him say "this sounds like SPD," to Patty. Patty made a tsking noise and said, "well, YOU will have to break that news to her."
Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction is a fancy way to say that your pelvis is misaligned. My situation had progressed one step further...to Diastasis symphysis pubis...which is the separation of normally joined pubic bones...as in the dislocation of the bones.
The kid had literally popped the cartilage keeping my pelvis together, causing a gap in the bones and the pain of childbirth...but constant.
Diagnosing my condition consisted of my doctor pressing down on my pelvis to see if the joint was indeed loose. I pretty much blacked out at this point, but Dustin later told me that he explained the condition after his torture and that while there are complications that may arise come birthin' time, there were a few steps we could take to try and get some comfort. The bad news? This condition does not go away until after birth, it just gets managed.
Firstly, I was prescribed steroids. Usually steroids and pregnancy are a no-no, as I discovered when I had a previous allergic reaction in the first trimester. However late in the third trimester, they are less likely to do damage and sometimes the benefits outweigh the risks. The steroids may heal me up a little and reduce some of my painful swelling, but more importantly it will speed up the baby's lung development as early labor is a possibility with this condition.
A nice bonus of the steroids is the fact that my hives will go away too. (After just two doses, they did.)
I'm not thrilled about taking them, but I'm less thrilled about the other method of managing this condition...painkillers.
Oxycodone with Acetominaphen. Basically Percocet. (I know I spelled that wrong. Whatever, my vagina hurts.) I've been prescribed this a few times, mostly for tooth related issues...and I'm not gonna lie, it's a good time. I have a low tolerance to it, so usually just half a dose will knock out any discomforts. But a narcotic? When pregnant??
Patty handed my the prescription and I immediately recognized the drug. I stopped her in the middle of her discharge instructions and said..."Oxycodone? Is this safe??"
She smiled and said, "Would we give it to you if it wasn't?"
I didn't answer, but remained doubtful.
A painful hour or so later we had dropped off the prescriptions and were eating some lunch at Chicago Uno Grill, which we just discovered and really enjoy. I mentioned to Dustin about 40 times that I didn't think the oxy was a good idea. But considering the fact that my pelvis pain was threatening to steal my consciousness at any moment...and the fact that just walking ten feet took about 20 minutes, Dustin was pretty insistent that I needed something for the pain.
We picked up the scripts and got Dustin a flu shot while we were at the Target Pharmacy. (I was shocked he agreed to do that. He is staunchy anti-medical intervention for himself. To the point of not taking advil even when he's in severe pain. But when I got mine (I didn't have a choice) I was told he should get one too...for the safety of the baby this flu season. And he did. What a great dad.)
When we got home, I hesitated for a moment about the steroids, but took them knowing it would increase my chances at a natural delivery and help the baby's lungs...but I didn't even open the Percocet. Dustin allowed me to moan on the couch in pain for all of 2 minutes before he decided enough was enough and forced me to take one pill, half the suggested dose.
Fifteen minutes later, a fraction of the pain had ebbed, but it was as if I had entered a cotton candy world of happiness. I was still in pain, but I could shuffle to the bathroom on my own without crying and lay down and get up without screaming.
Percocet also makes me very funny, chatty, nauseous and lightheaded. I spent the next five or six hours yapping Dustin's ear off, forcing my body to hold down my chicago uno meal, and texting hysterical things to my dad and stepmom.
The dosing instructions are two pills every four hours. I have taken three pills in 24 hours. I took my second one right before bed...finally slept, interrupted by the normal pee parade instead of pain...and I took my third with lunch today after I discovered I couldn't walk again.
I'll be seeing my doctor every Tuesday morning from now through birth. There's a chance, if I don't heal enough, that I'll have to have a C-section, which is something I'd really like to avoid. There's also a chance that the baby could be early...but interestingly enough the doctors are starting to think they have misdiagnosed my due date...and that I may in fact be two weeks further along. Going by the original due date of halloween, I am 34 weeks and 4 days today. Going by the baby's measurments and the fact that my pelvis is separating already, I'm closer to 36 weeks. 37 weeks is considered full term, and since we're moving into our new house in 8 days, I'd like her to stay put for at least 20 more days. That's a lot of baby math.
So, that's my worst horror story so far. I imagine it pales in comparrison so the big day itself. I suppose we'll find out soon enough.
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