|Oh, my - it's even worse than I thought!|
If you look, you can see where the skirt (which,
btw , is adjustable and is on the setting where it
is not tightened at all!) is binding my belly. Yuck.
So, before I describe my latest freak-out, I have to explain a little. I had some medical issues in college that had to do with my brain. This means that my pregnancy has been closely watched. The doctors aren’t worried or anything, but there is still the risk of repercussions if I have to deal with too much physical stress (i.e. pushing). Therefore, the doctor is doing a c-section. Plus, my body won’t be able to handle the pregnancy if she gets too big. So, if she doesn’t come before then (amazingly, she’s still in there after having contractions starting on October 6), then the doctor is going to do the c-section when she is exactly 38 weeks. That’s long enough that she will have plenty of time for all her normal, healthy developments – early enough that we aren’t concerned with me having an aneurysm or something.
So, Monday at my appointment, my doctor told me the plan for our c-section would be the 26th (next Friday, as in the day after Thanksgiving – my mom said we should ask at the hospital for a Black Friday discount-ha!). My doctor joked that he could escape his family Thanksgiving chaos long enough to do a quick c-section before it’s even time for leftover turkey. He’s about as sarcastic as me; we have a great doctor-patient relationship because of that! Love him as an OB!! Anyway, so he told me to call his office the next day to make sure that they could schedule me that day. Okay, no problem. Or so I thought…
Well, I called. An overly chipper woman comes on the phone and tells me that they have me down. I was excited… until these words came from her annoyingly happy voice – “you’re the third induction on the 30th, and we have you down for your tubal.” ...I choked on my own tongue. “Wait, what?!”
I tried to collect myself calmly, but found the only voice I could muster that wouldn’t be me yelling was an unbelievably meek-sounding, hoarse voice -- “Um, could you double check for me? I’m supposed to be having a c-section on the 26th, I think…?” And at this point, I realize I can’t breathe. She comes back, still super happy to be alive and scheduling life-threatening deliveries with random sterilization, apparently, “And did you want to schedule a tubal?” I couldn’t hold the voice and almost shouted “no” at her as I imagined her happy-go-lucky toothy grin. She then told me that she would look into everything and speak to me in the afternoon.
Well, it was worked out, of course. I mean, if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this blog post – I’d still be breathing into a paper bag trying to keep my face from turning blue.
Here’s the thing. We don’t know if we can get pregnant again. We don’t even know if we should get pregnant again. My body may not be able to handle another pregnancy. We don’t know yet; we’ll know more after Natalie’s delivery. But, I’m sure as all goodness not going to have my tubes tied! I get that it was probably a paperwork mistake… but it makes me wonder if that happens often. Do people get to the stressful level of the delivery room, only to be asked if they’re ready to cut off the baby-making factory? Or worse, are there people that have them done unwillingly? Probably not, but that’s just a personal nightmare, no wait – full-fledged horror film, to me. “Freddy” and “Jason” have nothing on someone taking away my ability to even TRY to make a family. I’m still shuddering a little bit…
But, luckily, it appears that the shivering will come to an end. I guess my husband’s guilt-trip voicemail worked. The guy called us back and is planning to come and fix the furnace this weekend. I’m still not convinced that the guy will keep his word, but I am praying about it. My baby needs to be able to come home to a warm house, and we need to not have one more thing to worry about.