Day Twelve in Captivity.
I've been in for twelve days, and we have eight to go before BSparl arrives. And I can't do any rainbows and unicorns crap about this experience. The first week or so that I was here, I was a miserable mess, very depressed and experiencing some huge emotional swings. In short, I was completely wussed out. I felt very alone, despite the fact that I was visited every two hours by nurses and doctors. I felt alone, despite the many phone calls from family members and friends. And I felt alone, even when Chris was sleeping in the cot next to my hospital bed.
Granted, I'm pretty sure I'd be crying my face off even if I was comfortable at home, just being at this level of hormonal upheaval in my 35th week of pregnancy. (Case in point was the other night, when I saw the Folger's commercial on the television - the one where the daughter came in late the night before? And she's talking to her dad at the breakfast table? And she shows him her brand new engagement ring? Oh, I lost it. All sobbing like I knew this girl and was going to be her maid of honor. /digression)
There's something so isolating about being stuck in the hospital.
One of these would be great right about now.
This room, this little box of a room that I've been hanging out in for twelve days, started to feel like a jail cell. The ceiling has 35 tiles. The floor is hardwood, and I was on the verge of counting those slats, too. I would go from the bed to the bathroom to the window back to the bed and then to the bathroom again, only to end up back on the bed. Occasionally I would venture out into the hallway and grab some ice water, but I was trying to stay off my feet as much as possible because since being admitted, my swelling has reduced considerably. (Considerably as in I've lost eight pounds in the last twelve days, and it's all water weight. My hands and feet look more human every day.)
Physically, yes my swelling is improving but the blood pressure is creeping up oh-so-slightly. Every time the nurses come in (and sometimes they come in without knocking, which confirms that I have zero privacy while here, which goes against every fiber of my privacy-desiring being ... yes I understand the irony of a blogger who craves privacy. /digression no. 2), they check my blood pressure and it's gone from my at home readings of 120/70 to 136/78 to 144/82 ... and last night it got as high as 155/90.
"Whoa." I said, trying not to freak out.
"Not to worry. We'll page the resident on call, and we'll keep checking your vitals every two hours or so. Nothing will slip by us. Promise," the nurse said. I felt confident that they would stay on top of this. And eventually, my blood pressure came back down to the 140/80 range. Still high, but not nearly high enough to induce a quick delivery.
Despite the progression of my preeclampsia, in the last day or so, I've turned an emotional corner. Maybe it was marking the halfway point of "being stuck here" and "BABY!!" Once I was on my 10th day in captivity, I realized I was halfway there. And that made it easier, seeing the light at the end of this lonely tunnel and knowing my baby was at the other end of this.
"Maybe it's because you're used to being here now," Chris said last night, as I told him I felt a little better about being trapped here. "You wake up, you know what to expect, and you know when this whole thing is ending."
"Wow, that's sad. I'm used to expecting a loooong, boring day of pokes, prodding, and fetal monitoring?" I laughed. "That's like the saddest thing ever."
"We're almost there. She's going to be here so soon, and then we can all go home and ..."
We both grinned.