A Lesson in Labor

I'm a nervous flier.

I sit with my butt clenched and arms tightened in the hopes that by doing so it will keep the plane in the air and not crashing to the ground in a ball of fire.

Obviously, this is working.

I was stopped in my tracks two weeks ago. No amount of butt clenching seems to keep me from feeling like at any moment this plane could come down.

I watched a line on a monitor go up and down in regular intervals and Kevin pace back and forth for 45 solid minutes.

Once again, we heard things like 'bedrest' 'medical intervention' 'early labor signs' 'viability' and a discussion about our baby's chances for survival.

The only good thing about it was the fact that I was better prepared this time, knowing what to expect and what questions to ask.

And we knew it was coming.

But not at 23 weeks.

And nothing really prepares you for the haze you enter.

This Huffington Post article really hits the mark:

"My patient left with the facts, a prescription and instructions for bed rest in the hopes of prolonging her pregnancy. What she didn't receive was advice for handling the fear and anxiety associated with the news that any day she could deliver a premature newborn who might have difficulty breathing, neurological impairment or blindness. Or tips on how to handle the loneliness, isolation and guilt...Usually it's a short-term inconvenience, but for some women, the recommendation to go on bed rest can come early in a pregnancy and turn a joyful experience into a months-long nightmare."

Kevin and I have spent the last two weeks preparing for what we think may be an inevitable hospital stay. Knowing that is the result of any potential change or labor advancement.

I can't fathom two and a half months in the hospital.

The only thing worse would be a newborn fighting for his life.

We have friends and family providing support, help, and much needed humor. A doctor that assures me we have a number of medical options available before my 'feet go in the stirrups.'

And Kevin, who stays solid, practical and optimistic...always.

I know when I'm on an airplane that I can unclench my butt and fists. The plane's ability to stay in the air does not depend on whether I'm chanting like a Buddhist monk on meth.

(Although, try this sometime and see if you don't get a one way ticket to a TSA screening.)

They put you on progesterone to stop early contractions in the third trimester. The side effects are:
stomach upset, changes in appetite, weight gain, fluid retention and swelling, fatigue, acne, drowsiness or insomnia, allergic skin rashes, hives, fever, headache, depression, breast discomfort or enlargement, PMS-like syndrome.

It is as awesome as it sounds.

Just ask Kevin.

In 64 days, on the day I turn 40, I reach 35 weeks.

The magic week when activity resumes and they no longer try to stop labor.

And his chances for a healthy birth and going home with us from the hospital go up to 99%.

64 more days...