Two weeks ago today I was utterly hopeless. By 1pm I had lost my midwife and pissed off the only medpro that was ‘in charge’ of me.
Two weeks ago today and at this time I should have been getting prepped for a repeat cesarean. Instead, we called the hospital that morning and called the OB’s office to cancel that surgery. We felt the surgery was at best premature but more than likely completely unnecessary and scheduled out of medico-legal fear. The only reason I allowed the scheduling of that surgery was because I didn’t think I’d still be pregnant at 41 weeks and 4 days and didn’t plan on needing an obstetrician anyway!
Two weeks ago today and by this time of day, my husband had called my midwife. He thought her suggestion to just show up at the hospital on that day (with relatively no labor signs) just to appease the doctor was quite strange. Little did we know that she no longer felt comfortable helping us at home. Thank God my husband was able to pull that out of her. So . . . by this time of day I was that patient who goes against medical advice (AMA) and cancels a scheduled surgery and doesn’t check back in with the OB and doesn’t show up at the hospital during business hours. And my midwife abandoned me when I needed her and expected her the most.
Two weeks ago today and an hour from now, I took a 2.5oz dose of castor oil that did nothing but make me feel sick to my stomach. We started getting ready to go to the hospital. I had no idea what you put in a hospital bag . . . couldn’t remember. I tried to rest but was restless; tried to sleep but was too wired. Sleep was way to passive for me at the time – I had walked a big blister onto the bottom of my foot; I had bounced on the ball; I had squatted. I researched ways to help get my baby better positioned if and when contractions resumed. I researched post-41-week birth outcomes. I looked and looked for any justification for a pre-42-week cesarean. I looked and looked for evidence that stillbirth rates doubled at this point in a healthy pregnancy.
Two weeks ago today . . . by 1:02pm, I had no faith in myself. I had no faith in my birth community. I had no faith in my care providers. And yet I had so much . . . an amazingly supportive husband, my in-laws who dropped their plans and raced up her from Denver to take care of us, my 3 sweet girls, and my cozy happy healthy baby in utero. Why did it have to be such a hopeless day?