It's the 40th week. Everybody has been asking me if he's here yet. Bets were taken of labour day and bets were lost. There has been literally no bloody show -- my cervix remains stubbornly shut and there is no sign of Julien except his wayward foot poking regulary out of my right side and his daily hiccups.
"You're really a 6 star hotel," said Bernice after I replied to her that Ju is still playing hide and seek. Bern's baby girl came at 37 weeks after inducement and an emergency c-section. At week 38 I went into false labour when I was hit by a series of intense contractions that got increasingly more painful over the hour. Daniel and I plodded to the hospital 5 minutes away, and I was strapped and monitored. Contractions were 5-6 minutes apart but not strong (even though i was suffering extreme discomfort) but it all faded away after I was checked by the bloody midwife when she stuck her fingers up my cervix. Nobody told me that having your cervix checked would be the most tortuous ordeal short of gang rape! It was all for nought, as it was firmly closed -- no dilation. I was checked in overnight for observation. The next morning my doctor put me through another bout of medieval torture by giving me a membrane sweep. I was not pleased.
So the only thing that came out of that experience was a bout of flu for Daniel and me, from the midwife who had attended to me that night. She had been snivelling nonstop for the whole 2 hours I was in the labour ward. I would say "Sorry ah, I have a flu!" is untenable in -- of all places -- a bloody labour ward!!! I was royally pissed off 3 days later when we came down with a cold and sore throat. Julien obviously had no intention of coming out that night and getting infected by a midwife harbouring an infectious virus. I registered my protest with my doctor last Saturday.
I will be 40 weeks along come Thursday. Daniel thinks I've had a miraculously smooth pregnancy. Aside from the false alarm, Julien has been the perfect foetus: his head is where it should be, his weight is what it should be, he's floating in all the amniotic fluid he could wish for and my cervix is holding him in tighter than a chastity belt. Even the doctor is impressed and said I could do nothing else but wait it out. Apparantly, I am not even at my maximum capacity! He was amazed that my skin hasn't yielded to stretch marks yet. More on that later.
So now all I do is sit on my couch under my beloved ceiling fan and try not to sweat while the temperature outside soars to 35 degrees every day. For a week now my fingers have swelled to the size of small frankfurters and the joints feel arthritic. My hands are as large as Daniel's and my feet have gone up to size 41. The pain in my hip joints are so bad that it takes me 10 seconds just to get up from a sitting position to standing and last night I had heartburn for a while. Sleep eludes me more and more after each bout of bladder-voiding at 4am. My dad has forbidden me to drive alone, since his nephew was born in his car on the way to hospital some 40 years ago. I assured him that Julien is not going to fall out of me on the 2 minute drive to the hospital from my house.
I've never waiting longer for anything in my life, especially for an event that is as mysterious and unpredictable as labour. I'm mentally prepared to suffer the pain, my aversion to it is just barely outweighed by my aversion to sweating another week at 72 kg.
Ready when you are.
No comments:
Post a Comment