(Mis) Adventures In Pregnancy

Time to dust off the ole blog again, I guess. I always wanted to be more consistent with writing here, but as I've come to learn consistency is not my forte.

What can I say? It's been a helluva ride since the last time we actually sat down together and shared pieces of our lives.

Through some crazy twist of fate, the Universe has seen fit to bestow upon me the mantle of PARENT. Yes, ladies and gentlemen you read that correctly. I'm going to be thrust into MOTHERHOOD. The official arrival date of our dear wee one is December 1st, 2019 - although the general consensus is that they are more than welcome to arrive anytime after November 2nd.

Parenthood. Jeez, sometimes I wonder what in the hell I'm getting myself into. I'm going to be fully responsible for a tiny little human being, and there are days when I feel like I am barely capable of taking care of myself. To say that there have been moments when the hormones have gotten the best of me isn't a lie. Thankfully, my partner in crime is well versed in how I tend to live in my head sometimes, my anxiety, the previous battle with depression and met it all with such a level of love and kindness that it takes my breath away sometimes.

All in all, up to this point pregnancy hasn't been awful. Morning sickness/nausea has been a constant companion since about 7 or 8 weeks. Me, being the stubborn type, tried my absolute best to tough it out. But, after spending entire days in bed and being too nauseous to eat (which only made everything worse) I finally went to our doctor and got a prescription for Diclectin, which has really saved my ass. Being in a constant state of soreness (to varying degrees) is a bit of a pain, but nothing that a hot bath or shower hasn't been able to fix, or some easy stretching, or even a walk.

The scariest thing so far was the appendicitis. We found out at 5 weeks that we were expecting. Two weeks later I was rushed from the county hospital in Strathmore - we lived there for roughly five or six months - to the Peter Lougheed Hospital in Calgary for emergency surgery to remove my appendix. I use the term "emergency" loosely though.

It all started on a Sunday night. I had been having occasional sharp pains in my side for about a week or so, but didn't really pay any attention to it since it didn't really bother me unless you applied a little pressure to a certain spot. Since I'm a sucker for being the "little spoon" it was really only an issue during the night, and nothing that couldn't be fixed by a simple readjustment of various limbs and body parts. However, on this particular night the pain in my side was constant and unrelenting. But, as previously mentioned, I'm stubborn and tried my best to just deal with it, grin-and-bear it so to speak, until it went away. After several hours though, it was clear that whatever was happening, wasn't going to just go away. A quick phone call to the health line, and I was advised to go to the nearest hospital as any pain that lasts for more than an hour could indicate that something somewhere was wrong. Thinking it would just be a quick trip to the hospital, we both hauled on comfy clothes. I made it as far as the truck before the contents my stomach decided to launch themselves violently out of my body to create some new, avant-garde Jackson Pollock type artwork in the driveway.

Fast forward through the boring hospital admitting process, and we're tucked away in a quiet room in the emergency department. It's some time between 11pm and midnight. The doctor finally comes in to see us and begins poking and prodding around my tummy asking where it hurts - as if the quick, sharp inhalations of pain weren't a good enough indication for him. He wanders off, calls another to consult. A nurse comes in, sets up an IV and gives me something for pain. Tylenol, most likely. Doctors aren't keen in prescribing heavier pain medications to pregnant women unless absolutely necessary.  The doctor comes back, and launches into a litany of several different possibilities of what could be happening. The scariest of which was that we were having an ectopic pregnancy and something ruptured. The thought that we might have already been loosing our wee Jellybean before we had even really come to grips with her presence has been one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Over the course of the next several days, there would be at least one or two more.

The doctor wants to the order an ultrasound, to confirm either an ectopic pregnancy gone so very wrong, or a case of appendicitis - an affliction found more commonly among pregnant women than the general population. The lovely little nurse comes back, and before I know what I'm saying I tell her some of what the doctor said and how scary the situation was turning out to be. She was calm and quiet, told us that it was ok to be scared but that everything was going to be ok. The county hospital wasn't set up for ultrasounds, so we were told that I was going to be transferred via ambulance to a hospital in Calgary.

Fast forward several hours later. It's 8am. We've just gotten to the new emergency room at PLC. It would turn out to be our home for the next several days. We're tucked away in the back, I got an extra blanket or two to try and get as comfortable as one can get. The IV is set back up. A proper ultrasound is ordered. I'm told I'm not allowed to eat, but I can have some water.

Yipee. Sleep deprived *and* hungry. But, the pain in my tummy is at least manageable. Under the circumstances, I was given a low dose of morphine, which in the end probabky saved me from being a terrible, bitchy patient. Who's got time to be unpleasant when you're high as a kite?

Nobody, that's who.

A brief skip ahead in time, and the ultrasound is done, and the official diagnoses is (thankfully) appendicitis. It will absolutely require surgery - which turns out to be a good news, bad news scenario. Good news because we all know what's going on. Bad news because there is a chance that the surgery will cause a miscarriage - a small chance, but a chance nonetheless. Another terrifying moment of my life.

Several hours later, and probably a pack of cigarettes later, and my long suffering partner in crime steps outside to make a few phone calls and let our families know what's going on. Left alone to my own devices, and the call placed for a general surgeon to come talk to us, the reality of the situation slams home. I can't stop the tears that come, or slow down the jack hammer pace of my heart, or the cold sweat that creeps all over me. I don't pray a lot but I did that day. Over and over in my head I kept saying the same few words over and over again:

"Please let it be okay."

Cody comes back, takes a look at me, and gathers me up against his chest and we share in a moment of mutual fear. We both hoped it would all work out in the end, but the reality of our situation had more than terrified us both.

By this time, it's nearly 10pm. I'm officially admitted to the hospital, put into a private room. Neither one of us has slept worth a shit since waking up Sunday morning. I'm told that the surgery is routine - my surgeon did it about 5 other times that night. Midnight approaches. I'm wheeled away for surgery. At this point, I'm hazy on details. It was about 1am by the time surgery actually started, and I arrived back in my room after surgery at the ungodly hour of 3am. Cody had spent the time pacing back and forth. By the time everything was said and done - from hospital arrival to finally getting back home, he was awake for a total of (roughly) 80 hours.

However, it is late right now my lovelies, and there is much more to this story to tell. So sit tight, and we'll gather again tomorrow to finish.


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