ER Sunday

This past Wednesday was the first day of school. Less than 48 hours after finding out I was pregnant, I started cramping and spotting which turned out to be symptoms of a sizable fibroid. It has been a scary ride, only to get scarier. On my first day back to work I started a fever and body aches which got worse and worse until I was driving home calling my doctor who presumed that, with the sudden and violent onset, I most likely had H1N1. I took Tamiflu and spent the next three days in bed. Every night the pain from my fibroid grew worse and worse until, at 6am Sunday morning I could no longer stand it. I called my mother who recommended the ER and, for the third time in our relationship, woke Frank up with the words, "I think I need to go to the hospital." (The first time was for severe bronchitis, the second for a broken nose and now for a necrosing fibroid). Scared pale, Frank loaded me into the truck and sped off to the ER. After a significant amount of drama (a couple scares and a few painful tests), it was determined that I would need narcotics for pain management. I tried to go home but the next day, I needed to be admitted to the hospital for IV pain medication. I was there for four days and, just as I was running out of magazines and patience, I was discharged with a laundry list of prescriptions. My family was absolutely wonderful. Not a day went by that they did not visit and sit with me to help ease my fears. Frank came every day - even leaving work when my sister called him in a panic. We had almost daily ultrasounds and each time Frank and I held our breath until we heard the heartbeat. Every day, every hour, was a milestone for Doodle Bug. Although certainly not my preferred way to spend the end of summer vacation, the pain was the least of my concerns. I've never prayed, meditated or chanted mantras so many times in my life. Julie even did a special yoga mantra with me to help me focus on the baby's growth instead of the fear about the fibroid. My family was very understanding and chose their words and actions carefully so as not to trigger my superstitions and my fears. They tread lightly on the topic of danger and helped me focus on a positive outcome. I don't know what I would have done without them - probably perished from an anxiety overload.

Coming home was the best. Frank seemed so happy to bring me back. He told me over and over how much he missed me. He tucked me into bed for the first day of my month-long bed rest and went about setting the room up like a hotel efficiency. He brought up the microwave, towers of canned food, a cooler bursting with juice and popsicles, a stack of magazines, pens, paper and DVDs, the TV and all of the pillows in the house (including his). I've always known he loved me - but it really clicked that day. I didn't realize how scared he had been before.

Again, my family visited daily. My father brought homemade soup from my Pap Pap or take out from my favorite restaurants. He always had a magazine or a book for me and continuously offered his stash of John Wayne flicks! :) Julie stopped by as often as she could, putting her 20-something post-graduation journeys on hold to see to my mental health. She shared everything she knew about focussing, yoga, mantras and positive thinking. Mom spent hours on my bed with me switching between obstetrician and mother - always my rock. She reassured me in every way she could that things looked as good as could be expected. She talked me down from daily panic attacks (and still does to this day) and reminded me that as worried as I was for my baby, she was doubly so for her own baby (me).

After slowly working towards more and more activity, I was approved to go back to work right after labor day. Everyone knew that it would be the best thing for my physical and mental health and I looked forward to it more than I ever had.