So far, my life has been tragedy-free. This, of course, means that I just haven't been alive long enough but I'm still happy to have thirty-two years under my belt without any major tragedies in my life. I know they'll come eventually because that's life.
My pregnancies have also been blissfully problem-free too for which I'm immensely grateful. Whenever I think about all of the things that can go wrong and all of the people I personally know that have had very difficult things happen with their children and pregnancies (and getting pregnant), I'm amazed that the numbers haven't come up for me yet. So of course I plan to keep rolling the dice because that's a good life plan, right?
This pregnancy has not had any major problems, but it certainly has tried to drive me batty from the very beginning with minor irritations and inconveniences. Of course being pregnant overseas makes life difficult to begin with, and then I decided it would be a good idea to get pregnant while the embassy in Baku was in between medical officers. So between seeing various TDY doctors, trying out a variety of local doctors (since the wonderful clinic the embassy had been working with for years got unexpectedly shut down right before I got pregnant), and finally meeting with the med officer at post, I got to tell my whole life story to no less than eight doctors over nine appointments on three different continents. Thank heaven for an uncomplicated medical history.
Then when I arrived in Virginia I got to have a repeat of my 20-week ultrasound only at 34 weeks (where I found out that the baby was breech) which meant that I had to get another one at 36 weeks (which cleared up the breech issue) because evidently the hands and feet were missing from the 34-week ultrasound. At the 36-week ultrasound I swapped breech for placental issues which necessitated more appointments. Thankfully everything was fine and baby is completely healthy (see? No tragedy. Just irritation).
So last week I went in for my last appointment before getting the baby out. Or so I thought. Turns out that although I was 39 weeks and definitely getting induced the next week, they still wanted to see me. Oh, and get another non-stress test while you're busy making appointments and figuring out childcare for your four children that are home all day because you don't utilize publicly-funded babysitting.
So Monday was my last (for real this time) appointment. I peed in my last cup, got on the scale for the last time (and saw that I'm really letting things slide at the end), got my last blood pressure taken, and stripped from the waist down and sat with the last paper towel vainly attempting to cover my nether regions. At least this room had my backside facing away from the door. But really, who hasn't seen bare backsides before? It's not like I'm showcasing something new.
After a few minutes, my very efficient doctor came in. "Hmmm... looks like the NST was fine. Good.... And you're 40 weeks tomorrow.... Looks like the induction is scheduled for next Monday...."
Panic hit me. "Umm... really???" I managed to croak out, "I asked for Thursday???"
She looked at me. "Well, Dr- did tell you that it would be either Thursday, Friday, or Monday."
Now just in case you're thinking that I'm some wimp for not wanting to wait a week past my due date, I really don't care that much. The baby comes out eventually and we're all okay. Better than too early. But I have a childcare issue (as always. It always boils down to the four other children, not the one who all of fuss is about). My mother-in-law has been wonderfully kind and is coming to watch the children. But she also has other children (eight, to be precise) and has scheduling issues too. One child just had a baby and another child has a Hawaiian vacation that does not include their own six children. Thankfully my baby has fallen reasonably neatly in between those two other events and so my mother-in-law is able to give me a week. It starts today (Wednesday) and ends in a week, at 6 am next Wednesday. Which means that a Monday induction is much less convenient than a Thursday induction. No tragedy here, but certainly a serious irritation.
"Um..." I squeaked back in a voice at least octave higher than my already high voice, "Is there anything we can do??? I've got this childcare issue..." and went on to explain.
She looked at me sympathetically (bless her forever). "Well, let's see what we can do. If your cervix looks good, we'll have you come in Thursday morning and check you again. Then we'll call the hospital and tell them that you're in labor, it's your fifth child, and you labor quickly so they'd better admit you. As long as the hospital isn't swamped, they should take you."
I looked at her in relief. "Yes, yes, that should work just fine. Thank you so so so so much for helping me out. Thank you. Thank you!"
So when I called Brandon after my appointment I had good and bad news. But at least we had a workable plan. Thursday morning, at 9 am we were going to go and get this baby out. Hopefully. Fingers crossed. End of troubles.
This morning I walked in from exercising (last time! hooray!!) and Brandon announced we had a problem. Oh no. Please. Not another problem. Really?
"You know how my mom is coming in this afternoon at 4? Well, she's not. Because of the weather she's not coming in today at all."
Panic started rising. I immediately thought of having to reschedule our already shaky arrangement to get this dang baby out. "So... when is she coming in....?" If things couldn't get any more irritatingly complicated.
"Tomorrow morning. At 9:48."
Yup, so tomorrow morning, Brandon and I will load all of the children into our minivan. Then he'll drop me off at the doctor's office who will hopefully convince the hospital to admit me (fingers crossed, everyone). Next he'll haul everyone over to the airport and pick up his mother. All extraneous parties will be returned to Oakwood and then Brandon will join me in time (hopefully) to see number five join the family.
That's the plan, anyway. We have another elaborate scheme set up for the early arrival of baby which an equally elaborate number of steps. In the end, of course, what matters most is that the baby is healthy and I am healthy. How that happens is much, much less important than that it happens. But, it would be nice to have it happen smoothly than otherwise. Here's hoping!