Pregnancy, Part 8

***There will be pictures of a premature infant in this post*** I want to post a TRIGGER WARNING that this post, and the subsequent parts will detail infertility issues, death, preterm birth, hospital/medical bias, and other subjects that might be triggering for some. There will also be pictures of premature infants which (from personal experience) can be triggering. I will post this at the beginning of each part.*

The next morning I woke up, had breakfast, choked down a cup of mother's milk tea, pumped, got pain medicine, and went to see the baby. I held my stomach, and made the long trek down the hall to the NICU. All the staff was amazed I was walking so soon after surgery, but I was determined to see my baby. They told me because of the bruising her bilirubin was high, so she would need to be under UV lights several times each day for a least an hour. They stated that she had no brain bleeds, a common occurrence with premature babies, and that she was still breathing well on her own. She had a feeding tube in her mouth they told me was put there to prevent air build up in her stomach, and later would be used to feed her. They told me I should talk to her softly, and let her know I was there. I was allowed to put my hand in her pod (what I had begun calling the incubator), and touch her lightly, but not to rub as premature skin is fragile and might tear. They told me she would be in the pod until she was able to regulate her temperature on her own. As she learned to regulate her temperature they would turn the internal pod temperature down a few degrees until she finally didn't need it anymore.

I was so afraid to touch her. I was afraid to do more than look. Someone brought me a chair because they said me standing was making them nervous. I sat and stared at her for about 15 minutes before I was brave enough to touch her. She was so warm! I'm not sure what I was expecting. The temperatures in the pods are regulated to keep the baby's temperature at a safe level. She made a little squeak to let me know she was aware of me, but other than that she was quiet, and content.

I took the time to look around at the other babies that were in the pod baby area. There was another black, young couple to my left, and behind me was a Latino baby in an open crib. I was fascinated by all that was going on. It was still so quiet outside of the hum and beep of electronics. The lights were low. It was strangely peaceful, and daunting. Eventually I went back to my room.

I spent the day resting, pumping, and choking down the awful tea. I had a few friends visit. I took a couple of them down to see the baby. I didn't spend a lot of time in the NICU because I was still pretty tired. That night I went to see the baby one more time before I went to bed. My milk had begun transitioning from colostrum to breastmilk at this point. I brought the milk I had pumped down with me. This second day is vague for me. I think because it was so uneventful it didn't stand out much. Outside of setting alarms to pump I was running on autopilot. I set my alarm for my next pump, and went to sleep.

The next day (day 3) would be my discharge day. I was so apprehensive about leaving. I would be going home without my baby. I had trouble eating. I didn't go to the NICU that morning. The African doctor who saw me on L&D came to see me. He checked my incision site, and remarked on how small and nicely sealed back together the incision site was. He then asked me something I never saw coming, "Mom, why are you not taking the narcotics we prescribed for you?" "I'm pumping for my baby. I didn't want to take the narcotics, and risk her going through withdrawal symptoms," I said. He looked at me and said, "That's not going to happen. It's ok to take these medications if you're pumping. You have to take the narcotics. If you do not take them I will not discharge you." I was so shocked. The Toradol was working well for me. I had no desire to take the narcotics, but I also didn't want to be stuck at the hospital any longer than I needed to be.

When the nurse returned I asked her to give me the Percocet that was prescribed. She asked if I wanted it instead of the Toradol. I told her what the doctor said. I told her that part of me wants to refuse it so I could stay at the hospital with the baby longer. The nurse then told me something amazing. She stated that because my baby was in the NICU the hospital would allow me to stay one extra day at no cost. She said that was their normal policy, and someone should have let me know. She also told me that they could order my discharge medications, and have them delivered to my hospital room before I was discharged the next day. I asked her to do that for me, and still took the narcotic despite my apprehension to do so. The narcotic made it so hard for me to stay awake. I ended up spending the rest of the day sleeping. I woke when my alarm went off to pump, but I was so exhausted I could not do anything else.

The next day (day 4) I refused all medication. I was not having another day like the day before. I pumped, and brought the milk to the NICU. By this point my milk was well transitioned. I was pumping roughly 4-8 oz each pumping session (roughly 20-32 oz). The NICU nurses joked that between me, and the other black mother there we had enough milk to feed all the babies in the NICU, plus a small village. I didn't know then that I had basically caused an oversupply, but I was happy to have the milk because I was adamant I didn't want her having formula if I could avoid it.

When I saw the baby that night it really hit me that this was my last day at the hospital. Once I was home I would be dependent on someone to drive me to the NICU until the doctor cleared me to drive. I wouldn't be able to walk down the hall, and see her whenever I wanted. The NICU nurse talked to me a little. She told me how the baby was doing, and what I could expect over the next few days. She told me they had given her a pacifier to practice suck training with, and the nurse had given her 2 drops of milk by mouth instead of just rubbing it on her lips. She told me the baby loved it.

It made me happy that this nurse cared so much. She was the same nurse from the first night. It was nice to see a familiar face. She could see I was upset, and asked if there was anything I wanted to talk about. I told her I was upset that I was leaving the next day, and that I hadn't been able to hold the baby. I told her I knew her maintaining her temperature plus the lines in her cord were a concern, but I was just upset. The nurse sat quietly for a few minutes looking over the computer, and the baby's current temperature. Finally she looked up and said, "I think you could hold her for a few minutes. If I swaddle her that will protect her cord and lines. You would only be able to hold her for a few minutes, but her temperatures have been stable, and they have already decreased the incubator temperature twice so she's learning to regulate."

I was so shocked I could only shake my head yes. I wanted to try! The nurse carefully prepared the baby for me to hold. I got comfortable in my chair holding my breath in anticipation. When the nurse finally turned around with the swaddled bundle I was so nervous. She was so small, and even with the swaddling there were a lot of tubes and wires sticking out the bottom of the blanket. The nurse placed her gently in my arms, and tears silently slid down my face. She was so pink, and beautiful. Everything I had done and gone through was so worth it for this baby. This baby that was fighting so hard to stay earth side. The nurse asked me if I had my phone so she could use it to take a picture. I didn't have my phone with me, but the nurse used her phone to take pictures, sent me a text, then deleted the pictures from her phone. Grateful doesn't begin to describe how I felt.

Looking like a hot mess express from crying for the last 24 hrs.

That night I went to bed a bundle of nerves. I called my mom and cried. When I got off the phone with her I cried until I finally went to sleep. The next morning I pumped, then was discharged. I went to see the baby one more time, then went home. No car seat. No baby. Just me, and my husband. Headed home to my cats and dog, my sister, and the house that was empty of all things baby.

Thank you for reading this far! This ends the first pregnancy chapter.

Catch up on previous parts here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

The story will continue with the next chapter: Her NICU Journey, Part 1

Pregnancy, Part 7

***There will be pictures of a premature infant in this post*** I want to post a TRIGGER WARNING that this post, and the subsequent parts will detail infertility issues, death, preterm birth, hospital/medical bias, and other subjects that might be triggering for some. There will also be pictures of premature infants which (from personal experience) can be triggering. I will post this at the beginning of each part. *

When I woke up I was back in L&D in my old room. Because it was the weekend the recovery room was full of the previously scheduled c-sections so they had me go through recovery there. They told me I was going to be moved to the mother baby ward now that I was no longer pregnant. Everything felt so rushed. I barely remember the trip there. Thankfully they wheeled me in the bed instead of moving me to a wheelchair.

By now it was around 3 hours after my surgery. The doctor came to talk to me. She solemnly approached my partner and I, "So the surgery went well. I made the smallest incision I could possibly make to get the baby out. I know you wanted to have a VBAC with your next baby, so I tried to make that possible. I do have to tell you when I pulled the baby out she was feet first. I felt a slight pop. I had her sent for x-rays to make sure I didn't break her leg. Other than that everything went great. The nurse will come see you soon to help you get up and dressed."

Oh. My. God! That was definitely not the news I expected. She made it sound like this was something that happens, and was no big deal. In my head I was going over all the issues that could arise from a broken leg. Trying not to show panic I tried to focus on all the things I would need while I recovered. I wrote a list of all the things I needed my partner to bring from home. I had not packed a hospital bag in my haste days before. I asked him to bring the mother's milk tea I had purchased weeks ago. I was holding onto it until I was closer to term in preparation for breastfeeding. Later I would learn this is not something you even have to do!

I called my mom after the doctor left, and let her know everything that had happened. She was out of state, but let me know my aunt was driving up to see me, was close by, and that she would be flying out to see me as soon as she could. Shortly after speaking to my mom the nurse came with a CNA, and helped me get out of bed and cleaned up. She told me to press a pillow to my stomach to get up each time I needed to. She expressed surprise at my lack of pain. I told her I was uncomfortable and itchy. She asked if I wanted pain medication, and something for the itching. I told her I did not want narcotics, but would take ibuprofen and something for the itch. She brought me Benadryl to help with the itchiness, and Toradol for the pain. I had never had Toradol before, but it was amazing for the pain without the loopiness of narcotics.

I had a slew of visitors over the next couple hours. When everyone finally left it was around 10:30 pm, a little over 6 hours after the baby was born. After shift change a new nurse came, and asked if I wanted to go to the NICU to see her. I said I did, and the nurse got me a wheelchair to push me down there. When we got to the NICU door they have a call box that you push to speak with the receptionist. You have to state the name of the baby you are coming to see. "I'm here to see Baby Girl Bogalis," I stated. "I'm sorry we don't have a baby here by that name," the receptionist replied. "Um, what? That's her name. She should be there." "Mom, what's your last name?" I had got married a few months before, and hadn't changed my last name yet. I gave her my maiden name. "Ok mom, baby girl is here. Come on back."

The NICU was dimly lit, and quiet other than the hum and beep of monitors. When we saw her for the first time in her incubator she was so tiny. She was so still, and looked like a doll used for training NICU staff instead of a real baby. I turned to my partner and said, "Are you sure that's our baby? She's so white. You didn't come down here with her. What if they switched her?" She was actually extremely red tinged, other than a purpling bruise down the entire left side of her body.

The NICU nurse introduced herself to us. She gave me a doll that she wanted me to put under my shirt. The doll would hold my scent, and they would give it to the baby to help calm her down. She gave us the status of the baby. Even though she was born at 27w4d she only needed 25% oxygen via nasal cannula. She was able to move her lungs on her own. She weighed 2lbs 9oz, and they were surprised she was that big considering her gestational age. They told me she would be getting nutrients through several tubes extending out of her umbilical cord, and would not have anything by mouth for a few days.

The NICU nurse asked if I had begun pumping yet. I told her I had not, but I planned to. "Don't bother pumping tonight. You've been through a lot. Get some sleep, and pump in the morning," she said. I asked when I would be able to hold her, and was told I wouldn't be able to hold her until her tubes came out. I remember the nurse was really nice, and later I came to depend on her to give me the truth as it related to my daughter's care, and not just the fluff they tell NICU parents so they feel better. I was dejected, but also exhausted by the days events, and returned to my room.

By now it was close to midnight. The baby was over 7 hours old. As my nurse was exiting my room she asked if I had a pump set up, and if I had pumped already. I told her I didn't have anything. She left the room, and came back with a pump, and two bottles to pump the colostrum into. She instructed me how to pump, and left to give me privacy with instructions to call her when I was done. I remember strictly following everything the nurse told me to do, massaging, alternating cycles, pumping one breast at a time. I ended up getting about half an ounce of colostrum. It seemed like such a tiny amount in that 2 ounce bottle I was given.

When the nurse came to my room she was so uplifting. "Wow that's amazing! What a great amount of milk. This is your first time? I'm impressed. I'm going to take this directly to the NICU now. They won't feed it to her yet because she can't have anything by mouth, but they will rub it on her lips so she gets your scent, and tastes your milk. Get some sleep. Remember to set an alarm so you can pump in the morning." She really validated me. I was doubting myself so much after the events of the last few days, but she made me confident I could do this one small thing for my baby. I placed the doll the NICU gave me between my breasts, set my alarm, and went to sleep.

Some photos of the baby. The first photo is her directly after birth, the second is a few minutes later before they took her to the NICU. I was unconscious during this time. My partner took these photos, and sent them to me later.

27 weeks 3 days

Stay tuned for the next part! Catch up on previous parts here: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Pregnancy, Part 5

*I want to post a TRIGGER WARNING that this post, and the subsequent parts will detail infertility issues, death, preterm birth, hospital/medical bias, and other subjects that might be triggering for some. There will also be pictures of premature infants which (from personal experience) can be triggering. I will post this at the beginning of each part.*

When shift change happened I expected the doctor to come to see me around 10 am as usual. The doctor didn't end up coming to my room until mid-afternoon. The doctor was a tall, heavy set African man soaked in cologne. If you know anything about pregnant people the sense of smell is heightened. While the cologne smelled nice it was sickeningly sweet, and way too overpowering. The doctor was pleasant, introduced himself, and did something I never expected; he sat on the edge of my bed. I think he was trying to seem friendly and put me at ease, but it was very odd. I still don't know how I really felt about it.

As he sat on the bed he asked, "Mom, I hear you want to leave this hospital. and be transferred to TGH. What happened? Why do you want to leave?" Him being that close, with that overpowering cologne, was a little intimidating. I wanted to be a tiger and roar my response, but choking back tears I replied, "I want to have a natural birth. If I have to have a c-section I want to be able to have a VBAC with my next baby. The doctor who was here yesterday told me she would give me a classical incision if I went into labor, and that I would not be able to have a VBAC. I understand this hospital is not VBAC friendly. I know that TGH is VBAC friendly so I'd rather deliver there where I know they would try to honor my wishes."

"Mom," he said, "We're not going to let that happen. We don't immediately go to c-section, and if you have to have one we can make sure you can have a VBAC. I will put it in your chart. You cannot be transferred because you could go into labor in the ambulance, and your baby would be at risk. I'm sorry, but you have to stay. Did you have any food yet?" I shook my head no. I was too close to tears, and knew if I opened my mouth I would start crying. "I'm going to have your nurse get you food. You're going to be able to eat. We will also stop the magnesium, and remove your catheter. You can get up to use the bathroom, but you need to get back in bed immediately after."

I just nodded. I had nothing left to say, and no more energy to give. I had tried. I advocated for myself, and was shut down time and time again. After the doctor left I let go, and had a good cry. Everything was just too much. By now I had been at the hospital for about 60 hours, and had not eaten for almost 72 hours. I was having my first meal since being there. It was pleasant to get up, and use the restroom, but I had little else to make me feel better. The nurse came later to give my medicine. She asked if there was anything they could do to make me feel better. I told her I missed my dog. She told me she knew that sometimes dogs could come to the hospital and she would ask the doctor.

A few hours later the nurse returned to my room, and told me the doctor said my dog could visit for a few. I was so shocked I had my partner bring my dog immediately. I did not want to risk that they would change their mind. That night was probably the most pleasant night of my stay. Later I found out they didn't follow all the hospital protocols to allow my dog to visit, but that one hour he was there definitely helped lift my spirits.

The next day (11/13/15) went by somewhat uneventfully. I honestly don't even remember what doctor was on that day, or even if they came to see me. There was another patient who had entered the hospital the day before me, and was on bed rest with threatened preterm labor. I heard her screaming in the next room over. I was not aware until later, but she went into labor that day. I didn't think that boded well for me. I expressed my fears to my friends. They put together a "bed rest" entertainment package for me that they were going to deliver the next day. My in law's church family was also coming to visit me. I excitedly went to sleep that night looking forward to all the people I would get to see the next day. Little did I know all the drama the next day held.

Stay tuned for the next part! Catch up on previous parts here: 1 2 3 4

Pregnancy, Part 4

*I want to post a TRIGGER WARNING that this post, and the subsequent parts will detail infertility issues, death, preterm birth, hospital/medical bias, and other subjects that might be triggering for some. There will also be pictures of premature infants which (from personal experience) can be triggering. I will post this at the beginning of each part.*

Once I calmed down from the initial shock of being admitted I updated my friends, and online support group about my situation with the baby. I lamented that I hadn't had a baby shower yet, and didn't have anything ready for the baby. I had assumed I would have more time. Everything felt like it was coming so fast, and was completely out of my control.

A different nurse came into my room. My bed was put in trendelenburg position (flat on back, feet above head, head toward ground in a 15-30 degree incline). I was given a catheter, and an IV. They started magnesium sulfate, told me I was not allowed to eat, or leave the bed, and was given a surfactant injection to help mature the baby's lungs, procardia to stop my nonexistent contractions, and also because my blood pressure (BP) had skyrocketed. Because of my BP they started a 24 hour urine collection to test for protein in my urine. I have white coat syndrome, so I honestly was not surprised my BP was so high. I was told that in the morning if I had not had the baby yet, someone from the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) would come talk with me about my expected outcome.

They contacted my midwife for my records. Because my EDD and ultrasounds did not match the hospital's records they called in a specialist to review my records. This changed my due date to 2/10/15 which pushed me back a day on my gestation. This normally would not be a big deal, but the difference of a day can make a difference in the interventions some hospitals allow to save your baby. Many hospitals will not attempt to save your baby if you are less than 24 weeks.

Everything calmed down by around midnight. The doctor returned to cheerfully tell me that my drug test came back negative (duh), that she would be on for the rest of the night, and I would have a new doctor at 7 am. At this hospital the doctors ran in 24 hour shifts. I struggled to get to sleep on the uncomfortable delivery bed, in such an awkward position. I was sad, worried, and confused. I decided to spend my time researching prematurity, what my expected outcome could be, and again the stillbirth day website. I called my mom at some point during all this, and she prayed and tried to calm my fears. She reminded me my cousin was born around this gestational age, and went on to live a healthy life without complications. My triplet mom friend promised to come see me the next day.

Around 6:30 am I finally dosed off for about an hour. The new doctor came to do rounds around 10 am. It was a black female doctor. Now by this point I knew better than to get my hopes up, but in a crisis you will seek any port in the storm. The doctor told me that so far I was stable and my urine test came back negative for protein. I expressed that I wanted to have a natural birth, and that if I had to have a c-section I would want to be able to have a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC) with my next baby. The doctor replied, "As of your last ultrasound baby was head down. Because of the gestational age of the baby it's too risky to have a vaginal delivery as the baby could change positions before you pushed them out. I would need to give you a c-section. Also because you're only 27w your uterus is too tough for a bikini cut incision. I would need to give you a classical incision which means you would not be eligible for a VBAC in the future."

I honestly had no words. My first thought was "How could you?!? You're supposed to be on MY team!" I was in so much shock I just sat there processing the information. I talked to my partner, and after all that had happened already I told him I didn't want to stay at this hospital anymore. He agreed. Even though the next hospital was 20+ minutes from our house it just wasn't worth all of this.

The neonatalogist came to my room. He was from All Children's Hospital which specializes in premature infants. He did 24 hours rotations at this hospital's NICU. He reassured me that this hospital was equipped to deal with premature infants, and that no transfers would be necessary for the baby. The thought of a possible transfer hadn't crossed my mind so I was happy to hear that. From the things I had researched I learned that breastmilk was the best form of nutrition for premature infants, and that those who received it had better outcomes. I asked the doctor if the hospital provided donor milk if I was unable to produce enough milk for the baby. He replied, "No we do not. Formula is just as good." I was honestly shocked. You're a doctor at another hospital that has strict protocols for prescribing donor milk to preterm infants, but at this hospital "formula is just as good". Erm no. The doctor then proceeded to give me all the worst case scenarios of my baby being born early, then left my room shortly after this.

Around this time I was told that they were going to move me to an extended stay room as I was currently in a delivery room. The room they moved me to had a pull out bed. My younger sister came to the hospital and stayed with me. Two, young, black CNAs came and gave me a bed bath. They were as professional as they could be. They tried to boost my spirits. I was more humiliated by being unable to care for myself than anything. They told me the nurse would come in, and put me back on the contraction monitor.

When the nurse came in, I asked her to have me transferred to Tampa General Hospital. She said she would talk to the doctor, and get back to me. I never heard from the doctor or the nurse for the rest of the shift. At shift change a different nurse came to give me my medication. I asked if I would be allowed to eat. She stated that was not possible at this time. By now I had not eaten for over 48 hours.

After the nurse left my triplet mom friend came to visit. She brought me a gender reveal cake, and a sign her kids had made with their hand prints., and footprints. She talked me through some things I could expect. She explained that doctors have to give all worst case scenarios so that if they happened we were not surprised. I wasn't allowed to eat the cake she sent, but I did taste the frosting at least.

By night time I still had not heard from the doctor. I knew by now she was ignoring me. I decided that I would talk with the doctor that came on shift the next morning. Someone was going to listen to me.

Stay tuned for the next part! Catch up on previous parts here: 1 2 3

Pregnancy, Part 3

*I want to post a TRIGGER WARNING that this post, and the subsequent parts will detail infertility issues, death, preterm birth, hospital/medical bias, and other subjects that might be triggering for some. There will also be pictures of premature infants which (from personal experience) can be triggering. I will post this at the beginning of each part. *

Taken on the day I went to the hospital

My visit to my midwife was on a Friday. Two days later, on Sunday, before disaster struck I was in so much discomfort. I don't want to call it pain because I've had much worse pain in my life. I called my mom, and expressed frustration with my situation, and how the midwife was handling it. My mom told me to put myself on bed rest. I did that for about 24 hours, but we needed to go grocery shopping. Our shopping trips take around 2 hours because we price check, coupon, and tally as we shop. I knew this was going to be a long trip, especially considering we hadn't bought groceries in a month.

When we got to the store I decided I was going to use the electric wheelchairs to take as much pressure off my pelvis as I could. Of course when we got there I could only find one wheelchair, and it was not charged. I decided to bite the bullet, and just get it done. By the time we got back in the car, my hips and back were screaming. I was in so much pain. Actual pain now no longer discomfort. I immediately went to bed, and had my partner unload and put the groceries away.

The next day (11/10/15) I woke up feeling a modicum of relief. I knew I needed to babysit, but it was around the time the child usually napped, so I could continue my bed rest on the couch. Everything was fine at that time. I had a counseling session to head to so I went immediately there. While I was waiting I started to just feel bad. There is not really any one symptom I can pinpoint. Something just felt wrong. I let my counselor know I was going to have to miss this session as I was going to the hospital. She chastised me for even coming in instead of going straight to the hospital.

I got in the car, and headed home. I called my midwife first, then my partner on the way, and let him know we needed to immediately head to the hospital. I explained to him that most likely we would not be having the home birth we prepared for. He asked me why I felt that way. I explained it was a feeling I had. Something wasn't right, and I was sure we were going to have an extended hospital stay. I text my triplet mom friend, and she gave me positive words of encouragement, and asked for an update when I had a chance.

The hospital I went to has a protocol where when you go to L&D the security guard has to tag you, and push a button to allow elevator access. When I got to the front desk I was almost doubled over with the earlier discomfort that had now become pain. I leaned against the desk, and explained I needed to be seen. "Who told you to come here," he asked. I explained my midwife sent me. "Who is your midwife?" Disgruntled I explained that my midwife was not a part of the hospital staff. He looked from the top of my face to my (nonexistent) belly and said, "I'm going to have to call them to see if it's ok to let you go back." By this point I didn't care. I was in too much pain to argue. Because I had been seen at 20w I was in the system, and they let me up. I'm sure the security guard did not think I was pregnant. Can't really blame him too much since it is his job to vet everyone who comes in. At 27w exactly I barely was showing a bump. I'm sure I looked suspicious.

As I walked with my partner down the long corridor to the elevator I lamented that at least he could have offered me a wheelchair when it was obvious how much pain I was in. I know my partner was trying to put on a brave face, but he was clearly upset too. When we got inside the elevator he pushed the button for L&D, and nothing happened. Puzzled he pressed the button several more times. By now we are both upset. He leaves the elevator. Not wanting to leave me alone he yells down the corridor that the elevator isn't working. There is a camera pointed at the elevator. I'm not sure what distracted the guard, but that pretty much set the tone for how the rest of my stay would go.

Finally we reached the floor. My partner went back down with the elevator to properly park the car as we were double parked. I was shown to a room by a nurse. She asked me to leave a urine sample in the bathroom, then get undressed, and get in bed. Now remember I said I had joined a birth group to talk to other birthing people? Because of this I was well aware of all the gross things that your body goes through while pregnant. When I wiped after leaving my sample I lost my mucus plug. Disgusted I flushed it, got undressed, and climbed in bed. This was quite possibly the most uncomfortable bed in the history of beds. I later found out it was a birthing bed that could drop away to allow the doctor access during delivery.

A different nurse comes in, and she was an older Asian woman. My spirits lifted a little. I was happy to see another person of color. Back then I was naïve to social justice, and lateral biases. The nurse was so nice to me. She explained the different monitors she was putting on me. I told her I had lost my mucus plug. She asked me if I had saved it. Puzzled I said that I flushed it, but there was no mistaking what it was. She continued on friendly as before. Everything changed when my partner walked in the room. Part of me wanted to believe I was imagining things, but my partner later expressed similar impressions. All the niceties went out the door. Her voice was no longer cheerful, but seemed annoyed. I brushed it off as maybe me projecting my anxiety on to her. I'll never truly know as I never saw her again.

When the doctor came in the room she washed her hands, and introduced herself. She was a Latina doctor, and I was again excited to be seen by another person of color. She listened to the report the nurse gave her on my status. The doctor looks at me when the nurse was complete and says, "You are not having contractions. It sounds to me like you're experiencing round ligament pain. It would be best for you to get a belly binder when you go home." Cue internal screaming "IT'S NOT ROUND LIGAMENT PAIN I DON'T HAVE A HUGE BELLY TO PUT ANY PRESSURE ON MY LIGAMENTS!" Outwardly I just grimaced, and waited for the doctor to continue, "I am concerned that you lost your mucus plug already. I'm going to go ahead and give you a check if you don't mind." I gave the doctor permission to check.

I have never had a pelvic exam while pregnant. Sure I've had pap smears, and the such, but when you're pregnant every thing is heightened. That was quite possibly worse than the pain that brought me there. When she was finished checking me she removed her gloves and said, "Well you are 100% effaced, and three centimeters dilated. Seems you're not going home after all." She began washing her hands while I looked at my partner because I was right this whole time, and should have gone with my gut. While drying her hands, and exiting the room, as the door was closing she said, "By the way we are going to drug test your urine because that's usually the cause of preterm labor." My mouth fell open. "Ok....?" I replied.

Stay tuned for the next part! Catch up on previous parts here: 1 2