Showing posts with label Really Face. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Really Face. Show all posts

I'm Still Pregnant OR My Dwindling Faith in the Medical Community

Note: I wrote this post and then literally started having contractions about an hour later and never got the chance to make it live on the ol' blog. Since it was pretty much finished I decided to post it anyway, even though it's 3 weeks later. Deal with it.

Alright. I have to do a post on this waiting game we're playing with the impending newest addition to our family. I wasn't going to, because I probably complain too much. But I have to. Because this memoir is as much a documentation of our life journey, as it is a way for me to entertain myself in the evenings.

So my faith in the medical community continues to deteriorate at a rapid pace as we go through the continuing stages of this overdue baby ordeal. I'll utilize headers to break this up a bit for you...

The Due Date
I was essentially given two due dates. The first, the "mathematical" estimation of when the baby should be born, based on cycles and what-not, was August 4.

Ok.

The second due date, configured based on the measurements of the baby during my ultrasound was July 21.

Really all this change did was get a lot of people's hopes up, way too early in the game. As we got closer and closer to July 21 I was fairly certain there was no way she was being born anytime soon.

How I've Been Feeling
Really great until the last 10 days or so. Until a couple weekends ago I was feeling absolutely fantastic, and definitely did NOT feel like I should have delivered a baby by July 21.

Maybe this sounds weird, but I kept telling people when they asked that I didn't feel "bad enough yet" to have a baby. You know? Like, in the those last couple days and weeks of pregnancy all you want to do is sit, and that's actually the opposite of what you should be doing? And how in those last few days and weeks your body just aches and you have to kind of roll around to adjust yourself when you're sitting or need to get up.

And it's impossible to sleep because you have to wake up everytime you need to move, and then of course when you wake up you have to pee. And sometimes you wake up and don't need to move, you just have to pee, which basically translates into taking a series of 1-2 hour naps throughout the night.

And then your 2-year-old wakes you up at the butt crack of dawn, and then you have to go to work and you don't even know what day it is or if you are wearing a different shirt than the one you slept in and you completely disregard the office dress code for the millionth day in a row by wearing flip flops. 

And there are false alarms (during my first pregnancy I thought my water broke and we got all of our stuff together and went to hospital only to find out I had apparently peed myself...true story) and crampy gross feelings and occasional nausea and you can't eat very much because there's just no room, and your same sweet little 2-year-old decides his new favorite phrase is "Mama's HUUUGE" and I could go on and on.

My point is, when we reached that July 21 milestone, NONE of this was happening yet (except TJ calling me huge, that's been going on for some time), so that's what I meant when I told people I wasn't feeling "bad enough" to have a baby.

Guess what.

Now I am.

So that's a clear point for the August 4 due date, get your sh*t together medical professionals.

The Impending Threat of Being Induced
We went to our doctor's appointment Saturday morning, a regular check-up, which I had (admittedly) put off by 2 weeks for a few reasons...

#1. It's an ordeal to get to these on weekdays, as I basically have to take a freaking half-day off work to go, and Tom works on the weekends, so it's always a majah challenge.

#2. All the important stuff has been done for a while with the glucose testing and the bacteria testing and the ultrasound and what-not, and we're at the point where when I go to these appointments they're like, "Whelp, you're still pregnant, see you in a week." And I took a half-day off work for them to tell me that and DUH I already knew it.

#3. Two appointments ago when I went it was a paper skirt kind of appointment where I had to be "checked", and I sat on the exam table bare-assed with my lap covered in paper for an hour, AN HOUR, waiting for the midwife to take a look under the hood and tell me nothing was happening. I knew nothing was happening. So then the next time I went the same thing happened, only this time I put my big girl pants back on and left the doctor's office without being "checked" after waiting half-naked with nothing to read for 45 minutes. They must have remembered that I was a flight risk at this past Saturday's appointment, because Tom went out to hunt down the nurse after we had been waiting for 30 minutes to see why it was taking so long and they came in immediately and got down to business.

This past Saturday's appointment sucked, this is where we get to the...
 
Scary Inducing Stuff
Basically the midwife, we'll call her Butch, decided I needed a lecture and scolding for not having a clear due date, because it's apparently my fault. Then during my exam she decided she needed to jam her hand up there and feel the babys head through my dilated to ONE cervix (hi grandpa!), and then she got pretty testy when I emphatically told her that "YES, I know what it means, and NO, I do not want you to strip my membranes." But thanks for asking.

It really went downhill from there, as she told me we would have to do a non-stress test for the baby because according to my due date of July 21, which we had to abide by because of my irresponsibility, my placenta is now deteriorating rapidly and probably leaking, the baby is probably in distress and ingesting meconium, my fluid levels are probably really low and then she started throwing around the word "stillbirth."

Not. Even. Joking.

I mean, first of all - shut your stupid mouth, and second - hello, please go take a refresher course in bedside manner because you are unacceptable Butch, UNacceptable. And I pretty much hate you.

But Butch wasn't finished with us. The last thing she shared was that I needed to get induced. I needed to get the non-stress test as soon as possible on Monday and then when it came back as terrible, I needed to go straight up to Labor and Delivery and get induced immediately. Then she made it clear one more time that she was not pleased I wouldn't let her strip the membranes, and then she let us go.

Do you see why I'm not a huge fan of these people right now?

Needless to say, Tommy and I were both a bit shaken up when we left the appointment.

Until today, of course, when we both breathed a giant sigh of relief because guess what Butch, the non-stress test went great. Baby is great, heart rate is strong, placenta is great, fluid levels are better than great, my blood pressure is great, ultrasound looked great, and I feel crampy and terrible - so we know we're close to getting it done our way, with no stripped membranes or drug-induced labor.

Hazahh!

And So We Wait...
Apparently this unborn child is teaching me a lesson. I know what you're thinking, that it's a lesson in patience - but that's not even what I was going to say. I'm probably the most patient person you've ever encountered in your life -- stop laughing dad. For real though, I've got tons of the stuff, nothing fazes me.

I think this baby is teaching me a lesson in making other people wait...and THAT, I am notorious for. And she wants me to see how it feels, and know it's unacceptable for me to continue doing it, and that she will now be graciously assuming the crown for Queen of Making Others Wait for Seemingly No Good Reason so that I no longer have to be the rude one, but she will since she's tiny and cute and "doesn't know any better." So really, she's doing me a huge favor right now by not being born yet. And telling me she wants us to be a team.

See how I did that?

Really winning all over the place.

Except for with the length of this memoir post. Apparently I had a lot to say - shocker. And sorry there are no pictures. Nothing really fit the content on this one.

Except this photo...

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Meet Butch.

So if that's the best I could do, I'm actually not sorry there are no pictures at all.

And The Waitee Has Become the Waiter...
Christa

An Open Letter to My Gestating Fetus (If That's a Real Way to Refer to You)

Tenant,

As of this moment, little unborn baby, you are hereby served an eviction notice. Please vacate the premises within 48 hours, or we will be forced to remove you.

Thanks.
The Management

Really Face All-Star #2 - The NURSE on the Train

I don't really keep it a secret that I think the people in the city of Chicago are heinous for one main egregious act that takes place constantly...

No one gives up their seat on the train for the giant pregos!

The bus? Sure, sometimes. Bus riders are nicer.

But the train? Nevah.

Apparently it's perfectly socially acceptable amongst Chicagoans to not get off your duff and offer your seat to the giant 9 months pregnant girl that just walked on the train. I have never, not once, been offered a seat on the train. I am nine months preg here people, and I ride the train 3-5 times a week. That thing shimmies, lurches and shakes like crazy - it sucks!

You reached a new low today, though, Chicago.

Today.

I got on the train.

Stood directly in front of a seated NURSE, with my giant belly right in her face.

And she did nothing.

Well, that's not true. She scowled at me for invading her personal space, but HELLO, I'M HUGE. Then she went right back to reading her preferred digital book device.

I mean, REALLY?!

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And no, there was no way this lady herself was pregs. She was like mid-to-late-40's old.

Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of other people (DUDES? Hello?!) seated on the train who were certainly capable of offering me their seat, and failed to do so. But I'm used to it from them, that's commonplace everyday lame Chicagoan BS.

But a NURSE?!
(Her nametage had her name with "RN, BSN" underneath it - so don't even think I mis-identified a punk candy striper.)

"Oh, but Christa, maybe she had just gotten off work from an overnight shift." Nope. She was definitely on her way to Rush.

Alright, alright, maybe I'm being a little harsh on the nurse. Maybe she had edema or something...but she was on her way to work where she stands and walks constantly, so she couldn't have been feeling tooooo bad. She is definitely the target of several months of pent-up frustration to this topic.

But, no matter, with that I present you, oblivious-terrible-bedside-mannered-nurse-lameo-on-the-train with THIS well-deserved honor...

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And I hope you sat in something gross.

Safe travels in Chicago my fellow pregs,
Christa

Really Face All-Star #1: Evil Eye Removal Pass Doorman Hall Monitor

So Michelle (my #1 gal, in case you missed it in the About Me section of this memoir) and I have this thing we do called The Really Face. You do not want The Really Face directed at you. In the event The Really Face is thrown at you that means you have done something so inconceivably stupid that it can only elicit a response of "...Really?"

(Aside: Yes, we are aware Seth Meyers does an SNL skit titled "Really?!?" which follows the same premise as our 'Really Face' ...and no, we do not think he is aware that he plagiarized it from us.)

If you're still unsure what I mean, here is The Really Face in action...
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And now for my first induction to The Really Face Hall of Fame...the terrible, evil-eyeballing, short-man-syndrome-suffering doorman at my work building who demanded I present a "removal pass" to leave the building with a package I received at work.

...Ahem...Excuse me?

The conversation went something like this...

<doorman flags me down from behind the front desk as I am leaving the building>
Door Man/Hall Monitor: "Ma'am! Ma'am! <GarblegarblewordsIdon'tunderstandgarblewords>"
Me: <approach the front desk, smile> "I'm sorry what was that?"
DM/HM: "I'm going to need to see your removal pass for that package."
Me: <visibly confused> "I'm sorry, I'm still not getting it...my what?"
DM/HM: "Your removal pass, for that package. To leave the building with the package you're carrying. Did you receive that at work?"
Me: "Yes, I received this at work, I'm just not sure what a removal pass is..."
DM/HM: <shows me a stack of unused "removal passes"> "It looks like this."
Me: "Oh...yeah, I don't have one of those, sorry." <start to walk away>
DM/HM: "OK! Ma'am?" <I turn back around> "I'm going to need you to go back up to the mail room and get a removal pass from one of the workers up there. You need to have a removal pass before you can leave the building with your package."
Me: <still confused> "You mean this package with my name on it that was delivered to my desk? Full of baby clothes? I need to have a pass to remove it from the building? Can't I just show you some ID?"
DM/HM: "No ma'am, I need you to go up to the mail room and get a removal pass."
Me: "Ok, I'm kind of in a hurry, I need to leave, I've left this building with 50 million packages and never been asked for a "removal pass", sooo...sorry." <start to walk away>
DM/HM: "MA'AM!" <I turn around, he stares at me with evil eyes> "...Ma'am, you need to go upstairs to the mail room and get a removal pass before you can leave with that package."
Me: "No, I think I'm just going to leave now with my package, like I have every other time I've received one..."
DM/HM: <interrupts, more evil stares> "...No, I think you need to go upstairs and get a removal pass. Or you can get one from <soandso> or <soandso> in building services. What company do you work for?"
Me: "<Name of company>, on the 19th floor, yes...and my name is Christa Parr...that's 'Parr' with a 'P"."
DM/HM: <evil stare/slow blink> "...You need to go up to the mail room and get a removal pass."
Me: "...No, Iiiiiiiiii'm not doing that...I'm gonna go home now. With this package. But thanks."

And then I walked away.

And no one tackled me. Or chased me with a night stick. Sooo, apparently I wasn't a Level 1 Red Alert threat to the safety of others when I walked out the door without presenting a Hall Pass to the Safety Officer for my box full of baby clothes.

Really dude? I mean, Really??

Are they afraid I'm stealing Post-It's and paper clips from the supply closet? If I need a "removal pass" to remove the package with my name on it that was delivered to me at my desk, then a "removal pass" should be provided by the mail room worker who drops off the package at the time he drops it off.

Why are we asking hugely pregnant women whose husband's are waiting for them out front in the car to traverse 22 floors, seek out a mail room attendant and get a "removal pass" to leave with what is clearly a package that belongs to them?

And why is it ok for a building supervisor to give me a "removal pass", but the doorman (who has been supplied with a stack of unused "removal passes") cannot give me one? This is clearly a faulty "removal pass" policy, full of holes, that should be abolished immediately.

And let's not even talk about how many times Officer RP said "removal pass" during our exchange...because it was like a hundred.

You know what's probably going to happen.

They will send out a building-wide email to all 10,000 people who work in the building about the importance of adhering to and abiding by the "removal pass" policy.

You know what I say?

I say do your worst, lame hall monitor...and congratulations, you've just been inducted into The Really Face Hall of Fame. A well-deserved honor.

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