Hello all.
So... many of you know what a bizarre week we just had, but in case anyone missed it, here is the official recap. Oh, my.
I'm supposed to be feeling some stretching out at this point, so I wasn't particularly surprised when I started having abdominal pains about a week ago. What did surprise me was that they became near-constant, really intense, and woke me up twice in two hours on Saturday night. Hm. After a phone conversation with the on-call OB/GYN at the hospital, we realized that we couldn't rule out appendicitis... so we decided at about 2 AM to pay a visit to the emergency room.
I won't give you a play-by-play of the 5 hours we spent at the hospital. A few highlights were going in for the ultrasound and finding out (from the tech, he of the six daughters) that our Sprout is very likely a girl. Squee! There was also the random white-coated guy -- who probably didn't even work there -- who kept popping in on the heels of the nurse or doctor to tell us exactly what we'd just been told, or ask us what we'd just been asked. I wonder if we should have reported him to someone. To sum up, we finally left without a diagnosis, but more knowledge:
It wasn't preterm labor.
It wasn't a kidney stone.
It wasn't a cyst.
They couldn't find my appendix, but it didn't present exactly like appendicitis.
My white blood cell count was up, so it could have been viral.
They prescribed something for pain and something for nausea (yep, I spared you some details, didn't I?), and sent us home to self-monitor.
Yeah... I wasn't getting better. By the time I made it to our doctor's office on Monday, I was shuffling, moaning, and pale (luckily, no one cried zombie -- I was able to avoid any panicking mob activity). I managed to get to my appointment (barely), and as far as Matt's parents' house on the way back (barely again). I wouldn't have made it at all, but Matt took the day off, and my lovely mother-in-law drove us in my lovely father-in-law's Avalon (so I could lie down in the back). Go team!
Our OB/GYN suspected a bladder infection or UTI. She prescribed a fetus-friendly antibiotic accordingly, which began to work its magic right away; I gradually went from zombie to fairly uncomfortable and bedridden to able to eat and drink normally, and pretty much walk around, in about 5 days. Meanwhile, Matt ran interference. He made calls and appointments, filled prescriptions, and kept me supplied with books and provisions. When he had to be away, my lovely mother-in-law Amy filled in; thank you, support system!
In any case, we were supposed to go in for a follow-up appointment and diagnosis on Thursday. We went... but our doctor sheepishly had to admit that they'd, um, forgotten to send out my sample to be cultured. No diagnosis for me. Next week, I am to sneak in during a staff meeting and leave another sample, so they can at least see if the infection is gone (seriously -- doctor's orders). So! That is the exciting conclusion of our week of drama.
If this story has a moral, I think it has to be that, as complicated as pregnancy can be (because, you see, I'm currently more susceptible to a number of delightful ailments), it doesn't mean that the main player is as affected as the rest of us. Example: we had a Wednesday ultrasound -- one that we'd scheduled a month ago -- and during all the tense checking and re-checking of measurements, Sprout looked straight at us and yawned. We're running around all zombified, and she's just not fazed at all, no sir.
