The big irony in where I’ve been? I’ve been…nowhere. As in, haven’t left the apartment. In weeks. My world has been reduced to the 60x80 inch rectangle of our bed, with the exception of gleefully anticipated excursions to the toilet. And man am I lucky to have those bathroom privileges. There’s no way to explain their importance really, but let me assure you they’re a Big Deal. It means being able to walk all the way through the next room a few, limited times a day, and while doing so enjoy a momentary change of scene and the thrill of being vertical at the same time. Sooooo much more than simple bladder relief. Big Hairy Deal.
I was put on bed rest after being hospitalized three weeks ago. When someone asks about my hospital stay or why I’m confined to bed (or where the hell I’ve ‘gone,’ ha!), I never know what to answer. The perfect, quick information/explanation hasn’t presented itself yet. “We nearly lost the baby,” though the absolute truth, always sounds so dramatic. However a clinical approach where I give gory detail about the color and texture of what comes out of my vagina, or the length and diameter of my “sissy cervix”*, or the results of my latest FFN test is a little too much info for most. Like my dad, for example. So I’ve been sticking to something along the lines of, “I started to go into labor, and they stopped it, but now I have to lie still to keep it from happening again.”
However two weeks to the day after that first hospital visit I went into labor once more, that time with supra-mega pain and ultra-terror added free of charge. I spent another few days in the maternity ward (the MOST bizarre, trust me. A floor of women screaming their brains out, doing everything they can to expel the baby from their womb, and me, crying my eyes out, clenching my bits closed, praying he stays put.). Since I was already on the bed rest and neonatal specialists hate redundancy, pills and more strict limitations were the terms of my release, in addition to being sequestered of course. (Even though I am quick to point out how all that bed rest did fuck-all to stop me from going into labor the second time.)
But better safe, etc. And I do have my potty privileges. I cannot stress enough how monstrously cool that is.
*dubbed correctly and thus by my friend Mr. Xavier.
I hope you have piles and piles of good books. And easy laptop access. And people who come and visit you ala Marie Theresa (I think it was her, who received visitors in bed... the woman had 16 children, so I think it was her). Good luck and all those platitudes.
Posted by: anne at August 2, 2006 02:33 PMWell, we shoulda seen it comin'. That cervix of yours was always playing dress-up with his sister's dolls instead of playing shoot-em-up with the other cervices. "It's just sensitive", you'd say. Yeah, right. Goddamn sissy cervix.
Posted by: monk at August 3, 2006 08:27 AMOk, ok. We can change the frickin' wall-paper.
Posted by: g at August 3, 2006 09:48 AMI went through this crap 19 years ago.... I required the dad to bring me bags filled with library books. It helped. A little.
Note - people will bring you almost any kind of food you desire in these situations. Use this power. It will not come your way again soon.
The kid who eventually sprang (only 3 weeks early) from my clearly not-fully hospitable womb turned out to be one of the coolest people I ever met.
Hang in there and enjoy the potty. You can make remarkable crafts with Charmin double-ply.
Posted by: Laurie at August 8, 2006 11:02 AM