Monday, August 29, 2011

Why You Gotta Be So Mean?

My son hates me.

First, some background.  When I found out I was pregnant, the due date was quickly calculated to be September 1st.  Since this is right at the beginning of the new school year/daycare for newborns is insanely expensive/I don't want someone else to raise my child, Lewis and I decided that I was to become a stay-at-home mom.

For the past year, Lewis and I have been enjoying double insurance benefits.  He has been a dependent on my insurance and I have been a dependent on his.  Mostly that means we haven't had to pay any co-pays whenever we've had to go to the doctor.  With me being pregnant and all, this has saved us some of the green.  When I decided I was going to quit my job at the end of the school year, I got in touch with the benefits office to find out when my insurance benefits would run out.

August 31st.

One day before Jack is due.

Perfect.

Oh and by the way, your deductible is going to go up 150% this year.

Starting September 1st.

Excellent.

What timing!

My doctors will not induce first-time mothers before one week after their due date.  This is a practice that I am in favor of.  I think there are far too many unnecessary inductions which can be detrimental to a newborn's well-being.  Still, an early induction would be mighty tempting for me because of this whole insurance kerfuffle.

We explained this situation to one of my doctors and he said that they would strip my membranes at 38 weeks and see if that helped.  Also that a good indicator of when you'll go into labor (early or late) is when your mother and sisters typically went into labor.

My mom has five kids, my sister has one.  Their labors went (in order): late, early, late, late, early, early. Three earlys, three lates.

Fantastic.

Today is Monday, August 29th.  To be out of the hospital by midnight on the 31st, I pretty much need to have my baby now - and don't get me started on the snafu that would be if we started out our hospital stay on double insurance and ended on single.  It's complicated.

Now back to why my son hates me.  Since I learned of the scheduling conflict between my due date and insurance termination, I've been casually hopeful that he would arrive early.  But I figured he would come when he comes, no big deal.  But then he decided to get my hopes up.

At my 36 weeks appointment the doctor declared Jack to be engaged in a head-down position and my cervix to be dilated 1.5 centimeters, 60% effaced.  I know women can walk around for weeks like that, so I didn't get too chuffed.  But then the contractions started.

I was elated.  I would be meeting my son soon!  They weren't painful contractions yet, but my mom had just told me that that was how they started out for her.  And there sure were a lot of them!  How could this be anything but the real thing.

After almost of week of this, I wanted to cry.  Each night I would go to bed expecting to wake up in joyous pain, ready to speed off to the hospital.  Each morning I would wake up disappointed to have made it through the night.  And still the contractions continued.

My 37 week appointment arrived and I was ready for the doctor to tell me my cervix was all kinds of dilated.  I mean, those contractions had to have been doing something, right?

1-2 cms.  60-70% effaced.  Gross.

And still the irregular, frequent, painless contractions continued.  They told me they would strip my membranes at my next appointment and that that would hopefully get things going.  I was convinced that would do the trick since I was obviously teetering on the edge, right?  Plus I was sure to have progressed because these contractions were still going.

Right?

Almost 2 cms.  70% effaced.  It's okay.  This membrane stripping thing is bound to work.

Right?

Nope.  Today was my 39 week appointment.  Obviously my child is just in the business of getting my hopes all kinds of up and then not committing to anything.  Even when I finally accepted that my uterus just seems to like contracting and that he would come when he comes, it decided to give me a movie's worth of quite painful contractions reigniting my hope all over again.

Today the doctor declared me to be a solid 2 cms and nearly 80% effaced.  Yippee skippee.  The membrane stripping thing from yester-week was useless.  Oh but don't worry, if I do make it to my induction appointment on the eighth, my cervix is right where it ought to be!  Wa-hoo.

So like I said, my son hates me.  He just gets my hopes up and up only to bring them crashing down over and over.  Because it's obviously his fault.

In other news, if you are in the business of praying and wouldn't mind sending one on my behalf, I would appreciate it.  That whole insurance thing has got me on edge.

2 comments:

Laura said...

Hang in there! Contractions are NO fun- I've been having them for weeks now and I'm only 33 weeks along. Just keep this blog post handy for someday when you can turn to him and say, do you know what I did for you? :)

jenalih said...

I know your agony, and this won't be the last time your child gets your hopes up only to dash them, but hopefully the worst time he does it. Prayers going up!

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