I think I jinxed myself

Midnight yesterday. In bed, sweating like usual (it's been warm here lately, and me without A/C). Nose is driving me nuts because of the fan, but there's no way in heck I'm turing it off. Sneezing fit comes on. Then, 5 minutes later, my stomach clenches up like a fist.

GIII is still wiggling and moving, but every now and then it feels like someone's sucking the excess space out of my abdomen and I can feel every little bump, joint and curve he's got. So I do what the nurses tell me to - pee, drink a huge glass of cold water, and lie down for a bit to try to make it go away. Worked the last time...

1:30. I nudge Gunther and tell him I'm heading to the hospital. The cramping hasn't gotten any worse, but it's no better either, and we've passed the 1 hour mark. He asks if I want him to drive me there and I say no, that I'm only going to the GNH which is 5 km away. I get dressed and head over to the emergency department of the hospital, which brings me upstairs to the maternity unit shortly thereafter.

Turns out that my OBGYN is on call that night too, so lucky me, I get to talk to someone I consider compitent. They hook me up to the fetal monitor and sure enough, I'm having very mild, regular contractions. My doctor comes in and reconizes me, and immediately brings the staff up to speed on my history and current state. He does a few tests, the nurses give me something to halt contractions, and they call the RAH to confirm when I was given the steroid shots to help speed up GIII's lung maturity. My cramping slowed down considerably by the time they verified that I was indeed having contractions, and stopped altogether shortly after the nurse gave me the NSAID. But they decided to keep me in for a little while, just incase, because my fFN test came back positive.

And that's when it got fucked up. They brought me up to the post-natal unit (for whatever reason, I'm not even bothering with trying to figure it out anymore), and one woman spent a half hour trying to find a vein in my hand to start an IV in. She then brings in another nurse, who spends another 15 minutes trying to find one, decides to use my right hand instead of my left, pokes and because they've had the tourniquet on for 45 minutes, my vein is super full. So, mess all down my hand, on the floor, and get this, the nurse wasn't even wearing gloves! Sure, I know I haven't got anything contageous, but who's to say she washed her hands well enough after visiting a different patient who may have? I was none too pleased. That was 7:00 this morning, since I had been there at quarter to 2 in the morning. No breakfast (didn't help having an empty stomach when seeing myself squirt blood on the floor), and nothing until lunch, which was served at 1:00.

They hooked me up with antibiotics and when I asked why, they said "Well, it's cause your membranes are ruptured silly!" Uh, no they're not. And they wouldn't take my word, nor check the chart until I told the charge nurse that no, my membranes were intact, and illuded to the fact that I know how to disconnect IV lines correctly. Well lo and behold! My chart actually said what I was saying! Who would have thought that?

The neonatologist came by to talk to me, and was a lot more positive than the rest of them (who still thought that my membranes were ruptured.) Because of GIII's size, gestational age, and the fact that I got the steroid shots, he has a 96% survival rate and will have about the same rate of being perfectly fine as a term infant. And because of that, plus the fact that using medications to halt contractions for too long can have some negative side effects on both me and the little guy, if I come back into the hospital with contractions, they're going to let it go.

I was discharged this evening at 5:00. When everyone realized that not only were the contractions gone but I knew what to do and what to expect, they realized they weren't doing anything (except giving me antibiotics I didn't need, not too thrilled about that one either). GIII's still wiggling, I'm not having any cramping, and I've gone back to sweating in my own house. Oh well. At least now, I know not to plan on a September baby... I don't think he'll make it that long.