Everything Is Okay

You know what makes for a super-extra-great weekend? An emergency trip to Labor & Delivery! You probably never would have thought of that, but seriously, it's a fucking gas.

Luckily, as the post title indicates, Everything Is Okay. But for a while we thought maybe everything was not okay, and that was very much Not Fun. NOT FUN.

(Warning: If you decide to read all about the Not Fun, you will encounter some girly-parts talk and words like "discharge" and "vaginal." If this also sounds like Not Fun, you have my blessing to skip this entry.)

Once upon a time, it was a day called "Thursday" in an age known as "last week," and I noticed a slight change in the...um...

In the...stuff that...

Oh, fuck it. Let's be all grown-up and medical and say it. I noticed a change in the consistency of my vaginal discharge. Instead of white and goopy (EW), it was clear and watery (EW EW). I thought nothing of it, even when it continued on Friday and was a heavy enough flow to make me look like I'd peed myself or something (EW EW EW). And again, I ignored it.

(At this point, pregnancy veterans or anyone who has read a pregnancy book all the way through are starting to scream, "YOU DUMB FUCK. CALL YOUR DOCTOR." at their computer screens.)

Finally, on Saturday night (right before we were heading out for dinner), I decided to pull out the pregnancy book and look up this newest annoyance and threat to my clean underwear.

And I found it, right in the section about PRETERM LABOR SIGNS AND SYMPTOMS.

Holy FUCK. What?

I consulted the Internet and found it again on babycenter.com, listed as one of the 10 PREGNANCY SYMPTOMS YOU SHOULD NEVER IGNORE.

Amy's Brain: Amniotic FLUID, you stupid shit. You've been leaking it for TWO DAYS now and slowly killing your baby and doing NOTHING ABOUT IT.

At this point, I also realized that I hadn't felt the baby move since the night before.

Amy's Uterus: *eerily quiet*

Amy: *pokes stomach repeatedly* Hello? Baby?

Amy's Eyes: *here come the waterworks*

Jason was outside walking the dog during all of this, by the way, and returned to find me on the phone with my doctor's answering service, sobbing hysterically.

Amy: (to Jason) We can't go out for dinner. I think the baby is in trouble.

Amy: (to answering service) Heellllllllllllp. Doctor. Discharge. Vagina. Water. Ack.

Answering Service: (is a GUY, for Christ's sakes) I hate this job.

Jason: No...dinner?

While we waited for the doctor's call and I filled Jason in on the discharge situation (Jason: And you are just NOW telling me about this? And looking it up? And how about some more steaming hot guilt, you murderer of my son and denier of my dinner?), I pulled out the rented doppler that I've been meaning to send back one of these days, I SWEAR.

Y'all, I couldn't find his heartbeat. And I died. Died!

The doctor called, and surprise surprise, we were off to the hospital.

Doctor: Well, it could be nothing. Or it could be something. Definitely one of those two things. Go to the hospital to be sure.

And so we had our first official dry run to the hospital. Drive time: 17 minutes, thanks to the new car and Jason's belief that if we got pulled over we had a damn fine excuse.

Stuff I thought about during the drive to the hospital: Whether or not I should return the maternity clothes I'd bought that day or keep them, although it's not like I could ever wear them again after knowing that I bought them the day the baby died and I swear to GOD, if Britney Spears has a baby this September and I don't, somebody will DIE.

I thought I felt him kick in the car, but wasn't sure. Usually he kicks pretty damn hard, but all I could sense was faint tapping, which just made me think that he was alive but suffering from a loss of fluid and it was ALL MY FAULT and WHY IS BRITNEY SPEARS ON THE COVER OF PEOPLE MAGAZINE? HAVE THEY NOT SEEN HER REALITY SHOW? CAN WE ALL JUST WORK TOGETHER TO MAKE HER GO AWAY FOREVER?

We arrived at the hospital and they made me fill out a Very Long Form, which was not appreciated, nor was it appreciated when I was told to go fill out the Very Long Form elsewhere as a Very Very Pregnant Woman came in after me and needed my chair.

Jason:  Jesus. I know she was probably in labor and all, but it's not like you're just hanging out here for fun and the free chairs, or something.

Amy: Dear God, if I make it until September? I will never, ever make anyone give up her chair. Amen.

Anyway. I was taken to a room before the Very Very Chair-Stealing Pregnant Woman, so in the end, I won, or something.

And let me testify that NOTHING, but NOTHING wakes up sleepy little unborn babies faster than one of those hospital-quality fetal monitors that they strap to your waist, because the INSTANT that thing was turned on the little guy started to KICK KICK KICK FLAIL FLAIL PUNCH PUNCH HI MOM YOU'RE AN IDIOT.

"He's just mocking you now," my nurse laughed after about 15 straight minutes of this kung-fu action.

After monitoring his heartbeat (142 bpm) and my uterus (no contractions) for about two hours, she did a PH test (a yellow strip of paper shoved up the cooch) and determined that the discharge, while still clear and watery, was NOT amniotic fluid. And then Jason laughed because apparently you can buy that kind of PH-testing paper at Home Depot. It has ALL SORTS of great uses! Test your faucets AND your vagina!  It's great for parties!

So I was sent home with an all-clear and "discharged with: zero (0) babies" marked on my discharge papers. And I really, really wished it was September already so I could be discharged with: one (1) baby and put this whole gestation roller coaster shit behind me already.

(Seriously though, the whole night was scary and tiring, but I'm really glad we went. Because there is nothing more reassuring and awe-inspiring than spending three hours hooked up to a fetal monitor while the sounds of your child's heartbeat and movements are literally the only sounds in the room. The little guy is doing SO WELL I can hardly stand it. And I can't believe my stupid body is pulling it off, Mystery Fluid notwithstanding.)

(The End, and I promise to never mention vaginal discharge ever again, and also to NEVER EVER check my referral stats for this entry.)