Week 32 - When You Give Birth, You'll End Up Living In A Van Down By The River

At this week's childbirth class, we got to learn about all kinds of interventions, what's considered routine at the hospital, and when each one might happen. I probably should have realized this beforehand, but it would have been useful to have some kind of warning about how intense the class would be. And how if you're prone to anxiety and worry, you shouldn't come to class unless you've had a xanax and a couple glasses of wine, because otherwise you'll convince yourself that EVERY intervention is inevitable and you're going to look like a power strip with all the cords and tubing coming off of you, and then you get to be crucified when you get a C-section because of a funny reading on the monitors. The pain meds were also discussed, which was probably meant to be reassuring to most of the women present, but any discussion, pictures, or descriptions of needles going into the spinal area gives me the heebie-jeebies, so it certainly didn't make me feel any better. Besides, I consider pain meds an intervention that I want to avoid unless I'm no longer able to function during active labor and won't have the strength to push when it comes time for that.

The whole thing probably wasn't helped by the appointment we had that same day, in which I learned that I get to have another ultrasound, but this time with a perinatologist in a high-risk diagnostic center. Uh, say what? Apparently this is just to get a specialized growth estimate to see if she's growing too fast, but use the words high-risk and alarm bells tend to go off with me. Andy and I were discussing whether this was going to be worth doing from a financial standpoint, and I explained to him that if Brianna was growing faster than she should, that it would be better for me to be induced a week or two early than to risk a C-section after 40 weeks if she became too large for my pelvis. Which also meant my head was wrapped around those two possibilities for my labor experience going into class, which really didn't help things. To top it all off, she was breech lay, so she definitely hasn't dropped. If she stays like that or goes back to that at every appointment, we'll get to go back to the high-risk center so the perinatologist can attempt an external version, also known as poking and prodding to get Brianna pissed off enough that she turns on her own. [Spell-check thinks I want to call the specialist a paleontologist, but if she goes so overdue that I need one of those, then I think I'll take a C-section after all, thank you very much.]

Adding to the general unease of the day, I asked the doctor about a little lump I had found in my breast, and after feeling it and asking a couple questions about my bra, tells me to stop wearing underwire bras and gives me a referral to get a sonogram of my boob. I was hoping I would get a nice reassuring response like "Oh, that's just [insert innocuous explanation that makes me feel silly for bringing it up in the first place]. You'll be fine." Instead, I have been given the death sentence of having to wear a grandma bra (good-bye sex life and supported breasts, hello sagginess and over-obvious nipples) while being told that an underwire-free bra is actually more supportive anyway. She lied. I got some this weekend, and my poor boobs are definitely an inch or two lower now. It's like a bad sports bra with less mesh, so I have a bit of a uniboob too. I ordered a nursing bra while I was shopping, so we'll see what that turns out to be like.

Bitching aside, there are a few things that are reassuring. When I'm on the external monitor, I can keep using a birthing ball or sit in a chair instead of being forced to lay down. Continuous fetal monitoring isn't standard, and neither is an IV. Internal exams are done every few hours or when the toleration of contractions seems to change, since that tends to signal a changing phase of labor. I can take Primrose Oil to avoid going overdue, and I can try acupuncture (which is covered by my insurance) to jump-start labor as well. No matter what, I won't have to go through having my membranes stripped, because they just don't do it since it's rarely effective. There is always a doctor and a midwife on shift, so I won't have anyone rushing me because they want to make it home in time for dinner. Just hand me off to the next attendant and we'll all be fine.

Brianna is now almost 4 pounds and 19 inches long, though I guess I'll have a more official estimate on Thursday. She still has room to move around, but it's definitely more cramped. A couple days ago, she was kicking me so hard that you could see the outline of her foot on my abdomen, and let's just say I'm pretty sure she'll have my feet. Sorry Little One, I guess we should have gone with Bigfoot as your nickname after all. She's putting on more fat and her skin is becoming less translucent (the pregnancy books aren't doing a good job of convincing me that I'm not just incubating an alien). Last night Andy had his hand on my belly to feel what she was up to, and he gave a little squeeze to get a better idea of what part he was feeling. Well, she kicked back. Not a sharp kick, just a little playful movement in return. So he did it again, and she moved against his hand again. It was so sweet seeing him get so excited to feel her move in response to something he did, especially on Valentine's Day. Just a few more weeks to go!