We made it through my birthday with no issues and I was relieved. I know it might sound selfish, but if our daughter had been born on my birthday I don't think I could have handled it. Every year my birthday would be miserable. I don't think I'd want to celebrate it ever again.
The night was pretty uneventful. I slept pretty well. Turing on your side while trying to move as little as possible and not strain is rather difficult, but staying on your back all the time isn't feasible. The IV machine was rather annoying that night, beeping very loudly rather frequently. One of the nurses came in and turned the volume down. It was much better then. We got to the morning and I was relieved to start another day.
The high risk doctor came in to check on how I was doing. Since yesterday went well with my sitting up to eat and I was still showing no signs of infection it was time for me to get out of bed. This idea was terrifying, but I knew it was the next step and I'd just have to deal. The plan for the day was to take my catheter out, use a bedside toilet and continue to sit up (more than I had been). He wanted me to come down to his office the next morning to have an ultrasound. His office is on the first floor of the hospital and they have better ultrasound machines.
A little while later my nurse came in and took the catheter out. The thought of getting out of bed still terrified me, but I had no choice. Luckily I wasn't going far. It was quite a hassle to get out of bed though. My blood pressure cuff had to be be taken off or unhooked (it was still taking my blood pressure every hour because I was still on the mag), the sensor that monitored for contractions that was strapped around my lower belly had to be taken off or unhooked, the scuds had to be unhooked from the air compressor and finally my IV machine had to be moved. That's a lot of work to get up and move 3 or 4 steps to the bedside commode. But it meant I was getting up and I was OK with moving as little as possible while still being able to say I got up. It was an awkward experience. The nurses had to measure my urine output to ensure my kidneys were working well (because of the mag). Again, it's amazing how quickly you stop caring about being modest.
My Mom and Adam were amazing throughout these two days (and whole experience). They took shifts being with me. No one wanted me to be alone. I felt bad that they were having to spend so much time in the hospital too (and sleeping in that uncomfortable chair that turns into a bed), but it was a comfort to have them there. Even though you're never really alone in the hospital, someone is checking on you every couple hours, it meant a lot to have someone I loved there with me, just in case.
Since a shower was still a day or two away and my hair was out of control gross my Mom got some dry shampoo to try and tame my locks and make them less greasy. It was a nice thought, but let me tell you, dry shampoo does not work (or maybe my hair was too far gone for it to help). It did at least make my hair smell better. Mom put it back in a braid and asked a nurse about getting my hair washed in bed. She said it might be possible the next day, so there was that to look forward to.
One of my friends stopped by to visit that evening and brought me some magazines and chocolate. It was nice to see her, even if I looked awful. I also talked with some other friends, another uplifting thing for the day. Overall it was a pretty good day. Getting up to use the restroom was scary, but it was going well. I wasn't bleeding and our baby was still active and had a strong heartbeat. My temperature was staying normal and I had no tenderness or harness in my belly, so no sign of infection. I wanted to have hope, but it was hard. Everything was still so uncertain, but that night I allowed myself to hope for the first time that I'd be able to keep her in long enough to give her a chance.
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