Last year, in the wake of our first, failed attempt at IVF, I wrote a post about how much I hate April Fool’s Day. When our second attempt worked, and I found out my due date would be April 2, I was terrified of having an April Fool’s baby. Other people, it turns out, thought that would be a great idea. The most common reaction I’ve had when informing people of the due date is, “Maybe she’ll be born on April Fools’ Day! Wouldn’t that be hilarious?” Uh, no.
So imagine my surprise (or not) when I wound up in triage on the L&D floor of the hospital this afternoon. No joke.
I went for my regular appointment with Dr. K. She checked the baby’s position and heart rate–all perfect. She checked my cervix, which is now dilated “a fingertip.” Great.
Until I got up to get dressed and noticed there was blood on the exam table paper. I informed Dr. K of this fact, but she brushed it off, saying it was most likely just bloody show. She then proceeded to tell me she wanted to induce me because she didn’t want me to go past my due date with this “high risk IVF pregnancy.” I let her know I wasn’t concerned about going a little late, to which she responded, “It’s your choice,” and wrote “refused induction” on my chart.
So I made an appointment for next week and then, because I was still concerned about the blood, went to the bathroom. Where I was still bleeding a bit. And when I wiped, discovered a quarter-sized blood clot. Cue panic.
So I went back to the office, informed the receptionist, who, with her I-obviously-know-more-than-you-do attitude said, “It’s probably just the mucus plug. There’s usually blood with that.”
Um, no. I know the difference between mucus and a blood clot. I’ve been preoccupied with the fluids emanating from my vagina long enough to know exactly what I was looking at. So she called the doctor, who recommended I go straight to L&D.
Cue 2nd wave of panic. Because I had no way of getting a hold of Hubby to let him know what was going on.
When we moved here, one of the first orders of business was a trip to Target to get a pre-paid cell phone. One cell phone. Because we didn’t have a place to live yet and couldn’t get a regular phone/plan. When we finally had an address, and Hubby had the equivalent of a Social Security number, we tried to get cell phones, but apparently his number was not yet in the system as far as credit bureaus were concerned. So without a credit check, it was nearly impossible to get signed up for a phone/contract. Eventually, we found a company that would work with us–with a deposit–and we got ourselves signed up yesterday. Except they didn’t have the phones we wanted in the store. So today, the day of my appointment, Hubby had to go pick up the phones, which he wasn’t able to do until after dropping me at the doctor’s office, which meant I had no way to contact him when I was sent to the hospital. I had sort of predicted this, half-joking with Hubby that today would be the day something would happen and I’d end up in the hospital with no way to contact him. I really wish I hadn’t been right.
So, trying to remember to breathe and stay calm, I walked to the hospital, took the elevator to the 4th floor, and made my way to triage. I explained the situation, and they brought me back to monitor the baby. At one point, the nurse asked me if I was still bleeding, but I wasn’t sure. I asked for a phone and attempted to call what I thought was Hubby’s new number, with no luck. Apparently my memory was not as accurate as I would like to believe. By the time the med student got around to asking me many of the same questions the nurse had already asked, I was fairly calm. But when he asked if my partner knew I was at the hospital, I became a little frantic trying to explain the situation to him, and he kindly offered to email Hubby to let him know what was going on.
After a half-hour or so of monitoring the baby, it was decided that they would take me to an exam room and visually check to see if they could find the source of the bleeding and whether or not it had stopped. It had not. In fact, at one point, I felt a gush of blood, and sensed a trace of panic in the resident’s voice. She informed me I was “actively bleeding” from my cervix. She asked if I had ever had an abnormal pap, and I explained that yes, I had, but not until this pregnancy. She told me there was a lesion on my cervix, and that’s where the blood was coming from. It didn’t have anything to do with the baby, but if they couldn’t stop the bleeding, they’d have to get the baby out.
Aaaand freak-out number three.
They left me in the exam room to track down the doctor on call. While I laid there in a small puddle of my own blood, I could hear Hubby’s arrival. When the nurse knocked on the door and asked if she should bring him in, I couldn’t say “yes!” fast enough. I tried to explain the full situation to him, adding that we might be having a baby today, but couldn’t finish before the original nurse, med student, resident, and on-call doctor came into the room. Dr. On-call took another look and declared that the bleeding was stopping. That it was likely the result of the cervical check Dr. K had done, and that they would keep me there a little longer, just to make sure, but I would be going home soon.
So Hubby and I sat around for half an hour, while he played with his new phone, and when I went to the bathroom to check on the bleeding, it had all but stopped. And we were sent home.
So. No April Fool’s baby for me. Just my body playing a stupid, cruel trick.