Risky Business Part IV

As I neared the end of my second trimester, I felt better and better.  I’d gained between 15 and 20 pounds by week 20, but that weight gain had slowed way down once the ravenous hunger and terrible morning sickness abated.   My blood pressure was being controlled better than ever, though I'd have bouts of feeling crappy every time it was time to get my meds adjusted.  The aches and pains of pregnancy were familiar and tolerable, and I regularly felt my baby Thumpering away.  I felt I was finally getting used to being pregnant.  

Naturally, several things occurred that made everything just a little bit more complicated. 

First, I had gestational diabetes.  My numbers were just barely over the threshold, but they were there.  Now, in addition to two different meds four times a day, I had to test my blood four times a day.  Though I no longer had morning sickness, food had started tasting weird shortly after getting pregnant, and it wouldn’t taste as good as usual until after I gave birth.  This was one more limitation to an already ho-hum diet.  

The day I had my four-hour gestational diabetes screening I noticed I had a slightly sore throat.  This turned into a full-blown cold - the second of my pregnancy.  Both were probably the worst colds I’d had in my life; thanks, pregnancy-suppressed immune system!  I developed a cough that wracked my entire body, night and day.  

While my white blood cells were down for the count, other germs invaded.  One week after first getting my cold (but still in the throes of the cough), I developed pink eye.  A week or two after that, I got what was thought at the time to be a UTI, but later thought to be kidney stones.  Whatever it was, it was painful.  And I still had that damn cough, meaning I was making constant hurried trips to the bathroom too.  The cough lasted the rest of the third trimester.   

Illnesses aside, I was feeling pretty good.  My blood pressure had been unusually stable, and I was told it’d probably be pretty good until I gave birth.  So I was shocked when, at 34 weeks, I was told that I’d have to induce before 39 weeks.  

I knew I was high-risk; I knew I was pumped full of meds and that it was a constant battle.  Still, I just didn’t feel that bad.  I didn’t feel like the women I’d read about, who’d reached their third trimester and just wanted the baby out.  I felt like I’d just hit my stride!  I’d just gotten over my cold, I was getting more energy, I was managing my blood sugar.  I trusted the experts, absolutely, but I was slightly disappointed.  And a bit shell-shocked; here I was, thinking I had six more weeks to get ready for a baby, and now that time had been halved.  

The next three weeks were filled with endless non-stress tests, or NSTs.  A few sensors are placed on your belly to monitor the baby’s heart rate and check you for contractions.  It’s always reassuring to hear your baby’s heartbeat, but he kicked me pretty much constantly, so I always knew he was ok anyway.  And there were no signs of contractions on the horizon, so after a few NSTs, they got, well, boring.  My doctor’s appointments had switched to weekly as I neared the end of the pregnancy; combined with all the NSTs, it was beginning to feel unnecessary.  Every appointment the nurses and doctor clearly expected me to come in complaining, and here I was, feeling better than ever!  

We didn’t want to induce earlier than we had to; I wanted to give the baby enough time to bake, and I was feeling good anyway.  It had always been a toss-up between 37 and 38 weeks.  My induction date was moved to 38, with the hope I’d start labor naturally before then.  

Half a week before then, my blood pressure started acting up again.  When you’re high-risk for blood pressure, you’re always on the lookout for pre-ecclampsia.  I didn’t have any additional signs, but things had suddenly gotten tense again.  My induction was scheduled for a Monday, and that weekend prior was mentally and emotionally a pain and a half.  The Yeti and I wished we had just gone with a 37-week induction and not gotten cocky.  Still, the baby remained safe and I didn’t have pre-ecclampsia.  I didn’t have a trace of labor, either.  But it was time to have a baby.