I’m. Nine. Months. Pregnant. That’s right, one month from today, I should already be holding my first baby. What a precious month of your life, you say! Relax and enjoy it, you say! It’ll all be worth it, you say. She’ll be here before you know it, you say. You’re going to miss being pregnant, you sayyyyy.
NOOOOOOOOOO! Do NOT say ANY of that, or so help me, I might drop kick you at this point.
What an ungrateful beotch, you NOW say. We’re trying to be encouraging! Coming to her shower. Buying her gifts. Listening to her complain. And we try to offer a few words of comfort and she threatens us with fancy kick moves? Rude!
Listen, I’m not trying to be a total nightmare, but I haven’t dubbed this the third ‘crymester’ for nothing either. To all the people who have said to me “It’ll all be worth it” (and that’s usually at least two per day) I know you’re just trying to help, and actually, if it makes you feel better, I couldn’t even drop kick you if I tried. In fact, I feel like I’ve watched helplessly as this whole thing spiraled out of my control to where I am now. I currently have so many complications they moved my due date up because they just aren’t going to let this go on ‘til full term. That was sad because my girl was due the same week my grandmother, my mother and I all have birthdays. It was going to be this special thing! She was our missing link! But honestly, it’s a relief, too. This experience has made me feel like a failure, a freak and a complete hypochondriac. People must think I’m totally nuts by now. Why? Well…
Health-wise, my par was starting with a genetic blood clotting disorder that may cause complications during/after delivery and a congenital fracture in the base of my spine that causes a lot of low back pain. That was just me on a normal day… you know, back before I became a walking episode of Mystery Diagnosis.
Then I started ‘showing’ by week 7. Obviously it wasn’t the baby, it was a sign of the way my body handles pregnancy… which is apparently… not well. Soon after, the first trimester had me battling the after effects of a bad car accident and crippling fatigue among all the rest of the first trimester fun. Then in the second I had weird symptoms like daily nose bleeds and bizarre vertigo episodes that made hours of my life disappear. (Spoiler alert, these were related to blood/circulation issues that would show up later!)
We failed the genetic screening and had to have extensive testing for Downs Syndrome.
We failed the glucose test for gestational diabetes and had to do the half day blood draws.
We failed the ultrasound check because of an amniotic sheath (a little membrane that comes loose from the uterine wall and can amputate baby body parts. OMG.) that required multiple follow up ultrasounds.
NOW there are two DIFFERENT major issues that made the doctors draw the line and move my due date up. Near-crisis level blood pressure landed me on high doses of BP medication, weekly non-stress tests and regular preeclampsia screens. I had to pee into a refrigerated jug for 24 hours. My ankles, hands, feet, arms are elephantine with edema.
AND, if that all wasn’t enough fun, one day I stopped being able to really walk. Um, how’s that for dramatic? I remember waking up one morning in late February because the baby had just moved in a strange way. And when I went to stand up, it suddenly felt like she weighed 100 lbs. I could only take a few steps before shooting pains ripped through my abdomen and into my… well, lady area. I went about my day thinking how weirdly uncomfortable it was. She weighed less than 3 lbs then. How could it be her?! Later that weekend, I had to do a really physical day at work. I was so sore and uncomfortable that my husband came with me. At one point, we had to make a Target run to pick something up and I tried to pit stop at the bathroom. I was feet away when suddenly, this insane pain hit. I froze in my tracks. Instant, involuntary tears. I couldn’t pick up my legs. Strangers were staring. A checkout boy looked embarrassed for me. Sean helped me into the bathroom and then into the car where I cried in agony.
Look, my pain tolerance is high. I grew up in a kitchen where burns and cuts are a way of life. My pain scale looks like this: 1-6, oh well. At 7, I’m hurting. At 8, I’m crying. At 9, I’m screaming and by 10 I’ve already passed out. This pain was in the 8-9 region, no lie. I finished the day at work, chalking it up to some really bad soreness, having slept funny, SOMETHING. Little did I know then…
It came and went for awhile. I would sit at work for awhile, forgetting all about it, then try to stand up out of my chair and get hit by a wave of pain so severe it turned my stomach. Soon, I could only go up two or three stairs before having to stop and gain the courage to take the next step. Within a week or two, I had to start sitting on the top step and scooting down one at a time on my butt. I held onto walls every time I had to walk. I got in and out of the car like my 84 year-old grandfather who just had back surgery. I would rather cut off a body part than turn over in bed. And do you know what my doctors said at multiple appointments in a row? “Yeah, pregnancy can be tough. Time and Tylenol. Hang in there, you’re almost done!”
I felt like a hypochondriac. A drama queen. Weak. Almost done? It was March. I was due June 12 and I could barely walk! I texted friends, family. Was there a point when you stopped being able to walk? Is that just part of this? Am I being a baby? I got a resounding NO from my panel and so I did the only thing I could do, I consulted my great friend, The Internet.
Symphsis Pubis Dysfunction is what I came up with, AKA Pelvic Bone Separation. Apparently, there’s a pregnancy hormone called relaxin women’s bodies release to limber up the ligaments for delivery so baby can fit through without wrecking the joint. But too much relaxin wrecks the joint. Literally. I finally asked to see a different doctor. I wrote down every symptom so I couldn’t be rushed or intimidated and read each one to her. She listened. She examined me and confirmed my suspicions. Finally, someone believed me! The baby had already descended AND my pelvic ligaments had stretched too far. My girl’s head is literally pushing my pelvic bones further apart with every day and every ounce she gains. Well, hallelujah, an answer! Validation! The OB sent me to physical therapy, recommended a brace and moved my appointments to every week.
The bad news is it’s going to get worse before it gets better. It’s honestly the most excruciating pain I’ve ever felt in my life, and I feel it daily. The doctors and PTs said many women end up in a wheelchair or using a walker before it’s all said and done. They recommended I restrict myself and rest a lot. So I took leave and cut back to part-time, working from home because I couldn’t even get myself to and from the bathroom or up and down the stairs. (Have you ever had to explain “pubic dysfunction” to your boss? Humiliating.) My blood pressure is off the charts (partially because of the pain) and the medication is only marginally helpful. I’m basically on a bed-rest type of plan and going to deliver early to hopefully avoid full-blown preeclampsia and the organ failure that it can come with. The doctor said after this Tuesday, any time my BP rises consistently to a rate they’re not comfortable with and the medications aren’t helping, they’ll just admit me for induction. Maybe give her the steroid shot to finish maturing her lungs. That’s the plan for May right now. And it’s all just super scary.
You know, my job was so accommodating, my family is so helpful, my husband deserves to be canonized. But in spite of all that, none of this, NONE of it, is how I planned it. I look around. Every single person I see had a mother who did this. Everyone waited this amount of time. Everyone’s body handled it. Almost everyone today lives through it.
Why am I so bad at this? How could I have failed THIS hard at the most important (and natural) thing a woman can do?
Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE me some royal family and think Kate Middleton is the single greatest role model for women of my generation. But last week when she stepped out 7 HOURS after having her third child, having suffered that debilitating morning sickness the entire time, looking like, well, a freaking PRINCESS, I felt worse. Her ankles were normal. She had her WEDDING RING ON. (It was Diana’s, ya’ll; it ain’t like they sized it!) I know she’s got a team. I know she’s wealthy. I know people call her Your Daggone Royal Highness. But I felt like Your Daggone Lamest Lowness.
I’m huge, I’m swollen, my nose is pregnant, my toes are pregnant. I can’t reach all of my leg to shave it. I can’t wear shoes. (Like, at all.) My lower belly has purple lightning bolts on it. Only the left side of my belly button popped. (Really?) My hands are so swollen I can’t write with a pen and so numb I can’t hold the phone to my ear or put on eyeliner straight. My mom shows people pictures of my feet when they ask how I’m doing.
People keep trying to say helpful things. Aaaand, people aren’t good at words, I’ve determined. I know they don’t know what I’m going through and that they think any words, even words that aren’t that well-thought out, show they care. But sometimes I feel like I’m the only person who really respects words for the lethal weapons they are.
The one that hits me the hardest is “It’s all going to be worth it soon, you’ll see!” It makes me feel terrible. Like, I can’t walk and the top of my head might explode, but that doesn’t mean I ever thought for one second that having a daughter wouldn’t be worth it! Do they think I’m just over here thinking, Hmmm. I’m not sure if this baby is going to end up being worth it after all. Gee, I sure wish someone would confirm that for me real quick, make me feel better? Come on. I’ve got all the guilt I can handle already without that implication, thanks.
“Relax and just enjoy being pregnant.” HA! Hahahaha! I really enjoy this. Walking is over-rated. Constant pain is fun! Crying is the BEST! Getting kicked in the bladder rocks. Wine is so unnecessary! No, people. No.
“She’ll be here before you know it.” Yeah. That’s true. So I have to literally crawl through the days ‘til then. Then I have to deliver her and I hope that doesn’t result in even worse circumstances for both of us. Then I hope my ligaments go back into place and I don’t need surgery. Then I need to consider doing all this again if I want to have another one. Which I would do in a heartbeat to give my husband a son… or another lovely daughter. Whom I already know will be “worth it.”
“What a precious time.” “You’re going to miss being pregnant!” I can’t I’ll ever agree with those statements. I DO constantly keep in mind three facts though. For us, getting pregnant was every bit as ridiculously easy as we all feared it would be back when we were 17, so I KNOW how blessed I am for that. I even was lucky enough to find someone who loved me in the right time frame to make a baby with while I was physically able. AND he stayed with me and I don’t have to do all this alone like 40% of women out there today! (If you’re a single mom, you’re a HERO to me now. Officially.)
Look, I know this baby is an incredible, undeniable gift. I would gladly scoot downstairs on my ass, be laid up in bed, bear stretch marks and cry five times a day for her. Some people never get the opportunity to suffer a pregnancy like this to bring a child into the world, or they do and that’s when the troubles just begin. And I am thankful every day that it’s me who’s suffering and not my baby girl. But, you know, I had a platform to vent and… like, pregnancy complication awareness!... and like I always say, be careful with your words and stuff. Yeah. So, that’s why I wrote this.
Meanwhile, I’ll be mostly in this bed for the month of May riding out the last Crymester and hoping to not being holding my baby at my baby shower. Text me, comment on my social media, I’m an open book, just don’t do the “Sad” reaction on Facebook, ok? It’s not sad. That’s dramatic. It’s life. And it’s temporary. So, if you know anyone who is pregnant, whether they’re having an easy time or not, say something thoughtful to them because they really need it. Women are freaking amazing. Pregnancy should be revered. Even for those skanks that can zip up their pre-pregnancy jeans on the way home from the hospital. Everyone deserves to have this unbelievably tumultuous time recognized no matter how easy or hard it was. Ok? Ok. That’s all from me then. Until next time… when I’m a mom… -Kelly