Saturday, October 16, 2010
A Woman in her Thirties is Grounded
A woman in her thirties should trust her instincts, but I tend to have a problem in this area. My instincts are often wrong. If you need further proof that this is true, check out some of the dating choices of my early twenties.
But this Thursday, however, I woke up feeling... off. Funny. I drove into work and felt nagged by it. Not pain, not really. But not good. It's hard to describe in words, but I think 'wonky' comes close.
I taught my first period class and thought, 'I could make it through the day. I'm fine.' But I couldn't get rid of K's voice in my head, her voice when she was describing what early labor feels like. And if I was going to be honest, I felt a little like that. After much hemming and hawing, I got a sub together and started to drive to the doctor, convincing myself I'd be home for lunch.
Things happened fairly quickly there, since I'm at a point in my life where people really, really care about how I feel. After a probing and twenty minutes strapped to machinery that reminded me of the book One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, here are the words the doctor said:
'Your contractions are two to four minutes apart. We have to admit you.'
Ummm.... WHAT? I have seen lots of movies and know what contractions are supposed to look like. I'm supposed to be gripped with pain, cursing my husband, breathing through my teeth. Not teaching essay writing. Before I knew it I was in a WHEELCHAIR, being pushed through a secret passageway to the hospital (creative writing juices were flowing then by the way. A secret passageway to a hospital? I can think of a million first lines...). But really, all of this was just masking the fact that I could not be in labor, Chewy couldn't come today, this was not the way it was going to happen. Was it?
A couple hours of IV fluid, an episode of America's Funniest Home Videos, and one container of cottage cheese later, the contractions subsided to more than 30 minutes apart. The nurse used the word 'normal', and L and I both breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted... kinda.
I've been put on 'modified bed rest', which means I can go to work as long as I'm sitting the majority of the day, and that's about it. Guess who has to do all the grocery shopping, laundry, Dan-walking, cleaning, and cooking without any help from his wife? L... I owe you lots of beef and broccoli for this one. Believe me, women in your thirties, as romantic as it sounds to sit on the couch and watch Oprah while your husband does all the chores for you, it really just sucks.
L's Mom will be disappointed to hear that I did go to work yesterday. However, I sat the whole day and took the elevator to my classroom. When I spilled a drop of water on the floor, I literally watched one of my sophomores FLY from his desk to the bathroom so he could get a paper towel to clean it up. L is currently at the dog park with Dan, and I'm sitting here slapping my hands to keep from getting up and starting a load of laundry.
I think T said it best yesterday when she said, 'it's kind of like you're grounded'. That's exactly how it feels, minus the facebook posts about how unfair my parents are. If Thursday's episode happens again I'll be on full-fledged bed rest, which is pretty much my worst nightmare. So a woman in her thirties takes her grounding seriously. She relaxes. She sits. She allows her husband to do stuff for her. She focuses on keeping her baby baking a little while longer.