An Update, a Correction, and the Aftermath

I lied. Zach's birth story was not my last post.

First, the correction:
I later discovered that my due date was off by several days. Zach was not born at 36 wks, 3 days like we thought. Instead, he was born at 33 wks, 5 days. Which means everything I blogged was off, too. Sorry. I have since gone back and tried to adjust the dates, but some of it will still be off. We didn't know this until I went for my postpartum check-up.

The Update:
Zach is now 3 months old--13 weeks chronologically, 8 weeks old with the adjustment for his prematurity. And he is absolutely perfect. Our angel. The easiest baby ever! He ended up having a few issues from his prematurity, such as an abnormal newborn thyroid screen. He also had a few feeding issues where he would mix up the suck-swallow-breathe routine and sputter and choke while eating. And difficulties latching on. We are continuing to work through all of it. Developmentally speaking, he is just a couple of weeks behind on his milestones, but that is to be expected.

He lights up our world with his beautiful smiles, loves to be "worn", and is the apple of his big brother's eye. We cannot even remember what life was like before he came into our lives.

The Aftermath:
It turns out that my relief I felt at the end of the pregnancy would be false. Instead, I find myself having difficulties with coping with the pregnancy. I feel like I am a failure as a woman as a result of the whole experience and have a bitterness I did not expect to feel once I held my baby in my arms. This is not something that has interfered with my ability to mother my children or carry on with my life, but rather serves as a sort of hang-up. Not really postpartum depression and not a simple case of the baby blues, it has no label. About the closest thing I can find is "Traumatic Birth Experience", in that the pregnancy and birth served as a sort of emotional trauma. I find myself resentful toward other pregnant women who get to have a positive experience, which in turn makes me feel guilty for feeling the way I do. And I simply have not been able to let it go. And despite all of the pain I felt in the last months leading to Zach's birth, I wish I could go back and do it all over again. Only this second time, things would go as they are supposed to. I would get to leisurely shop for the baby, not be in the hospital over and over. Maybe even have a baby shower. I would be able to spend more quality time with E before Zach's arrival instead of having such physical limitations or being submerged in the fuzziness of painkillers to get me through. I would be able to bond with my baby through a more natural childbirth instead of the cold and calculated world that is a scheduled c-section. And it would all be perfect.
As for the mathematical aftermath: My pregnancy cost my insurance company over $484,000. Thank God for Humana. My family's share? $15,000. By the time I delivered, I had exhausted every resource I had to compensate me for maternity leave. My FMLA job protection had long-since run out, and the only reason I had a job to which to return was because my supervisor likes me. I ended up returning to work at 5 weeks postpartum, just 3 days after my due date, simply because I was worried for my job and also because I needed the financial compensation of my full salary. We were scraping the bottom of the barrel. That in itself was a source of emotional difficulty: I simply was not ready to leave my baby yet. We still needed each other.

I have been back to work about 2 months now. I still run into people in the halls of the hospital who ask me where I have been. I was off of work for 21 weeks, from start to finish, and when I tell people this, they always reply the same way: "That must've been nice!" And then I want to scream. No. There was nothing nice about it. Not the needles, the pain, the hospitalizations, the tests, the bills, the fear, the tears. I honestly cannot think of one positive thing other than the gift I was given when Zach was finally born on May 13th. Not one thing. I don't tell these people the details. They don't want to know. The details are my burden to carry. Instead, I just smile the fakest smile in the world, and hope that they never have to endure what I did.

Yes It Is

We watch Grey's Anatomy. And we used to watch ER. And J used to always ask me if that is really what it is like to work in a hospital. That is where this post's title comes in.

Yes. It is. Drama-City.

But I have not felt relieved and as appreciated as I did today when I called my boss to tell her that they would be delivering Zachary next week. She had this indescribable tone to her voice when she told me she missed having me there and cannot wait until I come back. Apparently, my shift at work has tried to implode since I have been gone. Usually day-shift positions are much-coveted, so there is competition to get them when one opens up. The end result is that all of the therapists with more tenure have those, and the younger staff covers nights. I am the exception-I actually prefer nights, as it enables me to do what I want with school. So while the night-shift crew is wonderful, they are green and immature, making me, at the ripe ol' age of 33, one of the oldest, more senior of the staff.

I have always been a sort of outcast at work. Since much of the night staff is new grads fresh from college, there is a lot of partying. I participate in baby showers and weddings and other celebratory events, but I am not there to meet my new BFF. At the end of my shift or on my days off, I am either in school or home with my family. I am at work to be a respiratory therapist, not to gossip or be catty.

So apparently while I was gone, there has been drama. As in call-the-whole-group-into-HR drama. Coworkers sleeping with other married coworkers. Someone deleted someone else from their Facebook friends. Someone else talked about someone else. And now the whole group is at war. This is the best news ever for me!

Why could this be good news? Well, my FMLA job protection was up May 1st, meaning my boss could choose to either hold my job for me or post it as vacant. I was worried. Very worried. Instead when I called, I discovered that my attitude and performance at work has come to be much appreciated by her. Quite simply, my job isn't going anywhere. I even told her to aim to put me back on the schedule full-time around June 14th or so, that this will give me almost 5 weeks, and she said no. That is too soon, and she will start me back the week of the 27th, to take my time and heal, that she "really needs" me back on nights. Then she must've looked at a calendar, because she said , "Andrea, that's next week! You're gonna have that baby next week! I cannot believe it is here already." Ha! Glad someone thought it was short. She then told me that she would have the infant CPAP ready and waiting to "ward off evil spirits". This may mean nothing to a layperson, but we healthcare people are a superstitious bunch, and when you aren't prepared, that is when something happens. It is the same concept behind us putting the crash cart outside of an ICU room of a patient who has bradycardia or dropping blood pressure.
When you are ready, it doesn't happen.

Of course this does make me a little nervous of the work environment to which I will be returning. The only thing to ease my mind is that I was not there, and have nothing to do with anything. I am Switzerland. Very neutral. But I am still employed. Could life get any better for me right now?

31 Wks, 2 Days: Random Stuff

Saw my doctor yesterday, and all was well with my BP. I finally gained some weight, 1.8 pounds, making my net gain for the pregnancy totalling 12 pounds so far. Not too bad. We discussed my situation, and I left the office reassured that they will not let me go any further than necessary with the pregnancy. His exact words: "You're in pain, and we're concerned that you are in pain, and we are not going to let you suffer any longer than necessary." So the plan is still to wait until 34 weeks, stop everything and do an amniocentesis to test out Z's lung maturity. They cannot plan a c-section that early without a medical indication. I don't think I will last more than 8 hours without the meds before I am contracting. But what they can do is let me start contracting at that point, then do my c-section.

We discussed the end of my FMLA job protection on May 1st. The doctor had the idea that maybe, once I reach 34 weeks, they can let me return for some piddly 4 hour shifts a couple times a week to try and buy me more time. I would be thrilled with this idea, but for the first time ever, I had to make the statement that I don't think I am capable. I am so de-conditioned right now that it isn't even funny. I'm relying on the post-partum period to gain some strength and get my chops back before I start running around the hospital. I hated admitting that to him. I really miss work, and would give my eye teeth right now to return.

So speaking of work: Yesterday was the big Gainsharing disbursement. In lieu of giving huge sign-on bonuses, my hospital has this employee incentive they call Gainsharing. Basically, the hospital keeps tabs on those patient satisfaction surveys, compares them to the national average, and if we meet certain criteria, since it is a private hospital, they determine a portion of the hospital's proceeds and disburse it to employees. The amount you get is based on the number of hours worked for the year. 2080 hours is considered full-time, and thus earns you the top-out, maximum amount. I worked 2,778.4 hours last year. Since I work 36 hours per week, that was the equivalent of 77.178 weeks of work in 52 weeks. Kinda like me squeezing an extra 25 weeks out of the year. So of course I got the full disbursement amount. The check had to be picked up in person, and each department in the hospital has a big to-do over it: catered lunches, mandatory meetings, etc. My boss was going to allow J to pick up mine, considering the circumstances, but I wanted to do it. J dropped me off in front of the door, parked the car, and came and got me in a wheelchair to take me to my department. I got a very warm reception, making me think that the feelings I had of being snubbed were more my perception than reality. I'm sure that, just like anywhere else,there are people in my department who talk about me behind my back, who think this has been a vacation for me or some kind of lame excuse to not work. But for the most part, everyone got it and seemed genuinely concerned. My supervisor's exact words: "just have a healthy baby, recover, and get your butt back here ready to work!" as she hugged me before I left. This gives me hope that they see my value there and will not post my job.

Of course the money could not have come at a better time. I was sort of bummed that I couldn't just go on a binge and spend it like I did last year. Instead, this year, I used it to pay bills. The plus side is that I can now breathe a little easier, and will be until I am back to earning my full salary. I paid a couple of rent payments (through June) and huge advanced payments on electric and phone/ internet/ cable. My car-loan disability insurance came through, so I no longer have to pay that. They actually calculated my post-partum period to end 8 weeks from my scheduled c-section, so I am free from car payments until July 27th. And my bank, since I have been a Good Girl and never been late or short on any payments, actually restructured my other loans (education, personal, overdraft line of credit, etc.) into my car loan, refinancing my car to a payment that is actually lower. So when the insurance pays my car payment, they will be paying toward all of my loans. This frees up my income from my short-term disability pay for simple living expenses like groceries, gas, etc., for the next couple of months, at least. I can breathe again.

We did have a little fun, though. I treated myself to a stack of books that I cannot wait to lose mysef in. And E: that kid has been sitting quietly by, watching every spare dime that comes into the house go toward baby stuff. I'm sure it has been harder on him than he lets on. He is used to getting everything he wants. It is bad enough that my earnings have reduced so drastically, but then to have to watch any little extra go toward another baby? Poor E. And he has been so good about it. So I was going to buy him a new bike. He outgrew one a while back, and got a new one from his Grandma, but he has a little problem: the kid is short! And small. So while his old bike was too small, the next size up was way too big and no matter what adjustments we made, his little feet could not adequately touch the ground. Too dangerous for my taste!So the new bike is still brand new and in the basement right now. It has been for almost 2 years, as we kept stalling on buying him one, thinking he would grow into it. But summer is either coming, or is here, and my kid still doesn't have a bike to ride. We took him to the store to find one that would fit. Of course none did, so I gave him the equivalent in cash to spend how he wanted. I did place some guidelines on him, though. No video games, no dvd's, no computer games. Toys or books only. He made some good choices. As for the bike, I think Iam going to have to wait until later in the summer when I am back to work and take him to a cycling shop and get something customized for him. We then swung by and bought him some summer clothes. This is my favorite time of year for that. Usually I am a kid/ baby clothes snob. My child has been dressed in designer everything from the time he was born. But somewhere around the time he started school, I changed this a little. I think it was the first time he went outside to play in summer in a brand new Ralph Lauren outfit, and chose to roll in mud, and the outfit ended up in the garbage, as it was too ruined to even donate to charity. So in summer, we buy cheap clothes. And I have found that if you are choosey, you can find clothes at the discount stores for dirt-cheap prices that look like designer labels. So for once I can get him an entire summer wardrobe for a couple hundred bucks instead of the thousands I spend during the school year. Bonus for mom! And on the way home, E says this: "Thanks, Mama, for the ...." And rattles off a list of every litte tiny item I bought him, all the way down to the candy he got in the checkout lane. Arrrgh! I love the kid so much it hurts!

Decisions, Part I: Letting Go of a Dream?

By now, it's pretty much common knowledge that E was to be an only child. Zachary, while an amazing blessing to our family, was an accident. Not a mistake, but definitely not on purpose. To say he is a mistake would imply that I regret becoming pregnant, and I do not. It just took us by surprise is all. After 8 years of no family planning at all, we just assumed one of us was infertile. We were never diagnosed, and never really gave conception a real effort. But when it just never happened, combined with the memories of the trouble I had with E's pregnancy, we assumed it couldn't, and gave up. Somewhere around my late 20's, we just faced the fact that this is it: this is our family. And moved on.

Then I turned up pregnant. And from then on, we realized, okay, we really are still fertile, so maybe we need to make it so we aren't. 8 years from now, when I am in my early 40's as opposed to my early 30's, I don't want to do this again. So from my first OB appoitment, we have discussed permanent family planning options. We still haven't decided which option is best, just that we are most definitely going to pursue one of them.

Or so I thought...

Last night, J and I were watching tv together, alternating with watching Zachary move around in my belly. I can picture him in there, playing around, and J makes the statement that it is the cutest thing he has seen in a long time. Then he uttered the dreaded sentence:

"You're going to want another one."

Six months ago, I would've killed him for less. But lately, I've been having these thoughts in the back of my mind somewhere, and was actually going to write about it, but needed time to sort through my feelings first. What if he's right?

My upset over becoming pregnant was mainly rooted in fear. When I became pregnant with E, we were dumb newleyweds. Literally. I was a college dropout. J worked at a factory and I was working some dumb dead-end job I hated. And when the pregnancy complications surfaced, we were taken under. But we really didn't have much to lose. This time was different. I had established a career that I love. Our financial picture is completely different. And I bit the bullet and went back to school. I have wanted to be a doctor since I was a kid. Somewhere around my freshman year of high school, Mom got sick and my family was not as well-off financially, and Mom talked me out of it. She told me medical school was for the wealthy, and we were not wealthy anymore. But when I entered the world of healthcare when I went back to school as a non-traditional student, it became obvious to me that it was still what I wanted to do. And when I managed to maintain a 4.0 GPA, even when taking 24 credit hours per semester to get finished quicker, it became obvious that I still had the ability.

It's been difficult. First of all, it took me 3 years of working as an RT to finally go back. I've never failed at anything I have ever really tried. And getting into medical school is difficult for the 20-somethig kid fresh from college. But I am a grown woman with a family and career, making it doubly hard. Can I do it? Yeah, most likely. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, and while I may not be beautiful, academia is my world. I excel there. I have not taken a single college course in my days as a student that has ever been a true challenge. That seems really arrogant, and I realize that, but it is true. But do I still want to?

In order to finish pre-med, I was working anywhere between 60 and 70 hours per week, and would limit myself to 18 credit hours at school. Age was not on my side, and I felt rushed to get finished to be able to make my applications to med schools. I would literally go days without sleep. My routine was like this: 12 hours of work, go to class in scrubs all day, then go home and shower/change and go back to work for 12 more hours. I ate my meals in the hospital cafeteria before my shifts would start. I would nap in the car in-transit, as J would drive me and drop me off everywhere so I could do this. My backpack was always with me, because whenever any free time would come up, I would have to study: at work, waiting on an appointment, in line at the bank, wherever. About every 3rd day of this, I would collapse in exhaustion and have to sleep. My professors would always know what I was doing, so if I had to skip a class to sleep after having been up for 72 hours, they would understand. And my grades were always immaculate, so they couldn't argue, so long as a didn't miss labs or exams. This was what I was doing when I got pregnant.

But long before the 2 pink lines showed up, I was starting to have misgivings. I missed my son. And the seed was planted: what would happen if I didn't do this? What if I just kept my current career and spent my off-time raising my little family? Would I be able to live with that? Would I be happy? Because the truth is, if this is hard, when I get to medical school, it will be a lot worse. And residency. By the time I finished, E would have been 13 years old.

But now there is to be another son. More missed time with another child. And the prospect of becoming a doctor is going to be even more difficult. An lately I have been thinking that maybe it isn't what I want to do anymore. That scares me. It may not seem scary to anyone but me, but when you have dreamed of something your entire life, it is a frightening thought to suddenly change courses. To give it up would not mean I would give up on higher education as a whole. I love my current career, but I don't want to be stagnant in it. The next logical step to advance it would be a business degree, so I could go into upper management. Of course I would follow that with an MBA. My academic prowess would ensure I would do well in that also. It makes sense to me. That way, when I am older and tired of the physical demands of grunt work in my field, of the demands of 12 hour shifts and running to codes, I can change roles.

So now, the choice to make Zachary the last one isn't so obvious anymore. We know now that we can expect all of my pregnancies to go this way. There is no way the endeavor to become a physician could withstand this again. But if I take the other route, maybe we could down the line a few more years.

I need to sleep on it....

30 Wks, 3 Days: I've Been a Bad Girl, But I Have Excuses

For someone who is on bedrest, I have been horrible this week. I have done entirely too much, but with good reason.

First was the fiasco to cash my check on Monday, and we all know how that went.

On Tuesday, I get it in my head that I am going to go to the store and purchase the remainder of the baby items we need. I shouldn't have, but I figure I can use the little scooter. I got in the car, with J driving, and off we went. But I didn't feel well from the start. I had eaten a salad and a slice of pizza for lunch that sat on my stomach like a ton of bricks. But a friend who has just had a baby got tons of duplicates at her shower, and informed me that she had taken some of the never-used items to a consignment shop, and I was trying to get there and snatch them up. I'm hesitant to buy anything used, but these were brand new. We go to the store and of course her items are already gone. But then I think that maybe she meant another store, so we try to head there. Ha. About halfway there, I am too sick to continue, and we turn around and head home empty-handed.

And Wednesday? Wednesday was just a mess. J has not been feeling well for a while now. Nothing specific, just feeling blah. Looking back, I feel bad because I assumed that he was pulling a fast one to get out of cleaning while I am unable. But then I noticed that he was short of breath when coming up the stairs from doing laundry. This is my Marine husband--the one who used to run 5 miles twice a day for fun! Yes, he has allowed himself to get out of shape, but really? Up one flight of stairs? This is when I kick into Respiratory Therapist Mode. I listen to his lungs, thinking maybe the years he spent as a smoker have finally caught up with him, even though he quit some time ago....No wheezes, though that is the most action my top-of-the-line stethoscope has seen in months. So if it isn't his lungs, it has to be cardiac, and then I get really worried. He calls to make an appointment, and tells the receptionist he wants to be seen right away, but they are booked, so she is going to have to call back. Instead a nurse calls us back and talks to me, as J is asleep, taking one of the naps he can't seem to function without these days. I tell her what I am worried about, and she agrees with me on the course of action, and sends him for labs yesterday morning, first thing, then schedules an appointment for yesterday afternoon. I wasn't going to go with him for either, but instead gave him a pep talk about being sure to tell the doctor everything he is feeling instead of assuming the symptoms are all unrelated. At this point, I don't care what she orders as a result, as we have good insurance. Very good. But then, about 3 hours after he has his fasting labs drawn, one of the other doctors in the practice calls to inform us of his lab values and to make sure he is being seen pronto!

Of course by this time there is no question: I am going with him to the doctor. It turns out J is very, very, very diabetic. Normal fasting blood sugar should be 80 to 100, and J's is 368. What's more is he is also hypertensive. So we meet with the doctor, who is one of the third-year residents I work with. I love seeing the residents for uncomplicated stuff--they know me professionally, as we have spent years together in the trenches, working codes together in the middle of the night. They know that I know how to do my job well, and so they listen to me. The one J sees in particular. She does everything for my husband that I would have wanted. We know J can probably fix a great deal of this by losing the weight he has gained, but he is too far gone to wait, and she puts him on meds to control it while he is working on the weight loss. J tells her about the dyspnea on exertion, but when I tell her I noticed it, she gets concerned. She brings a nurse in to do the bedside pulmonary function test, and we all get a laugh when the doctor tells her to be sure to do a good job, as the patient's wife is a "pulmonary guru". J has a hard time doing the test as both the nurse and I bark instructions at him, as he is laughing too much. But it turns out his lungs are perfect, which I already knew. So I mention something about his blood pressure and the doctor raises her eyebrows as she is typing away on her computer. She asks what it was, we tell her, and she tells me to take it again for her, as the nurse has already left the room to print his PFT results. I do, and it is still high, so we add a script for an anti-hypertensive to the list, along with the glucometer, testing supplies, and diabetes medication. She also refers us to a diabetes educator, which I love. I was going to take it upon myself to schedule us a meeting with a dietician, but she says this will be better, serving to educate J about diabetes as well as any diet restrictions. And when I pointed to my burgeoning belly and told her I am a time bomb, she devised a plan to see J weekly to get this under conrol before Zachary makes his entrance into the world. Perfect!

So today, we have to go to the pharmacy and schedule the diabetes education. I need to go to both. As a medical professional, everyone in the family relies on me to keep abreast of all of the medical issues, to make informed decisions. I feel like I have to be there for J.

On a side note, I'm glad I went with J to the appointment. I have been feeling down about the work situation, knowing that I run out of FMLA job protection here in a few weeks,and knowing that my employer can post my job if desired. The doctor and I were talking about some of the newer RT's in the department, and she said that she had written one up who was "bitchy". Later, I guess she was telling some of the other residents about it, and they asked if it was me. Instead of being offended, I laughed. Because, yes, I can be bitchy. Residents may be doctors, but by all rights, they are also students. In order to get my credentials, I studied nothing but lungs and heart for years. So when I am working with them, and I think they are messing up in any way, I speak up. I can become a pitbull in an instant for one of my patients, especially in a critical situation. Well, she confirmed this for me. She said she told them that "Andrea is a good type of bitchy". That I'm funny, and if I am truly "bitching", they need to listen because I know what I'm talking about. I started to have images in my head of spending downtime with the residents, teaching them how I interpret blood gases or explaining the different modes of mechanical vntilation and why method A would be better for a particular patient than method B. And I realized that, in the event I find myself looking for another job at the end of this ordeal, I have a team of professionals from which to draw references. That there is an entire group of people in the hospital who trust me over the others. That I have done what I set out to do: gain professional respect. It's a really great feeling to have at a time when my professional life hangs in the balance.

27 wks, 5 Days: The Catch-22

I found some disturbing info out yesterday: I only have 4.8 weeks of FMLA job protection left. Does this mean I am fired at that point? Not necessarily. It is then at the discretion of my supervisors to either hold my job or post it as available. The good news is that by then, I will be beyond 30 weeks along, and will probably deliver soon thereafter. Unless they find another RT who wants my job from within the hospital, they will have to interview, hire, and orient someone new. For a new hire, that is about an 8-week process at best. By that point, I will be recovering from delivery and would be back sooner than they could do that. But that is only if there isn't a cowoker who wants to snag my position...

My big worry is my health coverage. After 4.8 weeks, my short-term disability pay ends. If my job is no longer, so is my health coverage. Which means that I will have to pay for a c-section without the benefit of health coverage. My only hope is that our premiums are paid a month in advance an I will have about 4 weeks or so left of coverage after the last premium is paid. If that is the case, my delivery will be covered.

So now I feel like I am in a bind: do I demand that the doctor deliver this baby early so I know it is paid and I can get back to work sooner to preserve my job? Do I just let it ride and hope it all works out for the best? Or do I go into the office on Monday with guns blazin' and demand that I be allowed to return to work? My boss did agree to accomodate a reduced work schedule. I can get a scooter from work to eliminate the running all over the hospital. That is a big deal right there. As it is right now, I am allowd to get up and cook for myself, shower, go to the bathroom. I see no difference betwen that and riding to a patient's room and giving them a treatment. Except for the whole job-preservation thing. And the whole paycheck and insurance thing. And if I make it even easier by only working 8-hr. nights? The 8 hours in the middle of the night are the slowest. It can get busy, but it is less likely. Taking the 4 hours off the top of my shift is taking the busiest part away, and while it wouldn't seem so to someone who has never worked in healthcare, shortening from a 12-hour shift to an 8-hour shift is a big difference.

This seems like the most favorable option. It will help with our finances right now. It will preserve my health coverage, and buy some more time so I can use the remainder of my leave for after the baby comes, when I am recovering from a c-section.

But will my doctors go for it?

24 wks, 1 day/ 2 days: Unrelenting

So on this day, I go back to work, and am assigned an ICU at the hospital. This has to be the favorite part of my job, as I get to really use my brain, to an extent. And this is the first time since all of these complications have started that I have had such an assignment. But an ICU assignment can either be easy or hard, and there is no way to tell from one day to the next which it is going to be. This one started easy. It didn't finish that way. I started with 3 ventilator patients and ended my shift with 9. The night was full of patient transports and receiving full arrests from other facilities and other areas of the hospital. I really gave the brethine pump a run for it's money. By about 4 AM, my belly felt so tight I could barely stand it. I couldn't feel any distinct contractions, just tightness and pain. So one of OB RN friends runs into me in the hall, and tells me how crappy I look. Somehow, I ended up on a monitor just to see, and was contracting every 3 minutes. Gah!

The contractions weren't the biggest issue though. My phone started ringing off the hook. This patient had blood coming out of his endotracheal tube. Another patient needed to go for a stat head CT. And they were relying on me. I could have put my foot down and called one of my coworkers to do it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. After all, my problems are not their problems. I am so tired of feeling like a nuisance, like a non-contributory party. And no one has said anything to me to make me feel this way. I do on my own. I am so used to being independent that have a hard time asking for help that is not offered. Yeah, I talk a good game. I know that the baby comes first and all, but I cannot just suck it up when push comes to shove. In the end, it made for a very exhausting night at work, both physically and emotionally.

The night did have a slight silver lining, however, when I returned home contracting every 3 minutes. Through the home monitor and the brethine pump, and several phone calls between myself and a home health nurse, I was able to get everything stopped without having to go back to the hospital. She would have me run a strip, then call and have me give myself a bolus, then repeat. We did this until the contractions were completely stopped! Sweet!