Monday, February 28, 2011

I Caught a Case of the Crazies!

I am a total wreck today--and let me just specify--I don't feel like any ordinary, fender-bender collision, but more like a commercial jet plane catastrophe.  Imagine a pregnant woman, in solitary confinement, two night's sleep deprived, completely dependent on everyone else for her physical and emotional survival.  Today, I am envious of those women.

Now imagine Yours Truly--this is my third attempt at being released on probation and I am anxiously still awaiting my doctor's interpretation of my test results from this morning.  I am simultaneously crashing, hallucinating, and twitching from all of the sugar I have ingested since 6 am this morning (my 5 month glucose tolerance test does not hold a flame to the present situation at hand).  If you still can't conjure my Night of the Living Dead reference, add the following components: crazy sugar high bed rest preggers on steroids+possibly false illusion of hope+anxiety ridden with intermittent hot flashes from pg hormones+staring at the same four walls for three weeks.  The outcome equals a not-so-pretty picture.  

Everything is making me cry today: I sobbed when I didn't receive the nurse I requested and started a mini-revolt with the nursing staff; tears erupted when I did not receive my whole wheat French toast as requested, and after I received a less-than perfect score on my ultrasound, the crazies were finally unleashed (how did I not receive a grade A?)  After I cried on the phone to my mom, she consolingly suggested that I request to the nurse (who by then decided to ignore my calls) a soothing cup of chamomile tea.  Chamomile tea was not gonna cut it...

So, I am armed, ready, and dangerous to confront Doctor Conservative that at 33.3 weeks, it is totally normal for a baby to fail the four-minute breathing section of the test.  However, like always, his professional rationale will ultimately conquer my feeble, twenty-minute Google attempt.  I am trying to anticipate his daily visit, in which he will tell me yet again to hang in there, pat my feet, and bid adieu until tomorrow.  As I try and try to imagine this scenario over a celebratory I-get-to-go-home-victory-bed dance, I know that there is nothing that I can do to prepare myself for the inevitable tears once again.  

My only hope is that this time around, the nurses won't transfer me to a padded room, revoke my good patient privileges, and I will eventually find a cure for the crazies....

1 comment:

  1. I AM GOING HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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