The Pre-Term Labor Movement

28 weeks and 1 day

10:00 am - Arrive at ultrasound to see if baby is still measuring 11 days behind.

10:15 am - Baby is getting back on track at 7 days behind. This is good.
My cervix, however, is 4mm thick when it's supposed to be 4cm. This is bad.

10:45 am - I'm admitted to the Labor and Delivery ICU to see if I'm having contractions. I am.

11:00 am - Cervical exam #1: I'm not yet dilated. This is (relatively) good.

11:30 am - 3 IV bags in my veins and 2 fetal monitors on my belly attempt to stop the contractions. They aren't working.

12:00 pm - I get my first steroid shot to develop the baby's lungs because I might deliver at any moment. It hurts a lot.

10:00 pm - Cervical exam #2: I'm dilated to 1cm. They up my magnesium sulfate to 2.5 grams per hour. I spend the rest of the night throwing up.

12:00 am - I get a second steroid shot. It hurts a lot, too, but I don't give a shit any more.

28 weeks and 2 days

I lay in the hospital bed, I sweat, I throw up, I pee in a bedpan, and I try not to pass out.
That's all.
Nothing else.

28 weeks and 4 days

Bed rest continues with no foreseeable end. I'm now off the mag and on progesterone and nifedipine. With those drugs, they think it's under control. They think that my current pattern of contractions won't further compromise my cervix. They think I might stay at 1cm till at least the end of the month or 30 weeks gestation.

I've entered a world where delivering a baby 10 weeks early is considered a major success. I don't like this world.

29 weeks and 6 days

They insert a pessary into my vagina, which is a plastic device propped against my cervix that may delay early labor. Next to the speculum, it's the least fun device that's ever been in there.

But I don't really think much about it because instead I'm distracted by the news that I have gestational diabetes because of course I do.

30 weeks

I've reached 30 weeks, and I'm still pregnant. They're sending me home on Saturday, but if I have any contractions, then I need to get to the hospital quickly. The only problems with this plan are (1) I still don't know what a contraction feels like, and (2) I don't live close enough to get to the hospital quickly.

Otherwise it's a great plan.

Water Works: A Retrospective

For the past 2 weeks, this hospital bed has been my bubble bath of self-pity: a chorus of sadness suds popping at my ears and harmonizing in the key of poor me - a soundtrack that shuffles and repeats until long after my fingers are pruned by my tears.

I feel like saying this isn't fair, but then I don't believe in fairness. I want to cry that I don't deserve this, but there's no such thing as deserts. Yes, there's fear, but that's different from wallowing in self-pity, especially when the self in question is privileged, is healthy, and has insurance for those times when the body gives out.

The me-of-a-year-ago wouldn't feel sorry for the me of today. The me-of-a-year-ago would say, "You know what? You should consider shutting up a little because you're fine. You're still pregnant, you'll probably keep being pregnant, and even if you stop being pregnant and deliver pre-term, your baby will get the care she needs to make it just fine.

"Be grateful," I'd say to me. "Quit crying, be thankful that you got pregnant in the first place, and remember that things could always be worse."

I'm not sure if the me-of-a-year-ago is an asshole or not, but I'm fairly certain that the me-of-today could use something of an ass-kicking -- but perhaps a gentle kick, because I really want the me-of-5-weeks-from-now to still be pregnant.

Psychopathic Naturopathic Medicine

(Three posts in three days, I know. Shit's getting real.)

I've started seeing naturopaths. That's naturopaths plural. Meaning three of them.

My main naturopath says that the reason I can't carry a pregnancy is threefold: lack of circulation, elevated toxicity, and increased inflammation. To ameliorate those things, I am two weeks into abiding by the following protocol.

1. Acupuncture. For full-body circulation and not just infertility. (Once a week.)
2. Homeopathic Unda Numbered Compounds. If you're thinking "what the fuck," then we're on the same page. I'm not sure, but they seem to be magic medicine that's taken in a magical way. All I know for sure is that they taste like booze, which is the only good thing about them. That, and I like saying "unda." (Fifteen drops three time day, an hour away from food.)
3. Pregnancy Prep Enzyme Pills. I actually used to take these a few years ago because the cross-eyed chick with the tattoos at my health food store recommended them. They didn't work. (Two pills twice a day away from food.)
4. Curcumin Pills. I know what you're thinking. "Cumin," right? Well, you're wrong because they're made of turmeric. I'm taking them because turmeric apparently decreases inflammation. Doesn't seem to be working for folks in the Middle East, but what do I know? (Two pills twice a day away from food.)
5. Abdominal Castor Oil Heat Packs. I used to do this, actually. Not on myself, because it's disgusting, but back when I was a massage therapist, I would use them on clients. You put a gross amount of castor oil on your stomach, place a disposable cloth on top, and apply a heat pack wrapped in plastic on the belly. It draws out icky stuff and makes nice poops. (Daily for 20 minutes.)
6. Mayan Abdominal Massage. This is exactly what it sounds like: a Mayan Shaman created a massage that makes people pregnant. If you stopped reading after "Shaman," then you'll never know how badly I want to be your best friend. (Once or twice a month by the therapist. Daily on myself for 10 minutes.)
7. The Anti-Inflammatory Diet. This means:
   No gluten
   No soy
   No dairy
   No nightshades
   No sugar or sweeteners
   No caffeine
   No alcohol
   (Forever, or until I kill myself.)

Of these seven dos and don'ts, it's the diet that's most impacting because it means I can't eat out, and this is a HUGE problem because restaurants are my hobby, my sport, and my most favorite thing that N and I do together. And if you're about to say that I can find a way around it, then you haven't thought it through.

Think I can get away with Mexican food if I order rice, beans, and corn chips with guacamole? Not if the rice is cooked with tomato, the beans have chili powder, and the guac has sour cream. Perhaps some sushi? Sure, as long as I stick to sashimi and plain white rice, since I can't have soy sauce, miso soup, or sushi rice (which is seasoned with sugar). Or maybe some breakfast? It's easy to modify a cheese omelet with a side of potatoes, toast, and coffee with cream, because all I have to do is order plain eggs. Problem solved.

Truth be told, at 2 weeks in, I'm starting to get used to it. Or, at least I've stopped crying about it (yes, literally). And I do feel better after I eat, so I suppose something's working. I am not happy about it, though.

But I mentioned that I'm seeing three naturopaths, so here's the scoop on that: the first doctor is the one overseeing my whole treatment, giving me my herbal meds, and doing my acupuncture. The second naturopath is the one doing the Mayan abdominal massage. And the third naturopath warrants some storytelling.

The third naturopath likes every bit of this protocol, but she feels it's not quite as insane as it could be, so I need to add three more things:

1. Pregnancy Tea. Your basic raspberry leaf concoction. (Two or more cups a day.)
2. Utrophin PMG. The main ingredient in these pills is bovine uterus, which means that they're pills made from a bovine's uterus, which means that I'm taking bovine uterus pills that are made from a bovine's uterus. (Two pills twice a day with food even though the thought of consuming bovine uterus makes me want to vomit.)
3. Pelvic Floor Massage. How is a pelvic floor massage different from Mayan Abdominal Massage? Well, only one involves getting massaged inside my vagina. (Once a month.)

Allow me to elaborate on this last point, if you will. While others before me have paid good money to have their pussies rubbed, I never imagined that one of those people would be me. However, a friend of mine had it done after 2 years of trying to conceive on her own, and the month after her first treatment, she got pregnant. I don't think this will happen to me, but it also seems worth trying. Besides, it's something to blog about.

So, in conjunction with the adjustments that my doctor recommended, this is the Kitchen Sink Cycle. Although truth be told, it will probably more commonly be referred to as the Final Cycle, because it's official: after this, I'm done. And while I'm scared about what this might mean, it feels good to have made the decision. Infertility has taken up too much of my life and my body, and -- although I will continue to try and manifest a kid or two by other means -- I need to take my body out of the equation. Enough is enough.

In the meantime, I'm going to do everything the naturopaths tell me to do and hope that the pelvic floor massage will get me my happy ending.

Second Helpings

I've switched doctors at my clinic. I loved Dr. M, and I miss him terribly, but he seemed to be out of ideas, and I wanted a fresh set of eyes on my chart.

So, Dr. H and I sat down to discuss a March transfer, which would normally mean that I wouldn't be taking any pills right now, but he actually wants me on daily doses of:

1. Baby Aspirin for increased blood flow,
2. Vitamin D because normal Vitamin D levels are above 50, and mine is 12, and
3. Prenatal Vitamins with DHA for increased folic acid and increased whatever DHA is.

The big change, though, is that there will be a couple of shifts to my medication protocol in February. He's going to add:

1. Estrace, which is estrogen to strengthen my uterine lining, and
2. Viagra, which is either to thicken my lining, increase my blood flow, and/or make me grow a big, hard cock.

There's more going on, too. Just you wait.