Tuesday, January 23rd started off like any other morning. I was 29 weeks, 4 days pregnant. Zoe was a mover. I swear the only time she was still was from five to seven each morning. I went to work, ate a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup for lunch and then got some things ready to be sent out to some clients. It was an uneventful work day.
I walked into the mail room to put something in the overnight bin and I felt it. I was totally confused at first thinking that I was peeing my pants. Zoe was known to love sitting on, dancing on and kicking my bladder. Sometimes all three at the same time. It made making it to the restroom sometimes difficult. I had just gone to the bathroom. There was no way I had a little bladder kick.
Then the panic set in. Was this my water breaking? From what I'd read, it certainly could be. I had another two and a half months until she was due and at least another one and a half months until she could come early. I ran to the bathroom, totally afraid.
It wasn't my water breaking either. It was blood. Too much blood.
I went back to my desk and called my doctor. She assured me that a little "spotting" was normal. I told her that "I think it's a little more than that." My boss was in a meeting, so I told my co-worker that something was wrong with the baby and I had to go to the doctor. For the first time I realized having a doctor close to work wouldn't just save me some vacation time.
I waited in the waiting room for what seemed like hours. I saw happy couples, much farther along than me go in and out. All the while I was sitting there, listening to my heart, praying to God that everything was okay. I knew they were squeezing me in, so I would have to wait. I just didn't realize the waiting would feel like eternity. Their definition of normal and my understanding of what was happening were different. I didn't want to appear over-reacting, but I knew something was grossly wrong.
When I got called back, my fears were confirmed. This wasn't normal, it wasn't "a little spotting" and they needed to check the placenta to make sure nothing had detached. I had read enough to know a detached placenta could mean death for my daughter.
Fortunately the ultrasound showed nothing out of the ordinary. My daughter was kicking and moving just like normal. Her heartbeat was a strong 160 beats per minute. Everything was normal.
Until they checked me. I was dilated to two centimeters. Complete shock came over me. How could I be contracting and NOT know it? I hadn't even had those Braxton-Hicks things they talk about. I would surely know I was contracting. Wouldn't I?
Apparently not. Zoe was a mover. She moved ALL.THE.TIME. Apparently some of those sommersaults that I thought were going to come out of my stomach were in fact contractions. Who knew!
Because I was contracting, I got to spend the first of many nights in the hospital to be monitored. They put me on medication round the clock to stop the contractions and monitored me. N came up and spent a couple hours with me, but headed home to get some sleep for work the next day. I spent the night listening to Zoe's heartbeat on the monitor and praying that God would keep her in me a little longer.
I didn't really know what any of this meant, but I did know one thing, life as we knew it would be coming to an end.
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