Said boring writing will now be converted into three blog posts. I'll put them up in a series right now. Here is what you can expect from each part, in case you don't want to wade through the whole slog of rambles. Note, for those interested in what actually happened, medically speaking, you'll probably want to head over to Part 3. That part will also contain at least one joke about Jose Canseco and butts! Tempting! I know.
In the Waiting Line, Series Contents:
Part 1: Musings -- Just rambly nonsense that tumbled out of my head in those long boring hours of hospital day one, when I had nothing to do but look out the window and at the tracing paper mountains. Boooooring.
Part 2: Fucking Pregnancy -- Ranty complaining about everything that is terrible about pregnancy, other pregnant women, and other parents in general. (Jesus, some of you people are insufferable.) But don't worry, I talk a little bit about the nice things, too. Pregnancy is a complicated beast. Don't let anyone tell you different.
Part 3: Jose Canseco's Butt -- Or how I ended up in the hospital, what happened, and all the medical stuff. Spoiler alert: I'm totally fine! Don't worry. (Or rather, don't celebrate, ENEMIES.)
HERE WE GO. PART 1: MUSINGS. (Probably the worst, most useless part of this whole rubbishy series.)
I am "TPTL" or Threatening Preterm Labour. All it really means is that there have been some signs that I might go into labour soon. OR ... maybe not. The signs could also mean nothing and I might hold out for another 8 weeks like I'm supposed to. (Cross your fingers for at least two. Two more weeks would be AMAZING, statistics-wise.) I am currently 32 weeks, which isn't so bad. If it did happen, say, tomorrow, my baby would be a premie, and would head over to the NICU, but it would likely be completely fine in the long run, so all in all, no matter what, I am good shape. I'm just in the hospital. And I'm bored. out. of. my. mind. So read on if you want to know the sort of things I think about when I'm bored.
What was I saying? Oh yeah. I have a nice view. That's a good thing. I'm in a semi-private room, with no one in the other bed (sweet!), and the other bed has no view at all. If a lady does end up parked there, all she'll have to look at is her ugly* husband and a bland green wall. (*Or maybe her handsome husband! Or her non-husband baby daddy. Or her same-sex partner. Or her poly family. Or her second-best friend. Or Oprah. I have no idea. Ugly husband just seemed like the most likely scenario, but I admit, I don't know her life.)
Lost my train of thought again. SIGH. Hospital brain.
YEAH. So. I have a view. It is kind of a strange view. The windows have dots all over them, I guess to filter the light. And the venetian blinds are between two panes of glass, so you can't really open them all the way, which is annoying, but the windows themselves are big and that's nice. So what's strange about it? It's just really unfamiliar, this view. Here I am, fifteen stories up, getting a perspective on the city that feels completely alien. I can't make out any major landmarks. It's all just rooftops and treetops and towering incineration stacks that you'd think would be memorable, but aren't. There's a 'Where am I?' aspect to everything here that feels strange.
All is both known and unknown.
I swear, I could be almost anywhere. Cincinnati. Detroit. New York. Vancouver. Chicago. Even Paris. Even London. Even Mumbai. I've been to all those places, and as long as you're not parked above or adjacent to a well-known, movie-famous skyline, this is what those cities look like, too. Maybe this is what every city looks like.
There are other things things to consider. The light, for one. I only managed a couple hours of sleep last night, so I was up for the sunrise.* (*Parents who are now wanting to comment with some sort of "Oh ho ho! You'll see! This will be your WHOLE LIFE NOW." please desist, and read part two. I want to tell you how annoying you are.)
I've always liked the dawn of the day. (And I suffer from periodic insomnia, so I do see it on occasion.) Nonetheless, I associate it more with special occasions. First light means a vacation departure. First day of school. A sporting event. The relief that comes after an unpleasant illness of the night. So every dawn I see feels like a little trip into the past.
This morning called to mind September, 1998, my first day at Queen's. It brought the same light that I remember hitting the interstate in Wyoming, June of 2007. The buildings opposite were reflecting the EXACT blazing amber that filled my elementary school windows, track and field trials, May of 1989.
For me, every dawn is less itself than it is these other things. And maybe next time, it will be something else as well. It will be this view from the hospital, the day I thought I might have my baby, but didn't. One more memory in the pile.
I know I'm being silly. All I really mean is that you're here at the hospital, and you've gone some place else. Its smells are the smells of Away-From-Home. I am in such good shape, I am actually enjoying it. I like the weird food (even though it's bad). I like the slightly rough linens and towels. They're so dry and crisp, trailing the vague scent of institutional detergent. Everything's so damn clean and I didn't have to wash any of it myself! Maybe that's pathetic, but I kind of love that feeling. It's a hotel feeling. Not unlike being on holiday.
I know this is a privilege. Feeling good, being 32 weeks, and not being too worried puts me way ahead of so many of the other women who are currently admitted here. In triage, while I was waiting for my test results and to see if I would be admitted, three different women cycled through the adjacent space -- one who vomited at least 15 times, another who moaned pitifully through every contraction (of which there were many), and a third who was clearly in so much pain, the only sounds she could make were exactly like those terrifying rattley rasps you hear from zombies on The Walking Dead.
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I AM NOT EXAGGERATING. SHE SOUNDED EXACTLY LIKE THIS. I'd have laughed if I hadn't felt so sorry for her. Nathan was unconsciously bugging out as she paced the halls by our cubby. He looked like he thought she was going to burst through the curtain and eat his entrails or something. Haha. Poor Nathan. Poor HER. I know I am lucky in that I clearly felt great in comparison.
So signing off for now. Stay tuned for part two.