I’ve really been torn about blogging my week. I feel like most of my blogging lately has been negative or depressing and surely anything I write this week will be more of the same. Yesterday’s events, I’ve concluded, are blog-worthy inasmuch that they marked many firsts for me.
I sat in a chair at the administrative desk in the middle of the ER, waiting for my room, 2B, to be cleaned. Life was bustling around, and I didn’t know where Paul and Little Red were, as I hadn’t been able to speak with them since they dropped me off and went to park. Pregnant women don’t wait around in the waiting room. My nurse told me the room would just take a minute, and asked if, while we waited, I could give her a urine sample.
I lost it.
Consumed in tears I told her there was no liquid in my body. How could I possible give her a sample of nothing? Of course there was liquid in my body — my eyes had made a liar out of me. My body had completely let me down; while most of me was desperate for liquid my stomach rejected any form and yet my eyes had kept their secret stash, away from the rest of my body, to prove me wrong when I said I was dry, and to punctuate my emotions.
A Torture Table Would Have Been More Comfortable
Before Little Red’s illustrious trips to the ER I had never been past the waiting room. Before yesterday I had never been for myself. When there for someone else I was able to ignore the lack of comfort in such a utilitarian place. When there for me, sleep-deprived, sick, and dehydrated, I noticed it all. The angle of the bed was all wrong. The built-in pillow was barbaric. If I rolled to my right or moved my arm in a certain way I’d stop receiving the life-giving fluids from my IV. If I rolled to the left what would it to do my blood-pressure monitor and would it send people running? If I just stayed still everything would work as it should, but I would not sleep. I finally gained the lucidity to ask for a pillow, which helped mildly, and gave up being so concerned about all the wires and machines to which I was connected. Did I get tangled? Most certainly. Did I interfere with the proper working of the wires? After three hours I still had not drained the second bag of fluids.
The Vicious Cycle
I’m not sure what set me off in the middle of the night. It could have just been the hormones. It could have been a wiff of something, after all, the cat peed on our door again and we combated it with some heavy chemicals. Either smell could have put me over the edge. It could have been something I ate, although the boys don’t seem to be sick. It could have been viral. Once we got home I was looking for the phone number of the Tuesday babysitter to tell her I wouldn’t need her while we played back the messages to find out that she and her baby had also been sick all morning.
Whatever started it we’ll never know. In the end, when each episode happened with fascist precision every half hour, it was purely because I was dehydrated. Apparently it takes that long for the stomach acids, once eliminated, to replenish the stomach. And by the way, did you know they are green?
The Wrong Solution
On Monday I was lamenting that I was gaining weight at a much higher rate with this pregnancy than I had with Little Red. Somehow, bulimia was not exactly the solution that came to mind!