If only all problems could be solved by whining about them on a blog. Wouldn’t the world be a much lovelier place? I mean, sure, the blogosphere would be a little gloomier for it, but me and my Eeyore self wouldn’t really mind. Who wants to read about others’ happiness anyways?
Well, shit. Yea. If you don’t want to read happy you might want to stop here…
Less than 24 hours after my last post the mister and I piled into the car for another sleepy, early morning trek to the perinatal center. (Well, another for me, a first for him. Thanks to the number of appointments I have, the distance they are from our house, and the state of medical/family leave in this grand country of ours the mister has never been able to come with me to the MFM. Yesterday he said “screw it” and took some of the precious, precious vacation time he’d been saving for post-baby to come along to my appointment.)
The drive to the perinatal center takes about the same amount of time as the drive to the RE did (an hour, give or take), of which the initial half hour is the exact same drive. I know the drive well. Every bump, turn, hamlet (yes, in New York we have hamlets), and village. I like the drive to the MFM better, though, because the last 10 minutes is interstate highway, as opposed to the sleepy country roads that comprise the rest of the drive there and the entire drive to the RE. There’s something about flying down the highway, if even for a few exits, that makes you feel like you’re making better progress than you would be were you on a country road. For that last ten minutes I open the windows, inhale the big-rig fumes, and celebrate being almost there.
Yesterday, amidst said celebration, with the city skyline just popping into view, I let out a simple, “Woah!” The mister looked at me puzzled and I explained, “Holy crap, now THAT was one heck of a kick! It felt like my abdomen was exploding from all directions at once!” We chuckled, I took a few deep breaths, and, one hand still planted firmly on the wheel, I felt around the upper right side of my abdomen where the little man’s been parking his head as of late. A quick inspection confirmed a round, hard mass still lodged in it’s usual location. As I thanked him for reminding me he’s still there, I accepted the fact that, of course, he was still breech. The head was still where it always was. Tucked under my ribs, using the placenta as a pillow.
Less than 30 minutes later – post-weigh-in, post-BP, post-pee-in-cup – the NST room nurse did my usual fluid check ultrasound. She put the wand to his “head,” but there was no head – just a nice, plump bottom. We looked at each other in disbelief. She zipped the transducer down, down, down, and, sure enough, there he was. Head. Down. I looked at the mister and said in my crankiest voice, “So, are you telling me, all I had to do this entire time was bring you along and he’d flip?” We laughed, and a smile went across my face that I’ve been unable to remove ever since.
The c-section remains scheduled so that I won’t lose my surgical slot if he flips back around, but other than that, we’re cleared for a vaginal delivery with induction sometime in the 39th week. It’s crazy how much one little flip has impacted my psyche. I’m not going to get arrogant and assume that things will go remotely as planned. The specter of a c-section still looms, especially if we induce. And, he could very well decide to flip back over next time I’m barreling down the highway. But, just having the knowledge that, in this moment, I get to try to have a chance at labor. That’s huge.
And, to all of you who wrote in response to my last post – thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can’t tell you how comforting all of your words were, especially coming on the heels of so much stress and worry about how my reaction to the c-section news was something too taboo to share in a space like this. I’m constantly amazed by the strength and compassion you each exhibit. And, damn, there I go making this a happy blog post! <sniff sniff> Thanks everyone!