PITA – acronym: “Pain in the [tushy]” (Insert appropriate synonym for tushy as appropriate.)
I have always been a cool, calm, rational and logical individual. I have never had a freak out over a simple matter or let a situation get to me. (Okay, friends and family reading this – once you have picked yourself up off the floor and recovered from hysterical laughter and finished rolling your eyes, please know the above statements are meant to be tougue-in-cheek.)
But last night, I panicked (although, I actually did behave calmly and rationally – who knew, pregnancy hormones really do change your demeanor…)
With a collective “duh” among us all, I think we can agree this has been a unique pregnancy experience with ne’re a dull moment. We’ve reached the point where each additional day is a big win for the boys. Last night the contractions came back – yes, again. Around 10:30 p.m. I began to think that something was amiss. At 11 p.m. I called my nurse – she knew immediately something big was afoot as my normal request of the night nurse is “leave me alone!”
The whiteboard in my room 16 cell specifically states, “Call your nurse for (1) pain and (2) increased contractions.” I followed directions.
Let me describe the pain. It sucks. A lot.
The nurse paged the doctor. As the clock struck midnight and we welcomed the official start of Week 27, I became convinced that they boys were arriving imminently. The nurse paged the doctors again when she came to check on me and found me mumbling, “No, no – I said June” repeatedly to myself. (I’ve told the twins that June is the earliest they are allowed to greet the world.) As I waited, I debated calling Jon but decided to hold off until I knew what was actually going on.
I had vast quantities of time to create various scenarios in my head. Although the first medical SOS was put out at 11 p.m., the doctor did not arrive to check on me until 2:30 a.m. Allegedly, I was upstaged by a large number of women actually giving birth to children. (Maybe they thought I wouldn’t go into active labor if they ignored me.)
Finally, the doctor arrived to examine me. The devastating conclusion? “You’re fine. We can give you some Tylenol for the pain.”
Obviously I was delirious from the pain at this point and I must have heard her wrong. Tylenol? Women actually giving birth (again with their higher status) are given epidurals to completely numb their lower half; I get Tylenol. I suddenly pictured this scenario in an ER situation. “Well, you have seven fractures in your arm. Here’s an ice pack. Call us if any of them become compound fractures.”
Skeptically, I accepted this “miracle” Tylenol, horrified that it didn’t even appear to be the Extra Strength version! I warily eyed the nurse and doctor with a look I intended to convey, “I don’t believe this is an appropriate solution at all” but much more likely came across as “It’s just about 3 a.m.; I’m really tired and I know you’re still going to wake me up in an hour for more medications.”
Interestingly, I finally fell asleep after my 4 a.m. medicinal headcount (still mumbling about June) and when I woke up this morning, the contractions were completely gone. They haven’t been back all day. Maybe there is something to this Tylenol treatment after all. (Please note, when I am actually giving birth I still plan to ask for the epidural – I don’t trust the Tylenol to that degree yet.)