Chapter Twenty-Three
Thirty-four weeks exactly today, that’s how far along I am—and I’m miserable. I’m as big as a freaking house, I hurt all the time. Between the ligament pain and the Braxton Hicks contractions, I can’t get comfortable when I lay down, and if I try lying on my back, my boobs are so big I can’t breathe because they come up to my neck. My check-up with Sierra went great, as usual, and everything is moving along as it should. The baby is growing and measuring perfectly, but it looks like she might be on the bigger side. Sierra said if she keeps putting on weight like she is then she will be about nine pounds.
About a week after we looked at the house, Gunner and Mark came to an agreement, money was handed over, and we were moved in. I have slowly started filling the house with furniture, thanks to my new obsession with online shopping. We asked Tinsley to move with us, but unsurprisingly she decided to stay at the clubhouse; I think she feels safe having all of the guys there, especially Romeo. She hasn’t said anything is going on between them, but he wasn’t willing to let her go so easily, either. And now you never see her without him.
Sitting with Crazy Girl at a table in the bar eating, I stand up and feel something between my legs. Looking around on the floor, for I don’t know what, I don’t see anything.
“What are you looking for?” Crazy girl asks while looking around also.
“I don’t know.” Laughing it off, I pick up my plate and take it to the kitchen to be washed. Returning to the table, I take my seat again, but feel my pants are awfully wet. “I think I pissed myself.” My wide eyes meet hers.
“It happens.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. I guess it wouldn’t be to her because she’s already gone through two full-term pregnancies and one miscarriage.
“How’s the new house? Are you guys getting settled in?” Crazy Girl sits back, stuffed full from the food.
“I love it, and yeah it’s coming along—we just finished up the nursery.” I smile and rub my belly, feeling her kick hard against my huge stomach.
“I’m so happy for you, Chatty.”
“Thank you. I never thought I would get the chance to feel this way again, but it’s more intense because of her, ya know?” My eyes get watery and I smile.
“I know. You two have been through so much. How’s he been since you got back together?” Taking a drink from her glass, she waits for my response.
“He’s been amazing, the sex is on fire, and he has to tell me he loves me fifty times a day.” I laugh. Standing up once again, I feel the sudden release of fluid. “Something’s wrong. More just came out when I stood up. I don’t think it’s pee.” My worried eyes connect with hers.
“I’ll call labor and delivery.” Crazy Girl pulls her phone out, and when the nurse gets on the line, she hands me the phone. I explain what is happening and I’m told to go home, lie down, and drink a lot of water. Hanging up the phone, I repeat what the nurse told me, and Crazy Girl rushes off to go get Gunner.
“What’s goin’ on, Chat?” Gunner wheels out of the hallway, following behind a worried Crazy Girl.
“I’m leaking fluid, I have to go home and lie down.” I bite down on my bottom lip; it keeps me from busting out in tears right here in front of everyone.
“Let’s go!” He rushes me out, not saying a word to anyone. Crazy Girl follows behind helping with Gunner’s wheelchair.
I drive us home and do exactly what the nurse told me. Gunner is worried; he doesn’t say much, but he takes care of me, and I get even more worried as the night moves on.
Waking up the next day, I get up from the bed and yet again have the fluid run down my legs. Gunner agrees that we need to go see Sierra, so he gets in the car. I fold up his wheelchair and place it in the back, then we head to the doctor’s office.
When I get there, I explain to the nurse what’s going on and she tells me to go straight to labor and delivery. So, back in the car we go, heading to the hospital.
The nurse in labor and delivery puts us in a room, me on the bed, and hooks a monitor up to my stomach so they can watch for contractions, the baby’s heartbeat, and movements. Our little girl tumbles around excessively, but I am starting to get really scared because I know something isn’t right.
I’m asked a ton of questions, do a strip test, and then the nurse checks my cervix. I’ve never in my life experienced pain like I did when she shoved her fingers up inside of me, and at that point I wanted to punch her in her fucking face. She told me my cervix was completely closed and that the strip test was negative—she then so kindly told me that all this time I have been pissing on myself.
I become livid, because not only do I not believe her, but I used a handy little thing called google and I did my research. It told me that if the strip turns blue, it’s positive for amniotic fluid—and I watched that strip turn blue. At this point, I am told everything is fine, to go home, and Sierra would see me next week at my regularly scheduled visit.
“You okay?” Gunner asks from the passenger side while we are driving home.
“No, I’m not okay! Something is wrong, Gunner, I feel it. That bitch not only hurt me when she shoved her whole fucking hand up inside me, but she made me feel like I’m going crazy. I’m not fucking crazy, and I’m not pissing on myself!” My voice raises a couple octaves the angrier I get.
“Babe, you need to stay calm—it’s not good for you or our daughter.” Gunner places his hand on my thigh, gently rubbing circles on my leg.
Taking a few deep breaths, I calm some. “I know. But I’m not pissing on myself.”
“I believe you.” He chuckles lightly.
When we get home, I lie back down, Gunner takes care of me once again, and I wait for night to fall so I can get this day over with.
Wednesday morning—two days since my check-up with Sierra and the day after my disastrous experience at labor and delivery—I get up from our bed. When I do, a gush of fluid pours out of my vagina. Since I was made to feel crazy, I decide not to say anything yet. I will keep track of her movements myself and see how the day goes. Walking into the bathroom, I put on a pad I had from before I was pregnant.
As the day moves into night, I have been soaking through the pads and towels that I had to put under me. I’m making a mess all over the fucking place, but she is still moving strong.
Thursday morning, it’s just as bad with the fluid, her movements have slowed down, and I’m now even more worried and scared. I decide I’ve had enough of this shit and someone is going to listen to me. Stomping into the living room, I look at Gunner sitting in his chair watching television. “We’re going back to the doctor!”
He wheels towards me and takes my hand. “Is it worse?” His thumb traces along my knuckles, and tears gather in my eyes.
“Not worse, but I can’t feel her move.”
“Let’s go!” Gunner quickly wheels himself out to the car as I rush to put a new pad and yoga pants on.
Once again, I am not heard as I explain to the receptionist what is going on. She tells me I have to wait until afternoon because Sierra is at the hospital delivering another baby. Are you fucking kidding me! Huffing, I walk out and back to the car, where Gunner was waiting until I knew if I could get in to see Sierra. I had Gunner try calling her on our way, but she didn’t answer.
Three hours! I have three hours to wait. I will stay calm, even though I am a shaking mess and ready to blow a gasket.
The little hand on the clock lines with the number six. My eyes haven’t left that clock in the fifteen minutes I’ve been sitting in this waiting room. 1:30 pm. That’s the exact time it is when the nurse calls my name. I stand, having yet another gush of fluids join what’s already soaking through the pad I just put on before I left the house. Following behind her, we stop to get my weight and learn I’ve lost two pounds since Monday.
When I am in the exam room, she attaches the blood pressure cuff to my arm; the numbers aren’t right so she checks again. “Your blood pressure is extremely high so it’s a good thing you came in.” She writes on my chart.
“I tried to be seen Tuesday, but you sent me to labor and delivery instead.” My brow arches. Maybe if they would have listened, this could have been prevented.
“I was doing protocol and going by what the nurse at labor and delivery said—there was no need to be concerned at that time.” She tries giving me a kind smile, but fuck her.
“Well, maybe you should shove your protocol up your ass and that nurse needs to be fired for doing a shit job. Maybe if someone would have listened to me, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“I’ll go get the doctor.” She rushes out of the room.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ do that,” I mutter.
Sierra and the nurse come into the room a few minutes later. “What’s going on?”
I go over what has been happening since Tuesday. “And now I’ve lost two pounds of probably water and my blood pressure has skyrocketed.”
“Okay, I’m going to check you.” The nurse hands me a cover for me to change into from the waist down. They leave the room long enough for me to get my pants off, wrap it around me, and get back on the table.
When Sierra checks me, she is much easier than the nurse. “Your cervix is still closed, but this is definitely amniotic fluid.” Her attention goes to the nurse. “My fingers are soaked just from checking her, and it’s wetting the paper underneath her. It has the distinct smell of amniotic fluid.” Sierra takes the strip from the nurse, coating it in fluid, and it automatically turns cobalt blue. “Meet me at the hospital—we are taking her by C-section.”
“Wait, what? You’re taking her like right now? Today?” My mouth hangs open.
“Yes, today. Your water has ruptured, and we can’t wait for something bad to happen.”
“It’s too early!” Tears spring in my eyes.
Sierra gives me a hug. “She will be fine.”
Shaking her off, I say, “Maybe this would have been prevented if someone would have just fucking listened to me.”
“I’m sorry, Chatty. I’ve had a full schedule this week, and I went by what the nurse at labor and delivery told me.”
“You should have been my fucking friend and listened to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Sierra leaves the room so I can get dressed.
All of my fears surface and I try to hold myself together. The baby is going to be born six weeks early, at thirty-four weeks and two days. As I walk out of the doctor’s office, the receptionist asks if I need to make another appointment. Without even turning around, I say, “No,” and as soon as the cold air hits me, I lose it.
I get back in the car, look at Gunner’s worried expression, and say, “We have to go to the hospital. They’re doing a C-section because my water ruptured, and they have to get her out.”
“Fuck! It’s gonna be okay, babe.” He takes my hand in his, leaning over to hug me tightly and kiss my neck. With him giving me the comfort I need, I take a deep breath, get my crying to stop, and we head to the hospital. “I’ll call everyone and let them know what’s going on.” Gunner pulls out his phone and starts making the calls.
Once again, we are checked into labor and delivery, asked a million questions, hooked to the monitor for the baby, and I’m changed into a hospital gown—but this time everything happens at a rapid pace.
A group of nurses are in the room, each performing their own task. One puts in the IV, which takes forever; multiple pokes at a busted vein later, it’s finally in place; one getting the ted hose on my legs; and one prepping me for surgery. Oh, and getting the catheter shoved in place. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such intense pain in my life—besides when that nurse checked me, but I think the catheter takes the cake, because that bitch hurt.
I’m introduced to the pediatrician, who informs me that at thirty-four weeks, the baby’s lungs won’t be fully developed and that most likely she will be transferred to the children’s hospital and put in the NICU. My anxiety has tripled; I’m scared out of my mind, worried because I don’t know what to expect. Looking over at a quiet Gunner, I see his eyes are shining with threatening tears.
He clears his throat, “I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room, and I realize that he’s having just as hard of a time with all of this as I am.
He returns within ten minutes of me being taken into surgery. Sierra came in and did her best to explain everything that was going to happen, but it did little to calm my nerves. And I’m still pissed at her. A nurse hands me this little round container for me to drink, and when I do, it about makes me want to vomit all over the place; nastiest shit I’ve ever tasted in my life. Way worse than when I had to do that glucose test to check my sugar levels.
In the operating room, the lights are so bright it’s almost blinding, it’s freezing cold so my teeth are chattering like I’ve been outside in the winter air, and the smell of antiseptic burns my nostrils. The nurse stands in front of me, holding my shoulders as I’m sitting on the side of the bed.
“Okay, Lindy, we need you to curl yourself in and arch your back like a cat. You are going to feel a lot of pressure as the spinal block goes in, but then it will begin to fade as everything becomes numb. Your legs are going to start feeling extremely heavy.”
“Okay,” I nervously respond. I do as I’m told and do feel the pressure, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle.
When I am completely numb, they lay me down and adjust me where they need me to be. Finally, I see Gunner coming into the room and a tear slides down my cheek. He comes over, sitting next to my head. He takes my hand that is strapped down closest to him and holds it for dear life.
Sierra performs a test to see if I can feel anything, and when she is satisfied, the C-section begins. The anesthesiologist says, “You are going to feel some pressure in your stomach and chest—that is them pulling the baby out.”
Some pressure? Holy hell! That’s not some pressure, that’s a lot of pressure and it hurts and I feel like I can’t breathe.
Looking towards Gunner, they let him look around the curtain that is blocking my view. “She has so much hair!” His gaze comes back to me as tears start to roll down his cheeks. “She’s tiny. So fuckin’ beautiful and perfect.”
Instantly, she starts screaming; then we’re crying, and I am so happy. Sierra holds her above the curtain for a second, and all I see is a tiny little baby with a head full of blonde hair.
I get a quick glance at her in the nursery before I am wheeled into recovery. I don’t get to see her again until she is brought into my room in an incubator and we are signing papers to have her transferred.
I got to see my baby all of ten minutes. I didn’t get to touch her, hold her, nothing for two days after I had her, and I’ve never felt so empty as when I watched them roll her out to take her away.