This has been quite a week, if I do say so myself. Last weekend, I spent the night in the hospital with Number 3, who had a wicked case of croup. If you can imagine, a two-year old with a fever and cough, short of breath, forced to endure several IV attempts, multiple breathing treatments and trapped in a tiny room with a TV that doesn’t have a DVR overloaded with Caillou and Super Why makes for the longest 20 hours of my whole life. Misery. A couple of days later, I am the hospital, 34 weeks pregnant and having contractions less than 10 minutes apart. Good stuff.
This past week has had me on the verge of acting out violently on more than one person. I’ll skip over the obvious, in regards to Number 3’s hospital stay. Any parent knows that when someone is hurting your baby, even if it is a necessary evil for their own good, standing back and allowing it is torture. Let’ s fast forward to my stay at the hospital:
I get into my room and, of course, they hook me up to all the monitors and then the questions begin. It started out normal, medical history, etc. The nurse then asks about my contractions. I inform her that I have been timing them for about two hours and they had been less than 10 minutes apart. She then asks me what they feel like. I look at her, a bit annoyed, and tell her that they feel like contractions. She says, “I understand but can you describe how they feel? Are they like menstrual cramps or like sharp pains?” I inform her that I would love to have menstrual cramps right now and, seeing how this is my fourth child, I am more than aware of what the difference between a crampy twinge and a labor contraction is and I was having contractions and they felt just like contractions. She wisely let the line of questioning end there.
A few hours later, its shift change! My new nurse, Mia, enters and introduces herself and begins asking me the exact same fucking questions that the last nurse did. I asked her, “don’t you guys keep notes? I already answered all these questions.” She then says that she sees I have been having contractions and lets me know that they are about 10 minutes apart. Seriously, thank goodness she was there because, otherwise, I would have had no fucking clue about that. Then, I start feeling a contraction coming on (despite not being told about it, I somehow just knew I was having one!!) and she starts to ask me a question. I hold up my index finger, in the universal sign for “hang on a minute” and she comes over, pulls my gown up and starts PUSHING on my stomach. Fucking PUSHING DOWN!! As nicely as I can, in the midst of a contraction, I push her hands away and ask that she not push down on my stomach. She says that she has to assess the contraction and resumes PUSHING on my contracting abdomen. I push her hands away again and tell her not to touch me. She put her hands BACK and says, again, she needs to assess the contraction. Ladies and gentlemen, I am not as inclined to violent behavior as my satirical blog entries may lead some to believe. Mind you, I am not the type of person that will respond to ignorant asshattery with sprinkles of sunshine and unicorn piss but I am, normally, a pretty easy-going person. This bitch, however, was about to drive me over the edge. I literally shoved her hands off of me, once more, and told her to keep her fucking hands off of me. I am pretty sure that my voice lowered about 13 octaves and my eyes turned red as my head spun 180 degrees. She backed off. Once the contraction subsided, she tried, once more, to tell me that she needed to assess my contraction. I reminded her that there were monitors for that and if she needed any further assessment, I would be more than happy to provide her with any information she needed, considering that I was the one experiencing the contraction but, for future reference, I don’t let my husband touch me when I am having contractions, so she was definitely not going to be making the cut. Strangely, after that point, she sent a student nurse in to take my vitals. She would come in to change out the IV fluids and give me the medicine to stop the contractions and she was very nice and tolerable after that.
Seriously, though, I would hate to be a labor and delivery nurse. I don’t think for one second that I was out of line, don’t get me wrong. If someone tells you not to touch them, you keep your damn hands to yourself. If that person is experiencing the pain of intense involuntary contractions, due totheir uterus try to squeeze out a tiny human, it is probably safe to assume that they are not going to be as welcoming to having their “don’t touch me” request disregarded. If you go a step further and start pushing down on the very area that is already the source of great pressure necessary for squeezing out that tiny human, you must have a death wish.