So the little bitty cold I was complaining about turned into the furious monster of death cold that threatened to take out all innocent victims lying in its malestorm. Turns out when your body is hosting a wee PARASITE, a simple chest cold can ravage you like leprosy. Note to self: next time, grow a baby, not a life-force sucker.
Thursday started out well - I woke up with a pretty stuffy head and a little morning sickness just to start the morning out right, but the Dear Husband and I had an appointment with the intake counsler at the Women's Clinic, who will be taking over our care at 12 weeks. Went in and they were the nicest.people.ever. Seriously. Possibly nicer than me (I know, I know, you can't imagine it. Me neither.) Took all my medical background info (no small task), got all our insurance information set up (sadly, it will likely be costing us less to grow and produce offspring than it was to simply conceive it. Geez.), answered any questions they could, and the best part? Gave us free stuff. Does it matter that it was two hospital endorsed birthing/baby books in a generic "Women's Center" embroidered tote? No. No it does not. Because this is a girl that loves her some stuff. And even more than that? Loves her some free stuff. My mama rasied me right.
Anywho, left from there, swung by for a healthy breakfast at Micky D's, and went into work. All day at work I was feeling more and more rundown. Unfortunately, when my body calls in for a break, I have a tendency to let it go to voicemail. So I got home, and (having clearly failed to check my biological voicemail) decided to walk the dog with Nick. We get the "The Field" (where DogFace can run to her little heart's delight) which is honestly 2 blocks away from our house. And when we get there I realize, I can't make it one.more.step. Huh. So I end up sitting down smack in the middle of the sidewalk for a little rest before the 2 block trek home. Now I am a girl that prides herself in being in some durn' good shape, if I do say so myself, so that definitely puzzled me a bit. We get home (slowly), and I crash on the couch for a bit. I wake up feeling even worse and decide to haul myself upstairs to bed - going up the stairs probably takes me over 5 minutes, and then takes me 20 minutes lying in bed to catch my breath from the entire process. Ridiculous. I'm hitting my inhaler like it's my life force, but it's only working for maybe 30 minutes at a time.
Being that I've never struggled with my asthma beyond regular work-out induced episodes, I could definitely tell that this felt different. I had Nick go to my friend's house to grab a nebulizer, hoping that a treatment would do me better than just a rescue inhaler. The treatment makes me feel better, but it skyrockets my heartrate. Awesome. I ended up calling my wonderful Celia (doula) to see what I should do. She tells me to take it easy, don't use anymore Albuterol, and call if anything changes.
Two hours later. Things change. Crap. The treatment's effects have basically stopped working and I'm back to struggling to breath, but my heartrate is still in the 130's by my calculations. Around this time Celia calls me to check in on how I'm doing, and after hearing me struggle to talk since I can't breath well tells me it's time to call the doctor. Afterhours. Ack. But I don't want to be THAT PATIENT!!!!! The horror! ("Hi Doctor, I know it's 2:30 in the morning, but I noticed that I have a hangnail and wanted to know if it's safe for meh beybee if I pull it?") Well, this is all maybe a little dramatic (shocker) as it was only 9:00 at night and involved breathing vs. a hangnail, but still....I CAN'T BE THAT GIRL! So, after Celia lectured my weiney self into calling, I dialed the afterhours line with sweaty palms (seriously, I felt like I was in elementary school and calling the principal at home or something. What the hell is wrong with me!?!) Doc called back within 10 minutes and was nothing but nice on the phone. Told me I needed to thank my friend for making me call (yeah, I totally blamed calling him on her. So?) and that just from hearing me breath over the phone he could tell me I needed to go in to the ER. Annnnnnnd *cue tears*.
So in we head to our lovely local infirmary, and when we get to the front desk they slip a portable pulse ox on me since I'm complaining of breathing difficulty. I saw the nurse's face and realized that I may have slightly undercalculated my heartrate a bit, as she gave me the sideways stink eye and asked, "Does your heart feel like it's racing?" The only good thing about this is it got us right back into a room, with a gown and warm blanket. Sweet.
The doctors and nurses were wonderful (as was the male tech, who had to keep peering down my gown to fix my EKG leads that were reading improperly. I wanted to find a good way to tell him that I was 2 months pregnant and that things usually looked a little more toned up down there, but it just never felt natural. At one point he's got both hands down between the girls fixing these wires, and I look over and see Nick sending out some fierce man-glare, get yer paws off my woman, old-school western type of vibe. Awwww.) So they hit me with a breathing treatment, some 'roids, and a fresh new inhaler, and once the ol' ticker slowed down a bit, sent us on our merry way.
Honestly, it usually pisses me off having to go to the ER, but I can't remember the last time I was honest to god SCARED while I was there. It's amazing how everything changes when you have little Eggy to think about - the entire time I was so worried about that little bugger - if I wasn't getting air was s/he okay? Is this medicine okay for her/him? What is a tachycardic heartrate doing to my little one? And will this tech PLEASE get his hands out from under my gown?! Luckily the doctor was great about my (and Nick's) concerns, and even printed us out some information about the safety of the treatments he was giving me for pregnancy. He must have been glad to see this little neurotic first time mommy waddle outta there a few hours later. (Toodles - be back in 7 months!!!) : )
So, there's the drama of late - never a dull moment in the Smoz residence. I am feeling legions better today, after staying home (mostly) from work yesterday. (The lectures I got could constitute a whole 'nother post, but we'll just leave that be for now.) Nick and I went to the "Largest Yard Sale on the Planet" today (a possible slight exaggeration, but impressive marketing ploy), which was filled with delightfully tacky goods (including, but not limited to, a desk built like a stagecoach (which, sadly, my husband did want), as well as "home grown herbs" (not what you think, I checked), and even a framed lithograph of the royal engagement picture. Between the beautiful weather, tacky wares, and interesting people watching (I had to cover Eggy's eyes a few times...The horrors that the "Largest Yard Sale" can drag out are not fit for fetal eyes.) it was a great way to spend a Satuday recouping a bit.
I possibly got sidetracked into a Carter's Outlet Store at one point and had to be physically removed by Nicholas. That place smells like danger for this little lady. Might want to get in on some stock now folks - I can predict that it'll be making some gains in this next quarter!
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