On Thursday, August 6, I had an appointment with my OB. It was also the morning I woke up vomiting. I really didn't want to tell him I had been throwing up because I knew he'd send me to the hospital for tests. But I couldn't really hide the fact that I was sick, so I came clean and sure enough, he sent me to the hospital.
At first, I was supposed to stay 24 hours. My blood pressure was too high, my blood sugar was off the chart, and I had protein in my urine. Diabetes aside, I had preeclampsia. The hospital decided to keep me for a week. I was mad. I really, really hate the hospital.
After a very boring week during which doctors, all with varying opinions about how to treat diabetes, poked me, changed my diet, changed my insulin, and assumed I had no understanding of my condition, they finally got my blood pressure down. But they still wouldn't let me go home. So I started pushing to schedule a C-section. On Sunday, August 16, I would have been 37 weeks pregnant and therefore full term. Sunday was also one of my stepson's birthday. My doctor was on call Monday August 17. We agreed to do the C-section either Sunday or Monday. During the week I was in the hospital, my baby dropped even lower. My OB sent me downstairs for an ultrasound and she was so low the tech couldn't get a good picture of her head. We did see her opening and closing her mouth which is an indication that she was practicing breathing. At the time of the ultrasound she was 8 pounds and 4 oz.
But on Friday, August 14 my blood pressure shot up again. This time the hospital gave me medicine to bring it down. I was allergic. Every time they gave it to me, I vomited. Which caused my blood pressure to go even higher.
I had the C-section on Friday afternoon. I heard my daughter cry before I ever saw her. I started to cry too because I couldn't get up and hold her. I cried when I saw her for the first time. I couldn't believe she was mine. I cried because she was so beautiful. I cried because I still couldn't hold her. I cried because my father had died. I cried because at that moment I loved my husband so much more. I cried because I couldn't talk. There was no words to express everything I felt.
She was 9 pounds even at delivery. It is estimated that had I carried her until my September 6 due date, she would have been close to 11 pounds.
We finally came home on the 17th.
I intend to keep blogging. But as I am yet to master holding my baby while doing things one-handed, it could be a while before I get to a regular posting schedule.