36 hours of contractions. Two hospital admissions.
They look like contractions, FEEL like contractions, the monitor says they ARE contractions (“Hey, good job, that one went to eleven!”), but they aren’t the “right kind” of contractions. Meaning all that work caused absolutely no dilation and while I may have been contracting like a mofo, it wasn’t “opening the door” for the baby, so to speak.
It also means I did 24 hours of early labor and 12 hours of hardcore contracting labor at two minutes apart, and then…nothing. They went away. No more. The monitors at Queens allow nurses to look at multiple patients on the one computer screen in every room. Mine were longer, stronger, and more frequent than the other women who got to stay.
The baby just decided it wasn’t ready and the contractions went *poof*.
I’ve been walking around like I’ve just gone through the world’s most intense ab workout. My right forearm and hand have been denuded of hair where they taped down the tubing for the Hep-Lock. In two days I’ve had six internal exams, three of them during contractions. I almost threw up on the nurse after watching them pull an inch-long catheter from my hand from where they had installed the Hep-Lock earlier.
And the contractions have now disappeared entirely.
This is a lesson, right? This is some kind of test of oneself and one’s humility and patience and ability to adapt one’s needs around that of a baby, isn’t it?
Because otherwise I might cry.