Thursday to Thursday - Week one down

It has been one week since we got a round of steroids, one week since I was admitted into the hospital, one week since DH and I did the smartest thing ever in our whole lives by leaving that horrendous hospital, those incompetent Peri's and those inattentive OB's. I can't say what the future would have been, but I shutter to think what may have happened if we had stayed.

Today was not without its trials. I guess Thursdays are just not for me. I woke up after a bad dream, of which I remember little, except the presence of a very, very small baby.

My contractions are being controlled by a medication called Pro.cardia. But for the last 48 hours I was also taking a med called Indo.cin because the Pro.cradia was not quite cutting it and my blood pressure was too low to up the dose. So they added this other drug that I could only take fro 48 hours. That meant that this morning at 6 am I was being "turned loose" again to see if the Pro.cardia alone could control my badly behaved Ute. It was not a good way to start the day.

I was also supposed to me kept company today by my father-in-law and sister-in-law in the absence of DH, who's day was filled with meetings and preparations for a floor refinish. I like my in-laws, but I find that visitors other than DH or my folks can cause my uterus to become more irritable. I was just upset about having them with me, worried I would not be comfortable, that I would have to entertain them. They are great, but no replacement for the comfort of a husband or mom.

So all this came to a teary head once compounded by a phone call from the devil itself: my insurance company. They have been fighting my doctors for a week now on progesterone shots. I was handling the call pretty well till the lady on the end of the line digressed into the same crap that the doctors at the last hospital pulled on me over and over. "Well, you have no history of preterm labor or second trimester loss. Without a history, there is no indication that you should be treated." My standard response is, " So basically you are telling me I have to loose this baby and them you'll prescribe progesterone for my next pregnancy?" They are all total politicians when responding to me, cleverly playing a game with semantics to relieve their own guilt so they can rest easy tonight. This near word for word conversation with the insurance witch was a flashback to the trauma of last week, and finally through me into a sobbing tailspin.

So imagine this. Me, strapped to the bed with a monitor and leg compression boots. Crying furiously. Running out of crappy hospital tissues and ringing the nurse for more crappy tissues. Nurse arrives stunned to find me in hysterics. She asks what it is. It takes me four tries to say the word "insurance" so that she can understand me. She gets me tissues, a cold compress and consoles me by agreeing with how evil insurance is. Cancel the visit from SIL & FIL. Turn on the "mom-signal." Everything calms down as I catch my breath and watch "Tom and Jerry." Take a quick nap as the cartoon music reminds me of spend a sick-day at my grandparents house.

For all of the upset, the Peri's here have now decided that I don't need the progesterone. They feel bedrest and meds to control the contractions is enough for now, and I feel comfortable with that. I love, love, love my doctors here. The doctor I see the most is a resident. She is amazing, attentive, concerned, proactive and willing to fight for me. The issue now is that I still need an OB practice to pick me up and none will because I am a risk. I am fine, actually pleased, to stay with the general practice here at the hospital. Problem is that they primarily handle underserved populations, typically on medicaid. They do not take my insurance, which is thought to be one of the better ones (ha, ha.) So now we are facing the issue if my insurance is going to pay for my stay here (gasp!) My doctor assured me not to worry. She says we will probably get some scary bills in the mail, but that the hospital will duke it out for us. She really just does not want me handling it or worrying about it.

What a mess!!
But the boy is doing great and we are both safe.
In the end, I don't care about anything but cooking him as long as I can.
And the rest will just be what it will be.

Oh.
I am now told I will be here for the "long haul." Four weeks was just a silly dream.