Notes from the hospital

Taking a breath here as I start to share. You might like to take a breath too, and feel your feet on the floor.

I’m in the hospital, I’ve been here for over a week. I'm staying in the antepartum unit of the birth center, trying to stay calm and pregnant as long as safely possible. I am 32 weeks 4 days, and each of those days means a lot! (A term pregnancy is considered 37 weeks, and best to get to 38-40 if possible.)

I have preeclampsia, a progressively worsening disease of pregnancy whose only cure is delivery of the baby. I’ll spare you the medical details, but in brief, there is a fine balancing act between staying pregnant to try to grow my baby as much as possible and having me deliver my baby preterm in order to protect me from a stroke or seizure.

Taking another breath, noticing tension in my face. Looking up from my computer and out the window. Letting my shoulders drop a tiny bit.

I’m riding that fine line at the moment, gradually coming to terms with the likelihood that I’ll be induced into labor or head to the operating room for a c-section any day, even any hour, now.

I was receiving lovely holistic midwifery care through my pregnancy, looking forward to an unmedicated birth at the birth center, and so looking forward to the moment when I could hold my healthy newborn against my chest. Within a day, I switched my care provider to an obstetrician, and my now high-risk pregnancy is managed under Maternal Fetal Medicine. I have had to surrender to the possibility of receiving any number of medical interventions I had hoped to avoid.

How to resource myself in a place like this, where my whole world is this little hospital room, and I’m all too aware of a) all the bad things that could happen, and b) the inevitability of going through the birth process very soon, before either I or my baby is ready and c) the fact that I’m now incredibly observant, bordering on vigilant, of all my physical symptoms that could be a sign of my condition worsening.

How to regulate my nervous system, when my very physiology is moving towards increasing dysregulation in a way I have absolutely no control over?

I’m going to pause here, and do some resourcing now…. Talking to my baby, letting her know I’m right here with her, and that I’m having some big feelings because I really want to stay pregnant and keep her safe. Feeling her move inside me. Singing her our special song. Taking a few more breaths.

I’m learning a lot about surrender, (which I hear is a large part of parenting). I’m learning a lot about preeclampsia, and this hospital unit, and my nurses, and how vast an ocean of tears I seem to have inside me. I’m learning how much my family loves me. I’m learning a lot from watching out my hospital room window about the people who seem to frequent the 3rd floor patio.

Two days ago, a visiting friend wheeled me out to the patio in a wheelchair. It was so lovely to get some fresh air and sun on my face. I saw two people- one clearly a patient, a 60-ish year old woman with her IV pole and wrist bands, and the other a visitor- an unusual looking man probably in his late 50s with a mohawk. I’d been observing those two going out to the patio for several days, so when I saw them on the patio I was excited to say hi to my friends. I waved, and they looked surprised. I had forgotten that our relationship was entirely one-sided! Just me watching them through my window.

Remember the “Voo” sound?  (If you've explored somatic experiencing, that is.)

A gentle natural in-breath followed by a gently sustained outbreath while chanting Vooooooo…. Letting some of that vibration be felt in the belly and chest, titrating the length or volume or intensity of it so has a small but perceptible effect, in the direction of more systemic coherence… 

Voooooo… I do it now, on a comfortable low tone, and I feel the vibration, and the slightest little shift inside. 30 seconds pass, I give it some time, and oh- there it is- the spontaneous deeper breath that follows and slight relaxation through my body. My circumstances haven’t changed, no magical cure has emerged for my condition, but I feel a tiny bit more space inside my chest.

I had such a kind nurse yesterday—she sat with me for nearly 45 minutes, even though she had other patients and things to do, just being with me while I cried. She didn’t try to make it all better. She empathized, made eye contact, showed me that she understood. I felt met, in the way that I aspire to meet and be present with my clients. What a gift.

It’s 6:15, time to order breakfast, and I’m feeling hungry. I’m still here, pregnant for another meal, and my baby is still inside me. A tiny bit of relief.

A slow walk to the window, doing the smallest bit of chi gong while looking outside. I can only tolerate a very small amount of stimulation, movement, activity, before I feel my symptoms start to spike. But it feels good to have my feet on the floor and gently shift my weight back and forth. There are geraniums in pots outside my window, and I’m noticing how the morning sun is gradually spreading against the wall and the roof. A single crow is taking a walk across the patio.

My little view (and poor photography skills). See the crow?

Maybe this is a good place to pause for now. The doctor will round soon, and the nurse will come check my blood pressure, she’ll put my baby on the monitor. This story is not finished, but then again, no true story ever is. I’ll update soon when I can.

Oh- and so many people have reached out to offer support and check in with me. Thank you, thank you… my bandwidth is super limited so I might not be able to reply to messages or calls but please know that your caring intentions and words are gratefully received.