The next week and a half passed fairly uneventfully. The dr had told me the magnesium would probably slow the baby down alot, quiet his movements, lower his heartrate, etc. Not my baby…..that child was just as active as ever, and his heartrate never lowered a beat. He was not fond of the monitoring which happened three or four times a day. I was not fond of laying only on one side or the other, and not even being able to sit up completely to eat all the mountains of food they kept bringing. I had two more rounds (two shots within 24 hours) of steroid shots. My sister and brother brought pictures of their kids to put up on my walls and in the window ledge. I had my tv, vcr, and boombox. My husband brought me books (I’m an AVID reader!) but the magnesium slowed my brain function as well and I could not concentrate enough to read more than a line or two at a time. My oldest sister delivered a HUGE basket full of magazines, lotions, and CANDY (she was in on the job to fatten me up!). Michael even brought a big fan in because it seemed like that room was 150 degrees all day and night, even though everyone who came to visit brought sweaters!
It’s so strange the odd things you remember. I had two night nurses that I adored. They always apologized for waking me up to monitor and check vitals. They apologized even more when it was time to change one or the other of my two ivs. That happened every three or four days. I remember hauling my iv pole into the bathroom with me, and learning the best way to keep the lines and the beautiful hospital gown out of the way. I remember that my piggy-polish was the exact same color as the blanket on my bed.
I was BORED out of my mind!!! Eight more weeks seemed like an eternity, but I was willing to do whatever it took to save my baby. Thank goodness for my best friends in the morning Katie, Matt, Al and Ann!!! And thank goodness the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney, Australia started the Sunday after I was admitted. That’s the most Olympics I have EVER watched. They were on the Today Show every morning, then a one hour break, then from 11-2, another one hour break, then Rosie was on, then Oprah, some news (to catch up on the baseball scores and the world OUTSIDE), and more Olympics until 11pm. I dozed in and out all day. Family called from states away. My nieces drew me pictures. My mom came and washed my hair and shaved my legs, and re-painted my piggies. My dad had to go back home, and my mother in law went home as well. They were assured all would probably be well, and we would be in the hospital til 32 weeks. This was our new life for awhile, and we were ready to go the distance. My pastor came and visited and prayed with me. His daughter and her husband were on a mission in Japan. Their little church was praying for us, as well as my childhood church and so many people we didn’t even know as word spread.
Thirty-two weeks seemed so far away. I prayed we would get there. My peri told me that everyday made a difference for our baby. If we could get the baby to 2 pounds at the very least, and past 26 weeks, he had a much better chance of survival. I hoped and prayed, and I journaled. The OC came to see me. She gave me yarn and tought me how to crochet (again). I started on some booties. This was going to be my home for awhile. I might as well get used to it. I have always been so busy, so active, such a perfectionist that had always pushed myself to the limits. I realized maybe God was telling me to slow down, take some time to just enjoy every minute of being pregnant and let go of the world, the competition of work and life, and just focus on me and my husband and the child we had created. There were still more tears that I was stuck there, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t change it. But after 2 1/2 weeks of being in that hospital room, things were about to change AGAIN………