The nurses in triage knew I was coming since I had called ahead. They already had my file and helped me right away. Taking samples. Sending me to rest and drink large amounts of water while monitoring the baby’s heartbeat and my contractions. Little Q seemed fine, which was good news. And the contractions that were initially five minutes apart when I arrived began easing to eight minutes apart over the course of an hour and a half. They said it is common for contractions to increase throughout the day, strengthen, and then decrease after a long period of rest. They checked at the beginning and at the end: just 1 cm dilated. Which, they told me, could possibly signal the beginning stages of labor or could be simply because I had a previous pregnancy.
The resident on duty at the time decided that I should be on bedrest, only getting up to go to the bathroom and take a shower once a day. He said, “I know you have a young child–I’m sorry, you will have to find child care.” I told the nurse I had a trip planned to Florida (tomorrow), and she went back to talk to the resident about it. He told her I shouldn’t go and wrote something to the effect of “flying is medically unsafe” on a prescription pad to “help me try to get a refund.”
Great, I thought. I was hoping for a note that said ‘cleared for travel’ just in case the airlines gave me any grief!
The nurse gave me an instruction sheet that said to come back in if my water broke or if my contractions were 5 minutes apart for an hour. I knew to come in if my water broke, but I asked what else I could look for, since my contractions could potentially be 5 minutes apart most of the time. They said, “Just look for something different.” Something different. That seems so vague when your baby’s life depends on it.
So I drove back home, with my bedrest instructions and the prescription that said I couldn’t travel.
I prayed all the way back. I couldn’t imagine bedrest until week 36, but I knew the risk for the baby was too great to ignore. I wanted to be surrendered to God’s plan for me even if that meant bedrest for two months. Or if that meant a pre-term delivery with our baby’s life hanging in the balance. (Quite frankly, either scenario sounded difficult. My dear, dear friend Donna had a 32-week preemie and then spent several weeks on bedrest with her second baby. I watched her go through all of that and saw her testimony of God’s grace for each moment, whether it meant a preterm delivery or bedrest. I wanted that to be true for me too.)
Somehow though it all seemed a bit surreal–like an “overreaction” by unseasoned residents, giving me their textbook diagnosis.
Moms know when they’re in labor, people always say. Don’t worry–you will just know. I didn’t “just know.” And I seriously believed I was fine. Watch me carry this baby full-term! I kept thinking.
I didn’t think I was having actual pre-term labor, and I didn’t think it was unsafe to travel, but I was sure Daniel who had already questioned whether or not I should go would side with the resident.
He surprised me. He said I should go! He agreed that I would actually rest better at my sister’s house in Florida than I would at home.
Other factors he was weighing:
- My sister had purchased my plane ticket, and the ticket was non-refundable.
- My brother’s wedding was June 7, and at this point, our attendance was looking pretty iffy. My brother’s wedding was to be the first entire Bunton family get-together in several years, and we were all really looking forward to it! Knowing that I would probably have to miss my brother’s wedding, Daniel wanted me to at least be able to see my sister. . . my dear husband.
So the day after I was put on bedrest, Mara and I hopped on a plane to Jacksonville, Florida, where I did not leave my sister’s apartment once on our entire trip, except to go sit by the pool and watch Mara play. I didn’t go to the beach. I didn’t go out to eat. I didn’t go to church. I didn’t even go to the park across the street. I was, after all, on bedrest.
My sister had some special together time with her little niece! Taking her to the park, to church, to the store, to get “take-out.” I struggled, as expected, to just sit. But it truly was a relaxing time, and I knew it would be much simpler to relax there than at home. Although I frequently had contractions during our visit, they weren’t strong and I didn’t time them.
We left Jacksonville very early on a Tuesday morning. It was a direct flight and Mary helped me check all my luggage. So all I had to do was walk slowly to the gate pushing Mara in the stroller with the diaper bag hung on the stroller handles. Sounded simple–and benign–enough. But my contractions during the flight began to play with my mind. I was starting to think that there might be something to this “preterm labor.” Of course, I didn’t mention that to any Southwest airline personnel . . .
We got home, and I knew I needed to rest. I was wiped out, just from getting up early and walking through a couple of airports! Some friends from South Carolina were here in the city and having dinner with our friends Chris & Melissa Tuesday night before flying home early Wednesday morning, and we had planned for months to go over and eat dinner with them. If it had been someone we might see more often, I wouldn’t have gone, but under the circumstances I felt it was best to go, with the understanding that I would only sit on the couch and sit and eat dinner, then leave.
We went, but the contractions were becoming very uncomfortable. And as soon after dinner as I could suggest it, Mara and I went back home. She was tired, I was tired. We both slept well.