I Couldn't Make This Shit Up If I Tried....

So, I've taken a little hiatus from the blog. Moreso, I've taken a little hiatus from life itself. I apologize for the last six weeks of nothingness, but I have very good reason, and you're about to have some pretty good reading material.

Since my last post, all hell has broken loose. In every single sense of the cliche. Two days after my last entry, I began bleeding after a routine exam with the midwife. No biggie, right? She said it was to be expected. Wrong. Murphy's Law of Rachael's Pregnancies states that everything that can go wrong, will and usually does. The situation was under control until May 26th. About two hours after returning home from a normal, level two ultrasound scan, I was sitting in the kitchen and catching up with my niece when the ground was ripped out from under me. I felt a gush of....something, and went up to the bathroom to investigate further. And so it began. 

Within an hour, I was being admitted to Labor & Delivery at 20 weeks along. They couldn't say much that evening aside from the worst possible sentence someone could ever tell an expectant woman. "In the event of worst case scenario, your baby is not viable and will not survive". But the good news was, I wasn't dilated. Even though the monitors claimed I was contracting. First thing the next morning, I was escorted to radiology for another level two scan to try and figure out what the flying fuck was going on. I knew better than to even ask questions during the exam, as the technicians are always trained to tell you less than jack shit. So I was wheeled back to my room and left to my own mind numbing devices until a few hours later when Doc came in and told me it had been determined that I had a complete anterior previa. That was so not the news I wanted to hear. 

I came home later that day with strict orders to do nothing but lay in bed. No getting up unless my life depended on it (i.e., bathroom, showers, OB appointments). And so that's basically where I stayed until the morning of June 7th, when the sonographer from my Doc's office called. He ordered me down to the bat cave pronto. They wanted more closeup's of Ms. Fetus. 

Now, when you get a call like that, in a situation like this, your mind immediately triggers the inevitable, this-can-not-be-happening mantra that you've tried so hard to quell. On the drive down, I repeated the instruction to MFH that should we get information even more devastating than what we've already been told, he best be prepared to back me up when I refused anything medically detrimental to a person I've never even met yet. He said nothing in response. He knows better. 

And so we underwent a third level two scan. And very much to my surprise, (and God do I love it when someone else fuck's up to my benefit), it turns out that there is no previa. At all. Turns out, we have a subchorionic hematoma. Out of everything that it could have been, this is actually best case scenario. I'm still on bed arrest, and most likely for the duration of the pregnancy unless someone or something divinely intervenes and it heals itself. In layman's terms, I'm basically going to have a months-long period while pregnant. The baby isn't directly affected by the bleed. In fact, she continues to thrive quite comfortably in there. Today is a big milestone for us. We've made it to twenty five weeks, which means she is now viable should she, hopefully not, need to be delivered. Though, unbeknownst to her, she isn't even born yet and her little ass is already grounded for her shenanigans. She ain't goin' nowhere. And if she keeps this shit up, no more McDonald's for her.

So, for the past month, I've been literally laying on the couch, watching more Real Housewives Of Whatever Fucking City Their Fake Asses Are Exploiting This Week than any one person should ever be subjected to, eating, and essentially gestating. Sounds like a good time, no? In reality, it isn't. It fucking sucks. Chicken balls. I thought I'd have a lot of time to blog, but as it turns out, the internet (and Google) is my enemy. It's next to impossible to log on and not look up all things subchorionic, and as you can imagine, the most extreme and dire of cases always come up in the search first. Even if I wasn't experiencing this, I'd really rather not read about the babies that didn't make it or the mothers who almost didn't, either. 

I also think my kids are secretly trying to sell me on Craig's List. You know, like a lawn ornament. No teenaged boy should ever be so intimately familiar with his mother's gynecological health as the three of mine now are. They overhear way more than I know they'd prefer to know. On the other hand, there is now a 99.9% chance that #4 will never become a statistic on 16 & Pregnant. Already a hypochondriac to the tenth power, after all of this, I can just about guarantee that unprotected teen sex will be the last thing on her mind. Hell, she may even apply to the nunnery. Speaking of #4, I can't say enough about that Gal. I do not take pleasure in her becoming her mother's nurse maid, but she has done exactly that out of her own sheer will. I needn't even ask for anything, she's just there, and she does it. Everything, from keeping #5 occupied to bringing me extra pillows. The kid's been a saint. So if it seems to anyone that she's been getting away with murder lately, yeah. She has. She deserves it. 

And MFH? Poor MFH. Homeboy's been carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders lately, I have to say. The cooking, the cleaning, the scheduling, the errands, the everything. If anyone deserves a weekend of Charlie Sheen filled antics, it's him. And it doesn't help that I'm emotionally and hormonally abusing him in between vacuuming and folding my underwear. I'm pretty sure his Lil' Wayne is feeling the death glares it's been getting every time he walks in the room. If cold causes shrinkage, he damn near has a hernia by now.

Yeah, that basically sums up the last six weeks around here. Aside from some other fuckery-filled family dramas and antics which I promise, I will be blogging about in the very near future, this is us in a nut shell. And it's starting to feel a little cramped for space these days.




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