I’ve often thought I’d make a good prisoner. Here I am again at 4am in a ward with no sleep and the orchestra of beeps and coughs keeping me up after an uncomfortable night. I guess since this is anonymous I can confess here, I like to steal in hospital. Nothing major, nothing actionable, just tiny crimes. I like to imagine I’m working the system. A box of cornflakes here, a precious large spoon and bowl there. I hoard for my own comfort and amusement. I work the guards so they give me favours. I would definitely be someone’s bitch if I did time, and hopefully rise through the ranks to have a few bitches myself if I did some time. Or maybe I’d just be the snivelling grass who kept their nose clean and tried to get out early on good behaviour. Yes, that’s more likely.
Came in again yesterday with bleeding after 5 long, proud weeks since my waters broke at just 21 weeks three days. I had no idea one could last that long. From the acres of pessimistic stories and cod research I’ve been indulging myself in on the internet. It would seem that most people go into labour within 48 hours and the rest the following week. I feel stubborn and mule-like, preferring to attribute something to mind over matter, or strength of character, whilst secretly expecting that it is just plain luck. The consultants and midwives have stopped eyeing me like a total lost cause and I have been telling all of them not to worry as my babies aren’t coming out for another 8 weeks. I’m told they’ll deliver them regardless at 34 weeks as twins are ‘done’ by then. Like well baked sausages.
I’ve been leaking continuously since my waters broke. The odd alarming gush once every couple of days, usually after I allow myself off the sofa to watch my son and my husband having fun somewhere with me parked on a bench. The day before I came in I had to confess to moving shelves, oh and lifting a computer table, and a scanner, hoovering and using my new steam cleaner but I kept those to myself. What an idiot. My desire to nest and have my son’s new bedroom ready was so overwhelming and it was the culmination of five weeks of sofa planning. How could a busybody resist? I woke up congratulating myself on the near completion of project house – Victorian windows fixed, garden done, Number One son’s bedroom prepped and awaiting cute furniture and dinosaur curtains. I felt like such a fool when I went to the loo and saw it filled with blood. I told my husband and called the hospital as soon as he left for the childminders with my son. My boy is 2 and smart and understands much more than he lets on. I didn’t want him to hear the alarm in my voice as I said ‘bright red blood’.
They sent me straight to triage and I lost it a bit. I feel like I’ve invested so much work in not letting these babies out that I cannot stop here. We have to make it two more weeks to 28 weeks at least when the prognosis gets much better. I read a research paper the other day about the improved life chances of premature babies who are born with a birth weight of over 1500g and, slightly ridiculously, started eating for England after that. They are both estimated at around 1kg right now with ‘forward growth velocity’ but hilariously short femurs under the fifth centile. Yesterday’s scan report remarked on it as being ‘consistent with patient’s stature’. You saying I’m a shortarse lady?!! It is true. I do have very short thighs. So does my son. We called him Toulouse Lautrec for a while. My husband says it could be good for track cycling or ping pong.
They’ll let me out today if the bleeding stops. No one seems to know why it’s happening. The in-laws are here. Octogenarian troopers and so flexible and easy going. It’s actually quite a nice break from my son and from myself. It is a challenge to keep still and horizontal and hospital forces you to nothing but. Since I am in a ward ths time it’s difficult for the boy to visit as he is yet to learn volume control. He arrived yesterday shouting ‘I want more cocky! ‘. He has yet to learn to pronounce the ch in chocolate. I don’t know what to do. I can’t have him going around shouting more cock please.
5.26am. The midwives have no volume control either. Do they design these machines with extra beeps? You probably pay more. Time to attempt half an hour’s sleep before the daily round of obs start.