The thing is, every time I was sent to the hospital by my doctors, I was sure that THIS time would be IT.
On July 25, when it was discovered that I had dilated and was having frequent contractions, I would have bet my last dollar.
On August 16, when the nurse administering the non-stress test told me that she would have to page my doctors and have me admitted, I called in the soldiers, stating that this time, it's got to happen.
And on Friday, Sept. 2, only three days away from being 36 weeks, having not slept for the last week, and feeling as if I was nearing the end of my rope, I just knew that Friday would be a birthday. In fact, when Dr. W. said that she was sending me to the hospital because of the indications of pre-eclampsia (my horribly swollen legs and feet, my raised blood pressure, and the presence of protein in my urine), I made the calls, again, and told my friends and family that I was making what I thought was going to be my third and final trip to the hospital.
When I arrived, sister and nephew in tow, I checked into the now familiar Family Birthing Center and prepared for what I knew was to come: bloodwork, monitoring, blood pressure and urine check, cervical exam, IV for potential dehydration and numerous visits by the residents, all of whom weren't completely familiar with my records. We were there for eight hours. In those eight hours, my contractions increased in intensity and frequency (every 2 minutes) but everything else returned to normal and my cervix remained unchanged.
When J. left his office, co-workers were slapping his back and shaking his hand, congratulating him on the impending births of his children. They were sure, like the rest of us, that the third time would be the charm. When he arrived at Triage, his frustration of seeing me in pain, the lack of progress, and the ignorance of the residents overflowed and he lashed out at the current resident. She was about to admit me to Antepartum for the third time for "theraputic rest" and he could see the desperation in my eyes at the thought of another day in the hospital. I begged her that since she, nor the doctor on call (a physician from another practice that was covering for mine over the weekend), were planning on delivering the babies tonight, to let me go home. She reluctantly agreed and I was discharged at 9:00 p.m.
Earlier that day, Dr. W. told me that if I haven't gone into labor naturally, that a cesarean section would be scheduled close to 37 weeks - September 12, 2005. So, on Tuesday, I'm calling the office, scheduling the surgery, and if by chance I happen to have to return to the hospital before then, I will not call, text, page or tell anyone what's going on. Maybe, just maybe, I'll have these girls soon.