Go Time

After receiving the steroid injection and the magnesium treatment, it was time to "sleep" while the (AWESOME) nurse (Katie) continued to monitor Little Long's heart rate throughout the night.  The machine was in the room of course so we laid awake most of the night listening to his heartbeat.  Listening to it go from a normal 140 beats per minute and, each hour or so, dropping to a much slower 80, 70, 60, 50, and, at its worst, 40.  Each time it began to drop, the nurse would come in, quickly ask me to flip to my side.  They thought he was running into the umbilical cord so my flip would help him move away from it and get his heart rate back up.  

I didn't sleep more than about 20 minutes that entire night, listening and wondering when his heart rate would decelerate again.  And again.  And again.  6 decelerations and a worried OB later, the doctor came in at 4:20 Tuesday morning, announcing that it was go time.  Little Long would be delivered by c-section that morning.  The doctor had booked the OR (operating room) at 4:30, a mere 12 hours since we'd been admitted.  And, yes, ten minutes later, I'd be delivering my first born son, on my birthday, exactly 3 months premature.

Scared?  Check.  
Worried?  Check.  
Anxious?  Check.  
Terrified?  You get the idea.

We both texted our families, letting them know our baby would be arriving today.  Matthew ran to the car to grab the camera (miracle I had it!) and they put me in a wheelchair, wheeling me down to the OR.

I remember wishing so badly that I could experience labor, contractions, something, anything resembling a "normal" delivery.  

His low growth left me gaining 3 and a half pounds, never wearing a maternity top or needing the belly band I'd heard so much about.  I didn't expect to feel a "loss" not experiencing the third trimester.   But I did.