I had my last ultrasound in the perinatology department today, and I will be honest when I say that I will probably not miss the appointments very much.
I know that I am not supposed to bring my children with me to my appointments in perinatology, mainly because most of the patients there tend to be dealing with some pretty scary conditions that will brook no intrusion or interruption from an older sibling. Or two.
I also know that every single time I have gone in, after meticulously arranging childcare and ensuring that protocol was being followed, I have been met by children in the waiting room. And the hallways. And in strollers, peeking out of exam rooms. And in the arms of the office staff.
I have never been the kind of person to assume that rules don't apply to me; in fact, I am a stickler for (most) rules. Prepare yourself for my fearsome Hairy Eyeball if you dare to get in the Express Lane with more than ten items. Sounds harsh, but what I am saying is that I am no scofflaw.
However, for various reasons, I had to bring Sally with me today. I had found a place for the older two, but I knew Rob was going to meet me at the office and he would be able to hold Sally for the entire time. Plus, and I am totally bragging when I say this, but Sally is a champion waiter. I think it stems from spending most of her life in the waiting rooms at Pediatric Rehab while Fiver is getting his therapy. She just seems to know how to handle doctor's offices. (Which is more than I can say for my eight year old, who supposedly should be able to occupy herself.)
We met up with Rob, who was still in his scrubs and white coat from an early morning delivery, and when we were called back, he picked up Sally and we all walked through the door. The ultrasound tech, who was all smiles and sweet as pie when she called me, stopped and said:
Are you allowed to bring her? Because you are not supposed to have kids with you.
Usually I am an over-apologizer, but I surprised myself when I practically shrugged and told the woman the truth. I didn't have anyone to watch her, and her father would be holding her. I should have added: Thank your lucky stars I didn't bring the other two.
She gave us the stink-eye, and then punished us by leaving us in a room. I'm sure it was so that we could think about what we had done and how we would never, ever do such a thing again. At least that's what I hope my kids are doing when I send them to their rooms.
A different tech came in to do the ultrasound, and she really was sweet as pie. She didn't seem to mind Sally in the least, and even complimented her several times. To Sally's credit, she did have some lovely behavior for an 18 month old.
Bun's behavior, on the other hand, left some things to be desired. While I am glad to say that Bun is no longer in a transverse/oblique position, we are still not completely in the clear.
First of all, I still have too much amniotic fluid. My level is not as high as it had been at my previous appointment, but it is still on the very high end of normal. I am apparently holding back a body of water the size of the Great Salt Lake, and it seems to make everyone nervous. Like I might spring a leak or, even worse, just explode on them.
What concerns me even more than all the fluid, is that Bun is still not really in the right spot. This child must be a contortionist of side-show freak proportions because, as of this afternoon, he/she is head down, but still has a foot on top of the head that is actually presenting first.
I guess Bun wants to hit the ground running -- probably figures he/she has to after listening to the shenanigans in this house for nine months.
Plus, the estimated weight right now, with three more weeks to go, is seven pounds, seven ounces. Bun has been busy bulking up in preparation for life with the other three.
Of course, that's just an estimate, and it can be wrong by as much as a pound either way. Rob and I share a gut feeling that Bun is probably not quite as big as the estimate, simply because of all the dramatic position changes. I know the extra fluid allows for more movement, but if Bun was really a Paul Bunyan sized kid, there just wouldn't be enough room for all of the circus craziness going on in there.
What does all this mean? I wish I could say for certain that we are committed to a plan of action, but that just isn't how things are panning out.
The biggest concern to all the medical types, including Rob, is that my water will break, and a part other than the head will present itself for delivery. That is very bad mojo, especially if the presenting part is the umbilical cord. That is a go-directly-to-surgery-do-not-pass-go-superbad-complication kind of scenario that we are all about avoiding.
I have yet to talk with my family doctor about all of this, but we are most likely looking at a tightly controlled induction, possibly with an OR team at the ready, since much of this depends on what my cervix feels like doing. And that freaks me out.
I know I have whined about inductions and other medical interventions, but I am not stupid and stubborn enough to risk my baby's health. Or my own, for that matter. Bun and I have a few more weeks of sharing the same body space, so there is still time for gravity to work its magic on that little hard-headed noggin.
Head towards the light, Bun!