I Banish Thee

This day does not count. I banish it from existence. I adamantly refuse to acknowledge October 22, 2015 as a day and therefor it WILL NOT be the day my daughter is born. It will be that weird and horrendous day before my daughter was born that we shall never speak of again.

What kind of day starts with a car accident and ends (so far and so help me this had better be the end of it) with getting a 2 Cheeseburger meal wrong at the McDonalds drive thru? This day.

I was all set to write up a post about our first official night in our new house. It was going to be dripping with eloquence and blah blah, yeah right. It was going to be the same drivel you have come to expect. But it was going to be positive. And then I woke up.

New house = new commute. I’ve also got impending baby situation and have been trying to get in as much overtime as I can without overextending my poor little pregnant self. That said, I also took half a day on Monday for the closing and have been trying to at least get to 40 hours this week so that I don’t have to use the precious personal time I need for impending baby situation. So when my “first” alarm went off this morning, instead of turning it off in favor of the full 30 minutes of uninterrupted sleep before my “real” alarm, I just hit snooze and tried to convince myself not call in pregnant to work today. I eventually extracted myself from the covers, showered, found clothes (I smartly kept 3 sets of work clothes out for M-W but neglected to factor in the rest of the week cuz, I don’t know, magic elves were going to open all our boxes and hang up our clothes for us) (and also, there is almost no overhead lighting in the new house, a weird fun fact that makes it very difficult to find clothes when the sun still hasn’t come up), and started on my merry way out the door.

Comparatively speaking, our new house is out in the country. There are very few street lights, but apparently an abundance of deer. I have yet to see a live one though, but saw three new dead ones littering the side of the road on the way to work this morning. I narrowly missed one buck that looked so serene, like he was sitting in a field with only the slightest deer in the headlights paranoia look about him. He looked natural, not all twisted with his tongue out, but he was definitely dead, and that was weird.

I was stupidly trying to remember the best way to get to work rather than using that handy GPS thing all the kids are using these days. The sun was glaring into my windshield and I vaguely saw signs that looked like things I should be paying attention to which is how I ended up going the wrong way on the wrong freeway like a dope. Luckily I figured it out fast and pulled off at the next exit and dutifully entered my work address into my Google Maps app and started merrily on my way again. Since I was all turned around, it was taking me to the appropriate freeway entrance through the city streets. Crowded city streets. With sun yet again glaring through the windshield. So when the line of cars in front of me stopped, I stopped, but the girl behind me did not stop. And hit me with enough force that I sent the car in front of me into the car in front of it. Another 5 or 6 cars piled up behind her as well.

There was little to no damage to my Toyota (gotta love Toyota). The car in front of me was a Saturn that rammed into a Chevy truck with trailer hitch. The back bumper where I hit was totally fine, the front, however, was rather crunched. Which meant I had to stay for the police report. As bad as she must have felt before we all congregated on the sidewalk, I can only imagine the mental anguish the crash initiator went through when she saw not only my enormously pregnant body peel out of the front seat, but the couple from the car in front of me circle around to the backseat to pull their 3ish month old baby out of his car seat. She had a bad morning.

Multiple cars, multiple policemen, one long exhausting police report later meant that instead of getting to work early, I was now about an hour later than my usual time, AKA an hour and 1/2 later than the time I wanted to be there. I called the midwives like a good girl, told them about the accident and answered a few questions. Yes I can feel the baby moving. No I don’t have any sharp pains in my belly. No I do not recall hitting my belly directly on anything. Yes I was wearing my seat belt. They assured me that everything was probably OK, but given how close I am to my due date, recommended I come in for a quick check up just to be sure. The office I usually go to is only open Monday/Wednesday/Friday so I had to essentially go back to the new house to the main office to be seen. I could already feel the minutes ticking by as any hope of making a full 8 hours today let alone OT started to slip further from reality. But I went and checked in and waited. Probably about 20 minutes. Typical for this larger office. I was taken to the back by the nurse who said my weight and blood pressure looked good and then put me in a room where I waited some more for the Dr. The doc came in and recapped all the answers I gave over the phone and told me she wanted to hook me up to the fetal monitor for about 20 minutes just to get a printout of the heartbeat and check to see if I was contracting. They hooked me up, brought me some water, and left me with my phone to sit in the cushy recliner chair for twenty minutes strapped to a beeping, buzzing machine slowly excreting little bits of graph paper with three sets of squiggly lines. “Twenty minutes, so we’ll be back to check on you at 1.”

1 came and went.

1:15 came and went.

1:30 came and my patience went. It wasn’t long before I started calling the front desk to see if they could send someone back to find me and unhook me, but no one was answering. “You are caller number 2, your call will be answered in approximately 1 minute.” On repeat about every 5 – 10 seconds. “You are caller number 2, your call will be answered in approximately 1 minute.” And then the approximate wait time went up to 2 minutes, then 3, then 6. I heard people in the hallway so I started shouting Hello! Nothing. I hung up and tried calling the front desk again. This time with my phone on speaker, still shouting Hello in the general direction of the hallway. Every time that stupid announcement came up “You are caller number 2, your call will be answered in approximately 1 minute.” I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks and could hear the baby’s heartbeat pick up the pace. Finally I got so agitated that the monitor started reeeeeeeeally beeping loudly because baby’s heartbeat was too fast. I tried taking deep breaths and the monitor would settle. Then, “Your call is the next in line and will be answered by the next available representative.” The coil of paper on the floor, the repetition of “Your call is the next in line and will be answered by the next available representative.” would get me all worked up and the monitor would start going off again. I sat up and the doppler shifted setting the monitor off again because it looked like baby’s heart was only beating at 38 BPM. All the while I am still shouting for someone to come unhook me. At 5 minutes to 2, the phone finally gave up and kicked me to voicemail. You better believe I left a voicemail. I started looking for the monitor’s off button so I could unstrap myself. It had now been over an hour since I was supposed to have been checked, AKA an hour and 1/2 since I had been strapped in, I hadn’t eaten lunch, and I had consumed a very large glass of water. I was a very unhappy abandoned pregnant lady.

Finally, at 10 minutes after 2, some poor unsuspecting nurse poked her head in to answer my hollering and said she would find the doctor. A few minutes later, “my” nurse came in and unhooked me so I could go to the restroom. When I got back, the doc was in the room apologizing profusely. She kept apologizing and then just staring me in the eyes. She wanted me to tell her it was alright but I did not. I told her I understood I was a drop in patient, but leaving me strapped to a monitor without so much as a knock on the door for over an hour was not something I was happy about. That there is every possibility (given that I was there for a follow-up from a multi-vehicle car accident) that something could be wrong, or go very wrong very quickly, and that is what was unacceptable more-so than the disrespect to my time for which she was so profusely apologizing. That every time I have to go to the main office I am abandoned in a room and left for endless drags of time and that is something that should be addressed, and addressed quickly before my next appointment on Monday morning because I will not be waiting until the end of time dressed only in a sheet of paper hoping the doctor will show up. But the real issue here is that they left a first timer alone for more than an hour after a worrying episode of physical harm.

They just forgot. They went to a lunch and learn and just forgot that I was there.

I took deep breaths before I started driving again. This day started with a car accident and I’d be damned if I was going to get in another one. I still hadn’t eaten and decided that the oatmeal, fruit, and yogurt at my office wan’t really going to do it for me so I pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru. I ordered a 2 cheeseburger meal, no pickle, side salad, unsweet tea. They asked what kind of dressing, I asked if they had honey mustard, they said OK and told me to pull to the first window. I am not kidding when I say it took 20 minutes to get through the FAST FOOD LINE. First window took my card, then took about 3 more orders and shouted some stuff at the people in the back before giving my card back. I pulled forward to the second window where I was informed that they did not have any unsweet tea brewed and asked if I wanted something else. The deep sigh I gave scared the boy and he tried backtracking a little. I just told him to give me a coke instead and he offered to make it a large. Sure, give me more of the thing I don’t want. Awesome. Then he started to hand me a bag with a McDouble, not 2 cheeseburgers. Then he ran to the back and put two cheeseburgers in a bag, threw a couple things of Honey Mustard Dipping Sauce into the bag and smiled at me like a puppy. Throughout this time, he was asking very curious questions about my meal choices, like how I could possibly prefer unsweet tea because it tasted like water to him. He asked why I wanted dipping sauce for my burgers because he thought that was weird. I told him honey mustard was supposed to be for the side salad, and I didn’t see a side salad in this bag.

“Oh! You wanted the side salad? Ok.”

So then he ran to the back to get the side salad, came back with a bag and shouted out the window, “What kind of dressing you want with that? Just, like, Ranch?”

“Ummm, honey mustard?!”

“OK, let me see if we have any in the back.”

“Forget it, I’ll use the dipping sauce. It’s fine.” I’m freaking pregnant and starving, give me my food or I will eat your face. 

And of course, the burgers had pickles.

And that is why my daughter will not be born this day. I just can’t. Even though the fetal stress test showed that I am apparently contracting, though I don’t feel a thing (I could get used to this kinda labor!), I refuse to remember this day. It will be wiped from the motherboard and we will start fresh tomorrow. She is allowed to come tomorrow.

Assuming my house doesn’t explode today.


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