Emotional memory is a ruthless beast. It perches in your subconscious, lying in wait for something to trigger its attack. A smell, an experience or a time of year can send you back to a place you thought you had left behind, had recovered from, or at least didn't expect to visit again.
I was reminded of this as I left my twin toddlers in the car with my husband, drug my suitcase and pillows, 32 weeks pregnant, tears in my eyes, into the lobby to admit myself for hospital bed rest due to high blood pressure.
Damn. Here I am again.
This is the same point in my pregnancy, same time of year, same reason I was admitted two years ago and ultimately had to deliver my girls eight weeks early. Except this time I am leaving two adorable, needy toddlers behind while I sit in a drab room, thinking of what I would be doing at home, wishing my stupid body would just do something the "normal" way for once. It's absolutely infuriating.
And yet, the decision to leave what was no doubt a stressful environment at home - taking care of my twins, one who has special needs while watching my blood pressure rise - was an obvious choice. Emotional memory does serve a purpose. Anticipating another baby in the NICU was enough to send me crawling into the hospital bed, admitting that there was no way I could "take it easy" at home.
First I was upset. I spent all of Wednesday at my own personal pity party playing the "why me?" game. Then I woke up Thursday morning after the first uninterrupted night of sleep I've had in two years thinking, "I could get used to this!" and simultaneously praying my kids don't end up in therapy with abandonment issues.
I'll be here at St. David's North Austin Medical Center until Tiny enters the world or I reach 34 weeks, whichever comes first. I've received steroid shots to help Tiny's lungs mature and my doctor's feeling is that since 34 weeks is the point at which naturally occurring labor would not be stopped and there would be a slimmer chance of a NICU admittance, that's as good a time as any to send me home feeling comfortable that whatever happened next would be OK for me and Tiny (we do have a name, but I'm not ready to tell the entire blogosphere yet).
I'm currently 32 weeks, 4 days. That leaves 10 days and counting of
trashy mags, horrible hospital food, quirky nurses, television *with* commercials (gasp!
My DVR has spoiled me) and only brief glimpses of my family. Plus, I'll be able to update you, dear readers, on what's been happening at Twingate Central for the last few months (short version: A LOT).
Visitors, phone calls, emails, hilarious YouTube clips, and book or movie recommendations welcome.
