Last night was a terrible night. I tossed and turned with crazy worries about how I would navigate the hospital alone, how would I park and get to the doctor's office? What if bad news was delivered? I have only myself to blame.
I was too scared to even get up to go to the bathroom, for fear of membrane rupture, bleeding. I longed for baby boy to move, letting me know he was still alive inside. Was there a cord accident? This is what the early morning hours will do...
Finally, I realized in my state of restless sleep that my previous post was incorrect...
It was Dr. G who delivered "the news" last time but it wasn't on a Tuesday. No, it was a Friday that I learned my membranes were bulging. It WAS a Tuesday, however, that I went in suspecting a problem, only to be told all was well...
I returned to the doctor's office on Friday, that same week, just three days later, and didn't leave until my daughter was fighting for her life in the NICU.
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