However, I am going to have to lie here and do a little more cooking for at least another five weeks because the goal now is to keep her out of the neonatal intensive care unit, or NICU.  I am told that the longer I hold her in the less time she spends there, so I am holding.

She is still a little tiny, weighing at 2 pounds and 10 ounces.  Otherwise her development is on track. In fact, she is already trying to breathe on her own. Lol – that’s my little fighter.

Now as strange as it sounds, there will be two things I will miss about the hospital.

1. The echoes of women screaming in pain as they give birth.  Most days, I would lie in bed listening to these women and squeeze my legs together thinking, “no way.” I would cringe at each and every scream, trying not to think of when it would be my turn. Then there would a second of silence followed by a newborn scream.  I would smile at that moment.  It such a beautiful of sound – the cry of a newborn as he or she comes kicking into this world.  That’s when I would un-squeeze the legs and think, “wow, I can’t wait until it’s my turn.’’

2. The security of knowing that help was right there should anything go wrong. I will really miss that.  The slightest alarm and the nurses would be there. At home, I have to take care of myself because there is no nurse rushing to my rescues. That’s a bit scary, but then life is rarely about guaranteed security.

Well that’s it. Good bye room 205 and hello home.

I am usually up by 7 a.m. It’s sort of funny because when I was busy working, it was always my goal to be up at 6-7 a.m. However most days, the alarm would go off, and I somehow turn it off, only to wake up a few hours later in a mad panic to get dress and get to work by 10:30 a.m. Now like clockwork, with no alarms, I am up at 6 or 7 a.m. Go figure.

They serve breakfast between 8 and 9 a.m. – No comment.  Mother taught me if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all so no comment.

9 a .m. is med time.   Then they monitor me for an hour to see if there are any contractions and listen to the babies heart beat. This is my absolutely favorite time.  The rhythmic beating of her heart is just so soothing. Occasionally, I drift off to it.  It’s just so reassuring.  She is there. She is healthy, and she is mine. That usually last an hour.

From 10 to noon – After a shower, I am left to my own devices. I either watch TV or a movie.  I am catching up on all the reruns and the new releases.

Lunch is between noon and 1 – see my comment about breakfast.

1- 7 p.m. – I am on my own again, except for the dinner break. And as hard as it is to believe dinner is usually worse than lunch and breakfast put together, but I eat it — for her. Occasionally, I get a treat — a wheelchair ride to the professional offices for tests.  Hey anything outside the room is a treat for me.

7 p.m. – is when the night nurse usually pops in to say hi and do my vital signs.

Between 8 and 9 p.m. – I get the pleasure of listening to her heartbeat again.

The day ends around 10 or 11 p.m.  All in all, it’s pretty – blah, but if I am honest, peaceful. No ups, no downs, just a steady straight line.  It’s what I need right now, I guess.

Today, the neotologist did a bunch of test, and well the only new thing, they discovered was that the amniotic fluid around the baby is very low. Not good at all, so now I am a continuous IV drip to rehydrate me and hopefully replenish the protection around her.  I will confess I had a little breakdown, cried and called my church’s pray line for a little faith and guidance. It helped calm me a bit.  Now, I look at it as part of the cooking process.  She just needs a little more water to keep simmering. So that’s the bad news for the day.  

The good news is my Fetal fibronectin test came back negative. Basically the test determines one’s risks of going into labor in the next two weeks. A negative fFN result, gives me a less than 1 percent chance of delivering in the next two weeks. A positive result would have meant that my risk of delivering sometime before I reach 35 weeks is higher. So yeah to a negative results. So now I am back in Room 205, watching TV and running to the bathroom every hour thanks to this IV drip, but it’s ok. Whenever she kicks me or does one of her summersault, I know it’s all worthwhile.  I will do whatever it takes to keep her cooking.

Seriously, let’s look at it. In a normal pregnancy or when you are baking something, you bring all the ingredients together and sort of leave it in the oven to bake – maybe on a timer.

However, when you are cooking on a stove top, it needs a bit more attention, especially when it’s a complicated violate dish. In this case, as in a normal pregnancy, you bring all the ingredients together, but instead of putting it on an oven, the dish goes on the stove top so you can constantly watch it.

 Every now and then, the dish has to be checked, and maybe, just maybe, something is off, so you have to add a new ingredient to stabilize things.  Monday, the dish called baby Angelique was doing fine.  The lid was still on my cervix. We were cooking well. Then between that and Thursday, she slowly started boiling, the cervix starts to weaken and the lid is two centimeters open.  If this dish comes now, who know what will happen?  So in this case, as with cooking a complicated dish, the doctors need to cool things down. It’s time for some adjustments.  Let’s call it an adjustment in seasoning and temperature.  First thing is to take away some of the heat by putting me on bed rest and now instead of medication once a day it’s twice a day.  Once again the dish is simmering nicely. However, now everyone knows it’s unpredictable, so temperature is kept low and every day, twice a day, it’s checked with seasoning adjustments made as needed.

Tomorrow, it will be meeting with a bunch of specialties to determine what new adjustments, if any, needs to be made, or if the dish will be allowed to simmer in the comfort of her own home.   Wish us luck.