9 Weeks and 2 days. That’s the time I spent lying in bed trying to stop Peter from being born too early. Telling him constantly to wait for just another week, to give himself time to get stronger. One week at a time. That’s all we needed: Time.
When we first went to the Dr. I was intrigued. What is this bed rest you talk about? How am I gonna go about it? What does it entail? Right? The directions for Bed Rest are pretty straight forward: You rest in your bed. As in, you lie there all the time and plan activities and start projects that you’ll leave halfway through because you think you will be able to learn french in 10 weeks if you just apply yourself. (Pas de Chance, Oui?). I was allowed to take a shower and use the toilet but nothing else. Peter had tried to come early and according to my Doctor he would continue to do so. She told me there was no way of knowing what was going on. There was no explanation as to why there was bleeding, and as long as Peter was moving and growing accordingly to fetal age there was no danger for him or for me.
During those 9 weeks, Peter tried to come early 7 times. I didn’t feel any contractions, just the bleeding out of nowhere. That’s seven times I had to go to the clinic and get every test done. Seven times I thought: This is the day. But Peter didn’t come. I cried every single time. Never in those 9 weeks did my Dr. or the Doctors at the clinic give me any sort of reason for what was going on. The last time we went there they had a medical meeting to discuss our case. 5 Doctors in a room for an hour. The outcome: I was offered a room at the clinic, they wanted me near. I asked for an explanation for what was happening (I always did). Their eyes wondered. There was none. I spoke to my Doctor and she told me since I was 35 weeks at the time, and so close to the delivery safe zone, that she didn’t want me in the clinic for no reason, that I could go home and if anything else happened Peter could just finally be born. That was the last time Peter scared us (My little drama boy, I told you he would prove to be stubborn from the start.)
While on bed rest I learned a few things, but most importantly I was reminded of a few I had forgotten. And even though I was scared out of my mind, I was reminded of the unconditional love and support I have from my family (the one I was given and the one I chose for myself). Peter turned a new week every Saturday. My mother used to come over with a box of cupcakes to celebrate each week that Peter made it through (Which pretty much explains the 60 pounds I gained), and we sang “Happy B-day/Week” to him (I still can’t eat a cup cake with out tearing up a little). Since I couldn’t be left alone in case I had to go to the Clinic, my family and friends took turns during the day to stay with me until Phillip came home from work. I wasn’t able to decorate Peter’s room, so they would show me from the door what they where doing, and they would bring me his clothes so that I could fold them and organize them. They all were my rock, and I love them all so dearly.
Unfortunately I wasn’t a fan of everyone who came to see me. With being ill comes and aura of gossip and speculation that many people are unable to stay away from. I had many “how are you holding up” visits from people who I could tell just wanted to hear the stories, the struggles, the drama. I recited the whole story and sent them on their way. Still those visitors where much better than some I got who thought they should give me their opinion about my doctor, my medicines, my clinic. Someone actually told me I was being irresponsible and a bad mother for not doing anything about it, for trusting my Dr. (I guess she thought I was taking some sort on vacation and not on bed rest) so I not so patiently explained that 5 Dr’s couldn’t work it out, so how could I. Still it struck home, how could it not? I questioned all the decisions I had made to that day about Peter, I wanted to run to the clinic and ask them again, please tell me what is going on, I beg of you! I cried myself to sleep that night, terrified and feeling guilty for not doing enough for my baby boy. That was the last time I accepted visits.
After the 35th week scare we stayed in bed and there were no more events. We had three whole weeks of peace and sanity.
Peter was finally born at 38 weeks on the 20th of March 2012 (Not because he came early but because I basically begged my Dr. to have him). The day he was born we almost died. My miracle baby.
3rd World Mommy 
Leave a Reply