On Saturday morning, Pip decided that we should have a test run to the hospital and he would have a think about whether it was time to be born. (spoiler alert: he didn’t and we are home and I am still pregnant with a horrid cold that I must have caught at the hospital).
Of course, being only 36+2 I hadn’t packed my bag, so if nothing else it allowed us to find out which taxis are amenable to transporting heavily pregnant women, what it costs and crucial things that I require in my hospital bag (like ear plugs and a super soaker water pistol to fire over the top of people’s cubicles who snore all fucking night, so they wake refreshed and I get less sleep than at home).
We went because I started bleeding. We were having sex and suddenly it was like I had got a period. Lots (well, a fair amount) of thick red blood. We called the triage at the hospital and they told me to come in and that I’d be in for at least 24 hours. So in we went. Apparently I was 1cm dilated and effaced (not quite sure to what extent) but they thought it could be labour starting, although it might be a day, it might be a week. So I was hooked up to. Continuous monitor and, well, monitored. The bleeding stopped being fresh blood but they continued to monitor the contents of the enormous maternity pads they provided. They showed me the contractions I was having on the monitor, which felt a bit like being in a giant blood pressure monitoring sleeve and for about 10 minutes I started to get excited about having a baby, and then I realised I really wasn’t, and then I just wanted to go home.
Whilst I was on the antenatal ward, several ladies arrived in labour but not dilated enough for the labour ward. They lay there, mooing and crying and calling for help and drugs, much to the amusement of my unseen and anonymous next door cubicle occupant, who was convinced they were wasting their energy on feeling sorry for themselves. Meanwhile, I was reminding Marto that I would like him to remind me, if and when I ever started down that road, that I should attempt to move position and put the energy into breathing and being calm.
Whilst I was at the hospital, we had a routine growth scan scheduled. We saw Pip’s face much more clearly and discovered he is growing well. At 7 pounds 2 already, I hope that labour arrives sooner rather than later, although perhaps after Wednesday would be nice, as that is the magic cut off date for which I can go to the birth centre, not the labour ward.
On Sunday, we were released, told to come back if bleeding started again, if Pip’s movements changed or if my waters broke. Or, if contractions started properly, of course. We were also advised to not have sex for a week or so, in case it made the bleeding start again. Apparently, if I came back with further unexplained bleeding, they would probably induce me, so best avoid that if possible.
And so, we wait.