What's with all the poking and prodding?

So...I kinda left the story hanging on the first entry. There was so much to share and I figured that cutting off at the point of being admitted was a good breaking point. So...into the hospital...



"Nikki?" a gentleman said. When I turned, there he stood with a wheelchair. Ugghh...I forgot that people have to be moved from place to place in a wheelchair in the hospital. I sat down and he wheeled me up to the labor and delivery wing of the Scottsdale Healthcare hospital. The woman at the "reception" desk asked to see my insurance card and ID...and it was at this point that I had to explain to her that technically I am Nikki Cavalero now, as it reads on my driver's license. However, I just got that changed and haven't had time to change all of my insurance information yet...so it still reads Nikki Ramsey. It has only been a few months...oops! Hey...I have a friend who has been married for like 10 years and just changed her social security card in the last couple weeks. I am not that bad! :) The woman was very nice and said that she would contact my insurance company and take care of it!



While sitting there for a few more minutes, my dear friend, Elena came up behind me. She was just coming to sit with me...so I didn't have to be alone. (Thanks E!) I was pretty much a hot mess and although I wouldn't have asked her to give up several hours that afternoon...I was glad to see her.



It didn't take long and I was rolled into my room. The room was pretty nice actually. I have never been a patient in a hospital...but I have visited several friends and family members when they have been in for various reasons...usually babies. The room was pretty big, with a natural color scheme and windows that looked out onto this beautiful AZ November day. Two young and cute nurses introduced themselves and handed me a hospital gown.

Let me take a minute to talk about the gown. First...who is it supposed to fit. I guess that they are trying to make it one size fits all. But instead it comes out as one size fits nobody. Second...I was sad to change out of my outfit. That morning I had picked out one of my new maternity dresses to wear. It was a thin, grey sweater dress that tied in the back as an empire style. I was wearing some black tights under the dress and some really great slouch boots. My boss has even referred to these boots as "bad ass boots." I was even accessorized with a new cute necklace that I had purchased the night before. I felt like a very trendy pregnant lady and had been excited to pick my husband up from the airport that night looking cute! And now...I had to put on the hideous hospital gown. OK...

The next hour or so was a whirlwind of questions and monitors and the usual things to check one's vital signs. "We need a urine sample," as they hand me the cup. "You are going to feel a little poke," as they find one of the few good veins I have from which to draw blood. Weight...height...date of birth...have you had any cramps, contractions, discharge (yeah...that's right...I said it), bleeding, headaches, blurred vision, etc. etc. No...no...no...no...continuing to reinforce that I have felt great for my entire pregnancy.

After about 30 minutes on the monitor, they came in to let me know that I was indeed having contractions...several of them. "We are going to give you two shots." One was a steroid given in my hind side...followed up with a second steroid the next day. And the 2nd shot was called turbutaline. The steroids are designed to give baby a jump start if I were to deliver early. The turbutaline is used to shut down contractions. How it works...I have no clue, because it feels like taking 20 shots of espresso in less than a minute. It sent my entire body into the shakes.

In the first few hours, I received more pokes and shots and swabs than I think I have received in all of my adult years combined. And the result...

I was going to be in the hospital for more than 24 hours.