My dad said he and my mom were "canceling Christmas" this year. I think that's a bit excessive. I'm not a POW, nor is baby girl.
Today, Steve and I decorated a tiny fake tree our nice neighbor Judy gave him. It's on the windowsill now. I do think I'll skip the "High Risk Perinatal Unit Holiday Celebration" on Friday. I'm not allowed out of my room anyway. The nurses were all about having "Santa" come to me, but, um, no thanks. (I mean, really.)
I have my glucose tolerance test (this is a standard test for pregnant women) tomorrow to see if I have gestational diabetes (GD). I really feel like I have enough going on already and I seriously don't know if I could take it if I ended up with GD. I might have to freak out.
When I first checked in here, I had to share a "semi-private" room with another woman for 9 days. She was admitted for preeclampsia, but also had GD, a terrible cold, and (get this) herpes. She was Thai, and had a pretty thick accent, but Steve and I definitely heard her when the doctor said "Any STDs?" and she quietly replied "the herpee." (For a couple of weeks after that, Steve would periodically go totally serious and say: "the herpee." But I had to make him stop because laughing too hard can kick off contractions.)
My roommate was at 31 weeks, and as I listened to her hack up a lung for those nine days, I pondered whether I'd trade conditions with her if I could have a 31-week gestation baby, vs. the 22-weeker I checked in with. Tough choice. Luckily I won't ever have to make that decision.
If I do manage to keep this going to 36 weeks, I'll be in the hospital 14 weeks. Kind of like a semester. Maybe like a semester abroad.
Or a semester abed.