The Fatty.

I'd call it the "skinny", but I'm not skinny anymore.  So you're getting the "fatty".
Hey, it's Monday.  I can make stupid jokes. 


So, here's the deal.

Monday, Hubband came home from work with his intestinals all torn up.  45 seconds after getting off the train, he was yakking over the guardrail.  I also had a feverish B-rox, and a Kenny who had decided to try and kill my slipcovers earlier in the week.
I figured I'd wash my hands a lot, wipe everything down with a virucidal and anti-bacterial and wear a mask.

It didn't work.  About 4am on Tuesday, I woke up in crazy pain.  Which, it turned out - was happening every 2-3 minutes.

I sat in the tub and tried to drink some water.  The water didn't sit well - and the tub didn't comfort me very much.
Luckily, hubband was feeling better, and was already planning on being home for the morning as I had a regularly scheduled checkup.

When I got to the check-up, the nurse admitted me to LnD after a 2 second glance at me.
She did NOT listen when I told her it was so NOT baby time.  


Anyway, to sum it up fairly quickly - I spent 24 hours in the hospital against my will because my uterus was gung-ho for the contractions.
The doctors wouldn't let me go because of the contraction timing, my labor history, and the fact that this is my third.
The doctors wouldn't do anything to help labor along because I wasn't technically "full term" yet.  (The midwife was all about just breaking my water and letting me celebrate another birthday the day before Thanksgiving.)
The doctors wouldn't do anything to STOP the contractions, because I was too far along.
I didn't care.  I wanted to go home.  With or without baby.

It. Was. Hell.

The shot of "Nubane" lasted about two hours.
The shot of Morphine lasted 3.
Phenergen lasted about 4.

Finally, after 9 liters of saline, a bajillion different drugs - I passed the bug and my contractions slowed down.

We're now at a nice, comfy 10-15 minute pace.
And by comfy, I mean my groin, lower back and abdomen pretty much scream at me every time I move I'm so sore.  My feet and hands are now perma-swollen, and even ambien isn't helping me sleep much better. 


I'm crabby, sore and can no longer mentally deal with this symbiote.  After much google-fu I am now employing every "safe" method of getting labor going for realz.

Cross your fingers, make a sacrifice, pray, carve a totem, dance a special dance, and wear your lucky socks.  I'm hoping for this show to hit the road on Sunday.  


Otherwise, I might jump off of a cliff.