Plugging

I remembered that this was hard, this thing called bedrest.


Although self-imposed at this point -- I called my peri's office to schedule the follow-up appointment, 11 days out rather than 1 week as I was instructed, and asked about whether I needed to be on bedrest, being told that a nurse would call me back but I'm still waiting -- I'm in bed most of the time except for going to the bathroom, showers, and getting water. I have an appointment with my regular OB tomorrow, hopefully she will have better luck from my peri's office.

At four days out, the familiar aches have set in. I'm trying to stay off my back because the injection site is still a little sore (though getting better), and maneuvering my four pillows is difficult in the tangle of the bedspread. I'm still in good spirits which is good.

Wannabe dad has been awesome as usual, moving my office things to our home and setting me up for work. We just finished our Monday staff meeting and our staff is cooperative and helpful. It's a different rhythm, as one of them put it. It's not forever.

A week ago I received not an email from my friend, but a card. She wrote the most thoughtful words and wished us well. I plan on writing her back to tell her our news and to thank her.

There are a few people who we've told our news to that have said some strange things, like: Was it a surprise? Was it planned? These people a) are not parents of dead babies, and b) not skilled in the art of conversation. They know what happened. I'm not 16 years old, of course it was planned and not a surprise. Good grief. But people can be so careless with their words. Now that it's out of my head, I'm over it.