It must have
been my birthday[1]. That's the
only plausible explanation for the exciting gift I received at the OB's office
yesterday - a cervical exam! For the uninitiated, a cervical exam at nearly 38
weeks is something akin to vaginal torture[2].
Oh the pressure! The pain! But, alas, the reward: I am <gasp> 2 cm
dilated and 50% effaced. Dare I say the OB was rather impressed. After weeks of
my not so subtle requests that she promptly and accurately predict my exact
due date right now pleaseandthankyou[3],
she stated, pretty optimistically, "you won't go past your due date."
*angels singing, horns blowing, etc.*
She then
proceeded to suggest some natural ways of accelerating the birth process which
she says I am free to undertake next week. The exhilarating options range from
nipple stimulation to get the pitocin and uterine contractions flowing (specifically,
for five minutes, three times a day – because, you know, what full time
attorney doesn't have the time for
such whimsical endeavors?) and the illusive "stripping of the membranes[4]"
which she is, ahem, happy to perform
during my next office visit[5].
Because the former made me feel like a 6th grader in sex ed and the latter
sounded downright terrifying, I decided to just blush discretely to myself and
change the subject[6]. It's kind
of a blur, but I think we then started talking about meditation and chocolate
truffles. Also Zantac. Because, you know, at nearly 38 weeks, this is what
it's come to, people.[7]
After she
left, and I rose from my naked-from-the-waist-down stupor, I looked down to
find what was essentially a harrowing crime scene. Apparently, and much to my
surprise (because I am nothing if not a logical thinker), her exam had left me,
how do I say this, bloody. So, with zero of my dignity still in tact, I
scampered to the door, still-naked-from-the-waist-down, to try to call
her back in. Because, you know, I’m pregnant SOMETHING MUST BE TERRIBLY
WRONG. A miscellaneous nurse spotted me first, and clearly INCREDIBLY
DISTURBED by my lack of dignity, shoved me back in the room, closed the
door and abruptly informed me she would find the doctor. Sauntering back in, my
OB, visibly amused, apologized, noting "I should have warned you!"
before directing me to the PLUS SIZE ADULT DIAPERS “maxi pads” in the corner. Ahem. Noted.
So dear readers, do tell. At 2 cm dilated and 50%
effaced should I be lying very still and eating bon bons? Feverishly packing my
hospital bag? Going all in, membranes and all? And if the last, what on earth
should I expect with that little activity?
[1] Spoiler: it was not my birthday.
[2] It is nothing like torture. Another
symptom of the third trimester: drama!
[3] Or, in her case, nothankyou. Since, apparently, obstetricians don’t like to make
baseless predictions and later be held to them by anxious patients.
[4] Stripping Membranes. Clearly an 80s
metal band with a hair problem. Or something you do while on a skateboard. Or else, you know, cervical agony of an
indeterminate variety.
[5] I feel like I just got solicited. The
most pregnant hooker in the Northeast.
[6] <Mature adult here>.
[7] (Seriously
though. I'm pretty sure we talked about these things, in this order. I kind of
adore my OB despite what follows).
