The remainder of my pregnancy was hard, to say the least.

I was a physician, working daily in a hospital with 600+ beds.  Despite my partners and the staff in my hospital medicine office being overly supportive and sensitive, I still had people asking me about my pregnancy multiple times per day.

I was giantly pregnant and had gained a significant amount of weight, especially for someone with my 5’2″ frame…no wonder people couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

That’s what it felt like to me anyways.  People couldn’t keep their mouths shut.  I just wanted to feel normal.  I didn’t want to feel giantly pregnant.  I didn’t want to talk about my pregnancy–no matter how many cute old ladies asked me!

My husband could go to work and escape our nightmare.  He could just go about his day, operating, not having to discuss the pregnancy.  No matter how much I wished I could, I couldn’t just take off my belly like it was a piece of clothing and hang it in the closet while I was working, then put it back on when I was finished.  I desperately wanted to be able to work and enjoy it, but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t escape the well-wishers and conversations.

Most people thought they were being nice and making polite conversation.  But they weren’t.  They were making me argue with myself whether or not I should lie to them and smile and laugh even though I didn’t think I could–or tell them the truth.  The truth that I didn’t know if my daughter was going to survive the pregnancy, or, if she did, the delivery.

Twenty percent to be exact.  That is what we read.  There was a twenty percent chance she would need resuscitation after delivery. How do you even consider that your unborn child has a 1 in 5 chance of not living through birth???

My husband and I had a lot of intense conversations.  I’m sure they were very unique because of our medical background.  We decided that the best thing for our sweet baby C would be to keep her comfortable.  We knew her life, if she lived, would be a daily struggle for her. We decided that she would be a ‘do not resuscitate’ and that we would provide care to keep her comfortable.

By the end of March I was at my wit’s end.  I couldn’t stand talking to people I didn’t know.  I didn’t want to go anywhere new (restaurants etc).  I didn’t want to meet anyone new.  I didn’t want to talk to anyone on the phone.  I really didn’t want to be around anyone except for my husband, my maid of honor, and my friend/horse trainer. (And for those of you that know me, know that I have always been a very outgoing person.  I was even elected ‘most talkative’ of my senior class in high school.)

My relationship was (obviously) different with each of those people, but I felt like I could be myself with them.  And that meant the world to me.

My maid of honor was also my pediatrician friend.  She was so supportive.  She was also knowledgeable and was willing to go with me to appointments to meet physicians and discuss how to best care for our sweet baby C.

My friend/horse trainer was also very supportive.  She was just there.  I could go and hang out with her in the barn while she did chores (and I watched 🙂 ).  I couldn’t stand to be alone in my thoughts at home and my husband was at work–so I went to the barn.  We would chat about anything.  She never brought up the ‘elephant in the room’ unless I brought it up.  If I started talking about it, she would listen and chat with me. If I didn’t, we would talk about other stuff…mostly gossip from the horsey family ;).

My husband and I would eat.  Yes, eat.

We would go to our favorite restaurant, which used to be an old Laundromat.  We couldn’t stand to be at home.  We wanted to escape from our reality, so we went out to eat.  4-5 times per week.  Yes, per week.  I think that’s why I gained so much weight! We had appetizers, entrees, and always desert.  Usually a salted double chocolate chip cookie or vanilla ice cream with sea salt and olive oil (don’t knock it until you try it) or both :).  And we would have coffee–I had decaf with whole milk, he had regular with cream.

We were able to enjoy each other’s company and chat and laugh and sometimes cry.  We felt at home at our favorite restaurant (FL). I didn’t feel like I would be questioned and that I would be able to relax.  Heck, the bartender knew I was pregnant with sweet baby C before any of our friends did!

Despite all of the love and support from my family, friends, and co-workers, I had to stop working.  I couldn’t handle the stress of people asking me about my pregnancy or asking to touch my belly.  I couldn’t handle having to have the hospice talks with my patients. I volunteered to take the ICU patients–the sicker, the better–especially if they were on the ventilator–they couldn’t talk to me if they were sedated with a tube down their throat.  I know that sounds insensitive, but I couldn’t fathom talking with more people than I absolutely had to.

I was so stressed, I was having LOTS of contractions.  I had to stop walking around, pound a Nalgene of water, and lay down to get my contractions to stop so that I could drive home.

So my doc said it would be better for me, and probably my patients, if I stopped working.

I stopped the third week of march. I was due April 27.

I spent a lot of time at the barn.  And at FL, eating…

……

Because of this experience at the end of my pregnancy, I don’t ask people about being pregnant unless they start the conversation.  You never know someone else’s story…