This is Part Two. You can read Part One of my story here.
I’m lying in a hospital bed. Again. I’m now 33 weeks pregnant and last night at 6pm I had my second bleed due to placenta previa. Thankfully this second bleed was a much more calm affair than my first. Legoman was home for starters!! I could tell my little Possum that mummy needed to go sleep at the hospital. The gorgeous thing said “I love you mummy. I will carry your dressing gown for you.” She’s so resilient and brave. I’m so amazed by her.
At 6pm I went to change into my pajamas (I’m pregnant, it’s allowed!). I went to the toilet and found blood on my underwear. There was no sudden gush this time. I had time. We called the midwife (who was probably about to have her dinner!) and called my mother in law to take me to the hospital. Legoman helped Possum get ready for bed. There was no panic. No tears. Just a sense of “here we go again”.
I was expecting them to bundle me up and send me off to the big hospital again, but I was pleasantly surprised when they said I could stay at my little regional hospital. My own room! Close to home! Room with a view!
There was no talk of delivering baby. Thank goodness.
There was the reminder though that I have used up two of my three strikes. Next bleed and there is no going home until bub is born. I could handle those kind of consequences if I had any control or choice over these bleeds. Instead I feel cheated. Dobbed in for something I didn’t do.
You see I have none of the risk factors for placenta previa. None of them!
My placenta is big and fat and healthy. Bub is big and healthy. It’s head down and ready to go. It knows what should be happening. I know what should be happening. This is not what should be happening.
I’m 12 hours into 24 hours of bed rest. Then home time. To wait.
No more work.
*** I started writing this this morning. Around lunch time my family left to go home after visiting me for the morning. All was looking well. The doctor came in to say I could go home! Hurray! After he left, I went to the toilet, washed my hands and then felt it. Felt the gush. Again. I looked and I had fresh red blood on my pad.
No going home for me today.
I called for the midwife and told her. Back onto bed rest. Back onto the CTG to monitor bub. Doctor back in and I’m told I will be transferred in an ambulance to a larger hospital. Again.
My Possum is expecting me home this afternoon and I won’t be coming home.
People keep asking “Is there something I can get you?” and I feel like saying “A BRAND NEW F******G PLACENTA!!!”.
As I lay in bed and waited for my transfer, I cried. Out of exhaustion. Out of frustration. Out of sadness. Out of anger. My midwife sat with me while I cried.
The closest big hospital has no beds for premature babies so instead I will be transferred to another hospital which is a further 40 minutes away from my house. I will be nearly 2 hours away from my home, my husband and my daughter. And I don’t know how long I will be there for.
That’s the thing with placenta previa. You ask a question and the response you get back is “Well that depends”. There are no straight answers. No predictable outcomes. No normal turn of events.
I take comfort in knowing every day helps baby get bigger and stronger and more ready to be out in the world. I take comfort in knowing I live somewhere with amazing medical care. I take comfort in knowing my daughter is well loved and well looked after while I am in hospital. I take comfort in knowing baby is doing well in my belly.
But this waiting game continues and it’s a game I don’t want to play anymore.
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