I'd been having this odd pain in my groin for the last 4 or 5 days, but really just thought it was tendons and the baby pressing on them, or maybe just the lu*st that burns ever-constantly for my Nautica-wearing husband. (1990s, anyone?)
Talked to a friend who is VERY non-alarmist, and she suggested I talk to our doc (we share the same one; we're cool like that.) Co-pays are separate, though.
Scott actually called me on the phone, something he *never* does unless he thinks I'm dying, which, well, apparently he did. He told me to call an ambulance if I was feeling faint and who cares how much it costs, and, hey, by the way, remember that lady I worked with who died just when we started dating? This is exactly what she died of!
"Oh, honey, that's FANTASTIC!" I replied, as I downed an entire bag of potato chips.
Enter the tears, because if my husband is saying these things, the guy who doesn't raise an eyebrow as the hurricane bears down on the ship, then I am S-C-R-E-W-E-D.
Anyway, 45 minutes later I was getting a doppler done of my leg, freaking out because I had googled "C-SECTION AFTER BLOOD CLOT DIAGNOSIS", (for the love of Peter and Paul, never google this), and imagining my own funeral, complete with my children asking Daddy why Mommy wouldn't wake up, and why is she in a wooden bed?
Lucy would lay a laurel wreath upon my bosom, and she would be wearing that little Cinderella outfit, the one Cinderella wears when she's sweeping the cinders and her evil stepmother is making her stay home from the ball, but only after she buries her dead biological mother and lays a laurel wreath, as I said, upon her bosom.
Technically, I suppose that "little Cinderella outfit" is really just a whole bunch of cast-off rags her older brat sisters donated to the cause, but hopefully Scott would buy her a real costume at the Disney store for the occasion.
Asher would hit me in the face and tell me he needed a glass of milk.
I am nearly shouting from the rooftops with my good news: no blood clot, just freaked out mother... though that would require me walking outside and the humidity here is hellish.
My sister in law came over and made food for all of the kids, watched them while I went to my appointment, and then scrubbed my kitchen down while I lounged in the living room scarfing down Costco apple pie and watching Eloise with the littles.
Sainthood, I tell you.
3.5 days, if anyone is wondering.
And yes, my bags are actually packed.
Time for a nap, because somehow I have deluded myself into thinking that having a newborn, a healing c-section scar, a 6 month old, and two other small children will be a walk in the park.
I keep thinking this weekend is going to seem so looooooooooooooooooooooong, BUT perhaps I'd better enjoy it.
Just really happy they don't have to put mesh things in my veins before the surgery so that clots won't travel to my brain and kill me on the operating table.
But, you know, stay posted for that freakishly worried post somewhere around Monday evening. I have to report to the hospital at 5 AM Tuesday morning, so I won't have much time to think about it, then.
My doc said she'd let me try for a VBA2C up until 40 or 41 weeks, and maybe I'll just go ahead and cancel the section at the last minute.
Or, you know,