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Just Passing the Time

Nothing much going on over here. Unless you count passing out in your boss's office, crawling in delusional fury to the conference room floor to sprawl out on my left side all the while my boss saying things like, "Should I call an ambulance? Do you want water? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

The answer to all of those was unsurprisingly, "No."

No, I do not want an ambulance screeching to a halt in front of the building, lights flashing, sirens blaring, announcing to the world "The pregnant chick feels woozy! What a wimp!"

No, I do not want water. In fact, I have to pee. Really bad. Right now. On this floor. My crawling and shuffling seems to have rearranged my organs so Cletus the Fetus is now lying completely on my bladder. To be honest, I don't have much control in this area. One sneeze and I can't promise you a thing.

No, I do not want YOU to take me to the hospital. Who wants to be taken to the hospital by their boss? How embarrassing!

As it turns out (after local EMTs were called to casually stroll into the building to nonchalantly take a peek at the whale beached on the conference room floor and a trip to the local emergency room was strongly suggested) I was wheeled - yes, wheeled - out to my boss's car and whisked ten minutes away to the nearest ER.

Let me tell you, if you need to go to the ER, the way to go is preggo! Staff responds so much more quickly. I didn't even have to wait. I did feel bad upon noticing at all the suffering waiting in those bland brown chairs, so I remembered to wave as I wheeled by.

Blood pressure. Tempurature. One hundred eighty six questions. Pee in a cup. (This was very welcome because remember, I'd been wanting to pee since I was on the floor. Needless to say, they got a very full cup.) Find the baby's heartbeat.

The Big V showed up right about then. He's very helpful in emergency situations. He can spin around on the doctor's little wheely-stool. Push off from the wall to see how fast he can race across the room. Get caught by the doctor....

The Doc was a cool guy. Very thorough. Ordered lots of tests - an echocardiogram, blood work, check for blood clots. He called my OB and conversed with her; I felt in very good hands.

V was impressed too, and not just because the doctor let him continue to sit on the little wheely-stool. V said, "I like him. He's Jewish, so you can tell he's smart - like the Amish." I looked at V like he was crazy but V didn't notice because he was busy trying to figure out what some machine on the wall was for. I asked him nicely to please stop pressing the buttons...

In the end I was told I had a "very big uterus" and that it seemed Cletus was pushing down and blocking the vena cava, which is a large vein that carries de-oxygenated blood back into the heart. Apparently you block the vein, you block the blood, and voilà! Instant oh-my-god-I-need-to-sit-down-I'm-going-to-pass-out-I-can't-breathe. I was told some pregnant women are forced to just deal with this, and then he went on to describe some poor soul who literally passed out cold every two to three days during the latter part of her pregnancy. That was not nice.

Big V and my very big uterus were told to make a follow-up appointment with my OB and get out, because the ER was just alerted that the city next door was sending mass casualties and they were getting at least seven patients. I agreed it was a as good a time to leave as any.

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