As if week 39 of pregnancy wasn’t stressful enough on its own. I’ve been hoping that every twinge is an indication we’re close, practically praying for an early arrival. Until yesterday.
Peanut has had a cough for a week. I took him to the doc on Monday, assuming our pediatrician would pooh-pooh it like usual and give me the usual: fluids, rest, blah, blah, blah. Essentially, give me the peace of mind I was seeking in this final week before my due date. Instead, Dr. Killjoy would not commit and dropped the H-bomb: H1N1. Not that it definitely resembled it, but that he couldn’t rule it out, he said while eyeing the basketball in my belly. He gave us a prescription for Tamiflu to only fill if his cough stayed the same but his fever got worse.
Well, Wednesday morning, peanut spiked to 101+. Great. Called in and they told me to fill that sucker, so we did. Then called the OB’s office. Now I’m on it, too. Even though I’ve already had the scratchy throat and slight cough. Great. Nothing like being paranoid about possible swine flu during labor.
Needless to say, I’m keeping my legs crossed at least until peanut’s 5-day course of Tamiflu is complete on Monday. I’m on the “precautionary” version, so I have a 10 day course to go. Hoping to put together a plan with the midwife at tomorrow’s appointment, but to say I’ve been freaking out would be an understatement. Nothing like new avenues of paranoid thought to travel down while tossing and turning all night since no position is comfortable right now. Will I be able to be around my new baby? Will I be able to breastfeed? Will we all be healthy enough to bring the baby home? Why did this have to happen to us? Because, yes, I’m taking it as some sort of personal insult.
Last night, through the stressful tears that keep welling up at random times (thanks hormones), I looked at the hubby and told him one day we’d look back on this time and laugh. I hope that day comes sooner rather than later.