The Case of the Leaking Fluid

I am absolutely spent from all the fretting and worrying and researching since last Thursday. After yesterday’s results, we did feel a burden lift. We are still waiting for the amnio results, but we are very grateful that all of the chromosomes are present and accounted for, with nary and extra. The trisomies were the doctors’ biggest concern, and it looked like we cleared that hurdle. I am still nervous, but I am being optimistic.

Of course, there has to be a little drama in between the test results. I had the amnio last Friday. The doctor said that I could experience cramping, spotting and maybe a little leaking fluid. This, he said, did happen occasionally and is nothing to worry about. If anything seemed out of the ordinary I should call the doctor.

I was lucky. I had absolutely no spotting—which would freak me out, normal or not—and no cramping and nothing unusual. So I went about my business (fretting, worrying, researching) side-effect free.

And then noticed the thin, watery, clear discharge. Apparently, when pregnant, the lower half of your body turns into a veritable faucet of fluids, so I didn’t think much of this. But I had never seen anything watery so far. It occurred to me that this might be unusual. More research and I determined that this is the classic sign of leaking fluids. I don’t now what I was expecting; no one really talks about what amniotic fluid looks like or feels like or smells like. This made me a little panic-y, but I remained surprisingly calm.

By Monday, it was happening too often to ignore. I consulted my friend Jen who is Knower Of All Things Pregnancy (she could open her own fertility office and practice illegally if she wanted. She’d probably get away with it for years before anyone caught on.) and she said when she had a leak, it felt like gushing, like wetting your pants. For me, it wasn’t that obvious. No gushing or wetting of the pants. But it was consistent and it was unusual. I needed to call the doctor.

I called my doctor and left a message with her receptionist today (yes, it took me another two days to really admit that this might be a problem; I still hoped it would go away). The receptionist calls back in three minutes and says my doctor said for me to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked out.

NOT what I was expecting. I was hoping for a “there, there, it’s nothing” or “just lay down and take it easy for a few days.” Not “drop everything and come in now.” So I IM Nicole that I am going into Labor and Delivery, which she interprets as “I am going in labor. And delivering.” She calls me all panicky, but at least I could calm her down. Later at dinner she said if there was an open window in her office she would have jumped out. She is stretched pretty thin too from all this drama—but she has to go off to work every day while I have the luxury of napping, relaxing and generally not worrying about any other responsibilities. I keep trying to pretend that work might be a nice distraction for her, but let’s be honest: It has to absolutely suck. If I were still working, I would have quit by now, probably in a dramatic way.

At the hospital, a doctor examined me (urine sample, sonogram, internal exam with a speculum that had to be inserted without lubricant, swab test) and determined that everything was just fine. Turns out my discharge just took a very watery turn. I was so relieved, because as I was laying there I did of course think this is it. It’s over.

On a happy note, the doctor did a sonogram on one of those rolling portable machines. I didn’t get to see the babies (the girls!) but she said they were both moving around and looked just fine. The baby on top (I think Baby B?) moved in a new position. The doctor said she was in a fetal position, which I thought was so cute. The fetus in the fetal position. Does it get better than that?

Since I wasn’t leaking any fluid or in any immediate danger, that meant I had to pick up dry cleaning, do the laundry and iron Nicole’s shirts after all. No more excuses. I also made a yellow cake with chocolate frosting. And took a nap because all this drama is exhausting me.

If I can turn these stories into 2,000 words, can you imagine how long my delivery story is going to be? (Please let me have a happy-ending delivery story.)

Cake time.