Naturally, I was mortified.
I knew it, I just knew that it wasn't labor. I mean, I kind of knew. The pain ebbed and flowed like a contraction. My back hurt like a contraction. But ... it just didn't seem like I was in labor. I've gone into labor before. I know how it feels.
Uh, right?? Haven't I done this before??
So, my mortified state had nothing to do with the possibility that I was in labor, but rather in the fact that I was pretty sure that I wasn't, and I was therefore quite embarrassed that I was wasting the staff's time. Of course, the nurses were fantastic and assured me that it's better to be safe than sorry. I appreciated their sentiments. But ugh, there's nothing like feeling like THAT person, that person who JUMPS THE GUN. Worse than that, they advised me to call my husband (understandably) even though I kind of didn't want to (at the risk of him having to leave work ... which he did ...), and in turn my husband called his parents and my parents (unbeknownst to me) and then this thing that I was hoping would just be a liiiiiiiittle thing, turned into a potentially BIG THING. Ugh.
Even though my doctor sent me over. It was actually his call, not mine. But, you know. And, I was in pain. And I did have contractions. Just not at the frequency (or the strength) where they posed any sort of threat. Given that I'm not full term (meaning 37 weeks), this kind of thing wouldn't be good. I know healthy babies can be delivered at 34-35ish weeks (wherever I am right now). I was one of those babies. But, it's better if they bake just a tad longer. I WANT Naomi to bake!
So, after a few hours of pain and monitoring, they released me and I sulked out of the hospital with my tail between my legs.
I owe my OB nurse a ride in a wheelchair, seeing as my ride was in vain.
Have a lovely day.