I’ve written before about my blood pressure highs and woes. For most of this pregnancy, my soaring estrogen kept the BP at a blissful 110/70 or thereabouts. Then in the third trimester, it went back up to where it usually hangs: A dismal 120/90. I started checking it at home and peeing on sticks to look for any protein in my urine, and it all seemed OK, except for the part where I’d only bother to check it after lying down in bed for a few minutes at night. This week, I showed up for my regular OB appointment and, as soon as I saw the intake nurse doing a second squeeze of the cuff and then a third squeeze before letting out a sigh, I knew it wouldn’t be good news. Brace yourselves: 150/110. Aaaaand cue the doctor coming in to remind me for the zillionth time what the signs of pre-eclampsia are and ask whether I’ve had any of them, and by the way could I go over and demand an urgent ultrasound down the hall and then also head over to triage to get this checked out properly—oh and don’t eat or drink anything, “just in case.”
For a minute, I started to fear I may actually need to deliver this kid ASAP. And of course the pregnancy triage unit is located in the very centre of an enormous hospital and therefore has NO wireless phone signal and NO data reception, so once I was hooked up to all the monitors, I couldn’t even call my husband to fill him in on where I was. Actually, now that I think about it, I didn’t even bother to tell him I was going to my OB appointment, either, so I had visions of having to suddenly ring him up and be all, “Hey hon! Um, we have a baby now! Can we start thinking a bit more seriously about the name?”
Long story short: Everything is now fine. Well, “fine”. My blood pressure dropped a bit while I was being watched, my pee is clear, baby’s heartbeat is fine, growth is on track, movement is good, bloodwork is unremarkable, etc. Still, I’m now on medication and have to go in to repeat about five hours’ worth of tests in triage every two days while obsessively self-monitoring to ensure I don’t have headaches, blurry vision, swollen ankles and whatnot. If I ever get a reading that hits 160/110 and/or experience any of these symptoms, that’s when I can freak the hell out and floor it to the hospital.
So! Let’s take bets. Clearly, this kid is not going to be cooking until 40 weeks. He’s 36-ish weeks now (you can see the latest—and probably last—bump pic on my page), so my guess is I can maybe hold on until Wednesday before delivering (at which point I’ll be 37 weeks). He’s also still breeched, so it’s definitely going to be a C-section, but I’m kind of over it. The idea of straining to push a baby out my vajizza for hours on end when my blood pressure is this high only worries me more, so bring on the slice-and-dice!
Now, place your bets!