For a while, I didn’t think I’d make it here.
Initially, when my doctor discovered my amniotic fluid was low (5cm at 20 weeks), she could only cite one case she had personally seen of low amniotic fluid in her practice. The woman was sent to stay in the big city to be monitored by specialists at 24 weeks and delivered at 27 weeks. She assumed that, for whatever reason, I would probably have the baby before 28 weeks and would probably need to be out of work and away from my hometown long before now.
But here I am: just finished a half-day at my part-time job at the library this morning, still waiting it out at home. The last specialist I saw said she didn’t think I’d go into labour early (or at all), and that we’d have to pick a time between 32 and 36 weeks to induce, provided the baby doesn’t start having problems (cord compression) before that time. We’re going over to the other side of the state this week to meet with all of the folks at the two hospitals that will be treating my baby and me. I am not exactly excited about any of this. All they’ve done is given us impossible decisions. We won’t know the right answer till we are looking back on it. I hate it.
I am excited, however, that the baby has made it this far. Every extra day and week we get to spend with baby before it’s born (which will likely be our last day with baby) is precious and a sort of miracle.