my husband has always fondly called me his super sleeper.
back when I was on medication that made me very sleepy in the evenings, I could sleep for hours on end, a typical night's sleep lasting an average of 12 hours. I love naps, and rarely turn down an opportunity to take one, especially with a favorite blanket in a sunny patch, much like a cat. when my husband and I are visiting a couple that are good friends of ours in Virginia, it is a tradition that the wives take a daily nap while the boys watch soccer. sleep, cozy covers and laziness in general are things of great value to me, to sum it up.
I don't sleep as well these days, but it's for a good reason; there are three tiny human beings inside me, and they can't tell time yet, so a dance party in my belly at 2 a.m. is perfectly acceptable. I have never been upset about it, in fact, I relish the squirmy feeling, and worry when everything is still. I often have my "Terms of Endearment" moments, where I as the worrisome new mom poke and prod and talk to my belly until I feel one or more of them move.
I've noticed my children moving more since I was put on bedrest over a week ago. A routine ultrasound revealed my cervix was funneling; basically the tightly drawn tunnel or birth canal was widening at the top to create a funnel shape, buckling down under the pressure of three growing babies and their amniotic fluid, in a womb that was smaller than average due to an anomaly of shape that I've had since birth. I underwent surgery the next day, and was prescribed strict bed rest upon being released.
Being cozy in bed all day sounded like a great deal to a super sleeper. But I quickly realized what that entailed and it's been a very interesting challenge coping with it. Hence, a day in the life of a bed rester
My day can start as early as 2 a.m. That's when I have to arouse from a sound slumber to take an anti-contraction medication that needs to be paired with food and drink. I sleepily slap around to find my cell phone, blaring Holst's "The Planets" as my alarm, then use the lit-up screen as a guide to locate a Nutrigrain bar. I cringe every time with the crinkling sound it makes as I open it, the noise paired with the silence sounding like a land mine going off, certain I will wake my sleeping husband. I choose the bar because I can eat it fast, and it doesn't make noise when I eat it. I fumble around and double check, due to the dark and my drowsiness, to make sure I have the right pill bottle out of several that sit at the bedside table, checking the labels, the texture and color of the pill, then slurp it down with plenty of water. Sighing, I plunk my head down, adjust the pillow under my belly, and attempt to fall back asleep.
7 a.m. my alarm goes off again. I have to take my thyroid pill now, because the anti-contraction medication has to be taken with food every 6 hours, and I'm due for another in an hour's time. The thyroid pill has to be taken on an empty stomach, 30-60 minutes before eating, so I sip some water so the tiny, dry stubborn pill will slide down. Some days it is amazing that I get what feels like hours of sleep in the time between this pill and my next one in a hour's time.
By the 8:00 alarm, it is time for the anti-contraction pill and another Nutrigrain bar, and my husband is much more aware of his surroundings, and this alarm usually (unfortunately) wakes him up. He tosses and turns a bit, finds a new position, and is soon snoring again. I'm about 75% awake at this time, so usually I take the time between the pill and when he wakes at 9 to watch him sleep peacefully, his snores in sync with that of our labradoodle's. If I can't get a stellar night's sleep, it is comforting at least to see my loved ones getting some much needed rest. My husband will need it, as he is not just the bread winner and sole person making income, but also one of my most relied upon and devoted care-takers.
Upon waking up himself, he grabs an assortment of new comfy clothes for me to change into, to make me feel refreshed, especially on non-shower days. He pulls off the evil pressure socks that squeeze my legs all day, like some kind of python hosiery, so I can air my skin off and have a break. I'm not supposed to be more than 2 hours without them, but this is one rule we frequently break, and it has spared me greatly of losing my sanity. He asks me what I want for breakfast, checking to make sure I have enough water in my giant hospital mug and my medication for breakfast is within reach.
When he returns, I scoop up my clothes to put on while using the bathroom. Here is where I emphasize the strategy that goes into my bedrest routine. Because being upright (standing, sitting up straight in a chair, being propped mostly upright in bed, and walking) is a state to be limited to, as it puts pressure on my cervix, we were encouraged to create and utilize every strategy we could think of to keep this to a minimum.
Without going into much detail, I do a lot more now on the toilet than the obvious. I keep my pink hairbrush on the counter next to me to brush my often tangled hair that spends so much time resting on pillows. I pull on new clothes and take off old clothes there prior to the finely timed routine of taking a shower (hubby, meanwhile, runs the water and gets my shower chair, towels and soaps in place, as yes, I even shower sitting down). I often bypass the sink when I am done, pausing as briefly as possible to squirt a dose of hand sanitizer from a bottle next to my bed into my palm before rolling carefully back onto the mattress. Standing at the sink waiting for the hot water to kick in so I can wash my hands takes more time (and is more wasteful) than I am comfortable with, so I am grateful for instant hand sanitizers. This one in particular has actually mended my hands of the frequent washing they have endured in these past 5 months due to the constant bathroom trips.
I time things so that while I am on a bathroom break (which is the only time aside from leaving for a doctor's appointment or taking a shower break that I am allowed to be out of bed and walking around) that hubby will make the bed and arrange the precisely placed mound of pillows that I'll use to sit up just enough to eat breakfast without getting heartburn. Making the bed is something we've never done in the whole time my husband and I have known each other, yet when you spend so much time in it, sitting on top of the sheets as opposed to being wrapped in them separates day from night more precisely, and I'm only under them if I take a nap.
From there, my events of the day include Netflix, Hulu, watching movies on my laptop, fiddling on the computer, crochet, popping pills from everything from antacids to insulin to vitamins, and shooting the breeze with either my husband or my mother-in-law, who has also come to stay with us, and tends to me when my husband is at work. I hate to ask people for anything, but my day is peppered with requests of them from anything of food brought from downstairs, to reaching items that aren't immediately and conveniently accessible from my trodden down path between the bathroom and the bed.
Bedrest is not as comfy as I first thought it to be. They say you can't have too much of a good thing, but , when your view is limited to what you see out the window, the bedroom and the bathroom, it can get a little depressing. More so is the fact that I only use the stairs so I can leave the house for doctor's appointments, which are once a week, which means I get to be in the outside world for a few hours in that week. Often I am so thrilled to be out in the open air, and seeing what's going around outside the realm of my bed that my car sickness doesn't bother me on the way across town to our appointment. Sometimes I can even muster a stop at Panera's so hubby can run in and get me something special for breakfast. But often, trips home are uncomfortable being reclined in the passenger's seat, and I am eager, for once, to crawl into bed and sleep for awhile.
The hardest part of bedrest is the guilt I feel whenever my hips ache, and I have to maneuver my heavy belly to switch sides for relief, or when the lack of fresh air gets me down, or when I would love to go downstairs just for a change of scenery and make my food the way I want it and get it when I want it, instead of relying so heavily on the people I love. I feel guilt because it makes me feel ungrateful for the miracle inside of me that I have wanted for so long.
It is all worth it, this brief period, really a blip in my life, that I am limited, for the three wiggle worms I lovingly talk to. Every day I am here means they have a better chance of blessing my life by being their mother. I'll nap to that.
