Back To Bed I Go

Sooo....got up this morning and decided to have lunch with Steven at work. I called and verified what time he was going, and then loaded up and headed that way. I peed(for the sixth time this morning!) before I left, but, as per my usual, was desperate to pee again by the time I reached his work.

I did my business, but, when I wiped, I noticed a brown smear on the toilet paper. Surprised, I did a double take. And then a third. Wiped again. More blood. Again, more blood. Uneasy, I cleaned myself up and called my ever-present mother.

"Mom, I'm bleeding...it's not a lot, and it didn't hurt, but do you think I should call the doc?" She assured me that it was probably nothing, but to call anyway...I did, before I realized it was Saturday. The only way to reach a doctor was to page the on-call physician. I called Mom back. "It says for emergencies," I told her. "I'm not sure this qualifies...I mean, no pain, old looking blood...what do you think?"

"Well, it can't hurt to double check. Probably page the physician." So, I called the nurse's line again, was told to rest and be still until I heard back from the doctor, and that he would call in the next few minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, we were on our way to the hospital, to the pregnant woman portion of a triage. I was checked over thoroughly(super unpleasant...don't know how I'm going to get that baby out of there...). There were signs that I had been bleeding, but the doctor said the inside looked good, there weren't any active bleeds that he could tell, the baby's heart was still thumping along at it's usual pace of about 140, my cervix was still closed and plugged and "high and tight". He said that, for right now, he wouldn't worry overmuch about it. The typed and screened my blood, said there shouldn't be any problems with the Rh factor, and to continue with a routine visit to my regular OB. So. That all looked pretty good.

Then, when I finally arrived home, I opened the door to find that my Great Dane had escaped his room and torn trash from one end of the house to another. When he heard my gasp of dismay, he beat feet. I spent a measly few moments staring at the...the carnage...( I don't think there's another word...we've had a fair bit of meat recently, and the fatty trimmings had been in the trash, along with the typical banana peels and peach pits) before I set out to find my dog. I searched high and low--in the bed rooms, the office, under the beds, in the closets...but, seriously, how do you lose a Great Dane??


((NOTE:: Not my dog, not my tub.))

Finally found him in the shower, carefully hidden away behind the curtain, with only a ruffled edge to give him away. I coaxed. I pleaded. I yelled. I pointed. He would NOT leave the shower. I've never hit this dog, but he was abused in the past, before we rescued him, and he fears our anger somewhere around the level of thunderstorms and the apocalypse. Finally, I gave up on that, and hid outside the bathroom, behind the door. When he finally emerged, I shut the door behind him and escorted him, lecturing all the way, outside.

Then, Mom called again...she needed me to meet her near the house. I agreed, and got back in the car--and wouldn't you know it? The oil light came on, red and angry.

So. Now, I've given Mom what she needed, cleaned up the trash and am finally back again in comfy pajamas--clothes I intend to make good use of--along with my bed and good book. I don't plan to come back out until Steven gets home.