The Walk of Shame...

When I was in college, the "walk of shame" used to mean something much different than it does now.  Back in my Bennie days, we used to say that an individual did the "walk of shame" after spending the night somewhere other than your residence (obviously after a party or the bar), and walking home early in the morning, in the clothes you wore the night before.  This "walk of shame" can be seen regularly on Saturday and Sunday mornings around my current neighborhood in the North Loop downtown.  For someone who's an early riser, it's always brought a smile to my face to watch the girls hustle to their cars, wearing tiny dresses, carrying their high heels in one hand, and sporting mascara rimming their red eyes. 

Regardless, a few of my girlfriends and I have started to refer to our own "walk of shame" as going to the emergency room, and leaving without having given birth.  This happened to me on Saturday night.  However, I don't know if I'd qualify it as a "walk of shame" since I am really happy I didn't waltz out of there with a baby.  

On Friday night, I woke up in the middle of the night with really bad stomach cramps.  They were so bad it actually hurt to breathe and it felt like my whole stomach was on fire.  I walked around for a bit, drank a bunch of water and things eventually settled down.  When I woke up on Saturday, I was still feeling a little cramped, but it wasn't as bad as it was the night previous.  In any case, my stomach started hurting as the day went on.  I didn't really have much of an appetite, and everything I ate made me feel queasy.  Still, in light of the fact that I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions, I called Duckie.*

I really wanted to see if I could take anything for the cramps beyond an occasional Tums.  However, Duckie's nurse told me to head straight to the Labor & Delivery wing at Methodist Hospital.  So, that's what I did.  And I stayed there.  For the next seven hours.  At the end, Duckie (who was fortunately, on call that evening) told me to take some Pepto Bismol.  Uh, thanks Duckie.  I wish your nurse would have told me that.  Seven hours ago.  So, I left Methodist Hospital, doing the "walk of shame." 

I will say that the visit was not a total waste.  They did another ultrasound and I got to see our active little baby boy.  He is really something else.  He has figured out how to shoot himself from one side of my uterus to the other.  He also definitely figured out how to grip, as he had his hand tight around the umbilical cord and was yanking as hard as his one-pound self was able.  He has also figured out how to kick me (which, I suppose we already knew, seeing as how he's been popping me for a while).  Lastly, he has also discovered his hand and I can confirm that I saw ten fingers.   

So, at the end of the day, I had the flu.  I got home, ate some soup, drank some water, and went to bed for twelve hours.  I woke up yesterday morning and felt fine.  While I wouldn't define this as a "walk of shame," I am surprised at how overly cautious everyone is when evaluating a pregnant woman.  And I guess it should be no surprise, but I can't wait to see how my insurance reacts. 

*Change:  Colonel Sanders (a.k.a. Dr. Rhodes, my obstetrician) will now be called Duckie.  This is after the character as seen on NCIS.  I had spent most of Friday night watching NCIS reruns only to realize that Dr. Rhodes looks EXACTLY like Duckie.  I realized this when I was in the hospital on Saturday night.