Allow me of remind you that I am a woman who is squarely into her third trimester of pregnancy. I have 3lbs and 5ozs dancing happily (ignorance really is bliss) on my bladder, and I have a feeling the constant flow of magnesium sulfate into my system doesn't slow the urinary process.
Plus, it has come to my attention that a full bladder = contractions, and those can just kiss my enormous pregnant a$$ as far as I'm concerned.
So at 3am when my bladder starts talking, I am a woman on a mission. Plus, what the hell, I just slept for almost an hour so I'm totally up for the challenge.
Logistically, navigating this 12 foot trip will be tricky.
Thank God I'm a professional.
In fact, I have loads of experience ambulating woozy, drugged up patients--hospital gowns, IV poles and all--to the toilet. Heck, give me a weight-bearing restriction and we can *still*make that sh*t happen.
First thing first: get rid of those ankle pumpers. Flexing at the hips is a major challenge and my abs are presently on strike, so I pull myself erect with squeaky, less-than-confidence-building bed rails, as if I am 87-years-old. Then I tuck my feet in close one at a time and try to quietly remove the velcro on my SCDs (yeah, ok it's not quiet)
Now, I engage myself with the cords on the two monitors strapped tightly to my torso. Before standing and steadying myself against the powerful muscle relaxer, I will have to push my roll-y table out of the way. In my haste, I catch the base onto part of the bed below, jerking the table abruptly. At this point, my giant hospital mug tips neatly over and onto the floor spilling at least 20 ounces of ice water across the tile floor.
All I can think is these two words: fall risk. But my bladder is persistent and I am a professional (despite my bare a$$ peaking out from the gown) and I *will not* be deterred.
I stand, mentally check my wooziness levels (tolerable) and carefully reach to unplug the monitors. I try to play it cool as I wrap the cords around my neck, because God forbid I create yet another environmental hazard (BTW: the lights are off too).
Next, I unplug the IV pole and drag it and my happy, bare a$$ into the bathroom, taking short cautious steps and veering around Lake Stupidity, which is slowly expanding at the foot of my bed.
It's a bit bumpy on the threshold into the bathroom, but the bathroom is lit and I feel a but more confident here. Because the room is lit, I observe that I have somehow run over the end of my IV tubing and tangled the whole thing up with my monitor cables. This need to be addressed...but not before I pee.
Sweet relief. Once hands are properly washed, it's time to correct the IV pole problem. I had tried to detangle from my seated position on the toilet, but baby was in the way. So, taking a wide stance (because I am a professional and I know how to play it safe), I reach down to lift and swivel the stand with one hand while sliding the tubing away with the other. Please do not picture me attempting this move, it will only give you nightmares.
A few moments later, we are detangled and ready to return to bed, carefully skirting Lake Stupidity (it's just gorgeous this time of year) on the way. I manage to plug all necessary components back into their rightful spots and climb back into bed.
The SCDs can wait.
Moments later, my nurse arrives to take my vitals. She is about 37 weeks into her third pregnancy and on hour eight of a 12 hour shift.
She cleans up the spilled water, takes my vitals, and brings me a new jug with fresh water. She's super nice, but I find myself secretly hating her.
Still, I return her politeness with a warm smile and the necessary niceties,
because after all, I am still a professional.