One year later...

It was October 9th, 2008 and I was 25 weeks pregnant. Jacob and I went in to Maternal Fetal Medicine for my weekly ultrasound.

I was supposed to have been on bed rest at home for the past several weeks and for the most part, I had been obeying and lying around on the couch day in and day out. But the previous day, the dogs had dug under the fence and had run away. Jacob was at work and I had no choice but to go out and look for them. I had paced up and down the street calling for the dogs, crying my eyes out. An hour later, I found them and my body was telling me that I should not have been out walking.

My doctor had warned me that checking in to the hospital was a possibility and I packed my bags and brought them to my ultrasounds each week, just in case. The ultrasound went well; the babies were continuing to grow, my vitals looked good, but then they checked my cervix. Not so good. It was not holding up due to the weight of all the babies. Time to check into the hospital for full-time bed rest. Dang those dogs! Even though we were prepared for this, it still came as a shock to Jacob and me. They strapped me in a wheelchair and wheeled me over into the hospital. Little did I know that I would not be allowed to walk for the next 65 days!

My first night was unpleasant to say the least. They strapped me to contraction and fetal heart rate monitors around the clock, which made it impossible to sleep. It was determined that my uterus was "irritable" and therefore they gave me a shot of terbutaline that made my whole body shake like a crazy person. And then they brought me the most delicious meal of dry turkey, broccoli, and a crusty roll, all smothered in gravy. Those that know me well, would say I'm a picky eater (to put it mildly) and just the smell of the food made me want to hurl. But I gagged it down for the sake of the babies. Uuuggghhh, just the memory of hospital food still makes me gag.

I was not a happy camper in the hospital. I cried, I whined, I moped, I prayed that I could just get out of there. Oh, and did I mention I cried? A lot. I would have given anything to just get out of that prison. I felt so scared, depressed, angry, alone, worried.

But now, one year later, I wouldn't change a thing about the whole experience (well maybe just my attitude). There is not a doubt in my mind that my doctor made the right choice by putting me in the hospital. The fact that I made it to 34 weeks with triplets (a feat in and of itself), our babies had a very short stay in the NICU, they have no health problems, and are now bigger than most babies born full-term speaks volumes to the value of my long hospital stay.

I can't believe all that we have been through in the past year. What an adventure!