I had my second-to-last monthly OB appointment today (they switch to biweekly soon) and FINALLY, my blood pressure decided to act up while actually in the office. Sitting comfortably, I was hypertensive (around 150 over something equally too-high), and after lying down for 2 minutes I was hypotensive (around 100 over something equally much-lower). A-ha! I said. Orthostatic. And the OB's reaction was....drumroll, please....completely nonplussed by my concern. As was her response to my impassioned plea for something, anything, to help me sleep. I received the most helpful of suggestions to cure all that ails me: drink water! eat protein! small, frequent meals! don't nap during the day! lay in bed quietly at night and wait for the magical fucking sleep fairy to sprinkle dream dust on your eyelids! go fuck yourself! But like any good boy scout, I was prepared. I calmly but firmly informed her that I had done all these things and more, including acupuncture and pregnancy-friendly sleep aids, and that all were failing. And I told her that while dizziness and low pressure may be common in pregnancy, and likely to get worse (motherfucking yay!), I don't feel that means I should have to suffer, and that my recent rash of getting dizzy with tunnel vision while driving ought to concern her more. Word.
So I am now the proud owner of a prescription for sexy-ass, knee-high compression stockings (combined with a nursing bra*, I don't see how KB will be able to keep hit mitts off of me) and a prescription for Ambien. I had to talk in circles to get the sleeping pill script. I have a mothertrucking doctorate from the University of Michigan medical school, so I know it's a scheduled drug with addiction potential and that limited studies have been done to determine toxicology in pregnancy and breastfeeding. But, dude. Two hours of sleep per night while working full time and trying to keep up with laundry enough to at least have clean underwear is defined as unlawful torture in the goddamned Geneva Convention, so cut me some slack. I didn't quite have to beg, but I was prepared. You'd think I was a junkie trying to get a fix. Please drug dealer doctor-lady, give me some pills so I can get fuuuuucked up....in my sleep. I'm totally going to crush it up and cook it in a spoon and maybe speedball it. Maybe mix it with some vodka in my eye (did you know kids are doing this? pouring vodka in their eye? thinking it will get them drunker? instead of blind and stupider?).
I can appreciate (and actually, do) that my OB practice is largely non-interventional. That's why I picked them, in part. But when you get beyond holistic approaches to remain a functional human being, let alone a happily existing one, I expect the big guns to come out. The conversations about scheduled induction are being plotted in my head to start around 32 weeks or so. I don't see the problem, really; today I measured 25 weeks, two full weeks ahead. So we can potentially induce two weeks early, by my logic! We shall see.
Next up is the super-awesome glucose tolerance test. I can hardly wait. Delicious orange corn syrup, nom nom nom.
*Nursing bras are comfortable and practical for their purpose, but also strange. I simultaneously excited and weirded KB out by showing him how one works. I'm pretty sure I'll use them after I finish breastfeeding, for my traveling burlesque act, coming to a city near you in fall of 2011. Compression hose will also be featured. Ba-da-boom!