I only scare the people that love me.

Namely, The Mimi. And Himself, of course.

On Sunday, I woke up in the middle of the night. I assumed it was because I needed to pee (which is usually the case). I handled that, then got back into bed thinking I'd go back to sleep as usual, only to find that the reason I was awake was actually because my stomach was twice as hard as it usually is and hurt like bejeezus. Madam was flipping out in there as well, more frantic movements than I've ever felt, and constant ones as well. I knew it wasn't Braxton Hicks, it was more a constant pressure from just under my boobs to my bellybutton, nothing lower down, but BOY it hurt. The only thing that seemed to make it a little better was sitting up, so I would sit up for five or ten minutes then try to lie down, which made it hurt all over again. I finally ended up propping up with all my pillows and half sleeping sitting up... not the most restful state.

I managed not to disturb himself too badly, which is a bonus in itself because the man sleeps lighter than The Mimi does (which for those of you that know The Mimi, you know is a big deal) and finally fell asleep again around half six in the morning. On Monday night I flopped into bed, completely exhausted from my lack of sleep the night before heaped on top of a fairly busy day at work, only to find that my stomach still hurt too badly to get comfortable. It was a patchy night's sleep yet again, so on Tuesday morning when I got up I called the doctor to try and get an appointment to find out what's going on in there. True to form, there were no available appointments, but the lady at the surgery's reception told me I should call my midwife rather than just let it go. The midwife suggested I come out to the hospital after work to be checked out just to be safe, so I toodled home, collected the car and my medical notes and headed off to Hillingdon.

Upon arrival, I was greeted with a fairly hectic scene. Apparently every single preggo in the borough had decided yesterday was the opportune day to go into labour. No joke. Triage was full, there was a girl (and I say girl for a reason, she couldn't have been twenty years old) in the examining room because there were no available beds upstairs in the ward who got to five centimeters dilation before they finally found a place to put her, and there were no doctors to be had. The poor triage nurses, all two of them, were rushed off their feet doing all they could (namely checking urine, blood pressure and fetal heartbeats) and trying to explain to a number of angry husbands why their wives couldn't be whisked off to a private room somewhere. Having waited for three hours, I finally decided that if there were no doctors to be had, I'd be better off waiting at home, and as my urine/blood pressure/Madam's heartbeat were all totally fine (and in the case of her heartbeat, very strong and regular) I was allowed to leave based on my promise to get a doctor's appointment today.

So this morning I called the surgery again, explained what had happened last night, and was given an "emergency" appointment. I got a different doctor than the one I normally see, which was actually sort of reassuring because I'm never sure if my regular doctor is just telling me what I want to hear (he's got a permanently amused face). This doctor heard my tale of midnight awakenings and had a quick examination of The Bump (which Madam did NOT appreciate, and proceeded to kick him at every poke, to which he exclaimed "she doesn't like to be fiddled with!"... ya think? *lol*) and took my blood pressure again. He declared her heartbeat to be strong and regular, mentioned that my heartbeat and blood pressure were remarkably steady given the weirdness my body's putting me through at the moment, and said that everything feels fine. His verdict? My hypermobility is rearing its ugly head in new and different ways. *sigh* He says that my muscles are overcompensating for the fact that my ligaments are letting go, so they tighten up randomly in an attempt to hold my body together. Like at four in the morning. Which means the pain I'm feeling now, post-episode, is simply a strained muscle. He also mentioned that he wouldn't be a bit surprised if Madam made an early appearance, and made me promise I wouldn't undertake any major exercise or shopping trips. Lucky the nursery's pretty much done, eh?

So, forgive me if I frightened you, Mims. I will do my best not to do it again, and I will make Madam apologise to you as soon as she gains the power of speech. *grin* So back to work with me, to answer phone calls with my feet up. Happy days.