Last night I was woken up at 3am with such an intense contraction that it jolted me out of REM sleep. It was one of those waves of pain that makes you want to crawl into a ball and weep. I got up, went to the bathroom, and it wasn't long before I felt the old tell-tale signs of Mr. Vasovagal Syncope creeping up on me. I woke up Tom, who was snoring a few feet away in the bed, who hurried to the bathroom to assume the "Brittany-says-she's-going-to-pass-out-in-the-middle-of-the-night" position. It's sad that in our 7 years together, we've actually had to put a plan in place for this scenario, as it has happened more than once. Anyway, within seconds, I was in la la land, came to shivering and shaking, and decided to call the hospital in case they wanted me to come back in.
According to the nurse, I either
1) was having a vasovagal reaction to the placement of the IV over six hours before
2) straining hard enough to compress the vagal nerve
or my personal favorite
3) I somehow forgot to breathe.
Damn. It's a good thing I tend to remember that one most days...
They didn't want to see me at the hospital unless my water broke or I had regular contractions, so I went back to bed, wrapped in a bathrobe and a quilt.
Yet another pregnancy story to trot out at family gatherings... Not quite as novel as the puke angels I made in the middle of the living room carpet while pregnant with Sam, and yet, slightly more suspenseful...