Chapter 154 Try to rest
Mia’s POV
“It’s just Braxton Hicks,” I insisted, trying to breathe through another uncomfortable wave of tightness across my abdomen. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but the increasing frequency had even me worried now.
Mom’s expression made it clear she wasn’t buying my dismissal. That’s the third one in twenty minutes, Mia. I’m calling Dr. Matthews.”
Before I could protest further, Mom was already on the phone, her voice crisp and authoritative as she explained the situation to Dr. Matthews’s office. I caught fragments of the conversation-“Seven months with twins,” “Contractions about six minutes apart,” “History of pregnancy complications.”
The last part made my stomach clench with anxiety. My first pregnancy had ended traumatically on those marble stairs. The memory of Taylor’s smug face as I lost consciousness, bleeding and terrified, flashed unbidden through my mind.
I think my body is still terrified of all that.
“Dr. Matthews wants us to come in right away,” Mom said, ending the call. “She’s cleared her schedule to see you.”
“It’s probably nothing,” I said, though another contraction made me grimace even as I spoke. “False labor happens all the time
with twins.”
“Then she’ll tell us it’s false labor and send us home,” Mom replied, already gathering her purse and my hospital bag–packed
weeks ago at Dr. Matthews’s insistence. “Better safe than sorry.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic. At seven months pregnant with twins, any sign of preterm labor needed to be taken seriously. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. The contractions were becoming stronger, more regular.
“Okay,” I conceded, pushing myself up from the sofa with effort.
The ride to the hospital was tense and quiet. Mom kept checking her watch, timing my contractions with the precision of someone who’d done this before. Gas had whined pitifully when we left, clearly understanding something was wrong.
Our elderly neighbor Mrs. Patel had agreed to look after him, but the image of his worried eyes as we closed the door stuck with me. I didn’t bother Nate again. We haven’t talk these days. Something has changed.
“Five minutes apart now,” Mom murmured as another contraction gripped me. “And lasting longer.”
I nodded, unable to speak through the discomfort. This definitely felt different from the Braxton Hicks contractions I’d experienced before–more intense, more rhythmic. Fear began to build in my chest. It was too early. Thirty weeks was better than it could be for twins, but still premature. They weren’t ready yet.
At the hospital, Dr. Matthews was waiting for us in the maternity ward, her usual calm demeanor a welcome sight amidst growing anxiety.
“Let’s get you settled and see what’s happening,” she said, directing me to a private examination room. “How long have the contractions been occurring?”
“A couple of hours,” I admitted. “But they’ve gotten stronger and more regular in the last forty minutes or so.”
She nodded, helping me onto the examination table with practiced efficiency. “Any other symptoms? Bleeding? Fluid leakage? Decreased fetal movement?”
“No bleeding or fluid,” I said. “The babies have been moving normally–maybe a little less than usual, but they’re running out of room in there.”
Dr. Matthews smiled reassuringly. “That’s true. Let’s check their heart rates first.”
She applied the ultrasound gel to my swollen belly and positioned the Doppler probe. The room filled with the rapid whooshing sounds of two heartbeats–strong and steady.
“Good rates,” she commented, moving the probe slightly to catch different angles. “No signs of distress. That’s encouraging.”
She continued the examination, checking my blood pressure (slightly elevated), temperature (normal), and then performing a cervical check that was uncomfortable but necessary.
“Your cervix is still long and closed,” she announced after a moment. “No sign of effacement or dilation. That’s very good news.
11
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “So it’s not labor?”
“It appears to be what we call ‘irritable uterus‘–basically, your uterus is contracting in response to stress or dehydration, but it’s not actually labor.” Dr. Matthews removed her gloves and made some notes in my chart. “Your blood pressure is a bit high, though, and that concerns me. I’d like to run some additional tests to rule out preeclampsia.”
The word sent a spike of fear through me. I’d read enough about pregnancy complications to know that preeclampsia was serious–potentially life–threatening for both me and the babies.
“What kind of tests?” Mom asked, her voice steady despite the worry evident in her eyes.
“Blood work, urine sample, and I’d like to keep Mia on the fetal monitors for a few hours to track the babies‘ responses to these contractions.” Dr. Matthews turned to me. “I’m also going to give you something to help relax your uterus and ease the contractions.”
I nodded, trying to process everything. “How long will I need to st
stay?”
“Let’s start with four hours of monitoring and see where we are then,” she replied. “If your blood pressure comes down and the contractions subside, you can go home with instructions for bed rest. If not, we might need to consider keeping you overnight.”
As if on cue, another contraction tightened across my abdomen. I breathed through it, using the techniques I’d learned in my prenatal classes.
“I’ll send a nurse in to get you settled and start the IV,” Dr. Matthews said, patting my hand. “Try to relax, Mia. Stress only
makes these contractions worse.”
After she left, Mom moved to sit beside me, taking my hand. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said with a certainty I envied. The babies are doing well, and you’re in good hands.”
“I know,” I said, though anxiety still churned in my stomach. “It’s just–there’s so much happening right now. I guess.”
“None of that matters right now,” Mom said firmly. “Your only job is to focus on staying calm and keeping these babies where they belong for a few more weeks.”
The nurse arrived before I could respond, efficiently setting up the fetal monitors and starting an IV line for fluids and medication. Within minutes, both twins were being tracked on the monitor–their heartbeats displayed as reassuring peaks and valleys on the screen.
“The doctor has ordered terbutaline to help relax your uterus,” the nurse explained as she injected something into my IV. “It might make you feel a bit jittery or give you a slight headache, but it should help with those contractions.”
I nodded, already feeling the cool sensation of the medication entering my bloodstream. “Thank you.”
“Try to rest,” she advised. “The monitoring is passive–you don’t need to do anything but lie here. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”
After she left, Mom settled into the chair beside my bed, pulling out her tablet. “I’ll let Robert know what’s happening,” she said. “He was going to call with updates on the bail revocation hearing.”
I nodded, already feeling drowsy from the medication. The contractions were still coming, but they seemed less intense now, more background discomfort than active pain.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, Mom was speaking to someone at the door. I blinked, disoriented, before recognizing Kyle’s tall figure in the doorway.
