Sigh. Wednesday did not go as planned.
It sounds very dramatic: “Woman, Pregnant Nine-Months, Rear-Ended!”.
In reality, if I wasn’t pregnant, this was the kind of thing I’d have thought twice about even pulling over to the side of the road for. As it is, when I felt the impact I immediately burst into tears and couldn’t think what on earth I was supposed to do next! We were in the center lane of Rt. 128 N – a major highway- during rush hour. The stupid thing I did was to get out of the car before pulling over (sorry John, I didn’t mention that before!). I had a moment of pity for the poor woman who hit me, imagining how she must have felt seeing my big belly proceed me out of the car.
After checking my rear bumper (scratched – maybe a gouge? no dent), we both pulled onto the left shoulder. I tried a few times to reach John – that is I tried dialing a few times before my hands stopped shaking enough to get the right number. The 60-ish year old woman who hit me was writing down her info as I reassured John that I (and presumably the BTB) were OK, and I’d keep him updated. After exchanging information with the sweet seeming other driver, I had to sit for a bit to collect my wits. For once in my life I was really confused as to what to do next! Usually I have a pretty good idea of what to do, even in “crisis” situations, but I was mentally way more rattled than physically jolted. Did I mention that I was at a stand-still when this happened, and the other car couldn’t have been going more that 10-20 mph? Truly if not for my condition I would have just gone to work and thought no more of it, except to wonder if it was worth fixing the bumper.
Clarity came in my second call to John, who said I must call the doctor. Since I was headed in that direction anyway (the office being one exit away), I drove there and called from the parking lot. They had to transfer me to another office. Once I got through to a nurse, even though the accident was “low-impact” she said I must go to hospital for monitoring.
At Newton-Wellesley I eventually found my way to the 5th floor Maternity Ward, since where I’d initially been told to go to wasn’t where I was supposed to be. At this point I need to take a moment and vent about rude, self-involved people! The front desk of the maternity ward had a sign indicating that since no one was there, to find a bell and ring it. As I, in my muddled state, was deciphering this, a gaggle of presumably new grandparents toting flowers emerged from the other elevator. They, like I, were a bit stumped about what to do, muttering amongst themselves as one grandfather took 90% of the tissues out of a box on the counter, stuffing them in his pocket like that person at fast food restaurants who hordes extra ketchup packets for “emergencies”. They seemed more or less oblivious to my presence, except to peer at me, wondering if I was supposed direct them, and quickly deciding I was of no use. Having been searching longer, I found the button and pushed it. The woman who emerged at my summons was immediately flagged down by the grand retinue – as if I hadn’t been standing there first, successfully summoned aid, and was clearly the Pregnant one of the bunch waiting to be admitted into the Maternity Ward! As the scene devolved into “Who are you here to see? Oh, I have to look up the room number and clear it, what was the name again? Etc.” I honestly couldn’t take it and stepped up interrupting with, “Ah, excuse me, I was just in a car accident and was sent up here to get on a monitor as soon as possible!” Didn’t help that I also started crying again (I’m a water faucet under the best of circumstances). The poor woman behind the counter can’t be blamed at all. Why there was only one person there I’ll never understand, as a large part of her job entailed being in an area invisible from the front counter. In addition to another couple she’d been admitting when I rang, when it was my turn she got no fewer than 2 phone calls and 3 “buzz in” requests. She felt bad, but I reassured her I wasn’t holding it against her. We sympathized with each other; I that she was the only one on duty, and she that the grampy squad hadn’t deferred to the Pregnant woman at the Maternity Ward who was there before them to begin with!
Happily, once escorted to the Antenatal Unit, things couldn’t have gone better. They strapped me to the fetal heart rate monitor and contraction monitor, offered me a choice of juices, and the lovely nurse even found a book for me once I realized it was a 4-hour process and bemoaned not having anything to read! After a couple hours Dr. Diaz came in, checked the printout (all good), and said I had another hour or so. I took a potty break, and then, quel surprise, they gave me lunch! I can’t say it was better than hospital food is, but it was hot, and nice, and exactly what I needed when I needed it. Once they sprang me I was feeling a lot better.
The upshot is that while reassured the baby & I had not physically suffered, I can’t help but feel our poor BTB probably had more trauma from my emotional reactions than the low-impact of the accident itself. Strangely enough, BTB was even MORE active than usual while I was hooked up to the monitor. A friend thinks perhaps this means the kid will be a demolition derby driver. We sincerely hope NOT!
