So when we were living in Spain, my parents were fond of a tradtional toast. Every new drink was toasted as "!La Penultima!" (the second to last). I'm kind of feeling that way about the hospital. I came in on Wednesday for "a few hours of monitoring" and ended up being admitted "for 24 hours". Then all hell broke loose and I landed myself on
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*waves hands in frustration*
You know your body! I hate it when that's ignored. (I mean, you really know what you need, you can talk about specifics that go right by me, and I'd've thought that would be enough, talking the talk, to get appropriate care.)
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And I hate to tell you this, but the antepartum nurses are (mostly) *smarter* than the postpartum nurses!
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But I'm glad you finally get to go home.
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