Two weeks to go
I think I’m almost prepared for the baby to be here. All weekend R. and I have been cleaning out closets, packing away extraneous files, and made what I hope is our final trip to Buy Buy Baby. After six attempts, we’ve achieved the right configuration in the bedroom to accommodate the playard, changing table, bed, dresser, and two night stands. All in an 8 x 13 room. I still have about twenty items to check off my prep list (and another twenty to add), but if the baby were to come tomorrow I think we could manage. We have diapers, a changing pad, a place for the baby to sleep, my breasts. After months of avoiding baby stores and stuffed animals, I now happily arrange tiny onesies and sleep suits on the bed and marvel at how they will be filled in a few weeks. Who will occupy them? What will he or she look like? Will it be a he or she? In my final month, I’ve let myself get romantic and imagine a cooing baby in my arms, hours shifting back and forth in my glider, nesting in one of my new lounge outfits bought specially for long winter days of nursing.
By working on my checklist, I’ve done a good job distracting myself from the actual birth. I went from pregnancy to baby, forgetting (well, not forgetting but maybe conveniently ignoring) the fact that I have to yet endure a sweaty, painful labor. (I called one of the nurses this morning to see if I could bring a robe to the labor room. She said not to because it would only get bloody) It’s easy to deny the least pleasant aspect of something.
But now that the preparations are almost done, I’m left with the stark reminder that this baby has to come out, physically and painfully, soon. Most days I forget to do my kegels (which are now nearly impossible to feel with the added pressure on my abdomen). I promise myself I will do perineal massage, however uncomfortable and immodest, to help avoid an episiotomy. R. and I have practiced our 1, 2, 3, 4 and he-he hoo-hoo Lamaze breathing twice. Am I in denial? Why am I more worried about diapers and room layout than perhaps the most challenging and painful event of my life? Maybe I’m thinking about that epidural too much. More and more people are telling me how it made their childbirth experience better, by reducing the pain they could actually enjoy the birth.
Yesterday a friend reminded me that women give birth all the time, gently suggesting I stop freaking out about it. Yes, they do it all the time, but not me!
Growth
The growth I’ve experienced the past two weeks is almost shocking. T-shirts that fit not too long ago barely stretch over my belly. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything different. I figured it was typical eighth month growth — the baby is supposedly gaining 1/2 a pound a week. But then at my last OB visit, I learned I had gained six pounds in two weeks! My OB was not sympathetic. You’re eating too much, she said. No, not really, I said. I even keep a food diary because I had been gaining weight too quickly and it helped me keep things in check. But I really didn’t think — no, I know — I didn’t eat enough to gain six pounds in that stretch. Don’t eat that danish in the morning, she told me. What danish?? I haven’t even had a donut during this pregnancy. Okay, one day I asked R. to buy a cinnamon bun and I had a few bites. But six pounds?? Now I’m trying to not gain at all. The baby will grow without my ass growing, I suppose. And Dr. L doesn’t seem concerned about reducing the amount I’m eating (which really isn’t a ton, I swear). She is more concerned with me having a difficult delivery because of the extra weight (compounded by my vein problem). She said my metabolism is so slow now that I have to eat less. And just when I was getting hungrier.
My yoga teacher says that during pregnancy you have growth spurts. One day you wake up feeling uncomfortable with some new ache or development that you have to adjust to. After a week or so, you’ve adjusted and you might have a good week or two, and then one day you wake up uncomfortable in a new way. And it starts over. This used to happen every couple of weeks. Now it seems to happen every two days. I’m not sure what to expect during the next few weeks. I’m 35 1/2 weeks and 37 weeks is considered full term. A new anxiety is setting in — I’m less concerned with what is going on with my body and more worried about what is going to happen once the baby is here. I haven’t been able to sleep much at night — going to bed at 11pm but still awake, mind racing at 1am. I started taking Benadryl, the recommended sleep aid, and I’ll suffer through the grogginess if it allows me a few good hours sleep at night. I figure my mild insomnia is training for being up all night with a newborn.
Adventures in Amnio
On Tuesday we had the amnio. Over. Done with. Now we wait.
But back to the amnio…it started out promising with an ultrasound pre-show. This was especially nice because R. had only seen the rapid and blurry CVS ultrasound a few weeks ago. But this time we made sure the technician took her time and pointed out what was going on, not that we needed much help identifying the punching fists, the fish bone spine, the shadows of his or her brain. And it was the first time R. saw the heartbeat. Sigh. It was a little emotional as our blob is becoming more and more real. Which makes this test all the more annoying.
Dr. L. told me I’d feel the needle go in and a little discomfort for about a minute. I deal with these things by not thinking about them and by not looking at needles. I watched the monitor — the baby was quiet, not moving around. Then I felt the needle go in and thought, that wasn’t so bad. Then it keep going in and I felt a pop which must have been the puncture of the uterus. I jumped. I watched the needle dive into my uterus on the screen and wake up the baby. As Dr. L. said, “You weren’t supposed to jump” we watched the baby swat at the needle with both fists. R. panicked. “Did you hit it?” Dr. L. said, “Don’t worry, the needle can’t hurt it.” Was that a definitive answer? We still debate. Once the needle was in, the baby kicked into action, curious, we think, about this new event in it’s environment. Think about it. If a giant needle plunged through your roof, wouldn’t you try to touch it or push it away?
Later R. told me he had to turn away. Again, he sat to my left and behind me so I couldn’t see him during the procedure. Still, last night, he questioned whether the baby was hit by the needle or not. I never thought it did. Because the ultrasound was 2D, it was hard to tell where all the bits and pieces really were. After R. brought up his doubts for the tenth time since the procedure, I started to doubt it to. But I know it is silly. Everything went fine, if not a little surprising.
No cramping or frightful gushing of fluids after the procedure. For that I am thankful because I’ve come to expect the 1% things to happen to me. The fluid she extracted looked like it was tinged with iodine (anyone remember sunbathing with baby oil and iodine?). She said it was the pigment from the blood in my hematoma which is still there (darn) but looks like it is healing. Again, can’t get too worked up about things. Heal, hematoma, heal.
We just want good test results so we can start enjoying this pregnancy because the further along we get, and the bigger I get, the more excited we become. I want to let myself sink into that excitement, but I still have the brakes on.
Fourteen weeks and sixteen pounds
Yesterday I had my monthly visit with the OB. Everything appears to proceeding as it should, but the whole pregnancy still feels like a mystery. First, the nurse comes in and tells R. and I that she is going to check for the heartbeat. She places what looks like the microphone end of a mini-recorder on my abdomen and pokes around. We hear a loud static, as if she is trying to tune into an out of range radio station. Then we hear a loud, quick pulse, a swooshing of airwaves. “There it is,” she says. It’s the heartbeat of a marathon runner. “It sounds really fast,” R. says, concerned. “Yes, it’s supposed to be that fast.” It occurs to me that R. hasn’t been reading any pregnancy books, or even listening to half the things I tell him. Or maybe he doesn’t make the connection until he experiences it himself.
This is the first time he meets Dr. L. We like that she is matter of fact and direct and not reactionary. Especially about my bleeding, which has turned into continuous spotting. I haven’t had any fresh blood for two weeks, but the old, dark stuff keeps coming. I’m still not convinced the clot (or subchorionic hematoma) is going away — not until I see it with my own eyes which will be on Tuesday before the amnio.
I’m a bit distressed because I gained five pounds this month — I know, I’m pregnant. But Dr. L. gave me the weight gain rules at the beginning. First trimester = 2 pounds. Second trimester = 1 pound every other week. Third trimester = 1 pound a week. I think it comes out to 25 pounds. But really, how are you not supposed to gain twice that much? I think I’m up to what I should gain by the end of the second trimester. I tell her I don’t think I am eating that much, and she says, that’s what everyone tells me.I can’t even look at sweets. I no longer snack at night. I actually eat regular meals. Then I think about the variety of potato chips and Fritos I’ve consumed in the past two weeks, and the ham and cheese paninis that are the only thing I can stomach at night. And there’s the Gatorade I drink by the quart because water is so unappealing. But more important is my lack of exercise. I’ve not been this sedentary since high school, when I went through a depressed phase and slept all the time and ate bags of Doritos. Oh, I’ve been eating those, too. Two weeks after the last sign of spotting, I can resume exercise. It feels a long way off.
Last week I had my first reprieve from feeling sick. It lasted about two days. Then this past weekend I was back to my old, couch-ridden, TV watching self. Eating potato chips which for some reasons I can always eat. This week I had another slight reprieve, but it’s back again. I know it will eventually go away, but will the sensitivity to smell? Last night, from our apartment, I smelled someone eating french fries on the street. Later, I could have sworn someone opened a bag of cat food in the room. Where are these smells coming from? And walking down Broadway on a hot summer day…it requires holding one’s nose and heading west to Riverside as soon as possible.
Enough complaining. I didn’t write much this week because I didn’t want it to sound all bad. I’m patiently waiting for the happy phase of pregnancy.
CVS day
This morning R. and I arrived at Columbia-Presbyterian for our CVS. Being a good patient, I arrived with a full bladder (as instructed). Unfortunately, we then had to wait an hour and a half. Advice to others — don’t start sucking down the water until you get there. But that’s the least of the day’s worries.
First, the technician performed a quick ultrasound. R. and I had been looking forward to it since he hadn’t seen one before, but the technician barely took notice of us and didn’t bother to point of the heartbeat, the size, or give us any “cute” views. While she was poking around, I caught sight of the heartbeat and was relieved.
After Dr. R. arrived, things happened fast. We told him we were concerned about my bleeding and wondered if the ultrasound showed anything. He said, yes, and pointed out a small subchorionic hematoma. A what? A small clot between the placenta and the uterus. Okay, so that caused the bleeding. He explained that any bleeding in the first trimester increased my risk of miscarriage. So that put me at an increased risk of miscarriage with the CVS. So what did I want to do? Could I handle waiting three more weeks for an amnio since I am at a “high risk” for Down Syndrome? What options! What a decision to make laying on your back with your skirt hiked up to your armpits. I didn’t like anything he was saying, but my gut said to wait. I’m more concerned about maintaining the pregnancy then any chromosomal defects. That choice wasn’t immediately clear, but it’s the one we ended up with. When the doctor presented our options, it almost felt like a game. He wasn’t giving anything away. He couldn’t tell us what to do, but he gave some aggressive hints. We got it. Slowly.
Dr. R. came to talk to us after I changed. He had texted my OB (they are in the same practice) as we had requested. The doctors had given us different opinions on whether or not to continue taking the baby aspirin I’d been taking for the past two months. When I started bleeding last week, we thought we should stop the aspirin. But she said the benefits outweighed the negatives. Dr. R. felt differently. In fact, he said he wouldn’t have performed the procedure anyway if he had known I was on aspirin. The fact that this information hadn’t been relayed to him by our doctor or the genetic counselor ticked us off. By the time we left, we had decided to change doctors and hospitals.
But we calmed down. At home, we both got on the phone with Dr. L. who talked us off the ledge. She assured us the small clot didn’t pose a big threat to the pregnancy. It should resolve itself and slowly absorb (into the bloodstream?). The risk is it could get larger and cause a separation of the placenta. I like this doctor because she knows how to talk to patients, and she is not an alarmist. Dr. R. wasn’t as reassuring, but he was also the one who was about to perform a risky procedure on me.
I was feeling okay about all of this until I started googling subchorionic hematoma and reading about the 50/50 chance of miscarriage. Three things can happen: 1) the clot will go away on its own, 2) the clot will get larger and the placenta will separate causing a miscarriage, or 3) we could have a very premature birth. I’ll write more about all this later but right now I need to chill out. All in all, this appears to be somewhat common occurrence and my clot isn’t large so things should resolve themselves. But it’s our new worry of the day.
9 1/2 weeks
A couple of weeks ago, I heard a women read an essay on being 9 1/2 weeks pregnant. It was beautiful and funny (with wry references to the movie), and poignant in noting such things as the fetus being the size of a grape. I was very envious, not only of her lovely writing but for her sentimentality with being pregnant, with valuing this new life and the life around her.
I, on the other hand, am a bit of a crank at 9 1/2 weeks. I’m not feeling very sentimental, and R. gets visibly upset when I make a dour comment about being inhabited or wonder about whether or not things are still ticking away down there. Didn’t that writer have any anxiety? I didn’t detect it in her words. Only love and hope and joy, some gentle caressing of her belly, a rueful wish for a homeless person. I don’t caress my belly. If I recall, that writer looked rather slim. I stare at my distended stomach in horror and wonder if it is this large now what will it be like in two months? Six? Eight? Friends, my mother, my sister try not to laugh at me. What did you think being pregnant was going to be like? they say. My sister seemed quite bothered by the fact I wasn’t “excited.” I was cheered when she told me her two boys (10 and 13) were guessing what name we’d choose. Why can’t I have that optimism? Believe me, I’m not complaining. I just had no idea what I was in for. As Dr. M. told me yesterday as I was splayed on the examining table: “You are possessed!” She said it with glee, with urging that I accept my condition and get on with it.
“You are possessed!” These words hit home when she turned the ultrasound towards me and showed me this:
My, how it had grown. Up to 2 cm. Dr. M. was thrilled. “Look at that growth! Look at that heartbeat!” She chided me when I asked where the head was. “You know where the head is,” she said, pointing at the larger end of the bulbous kidney bean. This was a beautiful site, and put my fears to rest that the screen would appear blank that morning. “That’s what is possessing you,” she said. At this moment, I loved Dr. M. because she was expressing more happiness that I could. Of course I’m happy! But I’m overwhelmed by what is happening. Maybe if this process hadn’t been so closely monitored and documented, it would feel more natural, more spontaneous. It’s easier for me to think of this life growing inside me as a visitor, one who is taking over for a while (and who will continue to for the next lifetime?). And since I’m not one who likes to be put out of my way, I’m having some issues dealing with it. I truly believe if I wasn’t so sick half the time I’d be embracing this with more grace, like the essayist who so eloquently put into words her joy and wonder, the words that I seem to be lacking.
So I will continue to mention to R. that I hope the paddles that have formed will indeed turn into limbs, and the head will continue to grow at a faster rate that the rest of the body (but not too big). In fact, the fuzzy little guy is kind of cute, in an ET sort of way, balled up in it’s signature fetal position, all cozy in that deep dark space that is me.
Protein 8, what are you?
This week started out promising. On Sunday, I stopped all hormonal treatments (progesterone and estrogen). On Monday, I had bloodwork done to see if my levels were good and if I could stay off the junk. When I woke up on Monday morning, I felt more clear-headed than I had in a while. The opposite of waking up with a hangover, I suppose. The nurse called to tell me my levels were good, so no more shots and patches! It felt great. But she also told me she forgot to give me a requisition for more bloodwork. What? Dr. M. wants me to have additional bloodwork. Can I come back to pick up the form? No, I said. I was pissed that they forgot to give it to me, and with my new queasy way of life making the trip cross and up town is like climbing Everest. The nurse said she would mail me the form, so I didn’t think much of it.
Last night Dr. M. called to give me some OB recommendations.Bboth generalists and high-risk were on the list because she didn’t know if I needed to go high-risk. My latest labs had not come back yet, and they would determine whether I was high risk or not. What? I told her I hadn’t had the tests yet. I was led to believe they weren’t critical. She said I tested inconclusive on the Protein 8 test (I have no idea what this is, but apparently it indicates a clotting issue). I need to retest to see what range I’m in, as a poor result (or deficiency?) will put me at high-risk. High risk for what? I ask. Miscarriage, pre-term, she tells me, and I detect a bit of exasperation in her voice. What the heck do I think “high risk” means?? If the results are low, I may need to be on heparin, a blood thinner, for the duration of my pregnancy. More shots. More worry.
Now, what I love about Dr. M. is that she is so thorough. She leaves no stone unturned. But this just blows. She told me to have the test done immediately because at eight weeks she’d like to treat this condition if I indeed have it. Shit. Just as I was feeling happy and confident about the pregnancy, I suddenly feel fragile again.
Last night, for the first time in weeks, I didn’t drop off to sleep two minutes after picking up a book. I worried, with my new worry of the week, and prayed the test would be conclusive this time, to my benefit.
I’ll go to the lab this morning, but it might be a few days before I get the results. This may be one extra long weekend.
Fears
Only the truly diligent know they are even pregnant at this stage. It is too early to think about it, talk about, plan for anything. I may not even be pregnant right now. That is the horror of it. You are only as good as your last pregnancy test. I’ve learned to be comforted by exhaustion, by cramps, by painful bowel movements. These are all signs that something is going on down there. I even like the fleeting moments of nausea I experienced last week, that vague carsick wooziness. A loosening in the jaws, the need to eat a cracker to calm my stomach.
But some time last week, I think Thursday, I stopped feeling so awful. The cramps stopped. The fatigue remained (thank god), but no more debilitating lower abdominal pain. And you know what? This makes me nervous. My acupuncturist told me she doesn’t have needles large enough for me. Am I really that bad? I’m sure most women are this anxious. The further along you are, the closer you are to something. But as more time passes, there is more to lose.
My ultrasound is on Tuesday. They will look for the yolk sac. At eight weeks, it is considered a fetus. Right now, it’s still in the prep stage. I think about my age and how lucky we are to be where we are. I think about my age and the things that can go wrong.
Yesterday, R. and I spent the day shopping in New Jersey. The malls and large department stores, especially Target, present a frightening cross section of all that can go wrong in the world. When I crossed paths with a child or adolescent with an obvious disability, my heart sank.
I refuse to look at statistics. I know they will be revealed later. For now I distract myself, which is probably why I haven’t posted as often this week. I’m trying to spare others of my craziness. I’m trying to hide all these fears.
