In which I discover that yes, I may actually be pregnant for real

First OB appointment was today. It was hard to manage as if it was just another day - I was nervous and miserable and lay in bed reading for most of it. I tried to focus on everything but the appointment and failed. It was nerve-wracking.

John came home and off we went and after filling out much paperwork, we still had to wait over an hour to see the doc. But we finally did get in and he is a gem. A really nice guy who took his time explaining everything, particularly about screening. And for now, we've decided on a nuchal translucency in 2 weeks and then amnio, if necessary. I'm also going to be screened for pretty much everything else under the sun, including Tay Sachs, etc. Dr Delivery is very into screening, and while he did push the CVS a bit, the miscarriage rate is rather high, 1:100, higher than the amnio rate which he quoted at 1:300 to 1:600. That's a lot less than what I've read, but this guy has been in the biz for a long time. I doubt he's going to mislead us for no good reason. Ah, I'm such a trusting soul.

And then we went into the sonogram room. My cell phone rang just as I was changing - my dear friend Stacy who said "not that I'm freaking or anything!". I told her about the late start of the appointment and promised to call her back with any and all news. Babe- you KNOW I would have called you as soon as I got out. Oh ye of little faith!

John held my hand as Dr Delivery first did a breast exam (arghhhhackowwwwwwwwwwww) and then the pap, etc. Yes, he tormented me and made me wait till near the end for the cooter-cam. As he examined me, he said "everything feels right, excellent" and then he grabbed the wand himself and off we went ... and there it was. Way bigger then last time, way more developed. I started to panic because I couldn't see the heartbeat and choked out "is there a heartbeat?" in a strangled voice, to which he replied heartily "Oh yes! There it is ... 178bpm! Very very good!" ... and there it was, ticking away mightily. "and there are the arm and leg buds!" he pointed out. At this point I was sobbing and could barely see a thing anyway. John's hand squeezed mine tightly.

And yes, here it is ... and you can definitely see the limb buds and the difference from the previous one at 6.4 weeks. CRL was 25mm or so. Our baby is growing ... and is right on track. OMG. I think I may actually be pregnant for real this time. Really truly.


9 weeks and 3 days, right on target.

More babble

And here's another entry in Kinneret's random stream of consciousness babble.

It's midnight and everyone is asleep. This is a twist on the way things have been lately, where I am sound asleep by nine or ten, sometimes earlier.
It's quiet, other than the furnace working, and a sweet cat is curled up in his basket beside me. He's snoring. I wish I were, too.

I was extremely tired earlier. That seems to have vanished along with the "morning" sickness that started mid-afternoon and persisted till recently. One good thing about going grocery shopping when lightheaded, sick to the stomach and nauseous, is that you tend to buy a whole lot less "adventure" food.

Adventure food is what I call the stuff you see and think "hmmmm, that looks interesting! I bet it tastes great!" with the eventuality that your grocery bill ends up much higher than anticipated. I hardly bought anything today and it was 170 dollars. Seriously. Hardly any meat other than deli. Some fish ... yes, grouper for 3.99 ... I love grouper. ( We were introduced to it in the Bahamas when on our honeymoon and it is delicious.) Some cheese. Canned stuff. Some fruit, veg and juice, because even soda tastes off now. Coffee. Some paper goods. Ice cream, of course. I am a fairly careful shopper, I buy stuff on sale, I clip coupons, the whole nine yards. So much for intellectual pursuits.

My breasts are sore and heavy. I am sick almost every day. And I still worry. I wish the OB appt had come and gone ... I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. I am terrified of hearing bad news, just scared stiff. I don't dwell on it, I try not to. And in truth, few understand why I worry, why I am so pessimistic, why I'm having trouble relaxing.
OK, you certainly could counter with "you're a control freak worry-wort, so what do you expect?" but you wouldn't be helping the situation.

John told me today that he's going to come to the OB appointment. Even typing those words, I noticed that I sighed with relief.
I am luckier than most in my choice of mates (and I know that many feel that way about their spouses, but I have to say my piece). John has been utterly wonderful dealing with my sickness, my moods, my food likes and dislikes. He laughs, he hugs me, he is extraordinarily patient. Upon my return from the grocery store, while I was putting the food away, he asked me how I was doing. I promptly burst into tears and told him I was exhausted and miserable.

I mean, really. Tears? Moi? No excuse for it. But the darned hormones have ensnared me and he laughed it off, dried my tears and held me close. He then ordered me to finish up and go sit on the couch and do nothing. Which I did, gratefully, while munching on some fruits of my labours (Fontina cheese and saltines. Lunch of champions).

Jr is being a pain in the ass. He is truly in full teenage mode these days and pushing buttons as he can. His latest thing is going to sleep in whatever shirt he wore that day. Ick. Teenage boys get very sweaty - they run, they skate, they do NOT sit still. Jr then wonders why he's getting zits all over his back. So, I reiterated to him once again "change your shirt before bed. Remove your dirty socks before bed. THEN get into bed and go to sleep - AFTER brushing your teeth."
You'd think a kid who'd spend 45 minutes in the shower (if we let him)would be more conscientious about his hygiene?
I also told him that if we caught him doing it again (multiple warnings on this one), his mp3 player would be forfeit for a week. I got the "you can't take it, my mom gave it to me!!" to which I responded that I wouldn't be taking it, he just wouldn't be using it, and that no matter what his mother bought for him, our rules are our rules.
Damnit, I hate sounding like a stepmom. And a parent.

He also has a project due when spring break is over - I'm staying out of it. When it comes to English, I have high standards (not that you'd know from my writing) and he doesn't even try to meet them. Which is typical for many teen boys, I know ... especially ones who didn't grow up with a love of reading and books. So, I'm leaving it to him and his father.

This baby - if it ever becomes a baby - will be showered with books and reading. You can bet on it.
(Yes, I admit it. I've been looking at baby crap online. Books. Pooh Bear stuff. Valances. Crap. Yeesh.)

It's weird. Even the parenting thing in my life, is coming out backasswards. First I'm stepmom to a pre-teen boy, raise him through adolescence, etc, get him ready for college ... then I do the infant thing. Maybe.
Typical of my so-called life. Frequently in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hey, it's gotta be what makes me so utterly unique.
Heh.

Three more days till the OB appointment. I can make it. And they better have a cooter cam waiting. I'm just sayin'.

Hey, I may actually be tired now. I better hurry before I wake up. Bedtime.

On hunger and love

Wow. A day without "morning" sickness. Who knew? It was lovely and enjoyable. I did have some "low blood sugar" moments ... if you know that feeling where you feel like you better eat something soon? And when I got home, even though I had snacked all day, I was utterly ravenous and cajoled John into ordering pizza. I snacked on (light)nacho chips and olives until the 'za arrived ... oh, and the Greek salad I ordered, too. MMMmmmmm feta cheese.

Pizza toppings were as follows: Canadian bacon (of course!), tomatoes, black olives, mushrooms and feta cheese. Usually I order onions too but I didn't want to push my luck.

I got on the scale this morning. Oops. I've already gained about 10 lbs. SHIT! Now I gain weight extremely easily, this is a fact. But still!!! Unfair. Mostly from cutting back on my water intake, drinking lots of soda (ginger ale) and eating all the time, even crackers. *sigh*. Carbs are my downfall. I really don't want to be enormous and definitely don't want gestational diabetes. But it's like I just can't control myself.

Now the only down side of not experiencing "morning" sickness is the fact that I am now worrying that something is wrong. I realize how silly that is ... wait. Actually it's not, not really. It's like every time I talk about the possibility of actually going to term, when I say "if I have this baby" rather than "when". The pregnant girl at work rolls her eyes when I do this. Too bad for her ... I live within my own experiences, within the experiences of other in and subfertiles ... and there is little if anything we take for granted when it comes to pregnancy.
Because anything can ... and has, happened. Because nothing is for sure. Because I *am* 39 years old. Because I've been through miscarriages, an ectopic and even an abortion when I was younger. Because I've survived an abusive and violent relationship. Because my life has taken many twists and turns to get here ... and there's little I'm taking without a guarantee.

Except for John's love. Because amidst any uncertainty, he is the one constant. A wonderful, amazing constant.

MY OLD MAN

My old man
He's a singer in the park
He's a walker in the rain
He's a dancer in the dark
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
My old man
Keeping away my blues

He's my sunshine in the morning
He's my fireworks at the end of the day
He's the warmest chord I ever heard
Play that warm chord, play and stay baby
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
My old man
Keeping away my blues

But when he's gone
Me and them lonesome blues collide
The bed's too big
The frying pan's too wide

Then he comes home
And he takes me in his loving arms
And he tells me all his troubles
And he tells me all my charms
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
No, my old man
Keeping away my blues

But when he's gone
Me and them lonesome blues collide
The bed's too big
The frying pan's too wide

My old man
He's a singer in the park
He's a walker in the rain
He's a dancer in the dark
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
No, my old man
Keeping away my lonesome blues

J. Mitchell

Another sign of the apocalypse

I guess I'm officially a bad pregnant person. I didn't take my prenatal vitamin last night.
My stomach has been so damned queasy that I decided to forego the pleasure and I do feel slightly better today. It's really been quite something, the all-day sickness thing. Last pregnancy I switched prenates to something less hard on the stomach and it helped. However, I am currently on that same pill that I was switched to. So finding something else ... well, I suppose it's possible. Just not probable.

It's not that I feel like hurling - it's just persistent nausea and a general feeling of grossness. And sadly, the only thing that helps is eating. Once I'm done eating, it usually returns quickly. What the FUCK is that about and how do I unsubscribe from it?
I really don't need to gain enormous amounts of weight. I wasn't tiny to begin with.

And the constipation/diarrhea thing? And the belching/flatulence thing? John just keeps laughing at his dainty and ladylike wife. Right.

At work I was told not to worry (HAH!)about my symptoms, that they're normal and to chill out. They don't get that I'm not worried, I'm just miserable.

The thing is, I'm not exactly the shy and retiring kind. When I walked into work yesterday and was quiet and withdrawn, it alarmed people. Yes, my charge nurse actually came to me and asked if anything bad had happened, which was sweet (I didn't talk much for a few weeks after my miscarriage - always a sign that something is wrong with a chatterbox).

One neat thing I've noticed, now that I'm past (!!!!!) the 8 week mark is that I can feel a sort of protruberance around my pubis. IOW, if I lay my hand gently against the area below my belly button (while adjusting the fat roll there)and press gently, I can feel something hard yet soft, something different. It's pretty wild and it makes me smile.

However, on the "oh no, this could be bad" front, a true sign of the Apocalypse has arisen; Every single nurse at work agreed that the government messed up and should have stayed the hell out of the Terry Schiavo case. My friends, when a goodly number of nurses agree on ANY one concept, you know that screetching sound you heard earlier was the world grinding to a rapid halt.

So, if you wake up tomorrow and the lion and the lamb are lying down together, you find your friends speaking in tongues and your freezer is suddenly stocked with Haagen Daaz*, you'll know. The end is nigh. Turn on CNN and watch our demise.



* freezers being stocked with premium ice cream has to be a sign of the world's end. How else could we enjoy the show? There has to be SOME sort of reward for dealing with doomsday.

Non-sequitur

I'll confess. I am a Canadian living in the USA. John and I met on the Internet some years ago and he persuaded me to come live with him via means of a better job, great sex and love. I didn't need much convincing ... I knew he was the one for me almost from the moment I received and read his first email.

Culture shock hit hard. From downtown Toronto to (at first) scuzzy Laurel Maryland, I was miserable. After a few weeks of being afraid to leave our apartment (there had been several rapes and car thefts in the parking lots adjacent to ours) I demanded we move. And move we did, to a much nicer area of Maryland. My job was interesting, my salary was far better than it had been in Canada and we were in love. Sure, becoming stepmom to a then 11 year old kid was daunting, but it had its rewards, too.

And eventually we bought a home - we are proud home owners and finally getting our heads above water financially. This is all good. I switched nursing jobs so I could actually see my family, no more nights, weekends and holidays. Yeah, I earn less than I did, but I'm far happier. And somewhere amidst all of that, we were ttc.

John and I have been together since 2000. During these years together, we never used birth control, especially after using latex condoms one day with the subsequent result of me literally waddling into the GYN's office, completely swollen and humiliated. We used the "rhythm method", which to most of my friends always was the truest route to parenthood. Nada. John put that down to his superior technique. Ahem. He was in denial, really. Even once we started ttc seriously, he wanted to wait a little, because he didn't want us pregnant right around the wedding. I told him it wouldn't be that easy. He didn't believe me.

After many months of no results, John kind-of believed me. He resisted seeing a reproductive endocrinologist at first, despite my impressing upon him my age and questionable fertility, months of trying, history of ectopic pregnancy and most likely blocked tube, not to mention sister's infertility and history of endometriosis. I went without him to the first RE who wanted to go straight to IVF, didn't really want to do much testing, no point he said, we're wasting time! You could do IUI, but if it fails ... then a year later you're nearly forty and nothing to show for it! said Dr Bowtie. IVF is the way and the truth and the light! I nearly believed him.

And hence fell apart while driving home from Dr Bowtie's when they called me to tell me we had absolutely no IVF coverage- in fact, no fertility coverage of any kind at all.

After that we moved - a new job for me (with some coverage)and a decision to seek help elsewhere took over. Dr Baby's office, so it turned out, was in the building right beside where I worked. It was Bashert (meant to be). Dr Baby took us a different route, which I've written about here before. Obviously the lap for hydrosalpinx pretty much cured whatever ailed me. I say this now. John believed it long before I did, his first hint was the pregnancy that happened the month of the surgery. It took me till this pregnancy to actually concur with him.

And here we are. 8 weeks pregnant. Today the "holy shits" hit me hard, the "what the fuck am I doing, what the hell did I sign up for??", the doubts and self questioning. I know that raising a child is hard but ... ack. What did I get into here?

Which brings me to Terry Schiavo. For me, this is a logical progression. You, on the other hand, may be shocked at the non-sequitur.

I am so sorry for that poor woman. There she lies, in a persistent vegetative state with no hope of recovery, subject to the whims of those around her. And now, it seems, to our wonderful Congress and Senate who want to stick their noses in where they do not belong.

No one here is innocent. Her parents - who really need to figure out who they are doing this for, Terry or themselves. Because I don't believe that what they say is the truth - if Terry knew that there was a chance that she would lie in a persistent vegetative state for years on end, do they honestly believe that she would want to prolong it? Or is it parental guilt speaking?

Her husband, who really needs to figure out who he's doing this for. Maybe he knows her wishes, maybe he doesn't. But his perspective is more understandable to me.

The politicians? We all know who they're doing it for and it isn't Ms Schiavo, those sanctimonious lying fat bastards.

Is that life? Lying in a bed, day after day, unable to care for your most basic bodily functions. Actually, not even aware that you even have bodily functions. No power of thought or speech, no ability to enjoy, hate, love, want. Not even a rudimentary brain wave function other than those that are controlled by the brain's breathing centre. Is that life? Is that really what we want to protect in this country?

I am afraid. I say this without intention of hyperbole or exaggeration, but living here in this political climate has made me fearful. What has happened to common sense? We have moved so far to the right as to alienate ourselves from every other Westernized country in the world. We have people preaching to us about moral values who have no internal idea of what moral values are. George Bush? Tom Delay?? Rick Sanctorum? These are the people who supposedly know what is best for me and this country?

You want "family values"? Why not start where you should ... legislate for the families that do exist! Bring in paid maternity leave so that mothers can actually spend time with their babies and raise them (if they wish to do so). Support those families. Help those who actually want babies - support infertility coverage!

Don't decide for us what a family or marriage is - most of us are capable of doing that for ourselves. Don't tell us where life begins - most of us already have an internal moral clock which serves us just fine. Don't intervene in a personal and painful problem just to score political brownie points. It makes what should be a glorious government seem even more cheap, tawdry and sullied than it already is.

In other words ... keep your laws off my body.

I want to move back to Canada so badly it hurts. This country used to be great - The United States of America was a beacon to the world. But it's truly scaring me now. I don't want to live in fear.
And I know some of those few readers I have may be offended by this and I won't apologize. This is how I feel. This is the world we live in. For the first time, I'm frightened for our future.

Please get a living will and a durable power of attorney. Speak about your wishes with your loved ones. Designate one person to speak for you if it should ever happen that you can't speak for yourself. Protect yourself. And keep the government out of your business. It may save more than just your life.

Want some fruit with that?

OK, I never really noticed till now that my font colours are blue and pink. Call it subliminal if you wish. Whatevah.

I am on a total fruit kick. Yesterday I made a fruit salad ... an enormous dinner size plate of watermelon (I live and die for good watermelon. Really.), cantaloupe, strawberries, pineapple and cottage cheese. 6 people could have easily dined off this plate - it was my lunch. I also snacked on a banana at some point.
Today I am continuing with raisin bread (hey, there's fruit in that!!) and a half cantaloupe. I have to go to the store for replenishment ... although we got the watermelon at Costco and they confiscated my card. It may be a problem.

Ok, they didn't confiscate my card because I'm a bad person ... honest. I mean, that's debatable, but that's not why they took it. You see, I worked for one of the world's greatest assholes a couple of years back. He can't keep staff because he's a fucked-up, lying, unethical bastard of a doctor. And that's on a good day. But the job had great bennies: 20 vacation days to start, plus a week of sick and 5 days of personal leave! They paid your healthcare premiums. Oh, and one of the fringes was a Costco card which I never used cause I didn't live near one.
Of course, you had to work in that dysfunctional hellhole to get the bennies, which I did for one year and got the hell out (we moved, too) before I lost my nursing license because of him.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I decided to check out the local Costco and found my old card ... and what do you know? It worked. I hadn't thought that it would, I was all ready to pay my 45 bucks to renew ... and voila. So John and I went back last weekend to the tune of *gulp* 380 dollars and this time my card was flagged. They let us use it for that purchase but it was then taken ... I figure the lying unethical bastard finally cancelled it. He loses so many staff that he probably forgets to change the people on the account! But anyway, there's the long boring story of how I got a seedless and delicious watermelon for $6.99. It might be tough getting a comparable one at the Giant or Safeway.
Maybe if I went in and begged and pleaded and told them that I'm pregnant and I HAVE TO HAVE some watermelon, they'd waive the 45 bucks?

Not likely.

Today I am officially past the bad-awful-terrible day that happened in December. I thought I'd be overjoyed, but I'm not. I'm just quiet and nervous still. Waiting till the 30th is going to be rough, man. They better have a cooter-cam ready, is all I can say. I better go eat more fruit.

Same bat time, same bat channel

Last night I brought home McDonalds for my family. I have never ever in my entire lifetime done that. All I cared about were the fries - The Big Mac was completely incidental and I vaguely remember stuffing it into my maw.

I can't remember the last time I ever ate at McDonalds. They MUST add something addictive to their fries, like maybe nicotine? Interestingly enough, when I said "can you super-size that?" (about MY meal, not my husband's, or Jr's. What, are you kidding??) the young man apologized and told me that the biggest they have is "large". Why thank you so much, Morgan Spurlock! Hmmph.

Anyway, early December of last year ... I was 7.5 weeks and went in for yet another ultrasound because of the "slightly enlarged yolk sac". I was alone that day as John was convinced all would be fine, and he had a tough time getting off work. Besides I work right next door to Dr Baby's office - I could go and then head to work, no problems.

But that little ominous tune from Jaws played in my subconscious mind. I went in there nervous and expecting something not to be right, although I didn't truly expect to hear "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat".

Today I am 7.5 weeks again. No ultrasound today, not for another week and a half. I'm having cooter-cam withdrawal symptoms. Maybe if I just showed up at Dr Baby's they'd take pity and do another? Hell knows, they know me and all my bits way too well.

I look pregnant to my (and John's) eye. I smell pregnant (yeah, I'm weird that way). I feel pregnant. I'm not as queasy/heartburnish. But am I still pregnant? Is everything ok in there?

Supposedly, the risk of miscarriage drops dramatically once you've seen the heartbeat, even further once you've heard it. I don't know if I buy into all that. I have no symptoms, but I worry constantly about miscarriage. I'm still worried about congenital abnormalities, Downs syndrome, etc. After all, I will be 40 when (if) this baby ever decides to leave the womb in a timely fashion.

We told our parents this past weekend. They are keeping it to themselves and are guardedly optimistic. I could hear my mother smiling over the phone as she told me that she was born (by date) a week after her mother's birthdate, that my one sister was born a week after her ... and if this baby holds true, s/he will be born a week after my own birthdate. Tears welled up immediately and thoughts of "good omen" arose . I can't deny my heritage, after all.

Saying that, I am a worrier by nature and a pessimist (yes, I'm great fun at parties). Today is a big day ... passing this barrier will be enormous for me. Fear is growing smaller, but he's a fiesty bastard. I have a feeling he may shrink greatly after my first OB appointment, if all (HAH!!!) goes well. I really do want to banish him forever. It's unlikely, but it's a great goal. Fear should not have the power to rule my life. I'm working on it ... I really am.

Nightmares

Last night I had a dream. One of those dreams that is so realistic that you wake convinced that what you dreamt was real.

I dreamed that something was terribly wrong with my baby. That the docs told me they could see a dark spot during ultrasound, that it was some sort of weird named thing with hair and teeth, and that there was only a 2% chance that my baby would be normal.

I was remarkably calm and chose to terminate, rather than risk bringing a severely brain-damaged child into the world. The docs showed it to me afterwards and it was exactly how they described, not a normal looking fetus at all. I was angry after, and went around informing everyone on the infertility bulletin board. I remember sadly removing the lilypie ticker from my desktop (yes, I do have one. Laugh if you will). At work, people's main comment was "again?".

I woke up. I camly went to the bathroom and looking at my body sadly, realized that it was only a dream. And finally took a deep breath again. Not before knocking most of my prenate vitamins into the sink, of course.

So it seems Fear is still running around his playground, even though Hope is sitting on the swings, sticking her tongue out at him ...

*gulp*

For some reason, our answering machine isn't working. You know, the one where when you pick up the phone, the dial tone beeps to let you know there's a message?

Because when I got home Friday, caller ID showed me that Dr Baby's office had called but there was no message. When I accessed the voice mail just to check, it told me there was no message.

Today, I noticed my mother had called while John and I were out spending far too much money at Costco (can I just mention that Costco has the BEST raisin bread. Ever!). Unlike my mother not to leave a message ... so I checked again. This time there were 3 messages. The first one was from Dr Baby's nurse ... and I quote: "Once we see the heartbeat, there's no real need for you to come in for another ultrasound, so yes, we're releasing you to your OB! But please keep in touch with me and let me know how it goes. We are so happy for you!"

OMG. I've been "released". No longer under the wing of the ever-concerned RE's office, no longer an "infertile". Who am I now? Where do I go? Ack!! I'm free and I'm not certain I know what to do with this freedom. It's rather daunting.

I am a free being for the next 2 weeks until the OB appointment. Wow. This must be what fertile women feel like when they're pregnant. Like it's no big deal. Kind of mundane and humdrum.
*gulp*

Nothing to see here

It's starting to sink in. Yeah. I'm still a tad leery of rejoicing - ok, a LOT leery, but I'm definitely happier.
Yes, I googled the snot out of "embryonic heartrate, 6.4 weeks" and found that 130 is pretty much a high average, so 124 is nothing to sneeze at, especially as they were marking me two days ahead of my own calculations. Still, those 6 errant beats made my own heart race a little, but ... I still remember the concept of "averages". And yes, I did suck at math. Yes I did. The fact that I earned my degree of "Science" in Nursing still amazes all who know me.

A couple things happened at the appointment that make me realize now, that Dr Baby knew the last pregnancy wasn't going to make it.
1) The cooter-cam tech was actually friendly and wrote a cheesy greeting on the ultrasound pics for us, ie "hi mom and dad from the littlest ...". (No, I don't want you all to know my last name. While I love you all, it's not a stalking kind of love. Deal.)

2)The wand monkey didn't have latex on the wand!

3) I was given a bunch of paperwork, including a full ultrasound report of embryonic measurement, etc. Also, "ways to avoid morning sickness during pregnancy" instructions, which never made it my way last time.

4)John and I were taken to a meeting room, where we actually met with an RN (not mine, she and Dr Baby were not there that day)who offered us congratulations and when to schedule an OB/GYN appointment.

None of those things happened last time. None. Through all three progressively shittier ultrasounds. Things that make you go "hmmmmmmm".

Once the nice nurse offered us congratulations, I turned to her, panic-stricken and asked "are you releasing me???" Because there's just no way that they can be releasing me yet! I'm infertile, goddamnit! I've miscarried before!! No!! They can't!!! No, I didn't say any of those last few things. But I'm sure I looked terrified.

Being a wise woman, she had me scheduled for another ultrasound next week, and told me that if Dr Baby didn't want me for it, they'd call and cancel. No one has called yet and I did leave a couple of panicked messages on my own RN's voice mail. So I'm thinking I'll be riding the cooter-cam one more time (hopefully only one more in that office, omg please) on Tuesday. And I scheduled it with Dr Baby, even if it means leaving work for an hour or so. I'll have to tell my nurse manager. Ick.

And ... *wincing and crossing all crossables* nothing to see here! Go away demons!!! I made an OB/GYN appointment for the end of the month. When I'll allegedly be *gulp* 9 weeks or so.

And now, it's time to prepare for my coworker's baby shower. I'll be making this dip. It rocks, btw. Simple and always a favourite at parties. Like yours truly.

Taco Dip

1 8 oz package (light)cream cheese.
1 c. (light)sour cream
3/4 c. (light)mayo

Mix these three ingredients well, spread on a plate and chill. Then fry:

1 lb ground beef, fry till brown, drain and add:
1 envelope taco seasoning
1 8 oz can tomato sauce
I also add some medium or hot salsa for flavour and a dash of tabasco.

Let the meat mixture cool a bit and chop up some:
iceberg lettuce (the only time I ever buy it)
1-2 ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 can sliced black olives
jalapenos, diced.
2 cups shredded cheese of your choice

Spread cooled meat mixture on cream cheese mixture to cover. Then sprinkle evenly the lettuce, tomato, black olives and jalapenos. Top it all off with the cheese and serve with taco or nacho chips.

It's not Gourmet, but heck - it's tasty and always goes fast!

It looks like ...

They're measuring me at 6 weeks, 4 days, 2 days ahead of schedule. Heartrate was 124, completely on target. I am utterly blown away.
I couldn't look at the screen till I heard the doc say "there's the heartbeat!!" Upon which I started sobbing hysterically. It looks completely different than the old ultrasound pics, completely. I mean, you can see a shape!!

I am on top of the clouds right now. I just wish today was a better day for everyone. I'm so truly sorry, Julia.



It looks like John ...

I guess I can't say that I'm "allegedly" pregnant any more. It's for real this time. OMG. Is. All. I. Can. Say.

Superstition

I refuse to change a single thing on my desk. I won't put anything away, especially anything vaguely (alleged) pregnancy related. The HPTs. The charts. The Weight Watchers stuff (I got pg right after I started last time). The knitting book. The earrings.

Yes, infertility and loss have reduced me into a heaping mess of superstitious bullshit. Which I know is crap. I know that nothing I do, say or cry will alter whatever is going on inside me right now. On a cerebral level - this is ridiculous. I am an extremely well educated woman, I am a Registered Nurse for chrissakes. But I can't help but cling to nonsense just to find peace.

Fortunately, today was a fairly busy day at work, for which I'm thankful. I couldn't dwell on the upcoming ultrasound tomorrow. Instead, I ordered with the rest of the crew from Cheeburger Cheeburger and had a ginormous bacon cheddar burger with sauteed onion, tomato, lettuce and jalapenos, and a small (hah!) order of their best french fries. I ate all of the burger and a goodly portion of the fries. I am officially a porker. I'm happy to say that I also ate dinner when I got home. And yes, I am now queasy and feeling unwell. I believe my pancreas and gallbladder have launched official letters of protest, and my heart ain't happy either. And the grape Fanta I'm enjoying right now is delicious. When the hell did I start liking grape Fanta???

Yeah. I'm frightened. And John is doing his best to make me feel better - that dear man has made dinner every night this week, when I have walked in from my 10 hour shifts absolutely knackered. I mean dinner on the table, steaming hot. Even Jr, whom we have not told of this pregnancy, senses something and has been on his best behaviour.

All I can say is - it better be good news tomorrow. Because I'm tired of gaining and losing these same 8 lbs over and over again. And I honestly think I will lose my mind if something is wrong. Please ... please ... can it be simple for once? Just once? Please?

Now with more queasiness!!

I am officially (in my mind) allegedly 6 weeks pregnant today. And yesterday, as if a little switch turned on, I started getting queasy. Oh no, this isn't "morning" sickness. This is all-day-all-the-time-every-little-thing-you-do-and-I'll-be-there - kind of queasiness. Bloatedness. Heartburn.

I start to eat something - it's delicious! After several bites - no it's not! I've come to the conclusion that garlic (a usual food group to me) is BAD. Bland and milky is GOOD. Salty is GOOD, but I am so darned thirsty all the time anyway. And last night, after I hied myself to bed in an effort to stay awake enough to watch 24, I snuck down to the kitchen and started eating pickles. Yes, pickles. I had ice cream earlier. About an hour earlier. I don't think that quite counts as a cliche.
Yet.

Corn Flakes and milk were from the gods this morning. I packed a lunch of soup and BREAD. And more BREAD. And bland Swiss cheese. And BREAD. John has a similar lunch, only with less bread and more Cheetos. Hmmm. Cheetos. On second thought, I may have to swap those lunches out. Yesterday I nearly ate all of a girlfriend's Cheez-Its. If I had been slightly less falling asleep at the wheel, I would have stopped and bought some last night on the way home.

I've gained back almost all the weight I lost over 2 months in 3 weeks. *sigh*. I'm not gonna be one of those svelte pregnant fashionistas they show in magazines, I'll tell you right now.
Assuming I'm pregnant. Which, while I'm slightly more convinced today, won't be confirmed until Thursday. Even if this morning I did break out the maternity bras I bought last time. Heartburn will do that. Not pregnancy, oh no! It's strictly heartburn related. Begone, demons, nothing to see here!

Off to work. I tell you, it's not easy working in a gastrointestinal clinic when you're a touch queasy. No Siree.
And thank you all for the comments. While I'm writing (mostly) for me, I'm enough of an attention slut to be thankful that this isn't being written in a vacuum. Or however you spell that word.

Better angry than afraid and other miscellany

OK, so my boobs are a little bigger. Fuller, if anything. And the right sided one is definitely larger than the left. Now that's true on an ordinary, non-allegedly pregnant day too, but it's *very* noticeable. At least it is to me. And to John, who keeps laughing at me.

People at work suspect. I've been answering with a "it's possible but not probable". As I work with all nurses and (sadly) all women, it's getting harder to hide the morning queasiness. Leaving crackers on my desk was probably not a bright move, but who the heck was thinking about it? So, my status seems to be a topic of whispering. I've caught any number of glances directed at my stomach. AS IF I'D BE SHOWING AT 5+ WEEKS!! Yeesh! Nosy bitches.

It's hard when you work with an all-female-all-nurse crowd. Everyone knows everything about everybody. And considering they were all aware of our loss last December, they have all taken an avid interest in our fertility (or lack thereof) status. While it's nice that they all care, if I hear one more "it wasn't meant to be" (grrr!) or "just relax" (triple grrrr!) or "my sister's brother's cousin's auntie's niece twice removed had ..." or "which doctor do you see? Cause I heard really good things about X" ... I may have to smack someone. It's even worse because another girl at work is due next month and they're all fussing over her (which is good) but then they turn their attentions to me (which is bad).

I did talk to one of the nurses, one who is closer to me age and who dealt with IF as she has severe endo, etc ... she told me "you know, if you two just relax ..." - and I finally did cut her short. I got quite upset with her and she just kept going!! Finally I told her quite sharply "Listen, relaxing isn't what's going to get me pregnant. Sex will. Hopefully. And if not, the doctor will. But not relaxing, ok?" And I left. She sort of apologized later.

The weirdest part of it seems to be the personal projection ... I mean, if you really think that it's "god's will" then good on ya, but please don't assume that refers to me. Personally, I think this has nothing to do with any god, nothing to do with destiny, nothing to do with karma, nothing to do with having an abortion, nothing to do with anything. Infertility is a disease, just like anything else. Being diabetic isn't from god either, you know? It's just a disease; partially genetic, partially environmental, partially bad luck. It happens.

So, telling me to relax ... well, would you say that to the guy with heart disease? Cause it's apples and apples my friend, not apples and oranges.

Anyway, rant begone. Better to be angry than afraid.

In better and not so controversial news, John and I went up to the furniture place again this weekend, ostensibly to return the blanket we borrowed and to look around. We ended up buying a nice maple veneer kitchen table with 6 chairs for the princely sum of $150 USD. I'll try and upload a pic later. Since no one actually reads this other than me, no one will notice that the pic will go up later anyway.

And if I'm wrong and you are reading this? Please comment, even if just to say hi. Just press the little "comment" thingie beneath this post. Hey, I said "please".

Off to do some cleaning!


the kitchen table

Fighting a losing battle

I think it started in December, that day I was told there was no heartbeat, the day everything went black for a long while. Fear took up residence and never left, snaking his cold tentacles quietly around my heart, and waiting for the opportunity to show himself again.

He gloats, you see. Quietly. You think he's gone, he's left never to return, that you're safe and Joy can reign once again ... until Doubt creeps in.

Doubt is normal. Especially after a long, hard road. But Fear waits, sneaking into the crevices that Doubt has started, widening them and making long inroads. Doubt may come and go, but Fear is here for the count.

Nothing is safe, nothing is simple. Joy is fighting hard to get out but Fear stomps her down each time, his malicious little whispers sending her back to her corner. And as I wait for the ultrasound next Thursday, Fear has been feeding and growing stronger and stronger.

There's nothing I can do but wait. I wish I could kick Fear to the curb, tell him to get lost, there's nothing to see here! But Fear may be here for good reason. And he knows it. I can feel him gloating deep within and it sickens me.

I feel helpless. Nothing to do but wait - and Fear keeps growing.

Oh-so tired

Yes, bonecrunchingly so. I'm very tired. Other than eating, almost all I think about is sleep. I am far more tired than usual - which leads me to believe that I may still be pregnant.
I'm not convinced, mind you. My boobs look pretty normal and other than the odd twinge here and there, they don't look like the pregnancy boobs I had last time. Smells bother me more than they normally do. I pee more frequently. And I seem to be inordinately interested in sex ... if I could only stay awake. Last night I was in bed by 9pm, much to John's chagrin, I'm sure.

So here I sit, waiting for the meatloaf to finish cooking so I can eat and go sleep. Really. I just want to sleep. John is having an evening nap, the lucky dog. I may have to go wake him out of spite.

I think people at work are suspicious. To their inquiries I reply "it's possible but not probable". That has become my mantra.

I'm just not feeling terribly positive about this ... and I won't until I see a decent heartbeat. And then till the 2nd trimester. And then ... I'm sure there will always be something but that first ultrasound is going to be key. I figure we'll be at 6w 2d - I'm hopeful we'll be able to see the heartbeat. We did last time at 6w+ - but look what happened there.
So, I'm not feeling terribly encouraged - not enough signs to convince me that this is actually viable. I realize that each pregnancy is different and that each woman is different but I can't help but remain pessimistic. Most of the time.

Other times I keep thinking of Winnie the Pooh. And the nursery. I usually slap myself around that time and bring myself back to reality ... but I still dream. A little.