Flashbacks

Now that we are in the thick of the holiday swing, I find myself having vivid flashbacks to this time last year – Missy’s first trimester – and the fall prior – my first miscarriage.

I rarely wrote about how sick and terrified I was in this blog because I feel like I went through my first trimester with Missy in full-blown bunker mentality.

You would think that my beautiful daughter, harried life and, well, time itself might have dulled the angst-ridden memories. Still, I find myself visiting a random place like Costco and remembering vividly how it felt to walk down the aisle on the verge of puking. Or standing at the check out line at New Seasons Market on a rainy Friday night in November with a pint of ice cream and a box of pads as I lost Junior #1. I went for a doctor’s appointment in the same building where I had my CVS almost a year ago to date and could almost feel my knees knocking in fear again.

The fall of 2006 was filled with so much sadness and searching after my first miscarriage. The fall of 2007, so much anxiety and sickness. While I selfishly long to add another child to our family, I am not ready for the potential re-visit to such dark spaces.

In the initial months after Missy’s birth, I was too busy – or just plain too tired – to remember the pain of IF and miscarriages. This living, breathing, fiery little bundle consumed every spare second. I thought the pain might have gone – poof! like magic – the moment she emerged.

Now I have a bit more precious time & energy to think as well as the context of the holiday ritual to remind me how I felt last year and the year before. I am simultaneously sad and so very grateful. I can’t even fathom how much inner resolve it took to get through it so stoically. Was I ever that strong? I didn’t feel so at the time but in retrospect I am in awe that I made it through.

Shortly after we got the thumbs-up from the CVS results – and knew Missy was a missy – we received our first baby present from Mr. & Mrs. Super Planner: a subtle pink-striped swaddle blanket from PBK.

I found the gift receipt for the swaddle blanket the other day. Ever the glass-is-half-empty, I had saved it throughout the pregnancy just in case we had to return the item (for obvious, unspeakable reasons).

So I took that receipt…and shredded the shit out of it.

Rechaka (Sanskrit for exhale)

46 chromosomes and healthy.

Also, as someone aptly pointed out in the comments, only 10 toes. (Sheesh, can you tell how nerve wracked I was?).

And it looks like we have to change Junior's name to something a little more, um, girly.

Bring on the little pink ski helmet and rhinestone-studded goggles.

Good lord, what is Cowboy going to do with two of us?

Deepest rechaka. Ever.

CVS update

The CVS drama went well yesterday. I won't have preliminary results until tomorrow (Friday) and official, official results until Dec. 24 or 26. Perfect timing as we will be on our ski trip and most likely out of cell range somewhere in some mountain valley.

The reason they give you 2 results is that they grow a short term culture and then a long term culture. They test each one to ensure that they didn't accidentally grab maternal tissue in the sample, which would throw off the results from the first culture. The genetics counselor explained it better, but that is all I remember from what she told me. I was a little focused on the forthcoming procedure by that point.

In nearly all cases, the result does not change from the short term to the long term culture. So I should be satisifed with tomorrow's result. But, knowing me, I probably won't be.

The procedure was easy and relatively pain-free. If you've had an HSG, a CVS is a snap. On a pain scale, a CVS is a 1 compared to 6 or 7 for an HSG. They used a catheter to go in vaginally due to the position of the placenta. I made Cowboy go with me because I am gradually getting him used to seeing my feet up in the stirrups.

The risks for a CVS are 1 in 200. Miscarriages - if they happen from the actual procedure - generally happen within 48 hours. I have another 20 hours to go.

We also had a pretty detailed ultrasound. Junior was positioned exactly sideways with its face and belly towards my backbone. As such, we got a terrific view of the spine and all of the little ribs. Plus, it's feet were tucked up so that the soles of the feet were pointed towards my belly, giving us the opportunity to count - and marvel at - two tiny little feet and 20 toes. It is about 4 inches long now. Measuring right where it should be with a FHR of 167.

The ultrasound techs at the Maternal Fetal Clinic I went to are strictly trained to be diplomatic. There is only, "this is an arm," "here is a leg." No modifiers or descriptors. No, "this looks perfect." She pointed out the major organs, too. I guess no news is good news at these things. And when the doctor only comes in to perform the procedure, I am taking that as a good sign, as well.

If we want to, we can find out the gender, too. I think that I will find out if everything is OK. If not, I won't.

Quick Update

I am so sorry I have been a slack blogger of late. I am sorry I haven't been reading, commenting or offering support.

My work is fever pitch from now until March. The nausea and vomiting have not ceased. I am at 13w3d. Will it ever go away? I have not had an ultrasound or Doppler since before Thanksgiving. Deep breath. My genetics counseling and subsequent CVS is tomorrow at 10 pdt.

Although I want to know. I am so very freaked about it all. Assuming I don't miscarry from it, I will not have the results for another week.

The stress is palpable.

Melt Down

Today marks my first (and hopefully last) mini-meltdown on my OB's office. Subject: my ability to get an appointment for genetic testing before I hit the 13w6d cut-off.

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving I had my first regular OB appointment. No fancy u/sound, but I did hear Junior's heartbeat on the Doppler. I am approaching the end of the first trimester (11w2d today), which means time for first trimester genetic screening and testing. I have always been very clear with my OB that I would like a CVS. She supports my decision given the following factors: my age (late 30's) and someone genetically related to us has a child with Trisomy 21.

Much like miscarriage or even infertility, most of us might consider that having a child with the kinds of chromosomal or neural tube issues that can be revealed in utero as something that happens to "other people." And then it happens to someone very close to you. And your perspective changes. Immediately.

As such, I researched all the options available for genetic screening and testing, including the pros and cons, before I ever got pregnant. Additionally, Cowboy and I had discussed and agreed upon our choices and the subsequent decisions given the outcome, again, before we achieved a pregnancy. I don't refer to myself as Ms. Planner for nothing. It was a pact from which neither of us wavered.

Until this pregnancy. Which was so hard won. I found myself wavering. And thinking more about just having the nuchal translucency screen, with no risks of miscarriage, and hedging our bets.

So I talked to the person who has the Down's Syndrome child and pointedly asked which tests she had done. This is not something I wanted to do because, for me, asking sounded a little like blaming. What had she done or not done to determine the risks before the surprise delivery of a baby with Trisomy 21 who had to be airlifted to a bigger hospital minutes after birth because she wasn't breathing and underwent total reconstructive surgery to build a fourth chamber in her heart at age 2 months.

She had done the nuchal translucency test. And was given a 1 and 4,999 chance of having a baby with Down's Syndrome.

Hell, I'd have played those odds, too.

But I'm not going to. If only the maternal-fetal clinic I've been referred to would let me schedule what is my right to request and have: a CVS.

For some reason, the referral from my OB only requests first trimester screening, which is the nuchal translucency screen and genetic counseling. I tried explaining to maternal-fetal clinic that given our family history, I would not even believe the results of an NT screen, so please, just schedule the fucking CVS. That way I can either make the heartbreaking decision or finally bond with this fetus.

But noooo. I had to call my OB's office and outline - in tears with my voice wavering in a high octave - to the nurse-on-duty very clearly why I would like a CVS:

1. I am in my late 30's.
2. This is my third pregnancy and I have no living children.
3. My XXX has a child with Trisomy 21. She had an NT screen, which gave her very low odds of carrying a child with Downs.
4. I am not letting myself bond with this baby until I have answers.

I mean, for fuck's sake. It is not like I just heard about CVS in a blurb in USA Today and decided this was the test for me. My - our - decision is the result of thoughtful primary and secondary research and subsequent discussion. Well, I discussed. Cowboy, in his cowboy-like way, listened and said, "Have the test. The first test you can have."

Thank goodness the nurse was an open and understanding soul. She completely agreed and said she would change and re-fax the referral to the maternal-fetal clinic.

So now I wait for the maternal-fetal clinic to call. Again. I'll have to stop myself from having a little edge of "I told you so" in my voice when I FINALLY schedule the appointment.

I know the subject of genetic testing (amnio and CVS) versus genetic screening (NT scan and quad blood markers) is so deeply personal and scary. With testing, you know absolutely, but there are very clear risks. With screening, there are no risks, but you are only given odds with no guarantees. The decision seems even harder when you factor in the effort taken to even have the privelege to make such choices.

I sometimes wish I didn't think so much. That I was carefree and confident. That I was a happy, bubbly pregnant woman. But that's not me today. I have let this entire process rob me of so much reproductive confidence that I am angry with myself.

I just want to get past this test and the first trimester so I can start to live a little again. Why is that so hard for me right now?

Graduation Day

Two important milestones today:

First, my beloved golden, Gus, turns 13 today. A teenager. Whoa. I've had Gus since he was a 7-week-old little ball of fur and sharp teeth. He's celebrating the usual way: with a hamburger from a local fast food chain that only uses free range, grassfed beef. How Portland. He always eats the bun first. I am not kidding. He picks his hamburger apart and eats the top then the bottom bun then the meat. Gus loves carbs.

Second, I graduated to the regular OB. Whew! We had ultrasound #2 today at 9w4d and the kid was having a party in there. Moving all around. Cowboy maintained "he" was boxing (I suspect he wants a boy, ya think?) and, indeed, that is what it looked like. I said it was dancing, proving that boy or girl, I expect it to be able to get down with the get down. In other notes, its heartrate and measurements were all exactly where they should be.

By the way, I'm feeling a little horrible because I still refer to Junior as "it". Probably some sort of linguistics defense mechanism.

In a terribly cute, awwww moment, Junior's hand was on his/her/its face and the RE speculated that he/she/it was sucking his/her/its thumb. Which would make it exactly my kid since I sucked my thumb until I was, like, 8 or something.

Criminy, the he/she/it thing is gonna get old. I can't even use the term baby yet. I know, I am horrible. For now, I'll just keep it at "it" and we'll all just deal with my detached callousness.

By the way, if your fur babies want to give a shout out to Gus on his birthday, please do so in the comments. I will read them to him.

Fun with Cucumbers

I am not going to complain about being nauseous. Instead, I'm trying to have fun with it. I mean, after a fucking month of daily sickness reminiscent of the feeling you get the day after a "beer-before-liquor-never-sicker" college party, you gotta do something to find a little humor in it. Or you start to pout. And no one likes a pouter after the cuteness wears off.

After years of carefully crafting our weekly household menu (including vegetarian night, which Cowboy hates), I find I can no longer plan anything because I have to indulge in whatever I feel like I might be able to keep down RIGHT THEN AND THERE.

If I don't, I turn ravenous, which quickly turns to nausea and the cycle starts all over again. Leaving me munching on graham crackers at the edge of the bathroom door.

Which means a lot of last minute trips to the grocery store where I buy something completely practical, like, say, 5 cucumbers.

I was feeling horrible on Sunday when the thought of cold cucumber slices popped into my head. Without hesitation, I drove to the store and could not think about anything other than buying cucumbers. I didn't really think about what I was doing, how this might look to the average New Seasons shopper until I was piling them into my grocery basket.

I suppose I could have saved face by buying some other grocery items but thinking about cucumbers was THE ONLY THING that kept me from feeling like I was going to hurl.

Grocery stores are hard enough with all the smells. I needed to get the damn cucumbers and get the hell out.

I also suppose I just could have bought my cucumber stash without looking up and slinking out of the store. But I was so darn sick of feeling sick that I decided I would control this party. It was not gonna control me.

So, just for fun, I shoved my wedding band into my jeans pocket while waiting in the check out line. And for more fun, I picked a guy checker. A cute one.

And to amuse my pathetic self further, I replied, "Oh I will," with arched eyebrows and a little grin when he bade me to have a good day.

At least I was the story du jour of the girl-who-bought-five-cucumbers-and-nothing-more rather than the girl who threw up in the produce department.

Lemon!

Not only is it one of my favorite U2 songs, but I recently looked up - and only because I was absolutely desperate - tried this remedy for nausea:

Suck on slices of fresh lemon sprinkled with salt

Yes, it makes your face contort in a manner that has your "supportive" husband making fun of you AND tastes vaguely like the lemon-flavored Sour Patch kids candy (not a bad thing in my book). But, I swear, try 2 or 3 of these slices of goodness when you are feeling at your lowest and it gives you some temporary relief.

Word of caution: remedy does not work when you are starving and therefore caught in a cycle of nausea and low blood sugar. It just makes you retch more quickly.

Any other tried and true remedies out there?

In praise of median

Ultrasound #1 at 6w4d = median.

Median meaning that Junior (and there is only one of them) measured spot on the median for everything: crown-to-rump size, gestational sac size and heartrate.

Hurdle #3 cleared. Deep exhale.

At this point, being in the center of the bell curve is good. Normal is comforting. The fact that Junior is entirely average brings me a few days of peace.

My progesterone. That's another story. Even with supplementing 600mg a day, it is only at 26.9. So I am still on suppositories 3x a day. Good thing our local coupon book (you know, the kind your neighbor kid suckers you into buying for $20 so their school can buy rock climbing ladders for the playground) had a page - a whole page! - of coupons for Naturelle organic cotton pantyliners. I think it was meant to be, but still, ugh, gross.

I am so sorry that I did not post on Thursday. You see, immediately on the heels of my ultrasound was a business trip. And I was so nervous and focused on the ultrasound that I forgot to pack my laptop (!) and my toothbrush. By the time I returned last night, I was so tired I went immediately to bed (um, that would be at 8:30 on a Friday night - LAME). This morning, I just recovered from several hours of I-must-lay-here-very-still-because-I-feel-like-I-am-going-to-hurl-at-any-moment.

Ultrasound #2 is November 15 at 9w4d. At this point, let's just assume I get there. Like ultrasound #1, this one takes place on the birthday of someone I love: my dog's 13th birthday. I can't believe I have a teenager! Lordy. Ultrasound #1 was on the birthday of my best gal, JZ.

Between now and then I have to figure out how I am going to get Cowboy there. See, until Thursday, Cowboy had not attended a single lady-bits-appointment with me. We both liked it that way. But this time, I am a mean wife because while I informed him we were going for an ultrasound, I neglected to include the word "transvaginal" in front of ultrasound. I will never forget the trapped look in his eyes when the nurse asked me to disrobe from the waist down.

Nor the amused grin he flashed when I gestured to the condom-covered dildo cam in the center of the room.

"I wonder if those are magnum sized," were his only words.

Half Pregnant

Have you ever heard the saying, "you can’t be half pregnant." You either are. Or you aren’t.

I am living proof that you can indeed be half pregnant.

I am pregnant. I have 7 HPTs in my desk drawer and 2 decent HCG betas to prove it. But I am not letting myself feel pregnant. I don’t want to re-join the club unless I am certain I won’t be kicked out of it. Again.

My two week wait went by amazingly fast. Even when I suspected I might be pregnant ("hmmm, why am I ordering a milkshake? I never crave milkshakes."), I didn’t dwell on it. Since seeing two lines two weeks ago, time has slowed to a crawl.

My first ultrasound is on Thursday, Oct. 25. A day of which I am terrified. And a date that can’t get here fast enough.

I have symptoms, I try to rationalize to myself. My boobs are sore and feel denser by the day. I literally conk out at 2 in the afternoon. Luckily, no one minds. Today I feel like I have a hangover: tired, a little nauseous, blah. I am not complaining. In fact, I secretly delight in these feelings.

And that’s when I start to feel like a fraud. What if this is all one big, cruel rouse? I go around acting like I am pregnant and feel like I might be called out at any moment: "You! Yes, you, over there. Not pregnant anymore! Please leave the room."

Yesterday, another symptom started – light cramping. Not really cramping but more like a stretching or pulling horizontally across my lower abdomen. I hate this symptom. It has me on edge. I read somewhere that this is normal. That the uterus is stretching. But in my experience, cramping of any kind = very bad. So I am nervous.

And I promised myself. Absolutely promised that I would not complain. I knew that the early stages of being pregnant would be the toughest for me. To that end, I am disappointed in myself that I'm even posting this. But these thoughts, they need some place to go.

So every day I wake up and say my mantra, "Today, I am pregnant."

And I so want to believe it and embrace it. But I haven’t quite figured out what kind of grasp to use.