An OB's nightmare

I think I’m one of those OB patients. You know—the ones who are addicted to the ultrasound, who listen to the words of their obstetrician with the same reverence as they would the words of a lover. In short, I am happiest when I am walking out of my doctor’s office after hearing reassuring words. Every day after that, I am just a little less confident.

I bullied my way in for an appointment with my OB yesterday—five days earlier than I was supposed to see her. I had had uncomfortable pressure and occasional pain in my uterus, and almost constant urination (no, it wasn’t a UTI). As soon as she came in the room, it was clear she thought I shouldn’t have been there. I don’t think she completely blamed me; she was miffed that the nurses didn’t reassure me like they should have. I commented that they were probably afraid of getting sued if they were wrong. She said I was probably right.

She told me what I wanted to hear—that the pain and discomfort was my uterus stretching, and I should only be concerned if I start bleeding and/or experiencing major cramping. She was nice enough to let me hear the baby’s heartbeat on the Doppler, which brought tears to my eyes.

I love my OB. She’s kind and patient with me.

The problem is everyone else. I think the other people in my life who know about the pregnancy are rather surprised to find out how paranoid I am about miscarriage. Depending on how close they are to me, they may or may not tell me so. Even the nurse told me it’s going to “a long 40 weeks” if I don’t relax.

Take my mom, for instance. (For clarification, my mom is my best friend and understands me better than most people, but she can drive me crazy sometimes.) Mom asked me yesterday why I’m almost paralyzed with fear about miscarriage, when other people usually just glide through their first trimester. I tried to explain how when you want something so bad for so long, your biggest fear is losing it. She said she understood. But I’m not sure she really does.

I’m not sure if I even really understand my paranoia. I try to tell people it’s because a) I’m at higher risk for miscarriage because of PCOS and b) my doc found a small blood clot under my placenta a couple of weeks ago. But I think those are just excuses I use to try to justify my feelings. I know something bad could happen, and I choose to focus on that fact rather than lift up my hands and accept that it’s out of my control.

I’m embarrassed about how I’m acting. I really wish I could just go with the flow and enjoy myself. I’m afraid that even once I reach the second trimester, I’ll be stressing about every little change in my body.

Is this miscarriage paranoia just reserved for IF veterans, or does it include other women, as well?

Close encounters of the IF kind

On Friday night, we invited our new next-door neighbors and their almost-three-year-old daughter over for dinner. Though I’m not officially “out” with a large number of people yet, the conversation was going in such a direction that I was uncomfortable keeping my current condition a secret. So, I told. And I couldn’t help adding, “It was after a battle with infertility.” The woman, B, started asking some more detailed questions, and, of course, I was happy to share (I’ve never been a particularly private person). At one point, when I was explaining something, I added, “I don’t know if you’ve ever known anyone who’s gone through IF, but…” and she interrupted and told me they had. Their daughter is adopted.

Whoa. The things you learn when you share. I learned that B had had two, possibly three miscarriages, and couldn’t get pregnant after that. They never went through IUI or IVF. They started caring for the Munchkin when she was 8 weeks old; C’s cousin (the birth mother) had had lots and lots of problems and the child needed a foster. After a lot of time and a court battle, B and C were eventually able to adopt the Munchkin.

After dinner, while M was showing C the fish tank (boys!), I sat down with B and we started talking about our IF histories. In detail. It was strange for me to be discussing this with a relative stranger, but it was a very bonding experience. I shared my continual fear of miscarriage, and she talked about how she and C are considering fostering again, but she couldn’t go through the emotional trauma she did when she thought she might lose the Munchkin.

When I asked whether they would pursue more treatments, she said no. She’s almost 40 (she looks so much younger!) and doesn’t want to go through the emotional rollercoaster of IVF if there’s only a slim chance it will work. And then she said something that really hit me hard: She’s truly “over” infertility. Of course, much of that is probably because she has a child in her arms. But still, adoption or giving birth only cures childlessness; it doesn’t cure infertility. And even though she’d like another child, she’s not bitter anymore that her body didn’t do what she wanted it to do.

I really hope that all of us can reach that place some day.

More drama

Off and on for about a week and a half, I have had some brown spotting/discharge. As much as I tried to tell myself it was completely normal, I made the mistake of Googling “missed miscarriage” and discovered that, in rare instances, the brown spotting can be a sign of a dead baby. Of course, I panicked and talked my OB’s office into ordering an u/s on Friday. I saw the heartbeat right away, which soothed me (it was a tech doing the u/s, so she wasn’t allowed to tell me anything, but the twinkle was unmistakable). When my OB called me with the results, however, she told me there was a small blood clot under my placenta. Though she didn’t think it posed a problem right now, she wanted me to take it easy over the weekend (read: no sex or marathons) and we would discuss the issue further at our first appointment on Monday.

Well, you can imagine how my weekend was. I even decided to take Monday off because I couldn’t deal with the stress of working when my appointment wasn’t until 2 p.m. At the appointment, my OB didn’t do another u/s, but she did reassure me further that she didn’t think the clot would increase my risk of miscarriage. Oh, and she did a lot of trying to convince me to “just relax” (it sounds annoying, but it was actually kind of sweet). She even asked M (in a sweet way, again) if I was “like this at home.” He just laughed. So, I have now been instructed not to panic unless I see significant red bleeding and/or have painful cramping.

In the meantime, my SIL A called M yesterday and told him a bit more about the pregnancy. Turns out it really was a surprise—as in, she was ON THE PILL! (I wish M had known enough to ask her whether she missed a pill, or if she is one of the 1 in 1,000). So, as much as I’d like to, I really can’t blame them one iota for their less-than-ideal timing. Boy, talk about opposite ends of the spectrum...

Also, she’s thinking of wearing maternity clothes at 10 ½ weeks because her pants are already tight. Because of this, they may have to tell people a little sooner than anticipated. She wanted to know what our plans were to make sure they wouldn’t be “stealing our thunder” (we won’t be telling the world for another three weeks).

In other words, she was trying to be sensitive to our needs. Bitch.

"It's like raaa-ain on your wedding day..."

Remember A, M’s sister (his only sibling) from the post below? Well, we just found out last night that she’s pregnant, too.

She’s due a week before I am. Bitch.

Give me a break!

I have what you would call a “Type A personality.” I’m assertive, and a control freak, and I like things my way.

Nevertheless, I can easily be talked into changing my mind on some issues. I think that before this whole pregnancy thing came along, I was under the impression that M wanted to be surprised on the sex of our child. I was OK with that; it would be difficult, but I acknowledged it would be fun on the day of the birth finding out whether we would have a son or daughter.

So, when the subject finally came up a couple of weeks ago, I was surprised to learn that M was actually leaning toward finding out the sex before the baby was born. We decided that we were officially undecided, and we would make the choice when the time came—although we both knew we were leaning toward not waiting.

My SIL (M’s sister), A, is very opinionated. They decided to be surprised with their first child. When she was talking to him on the phone a couple of days ago, she asked (in what he called a very opinionated tone of voice) whether we were going to find out the sex of the child. He said we didn’t know.

From that point on, we realized we were going to be judged.

We were right. We all got together yesterday, and in the midst of a story I was telling about a friend who is due in September, A interjected with, “Do they know what the sex of the baby is?” I said no, they were waiting. “Oh, OK.” And then: “Well, good for them!” I was so stunned and angry, I could barely finish my story. In my mind, I was furiously debating the merits of starting an out-and-out verbal fight right then and there. In the end, I decided it wasn’t worth it. A and her husband didn’t need to know what M and I were thinking about, and I didn’t want to be forced to “defend” any decision we might make.

But really! Do couples who are expecting judge each other that much? And if you must judge, can’t you do it behind closed doors, rather than making it blatantly clear which choice you “approve?” I’m curious to hear about your own, or your friends’ experiences: Is there that much of chasm between couples who wait and those who don’t?

For your amusement, here’s some of what I may have said if I hadn’t chosen to keep my mouth shut: “So you’re saying that a couple is to be commended for waiting to be surprised? And couples that don’t wait are somehow WRONG? A, I am very happy that you and your husband conceived in your first month off the Pill, WITHOUT EVEN REALLY TRYING. However, you have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be me. Yo have no idea what it’s like to want something so badly for so long and wonder if you will ever get it. So you can’t even allow us this one little pleasure? I have the kind of personality that makes things much easier once I’ve had a chance to get used to them. That includes the sex of my child. You have a different opinion; I respect that. Why can’t you respect others’ opinions?”

I realize that the rest of my life will probably consist of A judging our child-rearing choices. Therefore, if I am going to stay sane, I have to learn to put myself in a zen place when things like this happen.

That’s why I didn’t say anything.

Goodbye, Dr. Hot

The good news (I’ve grown tired of “burying the lead” for dramatic effect): Today’s ultrasound showed everything is completely normal. Heartbeat is at 140 bpm, measurements show the embryo is 7w1d. Technically, I’m 7w3d, but Dr. Hot says that’s no problem whatsoever. M and I now have a pretty little picture to scrapbook.

From the beginning of this pregnancy, I’ve wanted someone to look at me like I’m completely insane for worrying so much. That, to me, is reassurance. Dr. Hot did just that today. He even joked a little, after I spent the entire appointment anxiously asking questions like, Was he sure the measurements really were fine? There really wasn’t anything abnormal? After removing the wand, Dr. Hot said, “Well, I hate to tell you this, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you or the baby.” Later, he reminded me (all in the most loving way possible) that women have babies are the time. Then I reminded him that the women who come to this clinic have spent a damn long time trying to get to this point, and they sure as hell don’t want to give the baby up without a fight. He nodded--he knows very well what I meant; he just wanted to reassure me.

At the end of the appointment, he shook M’s hand, and as I put my hand out for a shake, he hugged me instead. Um, awkward moment. But it was very sweet. I jokingly told him as he left that I hoped I would never see him again. He paused (taken aback, maybe?), then said he hoped I would at least send them pictures.

And that was it. M and I walked out of the clinic feeling like we were on top of the world. Yes, we know we still have a long way to go, but we feel good for now.

On the downside, I’m getting sicker and sicker. We’re going to State Fair tonight with M’s parents, and I pray I’ll be able to at least get a corn dog down.

Oh, and here’s a little nugget for you to chew on: We traveled to southeastern Missouri last weekend to visit my grandparents. When I told my grandma I was pregnant, the first thing she said was, “Well, I hope we’ll still be around by the time the baby comes.” Don’t you love how my grandma doesn’t have an ounce of self-absorption in her?

Focusing on the minutiae

Two posts in one day! Go me!

A few of your comments have made me realize that I need to address this subject in more detail in a post: I have noticed that newly pregnant infertile bloggers often find themselves complaining quite a bit, then apologizing and/or defending themselves for seeming so “ungrateful.” I have certainly been guilty of this.

Here is my theory: We have been temporarily released of the biggest stressor in our lives. Rather than partaking in a nine-month-long celebration of that release, we instead proceed to worry ourselves sick/whine about everything else under the sun. The easiest target is, of course, miscarriage. We no longer have to fear a failed cycle, so instead we focus our energy on dead baby fears. Some of these fears are completely rational; some are not. We often drive the people around us absolutely crazy.

Five years ago, my father underwent a rather sudden, extremely dangerous brain surgery. A few days before he went under the knife, my roommate took some pills and ended up in the psychiatric ward of a hospital. For two weeks, I spent my days working, traveling to the hospital, returning concerned phone calls once I got home and finally going to sleep, only to start the whole cycle over the following day. I quickly fell into a routine. Once my roommate was safe with her parents and my dad was recovering at home, I found myself at a loss. I no longer had huge things to worry about; just the little bits and pieces of life that had always been there. I felt aimless and started to focus on the minutiae.

I believe that is what is happening with me now: I’m focusing on the irritating minutiae…at least in this blog. I’m also avoiding talking about how we just purchased a “family-size” SUV; how we’ve been getting cute little congratulations gifts from family members, like a pregnancy devotion book; how, minutes after she found out I was pregnant, my SIL offered to host a baby shower for me. Ungrateful bitch that I was, my first reaction was not, “Oh, what a lovely idea—thank you!” but, “Well, we don’t know yet if this pregnancy will be viable.” I tried to backpedal from there, but you get the idea.

I will make a conscious effort to make this blog a true reflection of my feelings—not just a vent for all my hormonal rantings.