The nurse called today about the results of my blood work (the one I incorrectly called a quad screen - and I call myself informed!) and NT scan. Downs risk is 1:1300; Trisomy 18 risk is 1:680. I'm relieved. But I'm also not sure I understand the Trisomy 18 risk. The average risk for someone my age is 1:333. The average risk for Downs is 1:85. So why is my Downs risk so much more remote than my risk for Trisomy 18? Or is it apples and oranges? Or maybe the real question is why can't I just accept a little good news and roll with it??
Oh, in other news, I had my second ob appointment today. I've put on 6 pounds. I'm in a whole new hemisphere on the scale. It's a good thing I hid the cookie in my purse before I was weighed. They probably smelled it though, which is why they gently "informed" me that I really shouldn't put on more than 15 -25 lbs during pregnancy. Bitches.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
13w6d
I had a visit with Little A this morning, which disturbed him greatly. He went from sleeping fetus to startled fetus, complete with hiccups and gesticulating hand motions, as in "buzz off, you." The bonus was the picture of his little face, complete with nose, eyes and mouth. Bliss, pure bliss. He continues to display his little protuberance, hence the many references to "he." No one is willing to check the "male" box in ink yet but they are willing to say they've never been wrong. Hmmm. Still don't have the official results from the NT Scan, quad screen, etc. yet, so I continue to feel the flutters of anxiety. My favorite nurse told me to get over it, I'll have those flutters for life now.
We still haven't shared the news with those other than some family and some close friends. Strangely, I really have no motivation to share our news with work or the world at large for that matter. I know they'll be happy for me, but I feel like the news will be incomplete, almost out of context somehow. Here, I've been working side by side, even traveling together in some cases with many of them and they don't know squat about the journey. It almost seems trivial to say "I'm pregnant," without also saying "we've been trying a long, long time, I've cried a thousand tears, I thought at many points my sense of self was in jeopardy, and you, coworker, bitched and moaned about trivial bullshit as I nodded my head and sympathized without hearing you, and then, on the Hail Mary pass, it happened, but not out of the blue mind you, but with lots and lots of science, and I'm scared to death that my hiccuping, gesticulating little apparently male fetus won't make it, so hell yes you should be happy for me because this is a flipping miracle."
I felt the same way when I got my ultrasound at the ob's office last week. Of course, I was just one of many, many pregnant women the ultrasound tech had seen that day, but I wanted her to know that this was different. Different I tell you. Special. I mentioned that this was my third IVF, fourth really. Did I mention that I'm 39 and this was my third IVF? That fetus you're wanding almost wasn't, but look, look, do you see how special, how amazing, how magical he is? No need to squint, it's there from the top of his too big head (lots of brain there) to his little kicking feet. See those fingers, linger a minute. Don't go so quickly. Really, when have you seen fingers like that on an almost wasn't to be fetus?
It's not that I want fawning and cries of joy and proclamations that my Little A is the second coming, it's that I can't get over the mystery and magic and wonder that my Little A is even growing and wiggling and hiccuping, here, in this place, at all. So I walk around with my little secret, my amazing Hail Mary pass.
The world just ain't ready yet.
We still haven't shared the news with those other than some family and some close friends. Strangely, I really have no motivation to share our news with work or the world at large for that matter. I know they'll be happy for me, but I feel like the news will be incomplete, almost out of context somehow. Here, I've been working side by side, even traveling together in some cases with many of them and they don't know squat about the journey. It almost seems trivial to say "I'm pregnant," without also saying "we've been trying a long, long time, I've cried a thousand tears, I thought at many points my sense of self was in jeopardy, and you, coworker, bitched and moaned about trivial bullshit as I nodded my head and sympathized without hearing you, and then, on the Hail Mary pass, it happened, but not out of the blue mind you, but with lots and lots of science, and I'm scared to death that my hiccuping, gesticulating little apparently male fetus won't make it, so hell yes you should be happy for me because this is a flipping miracle."
I felt the same way when I got my ultrasound at the ob's office last week. Of course, I was just one of many, many pregnant women the ultrasound tech had seen that day, but I wanted her to know that this was different. Different I tell you. Special. I mentioned that this was my third IVF, fourth really. Did I mention that I'm 39 and this was my third IVF? That fetus you're wanding almost wasn't, but look, look, do you see how special, how amazing, how magical he is? No need to squint, it's there from the top of his too big head (lots of brain there) to his little kicking feet. See those fingers, linger a minute. Don't go so quickly. Really, when have you seen fingers like that on an almost wasn't to be fetus?
It's not that I want fawning and cries of joy and proclamations that my Little A is the second coming, it's that I can't get over the mystery and magic and wonder that my Little A is even growing and wiggling and hiccuping, here, in this place, at all. So I walk around with my little secret, my amazing Hail Mary pass.
The world just ain't ready yet.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
12w5d
And Little A is busting off the charts at 6.8cm, measuring 13 weeks. Nuchal fold is measuring 1.12mm (!!!) and Little A has a pronounced nasal bone. (A little Cyrano de Bergerac-ish at first until the ultrasound tech mentioned the shadow. Yowza.) I'm beginning to breathe a bit easier. I had blood drawn for the triple screen and will know the results next week. I'm beginning to believe (dare I say it?) that there's a good chance that things might work out. Dare I hope?
In other news, the ultrasound tech said that they wouldn't even opine on the sex until 18 weeks. A few minutes later, she circled a very noticeable protuberance between my little fetus's legs and said, I quote, "you can draw your own conclusions from that." So, either my little A hoodwinked the ultrasound tech and somehow manipulated a very long arm between its legs or Little A could very possibly be a member of the penis clan. As one who still can't believe that at 39 she's actually pregnant, and with a human, I am again at a loss for words. A little boy.
I'm less in love with the ob's office. We sat in the waiting room for 35 minutes before I asked when I would be seen. "Did you sign in? (of course.) Oh, you're here for an ultrasound, that's across the hall (that would have been helpful....35 minutes ago). " After developing such warm relationships at the RE's office, I'm now just another face. A slightly bloated face at that. In the grand scheme of things though, I have not lost sight of how very fortunate I am to be sitting in an ob's office at all, so bitch I shall not.
Dare I say it again? All's well.
In other news, the ultrasound tech said that they wouldn't even opine on the sex until 18 weeks. A few minutes later, she circled a very noticeable protuberance between my little fetus's legs and said, I quote, "you can draw your own conclusions from that." So, either my little A hoodwinked the ultrasound tech and somehow manipulated a very long arm between its legs or Little A could very possibly be a member of the penis clan. As one who still can't believe that at 39 she's actually pregnant, and with a human, I am again at a loss for words. A little boy.
I'm less in love with the ob's office. We sat in the waiting room for 35 minutes before I asked when I would be seen. "Did you sign in? (of course.) Oh, you're here for an ultrasound, that's across the hall (that would have been helpful....35 minutes ago). " After developing such warm relationships at the RE's office, I'm now just another face. A slightly bloated face at that. In the grand scheme of things though, I have not lost sight of how very fortunate I am to be sitting in an ob's office at all, so bitch I shall not.
Dare I say it again? All's well.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
What if.
Today, February 11, I'm 39. Nearly 3 years ago, if someone has asked me (while I was popping a birth control pill no doubt) if I had any concerns about getting pregnant, I'm sure I would have quipped, "giving up wine will be traumatic." Silly, silly girl. When we found out we would need to go directly to IVF, I wasn't concerned. No tears, no hesitations, I knew it would work. And then it didn't the first time, or the second. My frozen transfer didn't work. My third attempt, when I became sure that my confidence was sorely misplaced, it worked. So far.
I'm having a tough time finding my peace with being pregnant. Anyone struggling with infertility or finding herself miraculously pregnant, particularly those of a certain age, feels that she's living with the "what ifs." I'm right there. Treading water in the what if pool. I'm nervous about the NT scan next week, the blood work. I'm nervous about having an amnio. I'm wondering if my little A has a pronounced nasal bone. I'm nervous about losing easy access to ultrasounds and wandering around the what if world for weeks at a time when I'm just another (hopefully) pregnant person in a huge office of obstetricians. I'm nervous in general because I eventually came to believe that I wouldn't be in this place. What if I'm found out? I'm not shopping for maternity clothes (I've just gone from 3 safety pins on the waist of my pants to four), I'm not looking at cribs, I have no opinion on burpees or bugaboos or bedding. Oh, but I hope I will at some point.
On a lighter note, I had another ultrasound at the RE's yesterday, after a long discussion about the ubiquitous octuplets. Enough said about that though. My stomach dropped when the dildocam was inserted because Little A was as still as a 2 inch mouse. Then, wham, Little A wakes up, spreads her/his arms and, like a mini Michael Phelps without the bong, pushes off with her/his little legs and extends his/her little arms, almost like pushing off from the side of a swimming pool. My heart swelled. I'm 11 weeks, five days today and everything appears to be progressing the way it should. And in another piece of gloriousness, I'm off the PIO shots!
It's turning out to be a darn good 39th!
I'm having a tough time finding my peace with being pregnant. Anyone struggling with infertility or finding herself miraculously pregnant, particularly those of a certain age, feels that she's living with the "what ifs." I'm right there. Treading water in the what if pool. I'm nervous about the NT scan next week, the blood work. I'm nervous about having an amnio. I'm wondering if my little A has a pronounced nasal bone. I'm nervous about losing easy access to ultrasounds and wandering around the what if world for weeks at a time when I'm just another (hopefully) pregnant person in a huge office of obstetricians. I'm nervous in general because I eventually came to believe that I wouldn't be in this place. What if I'm found out? I'm not shopping for maternity clothes (I've just gone from 3 safety pins on the waist of my pants to four), I'm not looking at cribs, I have no opinion on burpees or bugaboos or bedding. Oh, but I hope I will at some point.
On a lighter note, I had another ultrasound at the RE's yesterday, after a long discussion about the ubiquitous octuplets. Enough said about that though. My stomach dropped when the dildocam was inserted because Little A was as still as a 2 inch mouse. Then, wham, Little A wakes up, spreads her/his arms and, like a mini Michael Phelps without the bong, pushes off with her/his little legs and extends his/her little arms, almost like pushing off from the side of a swimming pool. My heart swelled. I'm 11 weeks, five days today and everything appears to be progressing the way it should. And in another piece of gloriousness, I'm off the PIO shots!
It's turning out to be a darn good 39th!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Oh Baby.
My little jumping bean is measuring 11 weeks and 4.09 centimeters. Still cavorting and moving and, oh my dear, shaking that little bootie. We got one picture where she ("she" is necessary in this context) is lounging, legs akimbo, arms folded up behind her head like a centerfold, shaking what her mama gave her. E seems to get a little irritated with me when I refer to Little A with terms like "brazen hussy" and "jumbo lima bean," but it makes me giggle. And I didn't want to bring it up again, but 2 1/2 years and $50,000 later, I'm entitled to a little levity.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Winter, Schwinter
I was going to post a picture of the asstastic amounts of snow and ice peppering the area, but decided against it. Too lazy and too tired of this winterwonderland crap. I have every reason to be making snow angels and guzzling hot chocolate, sans Baileys, but alas. (Call me ungrateful, we didn't even lose power like so many others.) The winter blues have kicked me in my widely expanding ass. No sun and cold = lack of motivation and the blues. I'm embarrassed to even be typing these words considering the embarrassment of riches I'm experiencing in my abdomen area, please forgive me. (I'm seriously considering ordering those "light therapy" fixtures...maybe enough to turn my office into a grow house.)
Tomorrow is another ultrasound with the RE and then Thursday we meet with the ob-gyn for the first time. I feel fortunate that my RE seems to have no problem with weekly visits with the dildo cam, though I was told that as much as they enjoy having us, they couldn't deliver me. Seems a tad selfish. My bright spot is to see how Little A is doing tomorrow. (Seeing that little thing last week moved me to tears. Did I mention that we saw the blood moving through its umbilical cord? Unreal.) I hope twitching and growing and, well, existing, in a big way. It seems odd to even have an ob appointment and I continue to be afraid of jinxing things. (I find a healthy dose of obsessive-compulsive disorder works nicely with acute seasonal affective disorder.) For example, I won't put up one of those baby widget things because, well, first they creep me out a little bit and two, I'm afraid Little A will hold her/his breath indefinitely until it's removed, sort of like a hunger protest. I'm still thinking of this pregnancy in the abstract I guess. After two and a half years, it doesn't seem real or possible or explainable.
God willing, I'll be 11 weeks on Friday. There will be no belly shots on this blog, so trust me when I tell you I won't be one of "those" women. You know the ones that look hot and svelte and snappy, oh and they're pregnant. No indeed. I appear to be a bit jowly and paunchy already. Couple that with the string of safety pins I need to attach my pants and I'm sure my coworkers are snickering, Damn, Melanie's looking rough. Put down that bagel, girl! I also appear to be losing braincells. Yesterday I left E's keys in the back door overnight, after safely locking said door from the inside first. I also wore his scarf to work. Never noticed. If I show up in one of his suits, I'm going to check myself into a home for wed mothers to be.
Ok, enough. If you've made it this far, you must need light therapy too...come join me in the grow house.
Tomorrow is another ultrasound with the RE and then Thursday we meet with the ob-gyn for the first time. I feel fortunate that my RE seems to have no problem with weekly visits with the dildo cam, though I was told that as much as they enjoy having us, they couldn't deliver me. Seems a tad selfish. My bright spot is to see how Little A is doing tomorrow. (Seeing that little thing last week moved me to tears. Did I mention that we saw the blood moving through its umbilical cord? Unreal.) I hope twitching and growing and, well, existing, in a big way. It seems odd to even have an ob appointment and I continue to be afraid of jinxing things. (I find a healthy dose of obsessive-compulsive disorder works nicely with acute seasonal affective disorder.) For example, I won't put up one of those baby widget things because, well, first they creep me out a little bit and two, I'm afraid Little A will hold her/his breath indefinitely until it's removed, sort of like a hunger protest. I'm still thinking of this pregnancy in the abstract I guess. After two and a half years, it doesn't seem real or possible or explainable.
God willing, I'll be 11 weeks on Friday. There will be no belly shots on this blog, so trust me when I tell you I won't be one of "those" women. You know the ones that look hot and svelte and snappy, oh and they're pregnant. No indeed. I appear to be a bit jowly and paunchy already. Couple that with the string of safety pins I need to attach my pants and I'm sure my coworkers are snickering, Damn, Melanie's looking rough. Put down that bagel, girl! I also appear to be losing braincells. Yesterday I left E's keys in the back door overnight, after safely locking said door from the inside first. I also wore his scarf to work. Never noticed. If I show up in one of his suits, I'm going to check myself into a home for wed mothers to be.
Ok, enough. If you've made it this far, you must need light therapy too...come join me in the grow house.
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