Dumbfounded silence. The sound of air.
And then it feels like "Wheeeeeeee!"
Until then it doesn't.
Let me backtrack. I knew I was pregnant in May, before I even took a test. BAM. When I finally peed on a stick and saw matching lines I was strangely calm. I am pretty sure I was quite blasé with my husband like, "Well, I'm pregnant. O.K. Cool. Let's see if it sticks." This is not the stuff that Clear Blue Easy Ads are made of.
First, I needed a new OB because, well, hell, I couldn't go back to the irritating lady who cracked jokes with a nurse in front of me before she scraped my uterus up and rendered me infertile, let alone the practice that instructed me to arrive for my D&C at the wrong time.
Luckily a member of my AS group saved the day, she told me of a great local obstetrician who delivered her first daughter after AS treatment, a doctor who took her concerns seriously. I would need to change hospitals, and become a patient at the hospital I had previously shunned as it was known in my town as C-Section central. Of course, the more educated me now understood that this was because the women seeking obstetrics at this hospital were more high-risk. Like it or not, I was now high-risk too --between my age and my sad little over-dilated cervix, I needed all the extra monitoring I could get.
(I would like to slap the "old me" now, the one who self-righteously viewed the hospital's publically available C-Section statistics as indicative of servicing well-heeled ladies who lunch, ladies who wouldn't want those lunches upset by something so common as labor. PLEASE CAN I SMACK ME?)
So I called this nice OB's office at 4 weeks 2 days pregnant. They set me up with blood tests to monitor my HCG and progesterone, even though the doctor wasn't actually available to see me. Not an ideal situation, but I took it.