Thursday, August 10, 2017

48 hours, Part 1

The last 48 hours have been mildly out of whack.

It started when I got home from work on Monday night and started puking my guts out.  And then some.  And then some more.  About 18 hours later, I hadn't kept down any water, let alone food, and called my doctor.  Food poisoning?  Stomach bug?  Didn't matter, the on call doctor told me to head straight to L&D.

"Isn't this a bit extreme?" I thought out loud.

Not so.  A urine test showed some pretty wicked dehyrdation.  Two bags of IV fluids later with a drip of zofran for good measure, and I felt better than I could have ever imagined.

You guys, I lost 4 pounds! 

Yes, it seemed a tad extreme to head to a hospital for a run of the mill bout of gastroenteritis.  And yes, I was completely panicked while waiting for the nurse to find the baby's heartbeat.  And yes, I had to answer a million questions about my "special" history when I was examined by a midwife in the unit.  But here's the deal: when they offer the IV fluids, they are offering a weakling a dose of AWESOME.

The next day, feeling slightly like a new person - oh, about ten hours of sleep also did wonders - I had to head into DC for some meetings, that included toxic boss.

So, I'll cut to the chase.  I had to tell her.  Here's how it went:

We were in this one meeting together where she had me present some info.  She was beaming as usual, when I was done, because I am something of the in-house "think tank" for my organization.  They like to trot me out to meetings to show off all the smarty-pants things I am paid to think about.

I don't drive in Washington, I like to use commuter trains and the metro to get there and around.  The meeting location was far far far from public transportation, I had actually cabbed from an earlier meeting in another part of the city to get there.  Boss offered me a ride back to my car at the train station about 90 minutes away, and I was definitely taking it.

I should state at the outset, we actually get along.  She loves me, I am probably the only person on the plant more sarcastic than her.  I have just been trying to avoid her like the plague.

Well, here's the thing about her offer of a ride, it came with strings:

"So, you know I have to smoke."

"Oh, wow, that really won't be possible."

"You know this, you've ridden with me before, I can't handle the long ride through this traffic without a smoke."

"Wow.  Ok, so you're making me divulge this about three weeks earlier than I planned, but here goes. You can't smoke in front of me.  I'm 17 weeks pregnant."

Mic drop.

to be contined


Monday, August 7, 2017

In today's news...

1.  I am starting to show. Niblet, amazingly, commented that I look to have lost weight this morning.  Not so, little Nibble, I'm approaching 17 weeks and up 7 lbs.  I had to change outfits four times this morning.  Skirts with waists, y'all, skirts with waists are key.  I have to be in a meetings with toxic boss tomorrow and Wednesday.  Wardrobe choices are critical to my sanity.


2. I'm anxiously awaiting the results from my AFP test.  Yes, it's just a screening for neural tube defects, no, it isn't diagnostic.  But I won't even consider telling Niblet before we leave for the beach without a low-risk result in hand.

3.  Today I cried watching a video of.... wait for it.... of a husky puppy getting a bath.  Pregnancy is fucking ridiculous.

Friday, August 4, 2017

Cartwheels

Viking and I asked - begged really - the tech to go beyond the cervical scan that was ordered by the doctor.

Me: "I understand you are not able to provide me with a detailed anatomy scan, and I know I am scheduled for one in three weeks.  I totally get that things are way too small to clearly see any potential abnormalities.  But can't we just quickly see whether things look normal for 16 weeks?"

V: "You see," he started, "we're going on vacation next week.  It would make such a difference to go to the beach with a little less worry."

T: "What are you worried about, exactly?"

"Well, I've had eight consecutive losses.  One was to a severe abdominal wall defect."

T: "Gastroschisis?"

"No, a Giant Omphalocele.  And I am just concerned about Neural tube defects, spina bfida.  I have a folate deficiency, even though I take lots of extra supplements."

The tech's face softened with understanding and she relented.  We saw our baby, and unless it's testes were being pushed in by the umbilical cord (there's like, a 2% margin of error), there was a decided lack of boy parts.

She looked healthy, her spine looked normal, her abdominal wall looked normal and her brain looked normal. Her heartbeat was a normal 160bpm.  At once she pumped her fist into the air, my punk rock baby who wants to fight the power.  If she makes it, I bet she won't listen to me any better than the Niblet does.

And then to my cervix, which they wanted to see above 2cm - I was measuring 4.

"I can still be active at the beach!" I exclaimed.

"She's probably gonna do cartwheels on the beach now," the Viking said smiling to the tech, "no really, she's a dancer."

Later I called my mom:

Wow.  I can't even process this.  We haven't had good news for so long.  Years.  I don't recognize what it feels like.  Your dad still seems to think you're too early to get excited, but I was telling him "NO, I'm pretty sure she's passed the parts where she lost the others."  He doesn't know what he's talking about.  Right now I'm just going to be happy and live in this moment and love the fact that we have good news. 

We are still waiting on telling Niblet.  I am waiting for my AFP test results (which test for risk factors for Neural Tube Defects) to come back, early next week.  I am on the cusp of showing.  My Mom, who is incredibly superstitious, wants me to wait until after the Anatomy Scan (in three weeks).  I am skeptical that I won't already pop by then.  And part of me longs to tell her, but I also want to protect her.  Viking is following my lead, he hasn't told his parents yet.

We just don't know.