Updates; or, How to Choose?

Something unexpected happened last week after I updated everyone on my OB search: I had a callback from another high-risk practice, this one associated with the hospital where Dr. Wonderful is based, and was able to set up another appointment for Friday, the day after my first appointment with the other OB.

This raises two questions:

One) Assuming everything goes okay at the first OB appointment (a large assumption, I understand), should I refuse to have an u/s at the second appointment? I'm worried that back-to-back ultrasounds could harm Smudgie.

Two) How do I make this choice? Gut instinct based on meeting the doctors? Research on the two hospitals in question (both excellent, with excellent NICUs and private rooms available)? The size of the practices? Some factor I'm not even aware of yet?

I'll have to make this decision myself. Lawyer Guy is super busy at work right now and can only take the time to make one appointment. He's coming to the first so he can be there to get reassurance/find out if something is wrong. I'm going alone to the second, so the choice will be my responsibility. Tense!

The closer we get to 9 weeks (on Thursday), the less I can believe we'll actually make it there. The closer we get to our appointments, the more anxious I grow, which is the standard pattern these days. I feel kind of juicy down below and run to the bathroom, convinced it's blood (nope, just more white goo). I cramp and am scared. I don't cramp and I'm scared. And so on, and so on, ad nauseum

Speaking of nausea, I'm finally getting hit hardcore with the queasies...at 8.5 weeks! This is seriously unexpected. I'm not complaining (no, no, no, I will take round the clock puking if that's what I must to do bring this baby home). But I was finally accepting of that fact that I wasn't going to have morning sickness. Oh well, that's the kind of joke I don't mind the universe playing on me.

Finally, I want to thank Charlie Sheen for providing me with hours of distraction over the last week. Charlie, you're a true humanitarian. Reading your increasingly insane commentary on your own life both amuses me and fills me with overwhelming gratitude that LG's ideal weekend features neither hookers and porn stars nor aneurysm-inducing amounts of cocaine.

Lucky; or, Deserving

When we got our first BFP, we had been trying to conceive for about seven months--a laughably short time from this vantage point but a very trying experience while I was going through it. I'd spent most of those months crying, fretting, obsessively tracking ovulation, convincing myself I was broken, and fearing the future.

And then I saw that positive test. I was ecstatic. And standing there alone in the bathroom, I remember thinking, "I can't believe it was this easy." Which is a weird first thought to have when dreams appear to be coming true after an agonizing half-year of waiting. But I couldn't. This little part of my brain-- The psychic part? The prehistoric part?--had been convinced that I was in for a long and painful road toward my first child, and when it came without intervention, without any testing, without any special effort at all, it really seemed to good to be true.

And it was.

I did not have that thought when I saw my positive peestick last month. That sense of not quite having earned this, not quite deserving it, being luckier than I think right--that's all gone. The past two years were every bit as hard as I had feared they would be when I started this trip, and that's a sad thing. But there's also an odd feeling of psychic appropriateness about it all (or fate?). I hesitate to say this is "meant to be" because I know it can all still go wrong. I hesitate to say it because I would never for a moment suggest that anyone is "meant" to lose or to have a child. It's a genetic gamble, as we all know.

But I don't feel guilty to be where I am right now. I know I haven't had the longest, the hardest, the most hopeless, or the most painful IF experience. But it was hard enough, right? And I'm ready for it to be over. Maybe I just jinxed everything but letting that wish out into the universe , but it's true.

To those still waiting: I may be back with you in the trenches soon, but I hope so much that you all join me here instead.

The Hunt; or, 8 Weeks

I live in a crazy city. I already knew that, but it's been doubly reinforced by the experience of trying to find an OB here. Who knew that getting your fetus into certain hospitals was as competitive as getting your child into a Manahattan pre-school? (For those outside the tri-state area: that's, like, university-level competitive).

I called a total of nine practices over the last two days, did not find a single OB who could take me at the hospital where my RE is based, but did (just today!) get into a high-risk practice that delivers at another top-ranked hospital closer to the park. (And two NYC-bloggers, Sienna and Fairytale Ending, are also patients there). I'm a little embarrassed to admit that the OB hunt was sending me into a frenzy. I think that I channeled all the anxiety I was feeling about Smudgie and passing (or not passing, who knows right now) milestones from the last pregnancy into worrying about getting a great doctor at one of the hospitals I wanted. Lawyer Guy was (perhaps rightly) completely dumbfounded at how stressed I became about all this.

And of course, now that I have the appointment set up for next Thursday, the day I switch over to 9 weeks, I'm back to worrying about more ordinary concerns: Will Smudgie be okay? I'm so afraid he won't be. I'm so afraid that something terrible will happen again.

LG reminded me of what Dr. Wonderful said last week: the time to stop worrying is now. I reminded myself that when my bloggy friends get to the point I'm at today-- 8 weeks with two good heartbeats under their belts--I officially move them down to the Pregnant blogroll. But I can't emotionally move myself to that place. I'm doing better at imagining. I even let myself look at custom nursery bedding on etsy last night. But we still haven't told our families and the thought of telling them makes me want to throw up. How can this work out? How is it possible that after all this time, we'll finally be lucky?

Please let us be lucky.

7 weeks 4 days; or, (A Little) More Worrying

This is the point in our first pregnancy when we learned the m&m had died. It's an arbitrary marker, since we don't know the exact date of fetal demise and I didn't have my d&c until a week later. But in my mind, this was always how long our pregnancy lasted: seven weeks, four days.

It's hard not to wonder what's going on in there. It's hard not to imagine the same thing happening all over again. I know that Smudgie has been so different this entire pregnancy: hitting all the milestones just when he's supposed to, showing great heartbeats at two separate scans. I've had no spotting (knock wood), no ambiguous maybe-this-isn't-so-good ultrasounds, nothing definite to point to a problem. That doesn't mean there isn't one, and I'm very aware of that fact, but it does mean I'm not out-right panicking. In fact, in a show of confidence, I even bought something for Smudgie yesterday: This Is New York, a classic children's book from the '60s that I love (and can easily re-gift to someone else if this doesn't work out, as it's not as personal-feeling as clothing).

But still, I won't feel like we've passed the last pregnancy until we have another excellent scan. Right now, there's just no way to know. And unfortunately, I don't know when that scan will be. Dr. W's scheduler copied down my e-mail address incorrectly on Friday, and by the time we sorted out the mix-up and she was able to send me the OB referrals, it was after four and both offices were closed. And thanks to this holiday weekend, they're closed again until tomorrow. I'll have to call and try to schedule something from the parking lot of the university where I teach before heading into the classroom.

I guess all my anxiety about this date and this stage is being transferred to scheduling an OB appointment. The fact that I don't have a doctor and I don't know when anyone is going to check on this pregnancy is freaking me out. I'm worried neither of these docs will be able to fit me in to their practices (even though both these doctors deliver at the same hospital as my fertility clinic and Dr. W. said to call and enlist their help if there's difficulty scheduling anything). I can always go back to the RE for another ultrasound if I have trouble getting an appointment-- Dr W. encouraged me to do so, in fact, if this is going to take more than three weeks. And she emphasized to me that she is still my doctor and I'm not without medical attention while I'm trying to set this up.

I've lived each of these past three weeks with an eye toward what comes next. It's been agonizing, but also comforting. I only have to anticipate the next scan, the next exam, the next week. Now...? What comes next? I don't know! We want to tell our parents about the pregnancy after our first positive OB exam. When will that be? Ah, the uncertainty!

Despite all this, I'm happy. Since the last ultrasound, I've been much calmer, much more relaxed, even if there's still a part of me that doesn't believe this is actually happening. I'm grateful to be pregnant, grateful for the support and love of Lawyer Guy, grateful to be feeling so good and nausea-free.

I'm glad to be here in this place. I know I am extremely fortunate. Whatever happens, I'll still believe that. And I hope so much that all my friends still waiting will have their own happy/scary milestones to celebrate soon.

Smudgie Sloper Graduates!; or, Another Hurdle

He did it! Little Smudgie's heart rate was 140 bpm and Dr. W. said his growth was right on target. So we're...gulp...moving on to an OB once we get some referrals from Dr. W's staff.

I know that I worry a lot. I don't think that's going to stop, even though crossing this hump (solid heart beat at 7 weeks) is major for me. I think I've trained myself too well to expect the worst over the past two years to forget all those lessons right away. And, of course, it is still very early and anything could happen. I am not ready to let my guard down yet.

But Lawyer Guy posed a question in the exam room this morning after the ultrasound was over. "When can we let ourselves stop worrying?" he asked, and Dr. W. answered, "Right now."

Now that would be getting ahead of myself. What's a pregnancy without constant, crippling anxiety, after all (a pleasant experience, you say? Pshaw!). But I did let myself discuss the parent-telling with Lawyer Guy (after the first OB appointment, if we can get one scheduled for the next two weeks). And I did let myself google some images of nurseries in the color palette I've been dreaming of (and I even tried not to hate myself while doing so). And I didn't avert my eyes from the Pott.ery Barn Kids we passed on our walk from the clinic to the subway.

One step at a time. And grateful for all the support I have along the way.

7 Weeks; or, Doomsday Approaches

I'm seven weeks today. I can't stop thinking about the fact that at this point in the first pregnancy, it was all over, or nearly so. The m&m stopped growing right around 7 weeks, though they couldn't know if it developed normally until that point and then stopped or if it grew slowly a few days longer and slowly faded out. Either way, by our 7 week 4 day ultrasound its heart had stopped.

Tomorrow's appointment looms large. It feels like the crucial one: like THIS IS THE POINT YOU FIND OUT YOUR BABY IS DEAD should be written across February 18 in my datebook. My mind refuses to believe that I could move past here to something better and safer and less fraught with fear.

When I would think back to being pregnant with the m&m, it always felt like an epoch in my life. The time seemed to fill several months. I remembered every detail-- specific meals, specific jokes, every single time I puked. We crammed a lot into those weeks.

While I can't say the time has flown by this go-around, I can say that it feels appropriately short. It's been just about three weeks since we found out we were pregnant, and it feels exactly like it's been that long, no more, no less. Maybe because I've been anticipating this point, this 7th (or is it the 8th) week since we got the BFP?

There isn't much more to say, is there? Once again, I'm scared. Once again, I'm facing a terminal moment which will either end happily or sadly (because even ambiguity at this point will make me sad). Once again, my heart is trying to prepare itself for a blow, wrapping itself in negative visions and doomed daydreams like packing peanuts and cotton wool.

But I can say this: we found out a few hours ago that Lawyer Guy's step-mother's mom passed away today. LG and I didn't know her well-- I'd met her fewer than a half-dozen times in the last ten years--but I know my father-in-law and step-mother-in-law will be devastated. I know we'll have a funeral to attend in the next few days. I would really, really, really like to be able to spare them more bad news.

Optimism/Pessimism; or, That Un-Real Feeling

Over the past few days, I've let myself start to feel optimistic about this pregnancy. In the moment, I really enjoy that. I enjoy imagining telling our families and friends or attending my shower or decorating the nursery. While I'm day-dreaming, I feel happy and secure. If I hold this hope at arm's length and observe it objectively, though, I scare myself again. If I read accounts of women with excellent betas and on-target heartbeats who still lost their precious babies, I get depressed.

Ultimately, none of this feels real--not the happy dreaming times and not the scared and worried times. I've entertained those fantasies or ones just like them for so long now, so many, many years, without any real sense of when they'd come true. I still feel like I'm emotionally in that mode, that "Wouldn't it be nice if..." kind of mode rather than an "It's going to be awesome when..." frame of mind. I still refuse to calculate a due date or to think of bringing a baby home this fall.

I keep both ultrasound printouts and both positive pee-sticks in a carefully arranged pile on our tall dresser in the bedroom. I sometimes touch them as I walk past. I often stand there and stare at them while I'm drying my hair or putting on makeup. And it's so hard to connect the image on those printouts with something going on inside my body. Probably because I still don't really feel all that different. More tired, my boobs hurt more and are bigger, I'm peeing a lot. But I've had no nausea in over a week and feel physically close to normal.

In the drawer of the nightstand next to my bed is an older ultrasound and two older pee-sticks. I haven't opened that drawer since we got this BFP. I don't want to put Smudgie's evidence away with those of my lost pregnancies. I think I'm going to keep everything, every new ultrasound we get or test I take, out there where I can see them and just hope and pray that I don't have to eventually put them away.

But overall, things are okay. I've been practicing relaxation on demand, and it's working better and better with each attempt. And I've passed a few m&m milestones over the last week. We've made it passed the point when we started spotting last time (6 weeks-6 weeks 3 days) and we saw and heard a normal heartbeat, which we never got to before. The big milestones are still to come-- the day the m&m stopped growing (7 weeks) and the day we learned it had died (7 weeks 4 days)--but I'm hoping more and more each day that we'll pass those, too.

I know I'll be scared again on Friday for our 7 weeks 1 day ultrasound. That's a given. But I'm doing my best not to grieve a potentially devastating day before I absolutely have to.