Thursday, September 29, 2011

Losing my cool

In brief: getting simple reassurance can prove quite an adventure.

Calmly waiting - that's how I feel most days about this PG. Happy
about where we are right now, not thinking too much about tomorrow.

Yesterday, I lost my cool though. After feeling movement for a week (a
couple of times a day), things felt a bit too quiet over the weekend.
It was a very busy weekend, so I told myself I couldn't feel those
subtle flutterings.

Back in the office, I tried the trick with the orange juice, but
wasn't reassured it made a difference. There's nothing anyone can do,
I told myself. Just wait.

On Wednesday I caved and decided to go to the maternity ward at my new
Why not give them a trial run?

On arrival at the information desk, I asked them where the maternity ward was.
I shouldn't have done that.

The friendly receptionist asked if I was coming to visit.
Me: No - I'm 18 weeks and worried.
FR: you can only see someone with an appointment, shall I make you one?
Me: uhm.
FR: if you want immediate attention, you ought to go to emergency.
Me: ?!

Emergency? That's odd.

Go back home? See my GP? I should have begged my RE to see me.

As I headed to emergency, my worry turned into an anxiety attack.
Emergency, that's were serious stuff goes on.

The triage nurse was very kind, as I explained (in tears by then) that
I was surprised to have been sent there, and that I was simply very
anxious without any concrete indication of something being amiss. I
had hoped to go to the maternity ward for some reassurance, a doppler,
a fetal monitor, an U/S perhaps?
The nurse confirmed they couldn't do anything for me there, but
encouraged me to assume all was well, since there were no apparent
reasons to think otherwise. (Anxiety is immune to logic, no?)

I felt all the more like a fool as the (not visibly PG) lady who
entered emergency just behind me said she was miscarrying. Poor woman.

Now what?

I headed to the gynaecology department hoping for better luck there. I
was still upset and tried to calm down first.
The secretary - obviously an old hand at dealing with unhinged PG
women - gave me two options immediately: take a vacant appointment
slot with a midwife in an hour - or see the ob/gyn that afternoon.

Big sigh of relief. The midwife whipped out a doppler and set my mind at ease.

5 weeks between appointments is clearly too long for me to handle.
I've learned my lesson, I'll make sure to see a midwife in between
ob/gyn appointments.

Fortunately, I've been feeling more movement again which is helping me
regain my cool.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

An update in between appointments

In brief: 17.5 weeks and doing well!

First off, a 'targeted' ad I didn't expect to see:
"Company X: swaddles, baskets and children's coffins - specialized
funeral services".

Uhm, targeted, seriously? I was browsing a site with second hand
items, checking out bikes, clothes, ... items generally associated
with alive and kicking children.

Secondly - what is going through their minds? Parents will stumble
upon their ad and save the link for future reference?
I know there's a need for such services. My heart goes out to parents
who need to make use of them. My worst nightmare ...

Let's just say I could have done without the reminder. Especially as
the DBT had just quieted down a bit.

Venting done.

All of last week, I was wondering whether I might be feeling some
movement in there.
Since 2 days I'm sure I feel a gentle prod now and then. Delightful!
I've been smiling at my desk, on my way to work, in bed.
(I do need to remind myself that it's ok that I don't feel anything
for long stretches. It doesn't mean anything is wrong, not at this
point anyway.)

I still find myself reluctant to talk about my PG, especially to
people who don't know the story of how we got here. I feel compelled
to add 'if all goes well, we'll see' to any conversation, and I know
from experience that makes people uncomfortable.
I was chatting with a couple of moms I know from Linnea's school
recently, and they somehow got talking about the births of their
child(en) - a perfect intro - still I couldn't bring myself to tell
them. At some point, the news should announce itself ... if all goes

A sign of post-traumatic stress I think to myself. Not adding
'disorder' mind you, I think what I'm feeling is quite normal and 'in
order', if slightly discomforting. I'll take it any day over the tough
times of IF treatments.

Next appointment in 2 weeks.

Sunday, September 04, 2011

Can you picture it?

In brief: the answer is not really, but that's ok. All is well, my
apologies for the unintended hiatus.

A friend asked me a couple of weeks ago whether I can picture it -
having a second child.
My answer then was - uhm, not really. It still is.
I know she wishes I could say 'yes!' wholeheartedly - to her a sign
that I was healing/healed, I suppose.

Personally, I think it doesn't matter much how clearly or how vaguely
I can picture a happy outcome right now. Whichever helps me best
during the wait is best - and for now that is vagueness.

Healing? Can we come back to that later, say six months from now?
Sure, every week that goes by now is a step in the right direction,
but it still feels very precarious to me.

Thinking back, way back to before we even started TTC, I never had a
very detailed picture of 'my family' in mind. I knew I wanted kids -
plural - but that was about it.
Boy or girl? Uhm ... Ideal age gap? No such thing. A list of favourite
names? Only one.

My dream was (and still is) to be a parent, watch my children grow up
and thrive as independent adults. Very common as aspirations go, but
still asking a lot from life.

My feminine intuition is silent on the gender of this baby. I don't
have a gender preference, I honestly can't detect one. Finding a boy
name we like is more of a challenge then a girl's name (just
slightly), but that's not the same as having a preference.
Perhaps that makes me the odd on out, but I'm not bothered.

Meanwhile, we've met another 'new' ob/gyn, and we think we'll stick
with this one.
He attempted to get a glimpse of this baby's privates, at our request,
but not a chance. Legs were firmly crossed - privates means just that!
So like big sis, we couldn't help but laugh.
The relief that the baby was alive and kicking made me a bit giddy
(picture the poor man attempting an abdominal u/s on a chuckling