August 26, 2012

For the next week and a half I find myself doing a lot of praying, a lot of thinking and a lot of dreaming.  I go to lunch with my friends Brenda and Lynn.  Over a giant tub of queso I blurt out that I'm pregnant.  When we had organized the lunch and shopping date I had been all talk of margaritas.  I feel like they're both looking at me funny (I think I was just being paranoid) when I ask for water versus the two-for-one margaritas the server offers.  I blurt it out - "I'm pregnant."  Lynn gives me a high-five.  Childless by choice, Brenda gives me a half-hearted high-five and looks at me in somewhat of a state of shock (or is that disappointment?).  I want to reassure her that I'll still be the same person - that nothing will change - but I don't, because I know it won't be true.  I don't have any close friends with young children.  Will I lose my friends?  Will they become annoyed with my talk of sleepless nights, spit-up and first steps?  And who will I ask for advice on breastfeeding (do I even want to breastfeed?) or what to really expect when giving birth.  Do people really poop on the delivery table?!  (I decide to Google that one.)

I am feeling so bad, so tired, so very nauseous, and ravenously hungry.  I am still feeling the effects of the panic attacks, which I learn is due to the extra progesterone in my body.  Heck, half the time I don't really feel like I'm actually in my body. This entire thing seems like some weird dream.  It just hasn't registered yet - there's a tiny person growing inside me.

From some research, Russell and I discover that women with PCOS rarely get pregnant on their own.  And women over 40 have less than a 5% chance of getting pregnant on their own.  I'm thinking we should have bought a lottery ticket around the third week of July, my conception date.  We figure our chances were about 2-3%.  My husband feels triumphant; clearly with good reason.

We also discover that in order for the baby to "stick" I should be on progesterone supplements.  My doctor had called with my blood test results and said she wasn't happy with my numbers - everything was borderline low. Russell called her at home and asked her to call in a prescription for Prometrium.  She said she would, but didn't think it would help.  The pregnancy was either viable or it wasn't.  I know she was leaning toward the latter.

The side effects of the progesterone make me feel even worse than I already do.  I feel like I'm burning up from the inside. I feel faint, exhausted, weak, dizzy and nauseous.  And my boobs hurt.  Badly.  I really just want to crawl into bed and sleep for the remainder of the pregnancy.

I spend a lot of time on the sofa with ice chips and ginger tea and candies to ward off the nausea. It doesn't work.  I am nauseous from the time I wake up until the time I fall asleep, but I am assured this is a good thing, for it means my baby is growing and thriving.

I worry a lot.  I spend far too much time Googling things and end up in a near panic much of the time. I decide Google is not my friend and go cold turkey.

I consult the Magic 8 Ball app on my iPhone.  I need answers and I need a miracle.  At this point we don't even know if the pregnancy is viable.  I need hope.

"Will I give birth to this baby?"  I shake my phone, feeling both silly and hopeful.