September 24, 2012

The next few weeks are a haze of surgeries (my stepdad's) and hospital visits (to visit my stepdad).  I am tired and nauseous all the time, and it feels like I am constantly out of breath (another side effect of the extra progesterone).

I am constantly hungry, but have a difficult time finding foods that don't turn my stomach into a churning mess.  I am craving salads and healthy foods, but apparently my system is not.  I spend a lot of time in the bathroom and chewing Tum's.

My GYN mentioned something about genetic testing since I am of AMA (Advanced Maternal Age).  I know that Down syndrome is a concern at this point, but I try to push that thought very, very far out of my head.  We don't have any health problems in our family to speak of, and certainly no Down syndrome.  And further, after all we've been through with infertility and adoption issues, we wouldn't have been given this gift of a baby to have it turn out to be "flawed".   No, we wouldn't have a baby with Down syndrome.  Of that I was sure.

But in the back of my mind I think I always knew.  We wouldn't be so lucky to beat the odds and get pregnant and have a perfectly healthy child.  There would surely be a trade-off.

The morning of our first prenatal visit finally arrived.  We walked into the huge OB/GYN group office.  I missed the cozy personal feeling of my GYN's waiting room.  Huge portraits of her children hang on the walls in heavy gold frames.  She has 3 children - a biological son and 2 beautiful daughters adopted from China.  I have enjoyed looking at their pictures through the years and I find I miss their smiling faces, assuring me that my doctor is first and foremost a mother.  It makes her "real", not just a doctor, but also a parent.

I don't know this new doctor, this OB.  Will she be be caring?  Will I like her and feel comfortable with her?

I am walked through the process of my monthly checkups - pee in a cup, step on a scale, have blood pressure drawn, go back to waiting room to be called by my doctor's nurse.  I feel lost inside the large office, but everyone seems nice and personable.  The waiting room is busy but not full.  I'm anxious and nauseated from the car ride over.

I am finally called back to the exam room where I wait for my doctor.  She walks into the room, this small beautiful brunette with a smile that lights up the the entire place.  I immediately like her.  She is warm and caring, traits I immediately sense.

I barely remember the questions she asks me.  I'm anxious to see the baby and make sure he or she (since we don't know which at this point) is okay.  I still have the horrible fear that the baby will have died.  I lie back on the table and she brings in a portable ultrasound machine.  I hold my breath and close my eyes as she inserts the probe (I'm still to early along to have an abdominal ultrasound).  And suddenly, there on the screen is our baby.  I see movement, I see the heart beating.  Hallelujah! I let out a sigh of relief and Russell and I look at each other and I can see he's just as relieved as I am.

She moves the probe around and we can see that our baby no longer looks like a blog, but surprisingly like... a baby!  There are arms and legs and tiny little feet and hands.  The heartbeat is strong.  Looking at the baby I find it hard to believe this little being is inside me and not simply an image in black and white on a monitor. We laugh about how the baby looks like a teddy bear in one position.

I get dressed and my doctor asks about genetic testing.  We have already decided that we don't want to do anything invasive.  She schedules me for a First Trimester Screen in a couple of weeks, after we get back from vacation.  They will to a nuchal fold test, which is basically a test to measure the back of the baby's neck.  A thicker nuchal fold will often indicate Down syndrome.

Russell and I leave the office hand in hand with the picture of our little baby safely tucked into his shirt pocket.  All is right in the world.

August 30, 2012

I stared out the passenger seat window the entire ride to the doctor's office.  Tears slid silently down my cheeks as I tried to think positive thoughts.  I think I've cried more in the past week and a half than I have in the past year, maybe more.  It's true what they say about pregnant women being emotional.  We cry over everything!

I am so terrified to walk into the ultrasound office that my legs are shaking.  My worst fear, which is the same fear I will have at every ultrasound, is that the baby will have disappeared and all this will have been some horrible and cruel joke.

They call my name and Russell and I walk down the hall to the ultrasound room.  I have a different technician this time, Cecilia. I will see Cecilia several more times over the next few months. I like her; she is kind and makes me feel comfortable with the procedure.  The room is already dark as she tells me to go into the bathroom and remove my clothes from the waist down.  I can hear her and Russell talking as I take off my pants.  He's telling her how nervous I am.  Tears once more spring to my eyes and I swipe them away, annoyed that I can't seem to stop crying.

I walk out of the room with the big white sheet wrapped about my waist and make my way slowly to the exam table.  It feels like The Green Mile.  I'm so afraid of what she will see.  Or worse, what she won't.

I hold my breath as the image comes onto the screen.  Russell is standing beside me holding my hand, but all I feel is numb.  And terrified.  And then...

There is it, the image of our baby.  She is no longer a yolk sac, but a tiny growing blob of a human being!  Russell and I are both crying.

"You're about 7 or 8 weeks along," Cecilia tells us.  "Everything looks just like it should."

I feel like I'm floating as we cross the hall to the the doctor's office.  My doctor pokes her head out (but I notice she doesn't really look at me) out after a long wait to tell us that she's running behind because she is without a nurse.  L has given birth.  I'm so excited for her, and feel a twinge of hope.  Women do this every day.  They give birth and everything is okay.  I've been so focused on the negative and the worry that something will go wrong, but what if everything actually goes right?

When it's finally my turn to be seen, everyone in the office comes into the exam room and gives me a hug, including my doctor.  She said she couldn't look at me earlier, fearing the worst regarding the ultrasound.  She knew how much I wanted this.

She refers me to a high risk OB, one that she promises I will love. And sends me on my way with well-wishes and more hugs.

Is this really it?  Are we really having a baby?

We decide to celebrate with Indian food.  I think I'm still in shock, but I'm so unbelievably happy I could burst.

And then, just as I'm taking a bit of my masala dosa, my mother calls with the news that my stepfather has fallen off the roof of their second home an hour and a half away.  We don't know what the extent of his injuries are, but the ambulance is on the way.  We will later find out that he had a broken right hip and ankle, and a crushed left tibia, as well as compartmental syndrome.  He will need several surgeries and many months of rehab.  It feels like a crushing blow to our happy news, and we are once more wracked with worry and uncertainty.

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.

 

August 21, 2012

"Your dates don't match up," My doctor informed me.  "According to your dates you should be farther along, so don't get your hopes up," she said, her smile sad, her brow creased.  Seeing the tiny dot on the ultrasound earlier had set off a range of emotions, but nothing could have prepared me for the profound love I felt for that tiny little speck of a human, my baby.

"The yolk sac looks good," the ultrasound tech informed us.  I couldn't stop crying.  Could this really be, after all these years?  My husband held tightly to my hand as we both stared at that little dot on the screen and tried to imagine it turning into a baby.

"But I was told I don't ovulate," I told her.

"Well, baby girl, you obviously do!" she said cheerily.  I found the term of endearment both comforting an amusing; amusing since I am at least a decade and a half older than she is, but still, something about it made me feel better.  It made me feel not quite so old, like maybe I wasn't some circus freak who accidentally found herself pregnant.  Maybe everything would be okay.

My doctor shattered that dream in 5 seconds flat.  Another staff member came in and gave me a hug.  She kissed me on the cheek and told me that God gave me this blessing and that everything was going to be okay.  I so desperately wanted to believe her.  Tears slid down my cheeks and I nodded, not trusting my voice. I'm not sure if it was seeing that blip on the ultrasound, but I wanted this baby.  Badly.

My doctor's nurse, who was pregnant herself, sat down in front of me and handed me a stapled stack of papers containing information on what I can and can't eat, what medicines are okay to take, what to expect with the beginning stages of pregnancy, and then told me to buy some pre-natal vitamins, making sure they have DHA and Folic Acid.  Again, I nodded numbly and tried not to think too much.

We silently left the office with a stack of papers, 2 square ultrasound pictures, an appointment to come back in 10 excruciatingly long days to see if the pregnancy was viable, and an explanation of what I could expect if I were to miscarry. I couldn't speak for fear of falling apart.  Why would we be given this gift only to have it taken away? Little did I know I would ask myself that many times over the months.

We decided to tell our parents, who we are very close to. I just couldn't imagine not telling my mom, and if we told my mom then we had to tell the other parents, too.  I was both excited and nervous.  I didn't want to give them this hope for a grandchild and have it taken away, but we felt we needed support.

"Mom, we're not going to Ireland."

August 20, 2012

Since my husband works weekends Mondays are the beginning of our "weekends".  Every other Monday the housekeeper arrives and we are rushing around trying to get the house ready for her and get out the door so we're not in her way.  But this Monday was our "lazy" Monday.  We had errands to run - I was shipping copies of my third novel to the UK to the photographer who had done the cover photo, and we were picking up passport applications for my mom and stepfather for our upcoming trip to Ireland.  It was just an ordinary summer day, humid but not horribly hot.

We had gone camping for several days at the lake at the very beginning of the month and my period had been late, but I didn't think much of it.  Having suffered with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) for over half my life that was the norm.  However, for the past two years or so my periods had been quite regular, though an odd one here and there would remain in the mix. 

I had started the Paleo diet and was feeling really great. During the camping trip at the beginning of the month I had more energy than I had felt in years!  But for the past two weeks I had started to feel rather run-down. The weekend had left me feeling like I had the flu, but I knew it was more than that.  My breasts were more sore than they had ever been in my life and I had almost constant panic attacks, a condition I thought I had control over.  I spent the entire weekend in bed and by Sunday night, thanks to Dr. Google, I had convinced myself I had some terminal disease.  

My husband Russell, who is an ER nurse, kept telling me I was pregnant.  I laughed it off.  I don't ovulate. I am 43 years old.  We have been married for 13 days shy of 22 years.  We did the fertility treatments early on in our marriage.  We had 7 failed adoptions before finally adopting two older children from Eastern Europe in the mid 90's.  One of those children now has children of his own.  We are grandparents. We are empty-nesters. I am not pregnant.

We went to lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant.  I felt like I was suffocating. I was hot, claustrophobic. I needed air.  We sat outside and I began to feel somewhat better though still a bit shaky with a sense of derealization, which are always the after-effects of a panic attack for me.  The food tasted "off" and far too spicy.  I didn't enjoy it.  

After lunch we went to Bed Bath and Beyond for a pillow for my mom to give to her on her birthday.  The fluorescent lights very nearly sent me into another state of panic, which again, is the norm for me when recovering from a bad spell of panic attacks.  Dizzy and faint with a racing heart, I practically threw the pillow at Russell and ran out the door while he paid for it.  I could barely breathe as we made our way to the car.  

"Are you ready to get a pregnancy test?" Russell asked.

"I'm not pregnant."

We drove straight to CVS and bought the CVS brand of pregnancy tests.  It was a 2-pack, on sale for half the price of the EPT.  I stared at the box on the shelf.  It seemed so harmless; just a little rectangular box wrapped in clear cellophane nestled side-by-side with other little rectangular boxes.  I grabbed it off the shelf and tossed it into the basket with some other miscellaneous items.  I was sweating, shaking, and was sure everyone in the store was staring at me as if I had a big neon "Old and Pregnant!" sign on my forehead.  

A young twenty-ish male clerk rang up our purchases and tossed the box into the bag.  I watched it disappear into the abyss of white plastic.  Didn't he realize that box contained something that could change the rest of my life?  He didn't give me or Russell so much as a glance as he handed my husband the receipt.  I practically ran to the car, still shaking, and took several deep breaths.  

Twenty minutes later I was sitting on the toilet, unwrapped white plastic stick in hand. "I can't do this," I told my husband, who stood in the doorway watching as our lives were about to change.  Had I known this, I might have paid more attention to his expression.  Was he excited?  Nervous? "I need a cup.  I'm going to drop it."

Russell went to the kitchen and got a coffee mug from the cabinet (I won't tell you which one in case you are ever at my house and are served coffee or tea).  "A coffee mug?" I practically shrieked.  "We drink from those!"

"What else did you want me to get?"

"I don't know; maybe something disposable?" I asked.  My voice sounded odd, like I was hearing it from another room.

"We can wash it."

I peed in the cup, terrified I was going to drop it into the toilet, then carefully uncapped the plastic stick and placed it in the pee.  We were supposed to wait 20 seconds for it to "cure" and show either a plus or minus sign.  1.2 seconds later a blue plus sign glared back at us from the tiny little window.  I practically spilled pee all over the floor as my husband grabbed the cup from my hand, which had gone from a mere tremble to a violent shake.  "Oh my God, Oh my God," I repeated over and over.  And then, "Nooooooooooo," I wailed as I began to cry.  I am ashamed to admit that my first reaction was not one of joy, or even astonishment, but one of pure terror.  Did I want a baby?  Did he?  I'm too old for this! Our lives are good, great, in fact.  We have freedom to do what we want - sleep in late, travel in the off season, curse.  Was this some cruel joke after all these years? Why now???

Russell stood in the doorway grinning; I'm still not sure if it was from amusement at my reaction, happiness over that little blue plus sign, or if it was actually a wayward grimace.  "I guess you'd better call your doctor," he said nonchalantly.   

How can he be so calm?! I was an absolute mess. I paced around the house, my mind racing a mile a minute. He tried to comfort me, tell me everything was going to be okay.  The only thing he convinced me of was that he was completely delusional.  This was going to change our lives forever.  This was not like adopting a puppy.  This was a baby, and babies turn into teenagers and OhMyGod I was going to be 63 years old when this kid was 20! 

Numbly, I went to my purse and got my appointment card for next year out of my wallet.  It contained all of my doctor's contact information. I stared at her number for long moments before finally punching in the numbers on my phone.  I would have to change doctors since my doctor only practices gynecology.  To say I hate going to the doctor would be a vast understatement.  It literally sends me into a tizzy, as my husband would say.  Don't pregnant women have to go to the doctor a lot?  I finally hit send and the phone rang several times as my heart pounded.  When the receptionist answered I blurted out that I had just taken a pregnancy test and that I didn't know what I was supposed to do next.  There was no real reaction, no shock on her part.  She simply told me she'd have my doctor call me back.  

Over an hour later I received a call back from the nurse. She asked when my last menstrual period was and told me she had already made an appointment for me to have an ultrasound the next morning, then I was to come to see my doctor, who happened to be right across the hall.  This was moving all too fast!  Didn't it take months to get an appointment?  And why did  I need an ultrasound so early?  She said something about referring me to a high risk OB due to my age and asked if I had a preference for a male or female.  Definitely female, and I want someone nice, someone who won't judge me for my weight or the fact that I'm too old to be birthing a baby.  She promises she will find the perfect doctor.  

Later that night I try to fall asleep, but sleep is far from my reach.  I am terrified - not because I'm afraid they'll confirm I'm pregnant, but that they'll tell me I'm not.