Barren Mare

Mind reader

Much as I would have adored to prolong my trip another couple of days, my time was up all too soon and I found myself on the plane back to Scotland.  The journey was about as bad as I expected it would be.  I arrived yesterday morning after an uncomfy night flight, exhausted, petulant and sick. And there was very nearly an extremely humiliating pukey episode in the back of the taxi- about which I will say no more, as I am sure you're getting as tired of hearing about my constant barfing as I am of doing it.

On the bright side, I had managed to get an appointment with the lovely Dr Best Friend today about the thyroid issue. She was supportive and attentive as I explained my concerns, namely:

"Blah blah want to keep TSH under 2 whyfor mine 2.47, blah blah research (the internet!) suggests prescribing increased thyroxine dosage by up to 30% blah blah had not had any monitoring of thyroid levels in six weeks and whatthefuckingfuckisupwiththat?"

Except I am extremely ladylike in real life and did not saying fuckingfuck.

However, despite all the advance little mental rehearsals as to why she should prescribe MORE DRUGS immediately, I couldn't also couldn't quite bring myself to confess that I have in fact...ahem... already upped the dosage for the last two weeks. Nothing excessive, mind you- just an extra 25mcg a day.  Which, I mean, really- a piddling variation, no?  Not likely to set anyone's TSH on fire.

Still, I decided to keep quiet until we got the latest blood work result back, at which point I figured I could reveal my hand. As in, AHA! See, the 150 is already working! Now give me more! Moooore!

As it happens, Dr BF placed an immediate call to the Endocrine Master (or rather his secretary, since I gather the Master himself was off prodding goiters or whatever). She left a message to check to see if he wanted to see me, or at least ask him about the dosing etc.  Which is about the best she could do, since they are no longer running the monthly combined antenal/endocrine clinic, because hey, why would anybody want to bother themselves with a trifling matter like possible miscarriage or the risk of a lower IQ for their child as a result of untreated hypothyroidism.

Ahem. I told you I was petulant.

Anyway, the good doc phoned me back later this afternoon to say The Master had been back in touch with her.  Upshot: he doesn't need to see me, but recommends the dosage immediately be upped to..wait for it. By 25mcg to 150. AHAHAAHA!  Whereupon I confessed all to Dr Best Friend about what I had been taking.  She laughed her head off for a minute, and told me to mind-read the next step, since I was such a smartypants. And I said she would write a prescription for the extra more drugs and we would do further blood work in one months' time. 

Exxxactly. At which point I felt rather less petulant and somewhat happier about all things thryoid-y.  And maybe just a tiny bit smug.   

Next time:   Why I have decided to keep blogging during pregnancy, even though I once thought I wouldn't. Also ruminations from my formerly skinny self on surviving the "Not yet looking pregnant with cute bump but rather appearing as if there has been one too many cupcakes on holiday" chubster phase.   

Good vibrations

Sshh, I am alive and in Florida.  Also, sssh.  This is the first and probably the only opportunity I will have for stealth posting during my visit. Thus far my time has been taken up with sleeping and stuffing face with food and walks on the beach and a little shopping  and then eating some more and then another nap and did somebody mention ice cream ooh yes please. Most pleasant.

However, in about two hours, several family members will arrive for a long overdue weekend mini-reunion. My mother has scampered off to the grocery store to obtain the-whatever-it- is we don't already have in the house (caviar? whole suckling pig? edible pansies?).  Wherupon I have seized the moment to bring you a little update/howdy, even if it means I will have even less time in that remaining two hours to attend to my unruly eyebrows- see the sacrifices I make for you, O Internets?

I think I owe my survival on the long trip here to this little gadget- it's not the cheapest morning sickness cure out there, but it certainly seemed to prevent the worst of the queasies during the flight. The only downside was that after fifteen or so hours of use, even with several reapplication of the conductive gel, it became a little burny and itchy on the wrist.  So perhaps not recommended for 24/7 use.

Also, I found I need to put it on and fire it up for about a half hour or so in advance of any nausea attacks in order to have it kick in. Therefore a little pre-planning is required, and the device may be more suitable for occasions when you're pretty sure you're going to be in an inescapable situation where sickness is likely to come upon you, rather than, say, the random urge to suddenly puke. Personally, I find I am much more prone to the latter. In fact...excuse me a second....

Now, alas, the clock is chiming already, and I really must wind this up before the grocery run concludes. But I'm back on Monday next week, and much activity will ensue, including a trip to Dr Best Friend for a little thyroid chat, and my NHS booking appointment, complete with another ultrasound peep at the Apocryphetus. Oh, what larks. 

See you soon. 

The first look

I interrupt the vomiting and lying on the sofa in the floppy-assed posture of one who has narrowly escaped being trampled by a herd of stampeding wild elephants (because yes, I feel that exhausted) to let you know: the scan was good.

When the ultrasound wand hit my gelled tummy (and what a novelty that is, let me tell you) the monitor showed the Apocryphetus, jigging around, waving its nubby arms and legbuds, wriggling like a seal puppy.  Growth measured right on target for 9w4d.  And we saw what was described as a strong heartbeat pulsing away- the nurse wasn't able to confirm how beats per minute, for reasons which elude me, but seeing it was believing. 

So, yay. Now I can get on the plane in a slightly (if temporarily) relaxed state of mind.  I need to go lie down again now, but I'll try to post again Stateside- assuming of course the elephants don't get me first.    

What? Me Worry?

Hi! Hello! Dragging my exhausted, nauseated butt over to the computer long enough to let you all know that:

a.  I appear to still be pregnant.

b.  I survived the trip to France. The ferry over was OK, actually- we were both so tired from the long drive that we collapsed in our little cabin and slept like the dead, even though the boat pitched and rolled so much E. nearly fell off the top bunk. And we woke up in France, which is always sort of entertaining.

The trip back on the other hand was, in a word, ghastly. Sick, sick, sick.  Fortunately, we had also booked a cabin even though it was daytime sail, so I was able to lie down in between trips to the loo. I kept thinking I should get out for some fresh air, but every time I stepped into the hallway, the floor would roll and the urge to puke would become so overwhelming I had to rush straight back inside. It was a vile experience and it lasted 10 hours.   

c.  About that pregnancy thing- apart from the aforesaid exhausted vomiting, very little has happened except the Thyroid Saga.  You see, just before the joyous event of conception occured, I got a telephone call from one of the GPs to advise that my latest thyroid bloodwork suggested I had slipped ever so slightly from the hypo to hyper end of the spectrum and I should knock the meds down a bit and we would check it again in a couple of months.  And then I got knocked up. 

As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I immediately upped the dosage back to the usual levels, since everything I had ever read about hypothyroidism and pregnancy suggested that increased levels of thyroxine may be needed and I'd be damned if I was going to be taking less than the dosage which had been working so well for nearly two years (notwithstanding a one-off freakish test result). I explained all this to Dr Young Clueless when I went to see him just before Christmas- of course, he raised his eyebrows that I had had the gall to reach this conclusion on my own but we agreed that the levels would need to be checked anyway.    

So earlier this week I went in for what was a totally useless appointment with the midwife yesterday- after being kept waiting for 45 minutes, she called me in to basically tell me that she'd go over everything in detail at the "booking appointment" which takes place at week 12 and which point I will get a scan on the NHS. Fine, I said, except I really want some feedback on that thyroid blood test from before Christmas.  Of course, she couldn't access that screen, and there was nothing in the file so I had to wander out to reception to see if we could track down those test results.  The receptionist waved the bit of paper at me, saying everything was "normal".  She looked slightly taken aback when I reached across the desk and throttled her with my bare hands.

Ha, I jest, of course, but I was a little fed up by then.  THE NUMBER, I demanded.  GIVE ME THE NUMBER. And she did, and it was 2.47.  Whereupon I went home and googleygoogled, resulting in a mini freak out that it should be between 1-2 to maintain a healthy pregnancy and aieeee!  But then, I don't know if it was slightly elevated because I had been taking less meds for a month before I found out, or if it is due to something else. I haven't heard a peep from the midwife or anyone else to say that there is cause for concern, but if they are operating on the assumption that I'm "normal" then it's possible they are not remotely interested. So now I'm not sure what to do. I think I may have to put in a plea to Dr Best Friend for some assistance, but it is so hard to get an appointment with her nowadays that I may struggle. 

All of which peeves me somewhat.

d.  I'm going for a scan on Tuesday next week- private, of course, since as mentioned above, no NHS scan until week 12.  At first I was quite relaxed about waiting, figuring that in some ways, ignorance was bliss.  And then the weeks began to pass, and you know, I find I am getting quite attached to the notion of this whole pregnancy thing, with attendant curiousity/worry about what exactly might be going on in there. Also, I am due to travel to Florida at the end next week, and I confess I have developed an unshakeable morbid fear that I will abruptly and spectacularly miscarry on the plane/in the queue for immigration/at the airport baggage carousal. So we're going to stump up the cash for a sneak preview.

It may not be the answer I am looking for, but at least I have some indication, and right now, that does feel more comforting than not knowing at all.