Barren Mare

The pitter patter of tiny hooves

Ugh, work is simply kicking my ass at the moment. I do have a lot more energy than a couple of weeks ago, but even so, come 4 o'clock I start feeling a little bit floppy.  Unfortunately, that seems to be the point in the day at which many of my colleagues kick into high gear and the pace picks up.  I've been called into a few late afternoon meetings where I am struggling to keep up with the frenetic undertakings to then have something ready "first thing in the morning"- which generally means I am supposed to go back to the desk and work until 8pm (except I never do).

There have been several occasions where I have wanted to raise my hand and ask for an extension because "I'm pregggggnaaaaant."   As in, "No, I can't give you what you want in time, because I'm preeeeggggnaaannt." "Couldn't someone else take tover for me, because I'm preeeegggggnnnant."  "Is there an extra helping of cake for me, because I'm...". Oh, wait. 

Speaking of cake, I  was weighed at my appointment with the midwife this afternoon, and I've put on a kilo and a half since the Great Stomach Flu Purge. I guess this not a lot, or is about right, or something. I'm trying not to obsess about weight issues, since there seems to be a great potential for head fuckery in that area. Early on, (which also coincided nicely with Christmas), when I was stuffing my face every two hours to stave off morning sickness, I immediately packed on about half a stone (otherwise known as 7 pounds). I didn't particularly worry about this until I looked online, out of curiousity, to check how much weight one should be gaining at each stage.

The answer, according to more than one haughty site, was along the lines of: "Not so fucking much (you fat pig). Stop eating immediately!  You're not really eating for two, you glutton, so put down those donuts AT ONCE! 300 extra calories per day, and that's IT. Do not use your pregnancy as an excuse to consume half your body weight in cookies. Come on, lard ass, you'll never be able to get it off once you've put it on."   

At which point I felt so stressed out I had to immediately devour an entire avocado, together with a large lump of cheese. Then I felt better. I mean, good grief!  Talk about pressure!  Not only do we have to eat right during pregnancy but we have to eat exactly the right amounts. And if you start out, as many women do, with a whole series of hang ups (large and small) about body image and weight, then well...as I said, head fuckery is certain to ensue.  In the end, I decided that I was going to eat what I want, when I want and as much as I want, and will trust that getting knocked up has not somehow broken the usual inner compass which steers me to reasonable food choices and portions. So far, that seems to be correct, especially since the midwife did not recoil in horror when I stepped on the scales this afternoon.

As a delightful ending to the appointment (and perhaps to compensate for the low point during which the student nurse made a right old mess of my arm when taking blood), they got out the Doppler to check if we could hear the baby's heartbeat. I was sort of astonished at the offer, since hitherto nobody has seemed the slightest bit interested in audio. They warned me that they may not be able to hear at almost-but-not-quite 16 weeks (since I guess the NHS can't afford the decent high tech Dopplers). However, the midwife found it with a minimum of poking around, and a sound like tiny galloping hooves filled the room. Go, little pony, go. It cheered me up considerably, and even as things veered from one calamity to another at work for the rest of the afternoon, I remained in an unshakeably good mood.      

Oh, lastly, and my maternity clothing order arrived last week.  I had it delivered to work, and as soon as I unwrapped it, I popped into the loos to change because sitting at my desk with the binding and chafing of my waistband had become unbearable.  Ahhhhh, sweet, sweet blessed expandables.  Pass the donuts.

Handbags and gladrags

Getting dressed for work in the morning is rapidly becoming a little bit problematic.  At just over 14 weeks, I am not quite yet blooming-with-bump but the days of being able to squeeze into the pre-pregnancy items are pretty much past. A couple of times, having convinced myself that I'm still relatively svelte, I've made the mistake of thinking I could get away with certain things- and by the end, I'm frantic to get home to undo my buttons and remove the horrid chafing waistbands.

The upshot is that not only am I running out things to wear, but even if I come up with something passably comfortable, it still ends up looking like something really weird is going on around my midriff.

Thus far the saving wardrobe graces have been fourfold: firstly and foremost, a pair of black wide-legged trousers I purchased years ago in Barcelona. I was too overwhelmed by the language difference to attempt to negotiate the mobbed fitting room, so I bought without trying them on, guessing at the American/British to European size conversion. When I got back to the hotel, I discovered the fit was... interesting. On the roomy side, very, very low-slung and completely fantastic in a kind of Katherine Hepburn-esque way.  Consequently I rarely wore them, saving for them for "special". And now they are among the three pairs of work pants I can still get into, and I wear them A LOT.   

The other two pairs are trousers I bought in the summer sales during IVF, as the effects of all the injecto-drugs made me feel as if I was carrying six large water balloons around my abdomen. A size or two larger than my usual, I've since tended to only wear these on occasional sloppy Friday or around the house.  But now each pair is making a regular appearance at work.  That, and jeans- because thank God, my new job is pretty laid back about the dress code, and my boss regularly appears in dressed-down mode.  I don't usually go in for that, but my low rider jeans and combats still sort of fit, so I'm making the most of it while I can.

So far the only maternity items I've purchased have been bras. This was out of desperation- at about week 12, I could no longer deny I was beginning to bulge out of the sides of my biggest brassiere.  A kind sales assistant took pity on me as I stood haplessly in front of the display, and actually measured me, whereupon we discovered I had gone up a full cup (and a half) size. Yikes!  Bring on the crane and hoists. Oh yes, and I also bought a cheap pair of larger trousers at Old Navy when I was home in January; however, having once back home, I've decided they look kind of silly.   

Yesterday I trudged into town with vague notions of buying something-anything- to get me over the weeks until I start getting a proper bump. But all the shops which friends had referred me to which supposedly stocked maternity stuff?  Well, yeah. There's not big sign with an arrow pointing to: "EXPANDO-WEAR here". In fact, I went three places, and couldn't find a maternity section as such in any of them. Could that be because there seems to be a very thin line between maternity and normal stuff? I mean, the smock look is really in here at the moment. Lots of tunic-y things and hideous baggy sweater dresses. Unfortunately, I think most of it would just look really unflattering on me, at least until such time as I have the shape to make it clear that I am in fact pregnant rather than just wafting around in a trendy potato sack.

I think the solution is to bite the bullet and order some things online, which are intended to see me through the coming months. I've held off until now because I was able to make do and cobble together, and I frankly felt a bit freaked out about spending money until I was feeling a little more secure about things. But now I think it's time to simply apply my previous philosophy: that is, it is better to buy a few classic, well-made, long-lasting quality items (albeit costing a bit more) than frantically scrabble around acquiring a series of cheap transitional pieces which will last no time at all, and will only end up hanging reproachfully in the closet.  Eek.  Hand me my credit card and cover your eyes.

At least all my handbags still fit. 

Allow me to clarify

The flat selling saga finally resolved today after a series of twists too bizarre to go into. We ended up having to compromise on the price, but it's worth it, I think, to get it sold.  Now I can move on and think about nesting in the new place.

I think I should probably clarify something I wrote in my last post, since the use of the word "casually" seems to have confused things somewhat. I was not for one minute intending to suggest anyone approaches a decision to terminate a pregnancy that way. Rather, I was responding to something which I picked up from an earlier comment.  Initially, I decided I wasn't going to get into this, but I think it did get under my skin a little bit, and it later crept out.

The commenter expressed a view that he or she hoped I was doing the nuchal "just so I could be prepared to do the best for the baby from the very start, no matter what". And then followed that with a link to a newspaper article, the gist of which is how, due to prevailing attitudes nowadays, prenatal testing seems to ends up making your right to abort your disabled child more about a duty to abort, and why is it that society thinks that way.

Without going into that particular debate, I have to say the views expressed bothered me on a number of levels. Firstly, there is the use of the word "just", the very sound of it which makes my hackles rise. I think anyone who has tangled with infertility comes away with a pathological loathing of that word, and the way it tends to be thrown around with such maddeningly casual frequency. As in, just relax. Just do IVF. Just adopt.  Just accept and be grateful for what you already have. Just so you can be prepared to do your best for the baby no matter what.   

The thing that I so particularly hate about the word "just" is that in that sort of context, the speaker is- consciously or not- trying to reduce something- an experience, a conflict, a crisis- into a simplistic equation. To distill it down, to package it up into a neat box, to sweep it away. Problem eliminated, just like that, ta-da! Complication banished, why go on about it? 

And for the person on the receiving end, who is invariably dealing with something confusing or painful or distressing or difficult; well, it's the verbal equivalent of a slap in the face. So for someone to suggest to me that I should be doing prenatal testing "just" for one reason and one reason alone was one more incident in the long "just" parade.

Secondly, while I think it inappropriate to pass judgment on anyone's decision to test or not to test, I find it even more outrageous to infer that testing is to identify the presence of Down's syndrome with the underlying aim of seeking a termination in those cases. Now, maybe statistically, in the majority of cases, that is in fact what happens. I don't know- I have no information about that. But in any event, I've never believed in signing up for the status quo. A statistic doesn't apply until you've actually gone through that situation. For the record, I had given it a lot of thought, and I had grave doubts as to whether I would even go for an amnio in the event of a bad result- because in my heart I did feel that while I was prepared to accept things (no matter what), I was not prepared to take any risk, however small, of losing this baby.

As it happens, I've luckily been spared some of that angst, since I got the call today. The blood work results having come in, the outcome is that we are low risk- so much so that I feel very comfortable about not doing any further invasive testing.

Now, I'm extremely grateful for that relative peace of mind.  But I'm also sort of glad that the whole experience did make me question certain things and did cause me to ponder the possibility of difficult choices, some of which still may lie ahead. Because sometimes dicing with the scary painful stuff, even in your own mind and heart, does leave you better prepared for what lies ahead- far more so than "just" could ever imagine.

Laid low by the lurgy

Well, I had this nice little writing schedule all mapped out for myself, but as usual, life has intervened.

One of the less enchanting items brought home by E. from his last business trip on Friday was a nasty little stomach bug.  On Saturday afternoon, with no warning, he started projectile vomiting, together with simultaneous diarrhea (Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!).  He carried on doing so until Monday, lying in a grey, feverish heap, quivering and occasionally emiting small moans of distress. This was all much to my considerable chagrin since it meant that in between soothing his fevered brow and fetching him drinks, hot water bottles and paracetemol, I had to assume sole responsibility for cleaning the whole house yet again in readiness for the weekly selling open-house. And I have been a little tired lately.

Then the bug got me. Disaster. I started vomiting violently in the middle of the night, and even for one who has become a little blase about puke, this was a somewhat alarming explusion. We're talking hanging on side of toilet, covered in sweat, evicting bits of my small intestine. With some yucky diarrhea and a snappy little low grade fever of my own.  Worryingly, from then on I was then absolutely unable to keep anything- food or water- down.   

To his credit, E. (who was now feeling much better) took his turn at playing nurse, including leaving work at my behest to make a midday run to the chemist for some rehydration sachets- as I had realised that unless I could get (and keep) some fluid down me, I was starting to become seriously deyhdrated. I kept having this vision of the Apocryphetus, flailing like a tiny dolphin in an increasingly shrinking pool of water. 

Happily, I woke up this morning feeling much improved, and was able to manage to eat some rice and bananas (mmm, blandy bland bland). And to consume enough water to get my bladder uncomfortably full for today's nuchal scan. As it happened, the full bladdery-ness didn't assist; the Apocryphetus was be-bopping all around, but also squished up in the wrong place. I was told to go have a pee and then we'd try again; the nurse thought she'd have no problem seeing things- since I am such a slip of a girl and because there is, I quote, "no fat on me". AHAHAHAHA.  Love the lovely nurse. Of course my current shrinkydinkyness might have been aided by the lack of food over the last two days, but who cares.  No fat on me!

The empty bladder did help, and eventually with a bit of prodding and bellydancing, we were able to nudge the wriggly one into position for the necessary assessments.  Which were apparently all good, by the way- median measurement of the nuchal fold at 1.4.mm.  The blood work results will be ready on Monday or Tuesday and then they'll let me know the risk ratio.

I strongly feel that no one should have to justify their decisions as to whether they undergo or refuse antenatal testing. To my mind, it's a very personal matter, especially as everyone has their own unique background and circumstances. However, since somebody mentioned it before, I might as well state for the record that our main intent with the screening is doing as much non-invasive information-gathering as possible.  The hope is that we'll get a low enough risk result to set our minds at ease a little. I realise of course that may well not be how it turns out- indeed, I'd be surprised if it did. As for what happens if we get a worrying result- well, I don't know yet.  I have a pretty good idea, which I will share in due course, however, if our adventures in family building have taught me anything, it's that you really don't know until you get there. 

Thus far I have been navigating this remarkable pregnancy on the basis of two mantras: that is: "one day at a time" and "do not stress unnecessarily over the uncontrollable."  But one thing is for damn sure- I do not have a pre-planned notion of blindly rushing off to get an amnio so I can then casually terminate a confirmed Down syndrome pregnancy.  So please, don't even go there. 

Oh, and lastly, to add one last spicy drama to the already hectic mix: our flat having been on the market less than a week, we received a good offer- except there is a slight hiccup in getting what seemed like a relatively straightforward deal done, and we're now having to enter into uncertain haggling about the price. I'm still waiting to hear- a little virtual finger crossing would be much appreciated.