Enough With The Drama Already

I like to think of myself as strong. As someone who doesn't take any crap (at least, not since I left my first husband). I like to think of myself as the kind of person who HANDLES things.

But as I've read over your comments on my last few posts, I realize that that woman seems to have left the building. Why am I taking all this crap and letting these people scare me? I'm THIRTEEN WEEKS today. This is when the FUN part starts. I should be happy. Soon nausea and exhaustion will be a faint memory, my maternity pants will stay up and the threat of miscarriage is now tiny. When I got to do this date with Ironflower, I was filled with joy.

Now it seems every week there's been a new fear, a new stress. And I resent that. This is my last pregnancy. I should be happy, not shaking because the doctors are convinced that my old age (not one of them has mentioned my being overweight already, which you'd think would make a bigger difference) is turning this pregnancy into a melodrama.

Thank you guys for being so supportive and kind about the fact that my backbone went on vacation. It's back now (no pun intended). So I checked out midwife options, but unfortunately I don't really have any. All the (few) midwives around here seem to be about home births, which is not an option for a c-section veteran like myself (I know some people have VBACs, but I'm not going to be one of them, trust me). So I'm going to see a new doctor in my practice next week - one that the women in my playgroup say they like. If I don't like her, I'm going to look for a new practice. I'm also going to ask her to explain in detail why they think I need all these tests and make the decision for my ownself. (Although the idea of finding out NewBaby's gender in just three weeks makes a compelling argument for the early anatomy scan)

I promise I'm going to try to catch up on all of your blogs this weekend. I'm sorry I've been such a bad bloggy friend. Oh, I'm also going to try to catch up on emails, for those of you who've emailed me in the past month. :) I promise.

Can I Sue The Medical Profession For Emotional Trauma?

When Ironflower was about six months old, the pediatrician started freaking out about her weight. She wasn't gaining enough, apparently. I reported what she ate and the good doctor suggested that I add formula to her baby food to make it more fattening. She also suggested I nurse more, because apparently following my daughter's lead wasn't good enough. Ironflower, already asserting her Ironflower-ness, retaliated by eating less of the fattened baby food. The pediatrician started to look as us suspiciously at our bi-weekly weigh-ins, as if we were starving her on purpose. It didn't seem to matter that her head size and height and developmental milestones were all great. She sent us to a nutritionist at the children's hospital. The nutritionist took one long at our long, skinny, happy beautiful baby and laughed. Our baby was fine - just blessed with a rapid metabolism. Although she did explain that mashed table food was MUCH healthier (and more fattening) than either baby food or formula and that baby food was actually pretty pointless. We switched to table food, but Ironflower remained skinny. She still is, but we've quit worrying about it.

When Lovebug was a year old, Hot Guy asked the (new) pediatrician about the bumps on his skull. The doctor felt them (why hadn't he done it before? I don't know) and became very concerned. Long words were thrown around and we were given a referral to a pediatric neurologist. I spent weeks  researching on the internet, believing that because of the bumps on Lovebug's head, which the doctor said came from early closing of the plates, my poor baby would have to have surgery and possibly have neurological damage. Even though his head didn't look anything like the ones I'd seen on the internet. The neurologist laughed at us. He explained that Lovebug's healthy (ie LARGE) headsize meant that he couldn't have all of those problems that I'd read about. He showed us pictures. He played peekaboo with Lovebug. And then told us that we'd never see him again.

So last week, when I had my nuchal translucency test (used to be only for women over 35, but now it's for everyone. I hadn't heard of it and Lovebug's only two!), I felt torn in two when they said there might be a problem with the baby. This test involves a detailed ultrasound that measures the fluid on the back of the baby's neck and a blood test. The combination can indicate if there's an increased risk for chromosomal abnormalities like Down's. The ultrasound measurement was on the very high side of normal (although NewBaby didn't cooperate and they had a very hard time getting the measurement) and the doctor suggested that I come in and meet with the genetic counselor to get my bloodwork results. She said that the baby might have a heart defect. She said that she thought there was an increased risk. I began to shake.

But I couldn't tell if it was with anger or fear. Of course I was afraid that there might be something wrong. Some of these chromosomal things can cause very late miscarriages or babies that die very young. But I was also angry, because I kept remembering all the other times doctors have freaked me out in my years of motherhood. And I felt in my gut that this one of those times (except when I didn't and I started to cry).

My gut was right. My bloodwork was so good that the chances of NewBaby having a chromosomal abnormality are actually FAR LESS than the chances of most women of my advanced (that's what they call it) 36 years.

So I spent the last several days in a fog of terror, not blogging or even reading, for no good reason. However, I'm back now.