Part Two

It's January, 2004, I'm pregnant but I don't know it yet. This pregnancy was...what? cursed? doomed? a bad ride? from the start. I've been searching for the right phrase, but I haven't found it yet. I'd never been pregnant before, so I didn't recognize the signs. I left for two weeks of travel to Florida and D.C. to give a couple of talks and meet with potential collaborators (at the time I was in grad school). I was a week late, but that wasn't so unusual given my history. I felt like I was having intense, prolonged PMS. My stomach hurt, I felt bloated, and my boobs were sore. I couldn't even put a shirt on without wincing.

I lay there in my hotel room in D.C. one night, not sleeping, grousing in my head about how weird and sore I felt, when suddenly I thought to myself, "I wonder if this is how it feels to be pregnant." That's when I knew. Duh! I felt so stupid for not realizing it sooner. Then the sinking feeling began. I'd been sick for weeks with the worst cold I'd had in years. That meant I was on pseudophed constantly and wasn't really eating. Bad. Also, I have Multiple Sclerosis (don't waste your sympathy - I'm lucky. I haven't had any symptoms since the ones that diagnosed me 8 years ago now) and was on a medication that they recommended you not take if you're pregnant. I'd stopped taking it a couple of weeks earlier, but not months ago like the packaging recommended. It did say there were no known adverse effects on pregnancy, but still...

I lay there in that hotel room with my sore boobs and my sinking feeling and didn't sleep. The sinking feeling was mixed with a deep ambivalence. I just couldn't get happy about being pregnant. I was too worried about getting off to a bad start. Plus, I hadn't resolved my concerns about whether I should get pregnant at all. Would I be a good parent? blah, blah, blah.

I got back home, peed on a stick, and made an appointment with an OB. Here's an example of how totally out of my element I was - it didn't even occur to me to see a family practitioner. I just assumed you had to see an OB if you're pregnant. I didn't have any friends who had kids, no one around me to ask or give me advice. I didn't really have a primary care physician, so the OB it is. We were living in Lawrence, Kansas, at the time and there was only one practice in town that also had certified nurse midwives, so I called them. I knew that I probably wanted to have a midwife attend me during labor (attend to me? attend my labor? Whatever. You get the point. Grammarpants I am not, obviously.). I was 7 weeks along at this point. I went in, peed in a cup, and met with the doc. I told her I was worried about neural tube defects and other nebulous frights because of my poor nutrition early on and she told me I was overly concerned due to my inexperience and hormones. Thus began my horrible relationship with this OB.

They took my blood to "check hormone levels" and sent me on my way. A week later, one of the nurses calls and says they want to take my blood again because my progesterone was a little low. Not that unusual, nothing to worry about, calm down. I go in, they take my blood again. I get a call in a couple of days from another nurse saying that my progesterone levels haven't come up, "like they'd like", so they want to schedule me for an ultrasound, but it's a Thursday and their technician won't be in until Monday. I numbly agree to a time on Monday and hang up. Of course, I then go back to my computer and start researching hormone levels and pregnancy. I know this response isn't unique to scientists, but that's what I do. I'm a research biologist, so I'm all about data and results. After an hour or two of reading, I call the nurse back to get my actual numbers. The nurse is completely puzzled by this request - "You want to know the actual hormone levels?" Yes. "You want the numbers?" Yes. "The actual numbers?" Yes. "We don't usually give out the numbers." Could I grit my teeth any harder? After a couple more minutes of further brow furrowing and puzzlement, she finally reads me the numbers.

Once I have my precious numbers, I go back to my research. After another hour or so, I become convinced that I've miscarried. So, now I'm facing a long weekend of waiting for the ultrasound to confirm the bad news. This is completely untenable, so I call the doctor's office back. I want to reschedule. I want them to stop doling out information like its dangerous and should only be taken in small doses. I want them to stop acting like I can't handle the truth. I want the nurse to admit that they think I've miscarried. I'm kind of flipping out. She hems and haws and finally says that "things don't look good". I ask if there's any way that I can get in sooner for an ultrasound. I end up crying and pleading on the phone. Unfortunately, that won't be the last time I end up on a phone crying and pleading during this experience. Finally, they relent and refer me to another clinic for an ultrasound the next day. I'm getting mad all over again as I write this. What are they thinking, calling a pregnant women with potentially bad news, not giving her the full story and expecting her to wait days to find out what's going on?! I know this happens to people all the time - what is the deal?!

I show up the next day for the ultrasound, and it's just me and a nice lady technician. I get into the gown and prepare to have my belly greased up when she busts out with the giant porno ultrasound dildo. Not what I was expecting! She, um, gets to work. I'm lying there feeling grim while she looks around. Then, she zeros in on a little bean with a flickering white spot and says, "There's the heartbeat." I burst into tears. Seriously. Body-wracking sobs. She looks at me with concern and says, "Oh, you thought you'd lost it." I sob and nod and snurffle. She assures me that everything looks normal and sends me on my way. I call my OB and they tell me that they want me to start on supplemental progesterone (progesterin) immediately and call in a prescription.

Enough for now. Look, I know this is a long story, but I'm going to keep writing.