Yesterday the doctor’s office called and told me, in a somewhat surprised tone of voice, that my hormone levels had gone up in the 48 hour period between my first appointment on Wednesday and the second blood draw on Friday. Shocker–only not really. I’ve been prepared for the possibility that this pregnancy could go very wrong from day one, especially after the disappointments that my friends have experienced in the last two years. Even with the emotional preparation that this might not be smooth sailing (or no sailing at all, you know) I couldn’t take the doctor’s office seriously after my first visit.
After the first ultrasound to establish how many weeks pregnant I am on Wednesday, my nurse midwife sat us down and said that she was very concerned that they hadn’t been able to find the fetus. They’d found the pregnancy sac with “something undeveloped” in it, and after measuring the sac they’d established I was 7 weeks pregnant. Counting back weeks, I felt like there was no possible way I could be that far along–one week before (what would be 6 weeks) I’d had the positive test, and two weeks before that (4 weeks) I’d had a negative test. At 4 weeks, a home pregnancy test should have shown a positive for sure. I tried to bring up my doubts, but the nurse midwife just kept pointing to the sonogram picture and babbling on about how she just wanted us to know the truth, and the truth was that she wasn’t optimistic that this was a “viable pregnancy.” At home, I called my mom to tell her the news, all the news, for the first time. I’d sniffled a little on the car ride home, but it wasn’t until I was on the phone that I really started crying. She reflected my original skepticism and told me not to lose hope.
Friday, right before I went in for the second blood draw, the nurse midwife called to tell me that my hormone (hCG) levels were high. That should be good, right? She was using it as another set of proof that I should have been far enough along for them to find a fetus and/or a heartbeat during the ultrasound. Again, she expressed her complete lack of optimism that this was a viable pregnancy.
So yesterday they called me, completely shocked and awed that my hormone levels were continuing to increase. Nothing says “awesome” like a doctor’s office that’s intent on convincing you that you’re going to miscarry at any moment, and you should just skip to the chase and get a D&C. Not a single conversation with the office has gone by without the D&C topic coming up. I have to wonder if they get referral bonuses for every abortion procedure they turn over.
I went in for a second ultrasound and behold–we saw the baby and a heartbeat! The blobby thing they’d found the first time was still there, slightly bigger, next to the baby. The ultrasound tech and the nurse midwife scratched their heads (almost literally) as they leaned in closer and closer to the screen, trying to figure out what the hell it is. The tiny, grain-of-rice baby flickered with a heartbeat but was barely visible next to the dark object. The nurse midwife ran out into the hall to grab an OB MD to take a look. Casually leaning up against a wall as he viewed the screen, he mused that it might be a blood clot, or a failed twin pregnancy “gone wrong.” He suggested that they send me across the street in a week to see a high risk specialist, then cleared his throat. “Depending on what it is, they might recommend that you go ahead and schedule yourself for a D&C procedure…to be on the safe side. Just uh, make sure you stop smoking and cut back on caffeine.”
What, you mean I can’t smoke? But my 1954 pregnancy book says that as long as I keep it under a pack a day, it’s totally fine! I need it to calm my nerves!
I don’t smoke, you ass. I also haven’t had a drop of alcohol and less than 1/4 cup of iced tea every three days since I found out. I’m essentially caffeine free. It just seemed like a really stupid thing to randomly throw in there. Why not say “Make sure you’re cutting back on your meth usage and, uh, stop letting people punch you in the uterus.”
Everyone left the room so I could put my pants back on (why do they bother? they just saw all the goods anyway, why look away as I cover back up) and I gave Justin a glance. He shrugged. It’s how both doctors visits have ended, now.
Next Monday morning, bright and early at 8:15, I have the appointment with the high risk specialist. I hope that s/he isn’t a complete idiot.
