Wednesday, February 07, 2007

It's Never Going To Be Different

I had a regular check-up with my OB today. Just your average once a month check. Weight, questions, heart beat.
Except that when I was laying there waiting for the nurse practitioner to find the little thumpy-thumpy, she didn't.
It felt like forever, laying there while she moved the Doppler around searching for my baby. Each second that passed made me feel heavier, as though the absence of that sound was pushing me through the table.
"Well, it's still early so I wouldn't worry."
Of course you wouldn't. But I would. I'm 14 weeks. I've heard and seen the heartbeat. I've had several miscarriages before. Those patronizing words did nothing to alleviate my worry.
She suggested an ultrasound and asked me to wait while she went to get someone else who could do it.
I lay there on the table listening to my son crinkle the paper at my legs. My already swelling belly was covered in gel.
And it had been a long time since I had felt that alone.
Please God please please, not again.
She came back with a nurse who took my hand and said she'd try the Doppler once before the ultrasound.
And she found it immediately.
I was surprised to realize that I was crying.
I know it was partly in relief. My baby is OK. I am still pregnant and moving ahead.
But I think I was also crying because I know that I am never going to be as naive as I was with Bre. I am never going to be that relaxed. I am never going to be able to look at my ever swelling abdomen and not wonder if everything is really OK, or if it's all going to go horribly wrong. Again.
I thought I was doing alright. I hadn't freaked out once in the past few weeks since I heard the heartbeat. I ignored the headaches I was getting and my stiff neck and considered a new pillow. I never thought about how my muscles react to stress.
And I know that I'm doing it again. I'm bottling up that fear, that anxiety about this baby because I don't know how to express that to the people who care about me. I am afraid of them telling me that I'm crazy or worse, that I need to 'relax'. That is the sort of thing that makes me feel justified in punching them in the nose.

Before they found the heartbeat, David was tickling my feet. My feet. Anyone who knows me knows that this is a huge deal for me. I can't even stand the thought of anyone touching my feet. I have never had a pedicure because I can't refrain from kicking people who touch my feet.
But he tickled them. After we left I realized that I never even reacted. Not even a little bit.
I need to do something, find some way of handling this better.