Monday, December 07, 2009

12 Weeks, 3 Days

Upon returning from my fourth bathroom trip in less than an hour, I looked over to see my boss staring at me through her open doorway. She motioned me over, cocked her head to one side, and looked me up and down.

"Are you pregnant?" she asked in a mildly exasperated tone.

There was a pause as I pondered whether honesty was indeed the best policy.

"I am." I said.

"How long have you known?"

"About 12 hours."


Although the faint plus sign the previous evening was definitive proof, I'd had my suspicions for a little more than 12 hours. Strange things had been afoot for several days. New sensations, food aversions, the inability to spell three letter words correctly. And when a certified, bonafide, ratified night owl can't keep her eyes open past 8:30 in the eve, she figures something must be up. (Not her, though. 'Cause she's asleep.)


When I was about 8 weeks along, I had a little cramping which caused me some concern. (Alliteration is awesome.) So I called my OB's office, and a nurse called me back. We had a 10 minute conversation, during which I was unable to determine if the person I was speaking to was, in fact, male or female. Here what he/she said once I (calmly) explained my symptoms:

"Well, it sounds like you have an ectopic pregnancy, which could result in death if you don't go to the hospital."

"So you're saying mild cramps are the sign of an ectopic pregnancy?"

"Well, yes. And it could result in death if you don't go to the hospital. Do you understand?"

"I do. Could you possibly fit me in for an ultrasound today so I don't have to go to the hospital?"

"We don't have any room in our schedule today. So you'll need to go to the emergency room."

"I just want to make sure I'm clear on this. You're telling me I need to go to the emergency room for mild cramps?"

At this point there was a lot of sighing and putting me on hold and more sighing, which ultimately resulted in her very reluctantly agreeing to fit me in despite their "extremely busy" schedule.


When I showed up at the clinic an hour later, there was one person in the waiting room.

I signed in and sat down, leafing through a well-worn (and slightly sticky) parenting magazine until I heard my name being called.


A weary-looking nurse was standing in front of me, brandishing a vaginal ultrasound wand in her hand. In the waiting room. Perhaps she just wanted me to have an extra minute to process the upcoming procedure?

Approximately 15 minutes later, I'd seen my baby's tiny little heartbeat, cried tears of relief and awe, and was walking out through the (empty) waiting room with the precious pictures tucked safely in my purse.


"Steve!" I exclaimed, bursting through our apartment door. "Come and look at our baby!"

He pondered over the photos.

"Isn't it amazing?" I was still a little teary.

"Yeah. Wow."

And then,

"It kind of looks like a hamster."


Last night I had 1/2 a can of jumbo olives for dinner. Because that's what the hamster wanted.