Monitoring

Well my first pre-transfer monitoring happened this morning. Not much to report on the medical side; the doctor says everything looks normal for having had the menses that The Clinic predicted I would. The odd thing is: The nurse who brought me in for the ultrasound said I’d be dealing with a lady doctor. The doctor who came in (and had a badge matching his name) had no female accompanying him. He was wholly professional and did the same thing every other ultrasound doctor has always done, but I thought it was a little odd. I emailed my favorite nurse at The Big Hospital to ask if that’s normal, and am waiting for her response.

UPDATE: I heard back from my favorite nurse. The doctor who did the exam was a fellow of the doctor who was listed on my chart. She's notified the upper echelons of his slip-up today in not having a chaperon during the exam, though. 

So far I’ve been relatively level on the dino-shots. I’ve had a couple “needy” moments, but Hubs and Pooka have been exceptionally obliging on that score. I start estrogen tonight and decrease the amount of dino-meds I take. I had a panic moment a couple minutes ago and called my poor Hubs to wake him up and ask him to check my supply of surro-meds to make sure I have patches. I do, and he was most gracious about his sleep being interrupted. (He works two jobs now, amounting to some 17-hour days – not every day, but enough that I try not to interrupt his daytime resting.)

This weekend I had a house full of crazy teenage girls. They made a HUGE mess, which was to be expected. I told Pooka and her friend “Vriska,” who spent another night so her mom could try to get over a nasty migraine (plus I like having her around) that they could just chill: I’d take care of clean-up. I then proceeded to hang out in my room and watch TV on my iPad and patch up a favorite pair of jeans. When I emerged from my laziness, my house looked like I had cleaned it up myself. The girls tidied up their mess, washed and put away all of the dishes, vacuumed, wiped down the counter and stove, and took out the trash. Words cannot describe how positively this impacted my day! I have the best kids in the world. (Yes, I know Vriska isn’t mine, but she calls me “OtherMom” so she’s my other kid.)

Commencing IVF Cycle #4

Last night was my first dinosaur (Lupron) shot. It didn’t hurt, really, but my belly itched for a few minutes where I administered the injection. Oh well. There are bigger problems to have. The interesting thing about it was that within an hour, I was suddenly very sad and clingy. Hubs was accommodating as ever, and I was able to identify that I was hormonal and needy so I didn’t flip out. I was able to just ask Hubs to come give me a snuggle – he did – and that was enough.

Aside from that moment of mope, I’ve honestly been okay. I was groggy this morning, but I think that’s just Monday for you. We had a long, fun-filled Solstice weekend, and I dropped off to sleep very quickly Friday, Saturday and last night.

I did seriously pig-out this weekend; and I neglected my water intake and had a lot of sodium, so I’m really swollen today. There. I admitted it. I don’t feel bad about it, but I’m going to have to be really diligent about food and water and exercise this week. Two cheat-days in a row are not going to help my waist line. It’s not going to do a whole lot of damage, but it’s not a good habit to get into, either.

I’ve decided to take a rental car down to The New IVF Clinic for the embryo transfer next month. There are several reasons for this:

1.) Trains take just as long to get there as cars, and if my lining isn’t ready on the day we’re tentatively scheduled, it will be very expensive to change the ticket.

2.) If we book a flight ahead of time and the ticket needs to be changed, that would be even more expensive than if I took a train and changed the ticket.

3.) If we wait until the last minute to book a flight, it’ll be crazy expensive and I’d probably wind up taking long, round-about flights again because the nonstop flights would most likely be full.

4.) If I take a plane or train and I need to go out for something, I’ll have to call a limo to take me because there aren’t any taxi services in the town where The New IVF Clinic is, and those are PRICEY.

5.) I like driving.

The Carrier Coordinator at The Agency said that they’ve tried lots of methods to get rental car companies to charge The Agency’s credit card for their carriers and have had no luck. On a whim last week, I called the one across the street from my office and asked if they could charge a car to The Agency listing me as a subcontractor. (Well I am. I provide a service to their clients, but am not their employee.) The rental company said sure; they just needed The Agency to fill out a form and provide their card and the ID of someone who’s authorized to sign on the card. The Carrier Coordinator still isn’t sure this will work, so she’s had an advance sent out to me to cover food and possible rental expenses. If the rental goes through The Agency’s card, she’ll just deduct that amount plus whatever isn’t used for gas and tolls (for which I must provide documentation) from my transfer fee.

I honestly have to say: this cycle is SO much more conveniently arranged than the last three. I haven’t had to pay up-front for anything at all. It’s been so much easier on my budget. And while it would be nice to have Hubs or Mama come with me, I’ll most likely need both of them to be back home to stay home at night with Pooka. Anyway: Mum and possibly Dad will be there for the embryo transfer, and are staying in the same hotel. I like that they’re so hands-on and so involved.

Mum and Dad sent us a lovely holiday package last week: We got a bundle of DELICIOUS chocolate chip cookies (which were gone before 8:00 pm that night) and some cookie bars that Hubs said looked and tasted a little like Samoas. Whatever they were, they tasted of chocolate and sugar cookie with a hint of peanut butter and coconut shavings on top, and they are my new favorite confection! We also got a lovely scented candle in a velour covered box, and a bottle of dark nail polish with a fancy emery board. I felt sort of bad that they had spent so much money and effort on us, when all we sent them was a jar of “baby dust & sticky vibes.”

Anyway: Whee! The cycle has officially started, so send me all the baby dust and sticky vibes you’ve got! I want to get this right on the first go!

Festivities & Awesome News!

Only five days till the Winter Solstice! Hubs, Pooka and I don’t do Christmas for multiple reasons; the most significant being that none of us are Christian. Instead, in our house, we celebrate Solstice. We each give the others in our little nucleus one gift, so we never get more than two presents from within the family. We do stockings, so we can do small, inexpensive trinkets, and our extended families send gifts as well, but the idea is to move the focus of the holiday away from materialism and toward quality time with our loved ones. The gift is generally something that’s been well-thought-out, if we have money to buy something expensive; or homemade if we don’t.

We open gifts and stockings in the morning, and spend time as a family until the evening, when we typically host a dinner party for our friends and, if they’re in the area, our extended family. This year, though, we’ve decided to take the party outside. We’re going to a local park and sledding in the afternoon! There’s an old shelter at the top of the hill, with a fireplace in it, so we’re going to build a fire and pre-make chili, baked potatoes and hot chocolate to serve when people get cold and hungry.

Sunday I start taking “dino-shots.” I’m glad I’m doing it the day after the festivities. I’d hate to get completely hormonal and wind up in tears because I hit a bump on the hill and fell out of my sled! HA! I mentioned to Hubs this morning that I’m due to start “crazy meds” on Sunday. He snuggled up against me and told me, “There’s nothing to worry about, Honey. I’m not going anywhere this time.” I adore him. He always knows how to set me at ease.

OOH! ALSO! I'm going to be an Auntie again! I have two nephews: The Athlete, who is Hubs' nephew (but mine because I married Hubs) and Little Mook, who is my stepsister's. But now Lord and Lady Bear, who have been trying for a year and a half, are just into their second trimester. I'm wishing for a niece. Nephews are pretty awesome, but it's time we had another girl on my side of the family. (Pooka has two girl-cousins on her biological father's side, but no girl-cousins on mine.) We'll find out for sure on Valentine's Day! WHEE!

Moving Further Along...

We’re almost there! I should be getting my medications (read: hormones) and accoutrements (read: small, sharp, pointy things) around the middle of next week. I’ll start my “dinosaur shots” – 10 units of leuprolide acetate every evening - on December 22^nd. This should be interesting. I haven’t had to take dinosaur shots since the IVF cycle with Wiggle Worm more than two and a half years ago, and it made me kind of insane for a couple days. Not literally, of course; I was just a blubbering mess. So yeah: Interesting.

The day after Christmas I stop taking birth control and continue on with the dino-shots. By that time my brain should be used to the leuprolide (I hope) and I’ll be easier to deal with. Hubs, Pooka and I have gotten pretty good at realizing and communicating when we’re feeling wholly unreasonable. It’s so much easier to say, “I’m feeling [sensitive/hormonal/needy/antisocial/whatever] right now, so I need [support/patience/love/alone time/et cetera] from you,” than to get into a tiff because I can’t take a moment to realize how I’m feeling and what I need.

December 30^th I go up to The Big Hospital for monitoring: ultrasound to check the thickness of my uterine lining, and blood work. That evening, I start estrogen by pill (estradiol) and patch (Vivelle). It’s the same regimen I used for the last three IVF cycles, but the nurses have to be thorough, so I’ll get a phone call once the results of the monitoring make it to the New IVF Clinic to make sure I know what I’m doing. I’ll also halve the amount of leuprolide I take, starting that evening.

January 3^rd I increase my estradiol, and continue on Vivelle and 5 units of leuprolide. January 7^th I go back up to The Big Hospital for another ultrasound and more blood work. If the lining of my uterus (endometrium) is thick enough, an embryo transfer will be scheduled for January 12^th. If not, I’ll increase my estradiol again, and go back in several days later for more monitoring and THEN they’ll arrange for an embryo transfer.

The nurse informed me that once the transfer is scheduled, she’ll go over the changes in medications with me at that time. But we’re sure that I won’t be using Crinone gel as my progesterone: I’ll be doing that as an intramuscular injection. Momma tells me it’s uncomfortable, so I’m not excited about it, but what must be, must be.

Moving Right Along (Haha! Multiple Entendre!)

Hubs’ and my blood and other test results came back from the IVF Clinic last week. Neither of us have any sort of venereal diseases or infections, but we knew that anyway. My CBC came back a little odd though, suggesting that I might be a teensy bit anemic. I kind of figured it would. I’ve been slightly anemic since shortly before I gave birth to Tempest. But I’m taking iron supplements and eating a lot of leafy greens, so the IVF Doctor isn’t worried and says we can still go ahead with Mum and Dad’s baby. I’ll just have to keep taking iron and may have to add one more supplement to my regimen during the pregnancy. Hubs’ tests all came back 100% normal.

I’ve got a tentative schedule in my email for the start of my meds, monitoring and embryo transfer.

December 23:  Begin leuprolide (dinosaur shots) to stop ovulation

December 27:  Last birth control pill

December 30:  Morning ultrasound to check the thickness of uterine lining

                       Start estrogen pills and patches

January 3:   Increase estrogen

January 7:   Morning ultrasound to check the thickness of uterine lining

                  If lining is thick enough, IVF Clinic will begin prep for transfer

January 12: Embryo transfer (as long as my lining is thick enough)

I’m waiting to get a more detailed calendar, but this is what I have so far. I’m still not sure if the IVF Clinic is going to let me take progesterone the way I took it before since they’re doing my estrogen the same way I did with Wiggle Worm and Tempest, but we’ll see! I know Mum was strongly advocating for it.

To follow up on my previous off-topic note: I’ve lost four pounds since the beginning of October. Ha! Four pounds and two solid dress sizes. When I started all this health and fitness stuff, I was a solid size eighteen. I am now a definitive fourteen. My goal is to be a ten by New Year’s. And at the rate I’m going, I may just do it, too. Ultimately I think I’d like to be a size eight, but that’s the smallest I think my bone structure will let me go, and I’m more than comfortable with that.

Back this summer, I started trying to use a jogging application called Couch-to-5K. My brother, Lord Bear, recommended it to me. The first workout has you do a brisk five-minute warm-up walk, then alternately jog for 60 seconds and walk for 90 seconds, for a total of 20 minutes, then do a five-minute cool-down walk. I couldn’t jog past the first 60 seconds.

Well on Wednesday, I had planned to go visit my Auntie and do some quilting after work. She lives almost exactly two miles from my office, and since I had built Couch-to-5K (C25K) into my workout schedule for this month, I figured I’d do that to get to her house, rather than asking Hubs to drive me. Well, Pooka was sick and needed Mommy, so I canceled on Auntie, but still had to do my workout. Guess what, people? I CAN JOG! Not only did I do the first workout, I did the second one too! First, I was only half way home when I finished the first one. I still had two miles to go! And I still felt pretty good, so I figured instead of just walking the rest of the way home, I might as well do some jogging too! The circuit training, or whatever it’s called, has made me stronger and given me more stamina than I’ve ever had before! Ladies and gentlemen, I know this isn’t saying much for some of you, as some of my friends are fitness professionals, but I have never felt so badass in my life! 

Truckin'...

Well ladies and gents, I am finally, mostly recovered from the trip to the new IVF Clinic for the all-day screening. I suspect that my having chosen to fly rather than drive or take the train resulted in more stress than there really needed to be, but it was an adventure anyway.

We left the house around 5:30 Thursday evening – BAMF and The Ginge being kind enough to not only drive us to the airport, but bring Pooka along as well, so she could see us off. Mama agreed to stay at the house with Pooka, so that she’d have a responsible adult near at hand. I saw on the Facebooks that Mama and Pooka sat up a little after bedtime to finish watching an episode of “American Horror Story.” Good show, that.

Meanwhile, Hubs and I flew down to Washington-Dulles, had an hour layover, then flew back up to Newark, where we caught a cab for the 20-minute ride to our hotel. We arrived just after midnight. Not my favorite thing ever. The hotel was nice, though. Very modern. Lots of bright pastels and large photos covering literally the entirety of one wall in each area. The only downside was that when we went to flush the toilet in our bathroom on Friday morning, the bottom of the tank sort of exploded water everywhere. Now THAT was a sight to see. Ha!

We got breakfast with Mum and Dad (read: Intended Parents) early-ish on Friday morning, for which they refused to let us pay. I suspect Hubs may have anticipated that, so he only ordered a bagel and coffee. I, on the other hand, expected to pay for our breakfast, so I got a tasty egg white and veggie ciabatta sandwich with a side of fresh fruit.  We had a great conversation and lots of laughs, as per the usual.

After breakfast we took the hotel’s complimentary shuttle down the road to the IVF Clinic where we met with a very nice social worker who, as I predicted, asked us all the same questions we went over on the phone. And Hubs and I took the same personality profile as last time; after which the social worker informed us that neither of us are crazy, so that was good.  We did blood work, the results for which won’t be available till either this coming Friday or Monday. I doubt there’s anything wrong with either of us, though.

We also met with the social worker and Mum and Dad all together and went over everything that Mum and I discussed and decided early on. No, I’m not going to argue about terminating the pregnancy if the parents and doctor think it best. No, I don’t mind if they attend every single OB appointment. Yes, they can obviously be in the delivery room. Yes, I’ll carry twins. Blah, blah, blah. Mum and I had a giggle over all those questions, simply because we had already agreed on the answers.

I also got to have another sonohysterogram. That’s where they fill my uterus up with sterile water and check it out via ultrasound. Normally it hurts and makes me crampy, but the doctor who did it must have magic instruments because I didn’t even flinch. He said everything looks… Guess the word, folks? That’s right; perfect. MUAHAHA! Mum was of course pleased to hear it over lunch, which they ordered out. (Pizza is my downfall, and yet I managed to stick to one piece only! Huzzah!)

As we were finishing up our lunch, one of the nurses came in to discuss medications and the like. It’s VERY different than the last IVF Clinic’s regimen. I’ll be back on “dinosaur shots” (leuprolide, which BAMF once thought said, “liopleuridon,” hence “dinosaur shots”) even though this is a frozen cycle. They’ve decided to keep me on Estrace pills and Vivelle patches because they worked well for WiggleWorm and Tempest, but they want me to do the progesterone as intramuscular injections. Mind you, I’m not much bothered by needles, but If they’re going to keep me on the same type and dosage of estrogen, why not keep the progesterone the same, too? Additionally, they’re going to give me seven days worth of steroid shots post-transfer, to ensure that my body doesn’t reject the embryos. Clearly they don’t know me well. I joked that if they put me on steroids to prevent rejection of the embryo, they’ll more likely ensure that BOTH embryos will implant. But I was only half joking. I don’t call it the Uber-Ute for nothing!

The new IVF Clinic also apparently feels it necessary to do a kazillion ultrasounds in addition to the regular bloodwork to monitor beta hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels. Thankfully, I can have all of that done close to home, and won’t need to go back to the Clinic except to undergo the embryo transfer. After which, I will be instructed to go back to my hotel room and lounge around for 24 hours. That’s also new. The last Clinic sent me home about an hour after the transfer. Ah well; if the doctor says “be lazy,” then I’m gonna be lazy.

The trip home was long but good. We flew from Newark to Chicago, and got to spend a couple minutes with my in-laws, who we get to see far too rarely. We tried to see if there was a slightly later flight so we could spend some extra time, but we wouldn't leave Chicago until 9:00pm Central Time, and it would cost an additional $150 to switch the flights. From Chicago, we flew back into the Queen City, where Mama picked us up and drove us, at long last, home.

On an unrelated note, I’ve spent this month learning to work out and eat healthier. It’s. Working. By my measurements, I’ve lost about five inches off my midsection, not to mention whatever has slipped off my thighs, arms and other fat-lumps I’ve been dying to burn for years. I haven’t lost diddly as far as the scale is concerned, but frankly I don’t care. I’m watching myself get smaller, and I love it! I’m not starving myself – if anything, I’m eating MORE, but better. As I type this, I’m pausing intermittently to spoon plain Greek yogurt with a bit of honey and raspberries into my mouth. Best. Diet. Ever.

I’m also learning to break my empty-carb addiction. It turns out that I may have a mild sensitivity to wheat gluten. Just enough to make my face and fingers swell a little after eating them. Having switched to mostly gluten-free or at least sprouted grains, I can now fit my wedding and engagement rings easily onto my thumb.

Well readers, it’s been real. It’s been fun. It’s even been real fun. But it’s also almost 11:00 and I still need to jump in the shower before I can crash for the night, so for now… Th-th-th-that’s all, folks!

All Sorts of News!

I got to talk to Mum on the phone for a little while the other day. It turns out her egg retrieval went better than expected and the clinic has lots of high-quality embryos. The IVF Doctor is therefore suggesting that Mum try one more IVF cycle before they go through with impregnating me. Mum says that neither she nor the IVF doctor are hopeful that a pregnancy will stick, but they’re going to try it anyway. The reason Mum called was to basically ask for my blessing on it.

I guess I kind of feel like there has to be SOME hope of a pregnancy sticking, or it would be a total waste of Mum and Dad’s time, not to mention one last emotional rollercoaster for them before a really, REALLY big roller-coaster with surrogacy. Regardless: How could I NOT give them my blessing? I mean, the purpose of all this is to make them parents. If they can do it without me, GREAT! It means they’ll have better luck with a second baby if they decide to try for one down the road!

Mum says I’m wonderful for thinking this way, but I can’t imagine a surrogate who wouldn’t. I’d say I made out pretty well on this deal. I got to meet two incredible human beans, and Mum has assured me that we’ll stay in touch, no matter what happens. (She’s also promised to compensate me for my time, but it’s not like I’ve lost any, even if I didn’t take into account that meeting them was totally worth the tiny bit of time I’ve spent on this so far. Hubs, Pooka and I were already in Boston when we had breakfast together – which Mum and Dad paid for - and it’s not like she ate up a lot of minutes or data with texting, phone calls and emails. Ha!)

The testing is going ahead on October 25^th, despite all this. It makes sense: Mum and Dad want to cover all of their bases. I spoke to my very favorite Coordinator at The Agency about travel arrangements. I could be misinterpreting, but it seems like Mum and Dad are very, VERY accommodating. The new contract says they’ll pay for airfare, cab and hotel arrangements. What I didn’t realize in reading the contract was that this means that The Agency will arrange and pay for the airfare and hotel out of Mum & Dad’s escrow account, AND send me the funds to cover cab fare and meals allowance. With WiggleWorm & Tempest’s contract, we paid up front and got reimbursed.

The new IVF Doctor called me today to chat about my history and the process, etc. He seems nice enough, if extremely soft-spoken. I had to turn my desk phone’s volume up to the max to hear everything he had to say. We talked about my medical history, and I told him what worked best during the last three IVF cycles, as far as administering medications. I also told him that at the Other IVF Clinic, they transferred 3 frozen embryos for the last two cycles, but that I suspect they did this because the embryos had been frozen for the better part of two years. In Mum and Dad’s case, the embryos will only have been frozen for a couple of months.

The IVF Doctor seemed a little surprised by how much I knew about the process, and pleased that I was able to tell him how often and in what manner I took the medications, as well as remembering the names of the medications themselves (Estradiol, Vivelle patches and Crinone gel). I guess other carriers just do what they’re told, and don’t pay attention to the process itself? It does seem to be an American trend to not want/need to take note of the procedures we undergo. Personally, I like to be informed rather than blindly trust someone else with my care.

Anyway, we’re on for the 25^th! Mum and Dad had airfare and cab fare written into the contract in addition to the normal reimbursement for expenses and stuff. On top of that, the arrangements are being made by The Agency, and everything is being paid for up front, so we don’t have to pay anything out-of-pocket. HOW COOL IS THAT! So if I understand it correctly, Hubs and I will fly down to The Clinic on the 24^th, do testing and psych evals for 5-6 hours on the 25^th and then fly home. WHEE!

Repetitive, Redundant...

So, in the dictionary under, “redundant” it says, “see redundant.” (Thank you, Robin Williams, for that little nugget. It’s one of my favorites.)

I called the social worker at the new IVF Clinic today. She asked me a bunch of questions about my home life, like: “You’re married, right? How long have you been married?” And “How many kids do you have? How old are they?” Then we moved on to the more pressing matters, like: “Do you have a history of drug or alcohol use?” And, “How do you think you’ll feel about relinquishing the child after it’s born?” The answers to these respective questions, by the way, are: Yes. Three years. One. Thirteen. I imbibed as teenagers do, but quit after my first semester of college. And as with the last two, I’m confident that I’ll be fine, since I can’t really relinquish a baby that isn’t mine.

It just seems like we could (and probably will) do this line of questioning at the all-day screening appointment; which by the way is confirmed for October 25^th.

The social worker seems very nice, to be fair, and I’m sure this is all just standard procedure; I’m just whiny because I’ve done all this before; I don’t see a need to do it all over again.

I Like Ta Move It, Move It!

At long last, my records have made their way down to the new IVF Clinic! Poor Mum has been anxious to get the process started, but it’s nothing but a game of hurry-up-and-wait at this point. I can’t be a preggosaurus again until late December/early January.

Even so, there are screenings to do, apparently both over the phone and in person. I have one with the social worker on the 25^th, presumably to discuss my previous experiences as a surrogate, and to make sure I’m mentally stable enough to handle a third gestational carrier cycle. Then on October 10, I have a short phone call with the IVF Doctor at the new clinic. I have no idea what we’ll discuss; I’ve gone over my medical history with his nurse, in triplicate. They probably just have to be really, REALLY sure that I’m healthy or something.

Then on the 24^th, Hubs and I will drive down to the new IVF Clinic’s area and crash overnight in a nearby hotel, so we can start the all-day screening process. If I’m being absolutely honest, I’m not excited about the screenings. The physical exams and blood work make sense; as does the review of medications I’m going to have to take. This clinic has a thing for intramuscular injections, whereas the previous one only did Leuprolide (dinosaur shots, as my friend BAMF calls them) via injection. And since Mum and Dad just had some embryos frozen, I don’t think I’ll need to do that. But I digress.

The part I don’t happily anticipate is the hours-long “personality test” they make me do – the MMPI2. Honestly, anyone with half a brain can tell what the test is trying to determine, based on each question. I could make them think I was absolutely batty if I wanted to mess with them. Plus, the social worker usually grills me and Hubs about what we expect from the experience, how we’d react in rhetorical situations, blah, blah, blah. It’s dull and pointless. I’ve proven twice now, that I don’t consider the immediate postpartum hand-off as “giving the baby up.” It’s not mine to begin with, so I can’t give it up. All I do is hand him/her off to his/her actual parents and get wheeled off to take a nap and get spoiled by the nurses for a couple of days.

Oh well. Part of the process, I guess. LOL.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman!

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce a smaller, lighter… ME! Since my last prenatal weigh-in, I have lost 25, that’s right: TWENTY FIVE POUNDS, ladies and gents! No, I haven’t starved myself, and I just started really exercising hard this week. I have to say, though, that the discovery of the aforementioned weight loss has definitely made me want to continue exercising hard.

I should clarify that by “exercising hard” I mean “jogging.” I started this Couch-To-5K program on Monday and oh. my. GAWD, does it kick my butt. I’ve done it twice, and it really IS doable, it just sucks while it’s happening. The first week, you do a 5-minute warm-up walk, then alternate jogging for 60 seconds and walking for 90 seconds. You do this for 20 minutes, then do a 5-minute cool down walk. Repeat three times per week. Frankly, I hate it; but only while I’m doing it. Afterward, I feel all accomplished and sweaty. I’ve done it twice. I think I’m gonna need to repeat the first week though. I can do it without being too out of breath, but my legs get super sore (Yes, Lord Bear, you were right about sore legs. But Flo Rida’s “Sometimes I Get A Good Feeling” is a FABULOUS walking/jogging song, and that helps me keep going.)

Last night was a friend of Pooka’s birthday, so he and his brother came over to hang out (his party is later). We had Wife Soup – a creamy steak and potato soup I concocted a couple years back – and chocolate cake and ice cream. Of course, I completely pigged out, so to counteract it, I went for a 40-minute walk to the beat of “Sometimes I Get A Good Feeling.”

Anyway! Baby stuff!

Tuesday evening was my six-week checkup (and that was where I learned how much weight I lost). One of Hubs’ coworkers is this lovely, adorable little preggosaurus, with an absolutely gorgeous sleeve tattoo – I’ll call her Ink – and she agreed to go with me to my appointment, so she’d get an idea what to expect when she visits The Big Hospital.

Dr. Mischief was fairly amused during my exam. I’ve been poked and prodded and examined and inspected so many times by now, that I knew what he was going to do and when, so before he got a chance to say, “You’re going to feel a little pressure,” as most OB’s do, I announced, “Now I’m going to feel a little bit of pressure” and so on. I don’t think he’s used to patients doing his usual play-by-play. Ha! His nurse got a couple giggles out of the whole thing too.

Everything looked great, according to Dr. Mischief, and he gave me the green-light to go ahead and do another cycle in December. Needless to say, Mum was pleased to hear it when I emailed her and The Agency to let them know. I’m sure the new IVF Clinic will need some form of written clearance, but a verbal is encouraging.

After the appointment, Ink and I went out to dinner at this super yummy farm-to-table restaurant in The Queen City, and found me some running shoes. The store I went to wasn’t the one that was recommended by my coworkers and friends who run, but the associate was very helpful and I tried on a bunch of shoes before I picked out a pair of dark blue and bright pink Ghost 6’s by Brooks. Let me tell you, folks, those buggers make running and walking and standing SO much more comfortable! And they’re lighter than my sandals, even. I was really surprised when I tried them on, because they look bulky, but I went to pick up my foot to walk, expecting to have to lift half a pound per foot or something, and wound up stumbling because it was like lifting a bare foot. Ha!

So I guess jogging might actually be for me in the long run, and further weight loss is in my future. Don’t worry; I’ll ease up a little once it’s time to get preggo again. But not too much. I don’t want to wind up going backward!

Schlemiel! Schlemazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated!

(Yes, I am indeed aware of what the Yiddish words in the title mean. However, I am making a pop culture reference from the 1970's, so their definitions aren't intended to apply to this post.)

Got a copy of my previous surrogacy contract from The Agency this morning, so I could look it over and let them know what I wanted to change, money-wise, before it goes to “my” lawyer for a higher level of scrutiny. Personally, I’m confident that my thinkmeats are functional enough to be able to decide for myself what the contract should look like, as I’ve read it through carefully on two separate occasions. But The Agency wants my proverbial buns covered, so it’s going to a lawyer up in the Queen City once The Agency and my new Intended Parents (IPs) have put it together to their satisfaction. Anyway, I emailed the Coordinator back to ask a few questions and make sure things tied out properly.

Yesterday, during our chat with our new IPs (*SQUEE!* I love the sound of that already!), we learned that their previous experience with a carrier had not gone the way they had hoped. It’s not my place to share specific details, but suffice it to say none of it worked out. In the end it boils down to: No wonder the Coordinator emailed me. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but clearly Mum and Dad need someone stable; someone who’s going to stick it out no matter what. And I am that. I am stubborn if absolutely nothing else. I will. Not Quit, until I am pregnant and have confirmation that the baby is healthy and the pregnancy is normal.

It was interesting to learn that Mum and Dad were as nervous about me accepting or rejecting them as I was about them accepting or rejecting me. Granted, it helps a lot that apparently The Agency thinks highly of me, but there’s always a sort of natural fear of rejection. As it turns out, The Agency thinks highly enough of me that they emailed me last week to ask if they could give my email address to a new surrogate who wanted to talk to an “experienced” one. Hee hee. Even that sounds odd to me. I’ve had two babies in as many years, and that makes me experienced. I wonder if it’s got something to do with my obsessive need to research the bejesus out of anything I plan to do, before I do it. Hmm…

Anyway, back on topic: I will admit I was a little hesitant about working with a straight couple at first. Not because I have anything against straight people, but because I wasn’t sure how another woman would react to me carrying her child for her. I mean, it can’t be easy to watch someone else do something you desperately want to do for yourself, even if she’s doing it for you. So I asked Mum on the phone on Saturday about that. Well, round-aboutly, anyway. Her response was honest, which I appreciate, and optimistic. She confided that she did find it difficult to discover that she can’t carry a baby, but she’s excited to share in the process anyway. Men don’t understand what it’s like, so it’s not quite the same talking to them. With a gestational carrier, she has the chance to talk to someone who really does get it, and can share in her enthusiasm. That pretty much took care of any reticence I had.

Besides, like I said before: We have a LOT in common. I’m not the only one who does her research (I saw that you checked out my LinkedIn profile, Mum!). We’re both serious list-makers and neatniks. We both love big projects, and we’re both a couple of Irish spitfires. Our hubses tend to sit back when we get wound up and wait patiently for the temperamental flare-up to die out before bothering to approach again. We’ll be doing the Wizard-of-Oz skip and singing the theme song to “Laverne and Shirley” in no time.

Let's Do This Like Brutus!

Getting up at 1:00 in the morning is harder than staying up until 1:00 in the morning. We had to, though, to get to the airport in time to pick Pooka up on her return from California. Thankfully, Hubs is very good at staying up late, so that's what he did. He stayed up and let me sleep, then drove down to the airport. We listened to standup comedy the whole way. Good times.

Pooka's flight arrived ten minutes early, much to my delight, and I got good hugs once she got off the plane. Little monkey had to borrow an additional carry-on bag from my mother just to fit all of her loot. We got her baggage in a lot less time than I'm used to. The airport up in the Queen City is deathly slow by comparison. 

From the airport, we shuffled off to a nearby hotel for breakfast at their little restaurant with the previously mentioned potential Intended Parents. Food was good, but truth be told, the company was the best part. Turns out Mum and I have a lot in common, and we operate very similarly. Dad and Hubs seem to share some personality traits too.

We talked for the better part of three hours, about nearly everything under the sun. Well, not really, but we covered all the important stuff and then some. There was a lot of laughing. Hubs, Pooka and I were very imoressed. Mum and Dad are very easy to get along with and very likeable. Needless to say, by the end of our visit we agreed to have The Agency draw up a contract.

So, come December/January if all goes well, I should be on a new adventure with two parents instead of just one.

First Impressions

Well, Mum and I got to talk on the phone this morning and I must say she sounds like a thoughtful, easygoing kind of lady. So far I think she's marvelous. Her phone voice comes across as bubbly and cheerful but not so perky as to be obnoxious. Her questions were organized, which always impresses me, but she let the conversation sort of go wherever it went. She's highly complimentary and laughs easily, which once again I like very much. She also expressed that communication via email and text is easiest for her, which works beautifully for me. I'm the same way. It's not that I don't like to talk on the phone, it's just that email and text is so much less intrusive on other people's space.

Mum asked me about our little family, and about myself. I told her we're a little cluster of nerds - that Hubs and I met on a role-playing website (not a kinky one, but like Dungeons and Dragons. Get your minds out of the gutter) and didn't actually mean to fall in love with one another initially. That Miss Pooka is nearly thirteen; that we have a feline companion who named himself CatButt; and that we're a bunch of homebodies. We talked a little about our jobs: How Hubs is a licensed high school English teacher, but that teaching gigs are slim on the ground, so he's busting his butt in the kitchen at a local restaurant to help make ends meet. How much time I took off of my job after I had Tempest. That kind of thing.

We also talked about how much involvement she might like to have in the pregnancy. Mum and I both agreed that the more involved she is, the better. And Dad too, of course, but I suspect that the menfolk in this arrangement will be supporting cast rather than taking up starring roles. I know Hubs will, at the very least. I explained to her that I've got no problems being touched, and that I'd prefer that she and Dad make themselves as well known to their munchkin in-utero as possible.

We exchanged cell phone numbers and email addresses, and I've given her the link to this blog, so now I have to be super careful of what I say. Ha! I grew up in a family where the dynamic was: If you're not picked on, you're not well liked. I therefore submit that I shall remain irreverent here and anywhere I can get away with it.

Anyway, Mum and I have been texting off and on since our phone conversation. We're meeting up for breakfast down in her area (which is not actually near her Clinic, as I had suspected, but IS near the airport where we're picking Pooka up from her two-week vacation out in California with my Mom and StepDad, Lord and Lady Bear, Stepsister Moop and her Hubs and Monkey) tomorrow morning, right near the airport. Convenience for the win!

Matchsticks, Round 2!

I got the new potential Intended Parents’ profile today! What? It’s not like I’ve been waiting on pins and needles, bouncing in my chair or anything… Totally haven’t been. Hush, you.

I really like the sound of this couple. No joke. I do. Especially Mum. The parents and the carrier are all asked: “What is your philosophy in life?” Her answer was one simple word: “Laugh.” If nothing else had won me over in this stage of the matching process, that alone would have done it. Laugh. It’s one of the biggest, and probably my favorite part of my relationship with Hubs. Our wedding was all about it. Much of the way we interact with Pooka is about laughter. Seriously, that was the best answer Mum could have given. Dad’s answer was excellent, too: “Stop and smell the roses as often as possible.” I interpret this to mean, “Choose to focus on the positive.” Perhaps I’ll ask if that’s what he meant when we talk on the phone.

The Coordinator and I emailed back and forth a little bit this morning and I expect I should hear back from her within the next couple days to arrange “the phone call.” If we still like each other at the end of the phone call, we’ll schedule an in-person meeting. I’m not sure what Mum and Dad’s expectations are on that score – if they’ll want to meet and get things moving right away so that once I’ve got the green-light from their fertility specialist, we can do a transfer, or what.

That’d be another new adventure. It looks like Mum & Dad started out with the same fertility clinic I visited for Wiggle Worm and Tempest, but that they switched to another one which I presume is closer to home for them. This might mean all new psych screenings as well as the standard physiological tests. Or their clinic might accept our evaluation results from the previous clinic, given that we’ve done two surrogacies at this point. I’m not that bothered either way. I know how the process works, and I’m still mentally and emotionally fine with handing over a baby that isn’t mine. The only “concern” anybody might raise is that not everyone’s personalities are compatible. But you know what? The Coordinator is VERY good at her job, and I’m pretty easy to get along with.

I think that’s pretty much all I have for speculation for today, but I promise to post more for all you rabid readers, once I have more to share. In the meantime, th-th-th-That’s all, Folks!

Back In The Saddle! Well, Stirrups Anyway...

Well folks: Tempest is four weeks old today and already my name is back in the surrogacy pot! I emailed the most lovely, most helpful carrier coordinator at The Agency and let her know I’d be available for another transfer probably around December-ish. She sent me my most recent profile for updating, and so, being me and preferring to get everything done sooner rather than later, I revised it to the best of my ability. There are a couple of doctor’s appointments I need to schedule – a physical and a pap exam – and of course I need to have a couple normal menses so that I can eventually report my cycle to a fertility specialist.

Anyway before I had even finished updating my profile, the aforementioned marvelous coordinator emailed me to let me know that she might have a straight couple who’d be a good match, and who’d probably be willing to wait for me to be ready in December. “HOLY CARP,” thinks me! Seriously folks, I don’t think there could BE a bigger ego boost than that. As far as I've been told, the couple has seen my profile now and likes it, so the coordinator is just waiting to talk to them about a few things this week, and we’ll see if I like their profile.

I honestly am really excited about getting back into the matching process. Don’t get me wrong: I.F. is wonderful and I’m so happy I got to meet him and be a small part of his life. His babies are beautiful and I wish all three of them only the best, always. But it’s time for someone else to have a turn. It sounds like the couple who’s got my profile right now are a little farther away than I.F. was and where The Fertility Clinic we used for Wiggle Worm and Tempest is, but I've been through the couple’s general vicinity a number of times, so the drive is familiar.

So yay! I’ll be back at it in no time! Whee!

Holding

Tempest is nearing two weeks old, and I’m back to work. I’ll be honest: The last two weeks have been a ridiculously dull adventure. No, seriously. I already mentioned that I passed out an hour or so after giving birth to the munchkin, but that wasn't the last of it. After I got home, lightheadedness and fuzzy hearing became a sort of regular thing. Walking to the bathroom wiped me out and sometimes made me have to sit down. Washing dishes required numerous breaks. Even showering took it out of me.

On the 4^th, I decided to get out of the house and hit the grocery store for some necessities since Hubs was at work and obviously couldn't do it for me. Pooka and I shuffled slowly through the small store and she did most of the work, tossing our few purchases into the cart for me while I leaned heavily on it. I couldn't figure out why people were looking at me funny, or why Pooka was being so solicitous. Once we got most of the way through the checkout line, I figured out why. I had been feeling pretty weak and wobbly, but I figured it had to do with having been in bed or sitting on the couch for more than a week. Nope. I nearly passed out in the checkout line. I figured out what was going on in time for me to hand Pooka my debit card and go settle on a bench at the front of the store with my head between my knees.

My little girl, I am proud to say, handled the remainder of the transaction, loaded the car and helped me to it without batting an eyelash or even taking the time to look concerned. She’s good in a crisis, is Pooka. She grabbed me a soda (I hadn't eaten that day yet, either. Just hadn't been hungry) to boost my blood sugars and made sure I was alert, responsive and in proper shape to drive the half mile home before we went anywhere.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it turns out that I was low on iron. Hubs picked up some iron tablets for me that evening and I have gotten progressively stronger since. No more fainting episodes; no more lightheadedness.

In other news: Husband and I have talked and while our original plan was to start trying for our own offspring in December/January, certain circumstances have led us to decide to do one more surrogacy before we procreate. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of flak from hopeful grandparents for it, but it’s just not a great idea right now. First and foremost, I've applied for a new job. It would be better, if I get it, not to have to take three months off for maternity leave within the first year.

All By Myself!

Now that I've had some sleep and shed my horrid hospital gown in favor of Hubs' soft green pajama bottoms and my chibi Batman tee shirt, I'm ready to delve into the saga of giving birth to a Tempest.

Tuesday evening Hubs, Mama, The Ginge and I spent a marvelous few hours rolling dice and pretending to be characters in a Dungeons & Dragons kind of world. We ate pizza, chips and dip and drank soda and generally enjoyed the hell out of ourselves. 

Once everyone else took their leave, Hubs and I settled down in the living room to unwind before bed. A little before 10:00 pm, I felt a strange sort of "pop" between my hips and suddenly there was water all over me. I jumped up so as to avoid flooding the living room and rushed for the loo. Except Pooka was in there, going through her evening routine. All things considered, she was exceptionally gracious in having been rather unceremoniously ejected from the bathroom.

It was near 11:45 pm when, having made arrangements with our fabulous neighbors (who didn't threaten homicide when I called them at 10:45 at night) for Pooka to be supervised overnight and having loosed a veritable Lake Superior on three poor, unsuspecting beach towels and a regular bath towel - he asked for it - we arrived at The Big Hospital.

As was to be expected, the very nice nurses hooked me up to monitors, called in the resident to make sure that yes, my membranes had actually ruptured and I was indeed having some contractions. 

It didn't take long for the damnable things to get stronger though. I was desperate to get up and move around and get into the room's tub. Lucky for me, the transistor paddles (or at least I think that's what they're called) weren't working, and it took another half hour to find some that did, so I could still be monitored in the tub. I finally got in, though, and the hot water did seem to help some. But alas, the "midwife's epidural" only works so long, and the beastly things got stronger again.

Now, mind you, I had been up since 6:30 that morning, had worked a full day, and hadn't slept at all. I was absolutely exhausted. So I asked for an epidural. The anesthesiologist came in and when I told him that epidurals have not worked on my right side, he guaranteed me that this one would. My brilliant nurse, Jess, managed to do my I.V. mid-flailing-contraction and helped me back to bed so I could hopefully get some relief.

Well, the anesthesiologist was not wrong: My right side had no problems getting relief. My nervous system, however, had decided that it was not to be trifled with, and left a "window" open on my left side: at and around the crook of my left hip and leg. Hubs had earlier tried to suggest to me that at least I got SOME pain relief. The anesthesiologist and I both informed him in no uncertain terms that a partial epidural is as good as none at all.  So while the poor anesthesia doctors fiddled with my epidural, I leaned forward on Hubs' chest and made a lot of noise. Nothing. Worked. Finally, the poor man agreed to take the initial catheter out of my spine and try a second time. 

By this point I was well into transitional labor: bellowing like the bastard love-child of a bull and a banshee, accidentally manhandling my poor nurse at one point because Hubs had stepped away and I couldn't reach him as the contraction came on. Thankfully he stepped in and rescued the horror-struck woman and let me wail once more into his muscular chest. I married a true gentleman, I did.

I would like to take a moment from reporting baby-related facts and point out that despite the very intense sensations involved in labor, somehow leaning on Hubs with my face pressed against his chest made the whole thing a lot more tolerable. In truth, the reason I wound up manhandling Jess, to whom I have apologized profusely, was because I freaked out and lost control at not having Hubs at hand, so I grabbed her shirt to try to pull her closer so I could lean on her until the contraction passed. My point is: everything is better with Hubs.

During all this hubbub, I started to feel like I had to pee. I asked Jess to catheterize me, and instantly regretted it. No matter what I did, the sensation did not go away. After trying to tolerate it for a while, I begged her to take it back out again. Once she did this, I was able to sit up again so that our poor anesthesiologist could do as he had suggested: take out the first epidural and try for a second one. He worked quickly and quietly despite my continued bull-banshee wails. As he began to tape the catheters in place, the urge to pee came on so strongly, I figured, "What the hell? I'll just piss the bed." At which point I began to wonder why my abdominal muscles were trying so hard to do so.

Just as the good doctor finished taping my back up, I had a second revelation: I wasn't peeing, my body was PUSHING and had NO interest in whether or not my brain concurred. Not only that, but there was the top of a HEAD making contact with the mattress! I think I declared something composed and rational like, "Oh shit, I'm pushing!" This, of course, got everyone scrambling. The doctors asked me to not do so while Hubs and Jess helped me lay down. I tried to inform them that my brain was not in control at that moment, but all I could scream was something akin to, "I can't help it! It's coming NOW!" 

Hubs tells me, in deliberately careful tones, that "there were... Sounds..." while I pushed. I'm pretty sure I roared like an enraged walrus. I know this because afterward I sounded like someone who smoked six packs of Cuban cigars a day for fifty years, and inhaled every drag. Anyway, one or two bellowing pushes got the head out. One more produced the boniest shoulders I ever want to deliver again, and one last grunt left me with the feeling of relief that only childbirth can give. And I didn't even tear.

Tempest was born at 3:52 am on June 26, 2013. He weighs 7.38 pounds and sports a 14-inch noggin. He was 3 weeks, 2 days early but is overall healthier than Princess Wiggle-Worm was, as a post-dates baby.

But wait! There's more! I sent Hubs home to get some sleep, and waited around to be carted off to the mothers and babies ward. I was told I would be allowed to do this once I emptied my bladder. Thinking that all was well, I made my way to the bathroom while the medical staff tended to Tempest. Once my business was finished I stood up and slipped into the weird fishnet style undies and diaper-sized pad they give out and felt incredibly light headed. Deciding to finish covering my nakedness at long last, I managed to put my gown on backwards and stumbled to a nearby wheelchair before stating dazedly that I felt like I was going to pass out.

Apparently I did, and spasmed a little too, because the next thing I remember is feeling one set of hands holding a cool cloth to the front of my neck, another pair holding one to my forehead, a third pair putting something into my I.V. and I.F.'s hand taking my pulse. Turns out my blood pressure dropped off suddenly. The running theory is that the ridiculous amount of clotting that one of the residents scraped out of me by hand a little later was the culprit. 

Anyway, I'm okay now; Tempest is eating like a pig, pooping like there's no tomorrow and sleeping like a log. His Papa is beside himself with glee over his adorable new son, and I can't wait to go home and snuggle my own marvelous munchkin tomorrow.

Let's Try That Again: Good News & Not-Bad News

Apologies, everybody. Yesterday’s post was done on my iPad with a fried brain. Not that today is much better, but I have a proper keyboard with which to plunk out my thoughts. I will do my best to expound further on yesterday morning’s adventures, and follow up with the evening’s shenanigans.

Sunday evening I had a little bit of what’s called “bloody show.” For those of you who are unfamiliar with this rather gruesome portion of pregnancy, it’s a little bit of blood that comes out a little before, sometimes with, and sometimes after the mucus plug falls out. Yes, you read that right. There’s a plug in the cervix that’s made out of mucus. Its job is to hold everything nice and watertight while the baby grows. During the third trimester, it falls out; sometimes in one nasty swoop; other times in barely noticeable bits and pieces. This can happen weeks or even a month before labor begins.

Yesterday morning the bloody show was still there, but with more liquid than I’m used to. Not urine, ladies and gents, but a clear liquid that for me, brings back a vivid sense-memory of birth and delivery. So of course my foggy brain went, “my water must have ruptured up high again, and Tempest must be sealing it off, just like Pooka did. I was also having irregular but really intense contractions. I had an appointment scheduled anyway, so I decided to wait until I saw Dr. Firstname to mention it. He did a pelvic exam, along with my scheduled Group B Strep test (checking my bits for bacteria that could be harmful to the baby during delivery) and concluded that it probably wasn’t amniotic fluid (my water) but that I should keep an eye on it. Doctor’s orders were that if the leak persisted, I should go back up tomorrow – meaning today – and if it got worse, I should head back up to the Big Hospital that evening to be tested again, and if the leak turned out to be amniotic fluid, they’d induce labor.

Well, boys and girls, I wound up with a couple of good gushes around 5:30-6:00 last night, while standing in the kitchen. Hubs was making dinner already, and since it was clearly NOT the tsunami of membranes actually rupturing, we decided to relax, let my comfy labor clothes finish their turn in the dryer and have dinner before we drove up.

Upon arrival, I was informed by the lovely Young Nurse that I can indeed wear an oversized shirt rather than the scratchy, uncomfortable gowns they give people to wear at the hospital. This, I think, is EXCELLENT news. Hubs and his “theoretical lawyer” (aka. his best friend, with whom he was texting while we waited), declared a binding verbal agreement that if I give birth in his tee shirt, I can keep it; he’ll never wear it again. I’m okay with this. His tee shirts are soft and comfortable. Anyway, I got hooked up to the baby and contraction monitor and waited for doctors to come poke and prod me.

Several residents in the Big Hospital’s Birthing Center gave me the same pelvic exam – insert speculum, swab with nitrizine strips to test for the presence of amniotic fluid, make patient cough really hard and see if liquid eeks out. The residents concluded that it was definitely not amniotic fluid coming out of me, but that sometimes women at this stage of pregnancy can often times wind up with very damp discharge, and that given that the level of amniotic fluid measured around Tempest at this morning’s ultrasound, along with his steady, healthy heart rate and regular movement (he kept kicking the monitor paddle while I was being watched in the Birthing Center), they didn’t see a need to induce labor.

Oh, right! The ultrasound this morning! Tempest has turned on his own and as of yesterday morning was definitively head-down. He’s measuring in the 80-90^th percentile for his gestational age at 7 pounds, 8 ounces. The ultrasound tech and I made a bet to see how much he had grown. He said 7 pounds even. I said 7 and a half. I won. So at a month prior to his due date, he’s already bigger than his older sister was at birth. The doctors have mentioned, several times, that they should probably measure my pelvis to make sure he can get through. I keep reminding them: Pooka was 8 pounds, 10 ounces, and the circumference of her head was 13.5 inches. I pushed her out with nothing more than an episiotomy. I can fit this little dude. I.F. is overall quite pleased with things thus far, and was about ready to jump up and down at the news that Tempest is head-down now. Neither of us are terribly excited at the prospect of c-section.

I’ll admit, I was a little excited about the idea of having Tempest last night, but in thinking about it: I’m really sort of set on trying to do this without being induced. Had it happened last night, I would have had to be induced. Nicht ser gut.

We got home around 1:00 this morning, and then I woke up about every hour with contractions and having to pee, so as the internet meme says, “I cannot brain today. I have the dumb.” On the upside, contractions are back to being quite mild and other than a little discomfort when trying to stand up from a sitting or prone position, I’m pretty comfortable.

I think that’s all about which I have to ramble for today, so unless something spectacular happens between now and my next appointment: Stay tuned for more “ADVENTURES IN SURROGACY!”

Good News & not Bad News

Back up to the Big Hospital for what is hopefully the last time this pregnancy. Much to both mine and I.F.s surprise, Tempest turned himself when I wasn't paying attention. So he's head down all on his own which means no c-section for me; at least not for breech presentation anyway.

The new development is bloody show with possible amniotic fluid leaking. Because of the blood, Dr. Firstname was unable to tell for sure. So if it continues but doesn't get worse, I go back to the hospital tomorrow to be checked again. If it gets worse, I go back tonight. Either way, it sounds like induction for me. I've been having contractions all day. Pretty intense ones, too. 

We'll see!

Versions and Asian Food

Beware, people! Updates will be occurring weekly, beginning in two weeks… *Ominous music*

Yet another successful appointment at The Big Hospital last night, courtesy of “Mama.” Hubs had to work and therefore needed the car, so Mama generously agreed to drive me. We got to meet a new doctor – well, new to me anyway. I’ll call him Dr. Mischief, since the first thing he did when he walked into the room was to introduce himself as the high-risk doctor who saw me a couple times with Wiggle Worm. HA! I laughed and told him, “I don’t think so, sir. Dr. High Risk is a woman, and you’re very clearly not.” But I digress. There’s some to report before Dr. Mischief showed up.

The receptionist in OB, as it turns out, is a fellow Whovian. So while Mama and I waited for the nurse to call me in, we geeked out at the front counter for a while (and did more geeking out before we left!) Mama and our receptionist are both bummed out that Matt Smith is done being The Doctor after X-Mas. I’m sort of excited to see who they bring in after him, to be honest.

Once the young, energetic nurse did call us in and get us settled (I gained a pound), she asked if I had brought my glucose booklet.

“My what?” I asked.

“Your glucose booklet. It’s a little green booklet the doctor gave you to record your blood sugars,” she replied, looking as confused as I was.

“No one has ever given me a glucose booklet,” I frowned.

“No?” She asked, glancing at the computer screen that displayed my chart. “Did you do the glucose tolerance test?”

“I did,” I replied, trying to sound chipper. “It came back normal.”

She confirmed that it had, and explained that sometimes when people write up the summary slips to brief the doctors before they come in to see patients, the slips get rushed and mistakes get made. Honestly, I didn’t mind much. They usually get these mistakes ironed out in discussion with patients anyway. The nurse took my blood pressure, discussed her gorgeous new engagement ring with us and scurried off to find Dr. Mischief.

After the initial teasing, he settled straight down to work. He reiterated what the nurse had told us about needing to be tested for Group B Strep at my next visit, which I expected. He double-checked my chart to make sure that I was not, in fact, a gestational diabetic. He measured my uterus and declared me right on for dates: 34 weeks. He also did something no one else has done before; he listened to my belly with his stethoscope rather than searching for Tempest’s heartbeat with the Doppler, which requires goo to be smeared around my stomach, THEN put a tiny dab of goo down so he was pretty much right on the mark. The Doppler’s battery was dying though, so we were only able to hear him in bursts. Dr. Mischief declared everything great and healthy. What was amusing about this experience though, was that we could hear Tempest’s heart rate rising as he “wound up” for a good, hard kick. I've never felt anything like it before. I can tell when he’s waking up and getting ready to move around. It’s not easily described; he sort of inflates a little and I can feel the tension in my belly, almost like vibration, and then suddenly my belly distends rapidly and regains its shape just as quickly. Very strange sensations indeed.

We also discussed options if, at my 36-week ultrasound, Tempest is still breech. I asked if they do External Cephalic Version. Of course he replied that they do, and recommended that if the baby is indeed still breech on the 24^th, the group would generally recommend that I go straight up to labor & delivery to have the procedure done. There is a slight risk that it could break my water and set me into labor, but at 36 weeks, 3 days he’s developed enough that it wouldn't hurt him to be born that day anyway. In later discussion with I.F., it sounds like he’d prefer to wait till the following week, just in case I did go into labor. I’m pretty confident that I wouldn't  but I’m not a medical expert, either. Either way, unless Tempest does a major flip between now and then, I’m going to have my labor & delivery bag packed and waiting in the car, just in case.

After the appointment, Mama and I went to an Asian restaurant two towns over from The Big Hospital, for dinner. She got a sushi platter which she said was fantastic. I got pad thai that was soupy with overcooked noodles. Blech. We agreed that I had been watching too much "Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares" on Netflix, because I poked at just about everything I thought might be wrong with the place. In honesty, it was nearly five minutes before anyone even acknowledged us, let alone showed us to one of the many empty tables in the place. The crab rangoons were tiny but crunchy and not the worst I've had. Again; really bad pad thai, and the waitress completely forgot to bring me the soda I had ordered. I asked about it halfway through the meal and she finally went and got it. Hubs says I should give every restaurant two tries before I decide to stop going there. He's pretty much always right, so I will; just not for a while. Ha!

Juicing...YEAH!

Over the last week or so, Tempest has made it very difficult to keep food down. Even eating tiny meals slowly has made little difference. Greasy food is a DEFINITE no-no, as is fake sugar and anything high in saturated fat; whether greasy or not. Big meals are out, and small meals MUST be eaten VERY slowly. Take a tiny bite, chew it to mush, swallow and wait 2-3 minutes before taking the next tiny bite. Drink water between bites. And even then, I wind up burping more than a beer-chugging frat boy. Ah, the glamour of pregnancy.

I jokingly suggested to Hubs, yesterday, that perhaps I should consider “juicing.” No, not steroids: Geez. I mean going on a liquid diet. Silken tofu and various fruits and vegetables pureed in a blender with some juice or other liquid. Out of curiosity, I tried a smoothie for breakfast this morning instead of something more solid. Aside from the inevitable belching, I haven’t been forced to bow at the feet of Ralph, The Porcelain God yet. The day is still young but if this keeps up, I’m pulling the blender back out of retirement and buying stock in tofu at the local Coop.

I think Tempest is still breech, but he did some seriously wild wiggling last night when I went to bed, so for all I know he may very well have flipped around. If not, he clearly has the ability to do so. But we’ll find out for sure on the 24^th when we have our 36-week ultrasound. I.F. seems amenable to the possibility of external cephalic version: Turning the baby around from the outside, manually. Basically the doctor (with or without the assistance of a nurse-midwife) would give me a shot of muscle relaxer aimed at the uterus specifically, and push and prod at Tempest through my belly to try to get him to turn around so he’s head-down. I’ll admit that this idea makes me feel a lot better than just leaving him as he is, and insisting on a C-section. *FINGERS CROSSED*

Flip, Curse You!

Well we’re now into OB visits every other week. As of Friday I was exactly 32 weeks pregnant (224 days, or 13,440 hours, or 806, 400 minutes, or 48,384,000 seconds). Yesterday I drove up to The Big Hospital, stopping nearly halfway between home and there, to empty my already empty stomach. Tempest has been giving me a hard time about overeating; eating oily or greasy foods (apparently even just root vegetables with a little bit of olive oil sprinkled on them to prevent them from burning when I roast them); or, well… Just eating food in general. One bite too many and suddenly I’m fighting to keep it down. Mind you, his sister did the same thing, but she was far gentler about it. She preferred that I just empty that one extra bite, please, she just needed a teensy bit more room. Not Tempest! Little stormling feels that if I’ve impeded on his space at all, EVERYTHING MUST BE PURGED! Bless ‘im.

My favorite nurse weighed me at two pounds lighter than last visit, which of course caused me to assume I was going to get scolded again. Au contraire, mes amis! Dr. Goggles told me he was glad to see it. The new standard, apparently, is for a preggosaurus to gain between 10-20 pounds during pregnancy. My net gain thus far is only eleven! WOOT! I got a shot for the nausea, which helped a bit; and a tetanus/pertussis (whooping cough) booster, to make sure that some of the antibodies from the pertussis vaccination eeks through the placenta and transfers to Tempest. The nurse gives great needle, but inevitably I wind up with a killer headache and a sore arm for several days afterward. Oh well; it’s for the little one. I can take it.

Dr. Goggles measured my fundal growth, and declared Tempest to be about two weeks ahead of the curve, but not to worry – at this stage, every baby grows differently. The ultrasound basically confirmed this. While “What To Expect While You’re Expecting” suggests that babies at this stage of development are usually around four-ish pounds, Tempest weighs a solid five. His head and belly are up around the 90^th percentile for size, which puts him in the 70^th overall. In other words; he’s a big baby. He’s still in frank breech position, but nobody’s worried about that right now. He’s still got two months to turn. Both Pooka (and reportedly Lord Bear as well) turned about a week before their due dates; dramatically so, even. They were also both large babies. Pooka weighed 8lbs, 10oz. Lord Bear was closing in on 10lbs, if I remember my mother’s recounting correctly.

The only concern I have about Tempest remaining breech is that I REALLY, REALLY don’t want to have a cesarean section. One: I don’t like surgery. Two: Epidurals don’t work on my right side, and while many have reassured me that spinal blocks are totally different, I’m still wary. I do NOT want to feel myself being cut open. And three: If I have a C-section, it will throw off mine and Hubs’ timeline for trying for a little monkey of our own. So if any of you lovely readers could send some thoughts along to encourage Tempest to get into the proper, head-down, rear-facing position by 36 weeks, I’d REALLY appreciate it.

Symphysis, Not Syphilis!

Friday was a fairly productive day. I got to sleep in till 7:30 which, for the record, is when I typically start my day at work. Got Pooka up and headed for school, showered and was on my way to The Big Hospital by 8:40.

One of the things I love most about Dr. Badass is that she’s completely frank with me. Not to mention quick-witted and charismatic. Anyway, she walked into the exam room, dropped my chart on the little desk, flopped in the chair and declared that she was so excited to see my chart come up on her pile today, because she trusted that she could just relax and be aware that if there was anything wrong, I’d already know it, declare it and probably already have a handle on it. Admittedly, I puffed up over this. Most doctors treat their patients like they know nothing and don’t pay attention to their bodies at all.

As it happened, I did tell her that Tempest was putting a lot of pressure on my pelvis, and that I could feel the bones moving. I told her I knew it was normal; it’s just more noticeable this pregnancy. She told me it’s called symphisis pubis separation. SYMPHYSIS, not SYPHILIS! Stupid spell-check. I also told her that I had started to have swelling in my right ankle and foot. In light of my blood pressure (128/78) that morning, I doubted it was anything about which I needed to be overly concerned, but that I was going to try to watch my sodium intake; read labels, etc. and see if that helped. She agreed that it’s not a big deal, especially since no other parts of my body are swollen, but that if I wanted to try to slow up on sodium, it couldn't hurt. (At this point in the pregnancy with Wiggle-Worm, I was already wearing my wedding and engagement ring on a cord around my neck. They’re still fitting loosely right now.) My uterus was measured and declared perfect (See? They always use that word with me), as was Tempest’s heartbeat, and the visit was basically over.

Some other personal things came up which required a bit of legwork in and around the Queen City, and after that I sneaked over to the big mall to check out the maternity clothing store (CatButt accidentally tore my favorite preggo yoga pants) and walked out with a SUPER soft, comfy pair of preggo leggings and four cute, girly preggo shirts. Damn that store. The clothes are a little pricey but everything I try on makes me feel adorable, so I always spend more than I mean to. I picked up a new strapless bra from VS so I can wear a couple other tops that really aren't made to wear with a regular bra, and then grabbed a pretzel from Auntie Anne’s (so much for sodium watching on Friday!)

Home again to get some more chores done and help Pooka get ready for a school dance, and then I was free to nap until she got home. Did I mention that Hubs was off visiting his parents in the Mid-West all week? Normally I get mopey and whiny when he’s gone, but this time I was able to just settle comfortably into some “me” time with Pooka and wait patiently for him to come home just in time for Mother’s Day.

I also got to see Wifey in “The Good Doctor” on Saturday night, which was hilarious and fantastic. She played “The Mistress” in act one, and did such a magnificent job in the role that I honestly hated her during that scene. In act two, she was the “Defenseless Creature.” I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. She’s got a real knack for physical comedy – and subtlety too; don’t get me wrong – it’s just that when she hams it up onstage, it’s really hard not to crack up.

Overall, a pretty decent week, I’d say.

Addendum as of noon today: One of my former coworkers left a balance-ball chair in her space when she left. I emailed her boss to ask if I could borrow it for the duration of the pregnancy. He just brought it in. TALK ABOUT INSTANT RELIEF! My coccyx and back feel so much better already!

Perfect. (Well, Almost)

I don’t think I’ve been scolded so much by an obstetrician since I was pregnant with Pooka, thirteen years ago. Back then, the doctor gave me a hard time because overall I gained about fifty pounds with her. Yesterday, Dr. Firstname shook his finger at me for losing weight. I lost four pounds between the second and yesterday. Between March  7^th’s visit and April 2^nd though, I gained nearly ten. Overall, I think it kind of evens out, since the only thing I’ve changed since April 2^nd is that I stopped going to McDonald’s for breakfast and I’m back on the bike when weather conditions permit. (Sorry, but I’m not going to ride in 27°F weather while I’m pregnant. I need my immune system to remain in working order.)

Oh, and I’m “just a little bit anemic.” Dr. Firstname says I should be able to remedy this by just eating more red meat. Oh no! *hand to forehead* Not more red meat! ANYTHING but that!

It also turns out that the local hospital is basically incapable of turning out proper phlebotomy lab results. This is the second time in a row for me, but hardly the only times it’s happened. I’m not sure what’s going on up the hill, but I’m a bit concerned about the output from their lab. A coworker told me that her husband, according to the local lab, might have a bladder/kidney infection or it could be bladder/kidney cancer. Um… HELLO! That’s a pretty drastic difference! Not impressed. I’ve therefore resolved to save myself the trouble and just go straight to the Big Hospital for all my lab work from here on out.

Oh! Right! So we had an ultrasound yesterday. One thing I love about going up to the Big Hospital is that they keep using the “P” word for me and Tempest. This, of course, reassures I.F. and makes me feel awesome. Tempest’s growth is Perfect. His heart rate is Perfect. My blood pressure is Perfect. The dangle of his choroid plexus is smaller than it was at the last ultrasound; and his lateral ventricles are less wide as well. This is a good thing, for those of you who don’t want to look them up on Wikipedia. Short version: His brain looks great. The marginal umbilical insertion (his umbilical cord being attached at the side of the placenta against the uterine wall, rather than smack-dab in the center of the placenta) is not hindering his growth, and the doctors (yes, doctors; I.F. asked several of them, just to reassure himself) don’t foresee it becoming a problem if it hasn’t by this point.

So yeah; except for losing a few pounds myself, and eating more red meat, we’re just Perfect.