Pre-Doc Jitters

11-5-09

When I was a kid I got a case of the nerves before doctor’s appointments. Would I have to get a shot? Would I (again) be told that I might want to lose a few? Would the doctor x-ray my stomach and discover the cache of boogers piling up from all that illicit snot munching? (I imagined them in a gooey, green pyramid.) Now I have new reasons. Is everything okay with Purvis? Is she kicking enough? Is my stomach too small for being 6 months pregnant? Wait, was that stitch in my side technically a cramp?

As all the preg-sites warn, pregnancy can turn even the calmest lady into a—and I quote—“worrywart.” What of the chronic worrywarts such as myself? I must move up a notch to hysteric. Well, I would if not for the magic of yoga, which I’m still somehow limping through despite feeling weighed down with 20 extra pounds of thigh, hips and stomach. But mainly thigh and hips although stomach is catching up.

The week before a doctor’s appointment I default to worrywart. I start to question everything, but mostly myself. Maybe the sensations I thought were Purvis kicks are actually gas or some shifting of the bowels that feels different due to my enlarged uterus. Then I feel what is definitely a kick…or is that a muscle spasm?

When I feel kicks, what I know for sure to be kicks, I whisper, “Thank you, Purvis. Your mama was worrying.” (On the plus side I am getting used to the M-word.) And then I pray for another one just like the other one. “One more, Purvis. Show me that you’re in there.”

I am no longer haunted by a blank ultrasound screen but by a screen with the image of a tiny floating dead fetus. What if all that I’m feeling in my gut region is just Purvis’ body bobbing around in amniotic fluid?

I know these are only fears. “This is what fear feels like,” I say to myself. Another handy dandy yoga phrase that has gotten me through bumpy flights and late nights waiting for Mr. Crud to return from band practice after I’ve convinced myself that he’s—a phrase my mom so kindly passed on to me—dead in a ditch somewhere.

I talk out the fears with Mr. Crud.

“But have you been feeling Purvis moving?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I have. Yes. Yes, I have. Actually he was kicking around a lot today.”

“That’s good.”

“I know, but still…”

Mr. Crud takes our fears to the professional, his awesome counselor, who reminds him that we have every right to be afraid. We got bad news at a past appointment so there will likely be some level of anxiety in approaching any appointment.

“He says we should probably get used to it.” Mr. Crud says.

“That’s what I thought. Dang.”

Today the anxiety is less. After a quiet morning, which put me on edge, Purvis has found his groove this afternoon. The big minus is she has located my bladder and seems to be doing some sort of tap dance upon it. My doctor’s appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I already can’t wait to hear the heartbeat, which is my cue to relax and get teary-eyed with relief.

Tomorrow I take my Glucose Tolerance Test to see if I am at risk for gestational diabetes. Truthfully, I have put this test off to the last minute in case I have it and must immediately de-sugarify my diet. (Please oh please no! You’ve taken my wine, my martinis, my sushi. Please do not take my sweets!!)

In H1N1 vaccine news, there is no real news. I am feeling better about the whole flu shebang. My doula and acupuncturist assure me that I am a healthy lady with a healthy immune system. For an afternoon, I considered not getting the vaccine at all after reading some anti-vax websites (I know, I know), but my new plan is to do what I can to get it, but not stress out.

Last night I say to Mr. Crud, “I kinda preferred worrying about the swine flu. That felt better.”

“Really?”

As the oracle of my youth, the Lucky 8 Ball, once said: Ask Again Later.