Phew!

7-7-09

My guts start to officially roil as I hop on my bike to head home before the appointment we’ve been waiting for. Leaving work early makes it real. I’m having an ultrasound today. I’ve been playing the scenarios on repeat in my mind the last few days: either a celebratory dinner is in order or chugging wine before another D & C. Well, I’m not sold on having a third D & C. I’ve already googled other options. Watchful waiting: no thanks, I think we all know that my uterus doesn’t give up its goods do easily. Mifeprostol: a drug that induces abortion. Maybe. I feel a little guilty about my googling. I hope Purvis didn’t see. Really, kid, I want you to survive but I’m scared and gathering information reassures me momentarily.

I pull up to the house, lug my 2 bags into the living room. “How are you doing?” I drop my helmet to the floor and step to Mr. Crud for a hug.

“I’m good. I feel okay somehow.” He says, looking cool as a cucumber.

“I’m glad one of us is okay.” I say.

I force a snack so as not to be overcome with the gags while sitting in the waiting room and chug some water in case of urine tests.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Our wait is mercifully short. I’ve barely set down my book and Willamette Week-heavy bag when my favorite nurse calls my name.

He points me to the scale.

“My favorite part,” I say.

“That’s what everyone says.”

I’m 4 pounds heavier than my first check-up but a few lighter than my pityriasis rosea appointment. “You lost weight since you were here last here.”

“Naw, I lost a jacket.”

“Clothes can be really heavy,” he says with a wink.

Yeah, like 10 pounds. I know that now is not the time to obsess over weight gain, that for once in my life weight gain is a good and expected thing, but it’s a hard habit to break (so-sort of-crooned Peter Cetera.)

Favorite Nurse asks me why I’m here. “I’m pregnant. I’m having an ultrasound.” I almost choke on the words.

“Oh. Wait. They forgot to note that on your chart. I’ll be back. But go ahead and give us a sample.” He hands me a plastic cup.

My bladder feels empty. I chug more water before heading down the hallway. Will I ever learn?

My pee mission successful, I return to the exam room. A heavily pregnant Dr. Awesome soon follows me in. “How are you?” She asks.

“It’s been a tough week.”

“Well, let’s get to it.”

I get naked from waist down and hop up on the exam table. I pray that she is able to do a stomach ultrasound. I fear that my lady parts aren’t so fresh this late in the day. Plus trans-vaginal ultrasounds bring back bad memories. I hope that I’m not destined for traumatic gyno appointments from here on out.

Dr. Awesome returns with the low-resolution machine in tow. She dims the lights. I take a deep breath and lean back on the table. She squirts jelly on my stomach. Mr. Crud comes to my side and holds my hand. As is now my ultrasound protocol I stare at the ceiling as she pushes the want over my belly.

“Look at that,” she says.

I dare turn my eyes to the screen.

A tadpole-shaped blotch hovers in the corner of the dark area of my uterus. I see its fluttering heartbeat before she points it out. There is the shape of a large head and little blurry appendages. From all the baby websites, which I’ve been reading with a skeptical eye, I know that Purvis has webbed hands and feet right now.

She moves in for a different angle and he moves. Involuntary movement is happening at this stage. After all of these pregnancy attempts, the baby websites and their development calendars finally apply to me and my baby. I let out a long breath. Mr. Crud leans in for a kiss.

“And there’s the head. And the heartbeat.” Dr. Awesome says.

She measures Purvis. 2.7 centimeters. Gestational age: 9 weeks and 4 days. “This is all very good. Everything looks like it should.”

She squeezes my leg. “Your chances of a miscarriage are extremely low now. You are past where you lost your last pregnancies.”

She takes a few more measurements and snaps some pictures for our fridge. They are blurry and look like a tadpole blob in a dark spot, but we clutch them to our chests like it is Purvis’ first grade photo.

Then she pulls out the Doppler and we hear the heartbeat. 160 beats per minute. Amazing. I could listen to that all day.

“Congratulations, you guys. I’m so happy for you,” she says.

Dr. Awesome’s maternity leave begins next week. She tells us the maternity coordinator will contact us about other prenatal care options. I am happy to stay with Dr. Awesome, to work with the doctor who is taking over her caseload while she is on leave, but am also good with seeing what else is out there.

But all of that feels distant. I get dressed and float out of the clinic. “I can’t believe it,” I say to Mr. Crud. I let all my sad futures, the D & C, the tearful calls to my mom go. I realize how much fear I’d been carrying around now that it has lifted. It wasn’t an equal fight between hope and fear. Hope had a handicap no matter how much I tried to cheer it on.

When I sense the fears sniffing around which, after a weekend off, they have, I remember the sound of Purvis’ heartbeat. When anxiety about the upcoming genetic counseling appointment arises I pull up the image of her little body squirming about. It ain’t over until it’s over, but at least doom has not had the last word. For now.