herveryown

DangerWienie and FetaGirl

Hey, remember those baby-covered pre-natal handouts that I got from my OB/GYN's office?  They're really dumb.  They're right up there with stupid infertility books, except that instead of advising everyone to just relaaaaaaaax, they demand that everyone freak out. 

I especially take issue with the section on Listeria.  Everyone seems more than happy to warn you about the dire hazards of Listeriosis (and judging from the questions fielded on pregnancy forums, there are some seriously freaked out women out there), but very few handouts/websites seem willing to put those risks in perspective.  No, they'd rather scare the shit out of everybody, because stressing out a pregnant woman is always a good idea. 

Here's the deal: Apparently, soft cheese, hot dogs, and lunch meat are all teeming with deadly bacteria, and if you so much as think about a sub sandwich, your embryo/fetus/baby/self will totally die, and it will be all your fault!  Be afraid!  Be very, very afraid!  Quick!  Start obsessing about every morsel that you eat!  That cheese you ate last night--was it soft, or semi-soft?  If you melt hard cheddar, does it become soft cheese?  What if you just chew it really well?  What about grilled cheese sandwiches?

Okay, forget cheese.  No more cheese at all!  Or lunch meat!  Or anything from a deli!  Or precooked fish!  Or prepared salads!  Actually, just to be on the safe side, you shouldn't eat anything if you didn't personally watch it being prepared, because you can't be assured that it was handled in a sterile and sanitary manner!

Okay.  Let's look at the numbers. 

• There are 300,000,000 people in the United States.
• Approximately 4,000,000 babies are born in the United States each year, and (acknowledging stillbirths and multiple births) let's just assume that approximately 4,000,000 women are pregnant in a given year.  I realize that this is kind of cheating, but my Googlin' fingers are tired, and hey, with numbers this big, I'm willing to settle for 'close enough'.
• Each year, around 2,500 people contract Listeriosis and 500 people die.
• Apparently, since pregnant women are more susceptible to Listeriosis due to freaky digestive changes, one in three cases involves a pregnant woman, so let's say that roughly 833 pregnant women get it and 167 die.

That sounds bad, right?

Well, by contrast, there are around 280 maternal deaths per year due to complications related to childbirth, and yet nowhere in these helpful handouts does it recommend that pregnant women avoid giving birth.  While I'm on the subject, does anyone else find it kind of disturbing that there has been no significant improvement in maternal mortality rates in the United States in the last twenty years?  All this expensive technology pushing up healthcare premiums, all these machines with blinky lights and dials, all these brightly colored handouts on avoiding the evils of deli meat, and we're still in the exact same boat as we were twenty years ago?

Roughly 280,000 low birth weight babies are born every year, and the March of Dimes lists poor maternal nutrition as one of the bajillion risk factors.  Is it medically sound to tell pregnant women not to eat cold meats or prepared salads when inadequate nutrition is a more realistic concern than contamination?  If a pregnant woman goes to McDonald's with five dollars to spend, do we really want her choosing the fries over the side salad every single time because she's so afraid of Listeria?  Is a meatball sub a better nutritional choice than a chef's salad? 

It's also worth pointing out that 42,000 people die in car accidents in the United States every year, and yet pregnancy websites are perfectly happy to tell you that car travel is totally safe, as long as you wear your seatbelt properly and take regular pee breaks.

What's my point?

Am I saying that we should all stay in the house to avoid car accidents?  God, no.  Household accidents finish off another 18,000 people a year, so you're kind of screwed either way.  Am I saying that pregnant women should all live on nothing but brie and raw hot dog juice?  No.  Am I saying that I'd be happier not knowing about preventable hazards?  Hell, no.

What I am saying is that I would like to be treated as an adult.  I would like to be educated, not frightened.  I would like to be advised about legitimate hazards, not patronized and talked down to.  I would like to know about the real risks involved so that I can make informed decisions.

Also, I would really like a beer.  My first craving, and it's beer?  Who thought this up?

Holy Shit, Indeed

Well.

Today's WandMonkey Express Ride revealed one (1) appropriately sized sac, one (1) fetal pole with a CRL of 4.84mm, and one (1) heartbeat of 110 beats per minute, all of which is apparently right on track for being six weeks pregnant.

Dr. BrightEyes performed Good Embryo's scan on a General Electric ultrasound doohickey, which meant that the picture had 'GE' up in the corner in great big letters, which I thought was kind of funny. 

Sam cracked inappropriate jokes, I stared at GE silently as if I'd been pithed with the wand, and Dr. BrightEyes looked at us as if we were both completely insane.  At this rate, we're never going to get tapped to star in a Hallmark commercial.

Lalala

Lalalalalalahmmmmmmmmmmmsome spottinghmmmmmmmmmsticking my fingers in my ears and humming and pretending it's not happeninghmmmmmmmmmm...I think I'm going to go lay downlalalalalalala

Condition: H.S.

The followup Beta was 631.

Considering that the goal at this point is to have the numbers double within 48 to 72 hours, I'm going to cautiously upgrade this from 'good' to 'Holy Shit!'

Taking the 'Care' out of HealthCare

Going back to Evil Insurance Company, Inc., after dealing with Dr. BrightEyes and Nurses Sweetie and CutiePie was like being handed a can of Spam after dining on Filet Mignon for weeks.  Actually, it was more like having a can of Spam lobbed forcefully at your head.

The pre-prenatal appointment was...interesting, (and yes, for the record, I think it's absurd to have a pre-prenatal appointment before a Beta, too, but frankly, with the typical lag time for OB/GYN appointments with Evil Insurance Company, Inc, I figured I should get into the system as soon as possible, in case of disaster.  "Oh, you're hemorrhaging?  And you don't have an appointment?  I see.  How's June?")  The nurse was very nice (and naturally, since we all know that I am the Pied Fucking Piper of Infertility, she was infertile), but knew absolutely nothing about IVF and had a really hard time trying to calculate my due date. 

Nurse Wellmeaning: "So, your last period was when?"
Akeeyu: "I don't know, but I can tell you exactly when I ovulated.  We had a Day Three transfer on the seventeenth."
Nurse Wellmeaning: (fiddling with little wheel) "So fertilization was on the seventeenth..."
Akeeyu: "No, that was transfer.  For the purposes of this cycle, let's say that ovulation and fertillization were on the fourteenth."
Nurse Wellmeaning: "So...your period was...when again?"
Akeeyu: "I really have no idea.  January sometime, maybe?  But we did a frozen embryo transfer.  On the seventeenth."
Nurse Wellmeaning: "Of March?"
Akeeyu: "Yes."
Nurse Wellmeaning: (continues frantically fiddling with little wheel) "So, um, did the doctors give you a due date?"
Akeeyu: (deciding to tell a teeny little white lie and give her the due date off that IVF calculator website, even though the only 'doctor' that gave it to me was Doctor Google, because come on, people, I would have been watching her spin that wheel forever, and I was starting to feel like Pat Sajak) "December 5th."
Nurse Wellmeaning: "Ohhhh...so...fertilization was on March fourteenth."
Akeeyu: (deciding not to tell her that, okay, technically fertilization was on January thirteenth, because I think her wellmeaning head would have exploded) "Yes."

She had me fill out a passel of paperwork, including (I kid you not) release forms for when I am admitted into the hospital.  You know, to deliver a baby?  I kind of did a doubletake, but I resisted the urge to say "My goodness, y'all are optimistic if you think everyone who's eleven days pregnant gets a baby in the end," and just signed it and pushed it back across the desk.

Well, okay, I pushed it back across the desk after I showed Sam the little box that said "Is your current condition the result of an accident or injury?" and we both snickered and he whispered "'Oh, no!  You got surgically retrieved ova in my sperm!'  'Hey, you got sperm in my surgically retrieved ova!'" like those old Reese's commercials, and I shoved him and hissed "Shut up!  We're in a doctor's office.  You're supposed to be serious" and checked that no, my condition was not the result of an accident or injury.

They gave me a prenatal information packet that had babies all over the cover, and I shuddered and thought "God, do they have to put babies on everything?" and then I thought "Hey, dumbass, it's a prenatal information packet." and I thought "Oh, riiiiiight" and felt kind of crazy, and then I realized I was having a very long conversation in my head while Nurse Wellmeaning was going over the contents of the packet, and that was when I knew I was crazy.

Still.  To me, they seem crazier.  Everyone just seems to draw the conclusion that pregnancy = baby, every time, guaranteed, no problem, here, sign this additional release form to admit the baby into the hospital (no shit), when everyone knows that it doesn't necessarily work out that way.  Yes, I want to believe that everything will work out, and yes, you better believe that I want (more than anything in the world) to take home the big version of Good Embryo, but I just can't bring myself to make assumptions.  I don't want to take things for granted.

Evil Insurance Company, Inc., (or rather their appointed minion, the PersonalityFree Phlebotomist With the Gentle Touch of a Charging Rhinocerous) took several vials of blood.  I assumed one of them was a Beta, but then I also assumed that I'd get the results sometime around Easter, so I really didn't care.  PF Phlebotomist WtGToaCR was pretty annoyed when I told her that no, I couldn't give her the urine sample she wanted.  As she waved the little cup and vial at me, I just shrugged and thought "Riiiiiight, I'm going to hold it for the hour drive down here, the half mile hike from parking to the hospital, the twenty minute check in upstairs, the hour and a half with the nurse, the half mile hike back to the lab, and the twenty minute wait in chairs?  That's like, 78 in Akeeyu's Bladder Years!"  She glared at me and begrudgingly said that she supposed I could bring in a sample later.

Today I went back to Dr. BrightEyes' office and told Nurse CutiePie that I'd tested early and that it was positive and she hugged me and said "But hon, don't get your hopes too high, okay?  We still have to see the real numbers from today," and I just wanted to kiss her, because she got it.  She totally got it.

She drew my Beta, and results should be in between one and two, Pacific Standard Time.  Sam has promised to post them here for you as soon as he gets the call from Nurse Sweetie, as I will be at work.  Working.  With my mind 100% on my work.  Hahaha...yeah.

Peace In The Panic

The lines are still appearing.

I'm still in mostly in shock.  People keep asking me if I'm excited, and I just don't know what to say.  Excited in the "Oh my God, two lines!  Let's go out and buy a crib!" way?  Not so much.  Excited in the bitter infertile "Hey, two lines...I guess I might have a baby.  Or not.  Who the fuck knows?  But maybe!" way?  Yeah, pretty much.

I read and loved every one of your comments, and I have just one thing to say: Hallmark really missed the boat on this one.  Instead of those happy sappy "Congratulations on your pregnancy" cards (which they do make, by the way), they should be selling cards that say "Holy shit!" by the twenty count box.  Apparently they'd make a killing.

I don't feel pregnant.  Of course I don't.  I mean, it's only been eleven days.  Also, I don't have the traditional behavioral markers that the average fertile woman has. 

"Oh, gosh, now that I'm pregnant, I'll have to...

• start taking prenatal vitamins
• watch my diet
• cut out alcohol and caffeine
• get lots of medical devices shoved up my hooha
• stop mainlining heroin and smoking crack, or at the very least, limit myself to only one small rock per day
• figure out who the daddy is"

I've already been doing the first four for the last year, so nothing has really changed.  As far as the last one goes, I'm not too worried about it.  In the picture, Good Embryo is small and round and sedentary and therefore already looks just like Sam.

Yesterday I called Evil Insurance Company, Inc, and said "So, apparently I'm pregnant."  The bored receptionist/gatekeeper said "Well, you have to see a nurse before your first prenatal appointment, but...wait a minute, has your pregnancy been officially confirmed by Evil Insurance Company, Inc?  Because before we can even see you, we need to--"  I cleared my throat.  Last year, I would have obediently jumped through their hoops and wasted half a day trying to convince a receptionist that I actually knew which end of a stick to pee on.  This year, I find that I'm just not in the mood.  "Look, I just did IVF and every test I've taken for the last two days has come up positive.  When can I come in for the initial appointment with the nurse?"  "Um, how's tomorrow?"  "Tomorrow's fine."

I'm not expecting much from the appointment.  It's an HMO, for God's sake.  I'll be lucky if their idea of a Beta doesn't involve an actual rabbit.  Also, although I am incredibly attached (both literally and figuratively) to Good Embryo, I find that I have little faith in the idea that I am pregnant.  There's still an awful lot of shit that could go wrong, here.

I still look at the picture of Good Embryo and I still say "Please stay," but I say it a little louder now, and my voice doesn't shake quite as much.