This hasn't been a good week. R's paternal grandmother, the one who's been urging us to have children since the first time we met her three years ago, passed away. We feel lost, too far away, and so guilty about holding off from sharing the pregnancy news so far.
Pregnancy-wise as well, I think my body's keen to show me what the first trimester could have been like - nausea, throwing up, dizziness, crippling tiredness, major food aversion, back aches, restless sleep, frequent restroom visits and an even ditzier pregnancy brain than usual ('What's that? Oh, the stuff which connects to makes things be louder.' [I so wish that wasn't a direct quote. Also, the word I was looking for was 'speakers.'])
On the bright side, we're now officially in that range where only 2% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. 1 out of 50 aren't super-great odds, but compared to 1 out of 4, which was the case for much of the pregnancy, they sound fantastic. We confirmed this at an ultrasound on the last day of the 12th week - it was a NT scan, done to assess the probability of the baby having certain chromosomal irregularities, based on the thickness of the fluid at the back of its neck.
As usual, I was told to drink 2 glasses of water an hour before my appointment, and as usual, I ignored this and drank 1 glass 20 minutes before the appointment. I won. There was a 45 minute wait at the clinic (!!!!) before I finally gave up doing the need-a-loo-need-a-loo dance and stormed off to the washroom. Of course, they were ready for me as soon as I came back with what I thought was an empty-ish bladder. Turns out there was still enough to get a clear shot of the baby. Ha. Pregnancy.
I was so glad I took that restroom break, because after fifteen minutes of prodding, belly dancing, fake-coughing and doing the hokey-pokey (no, really), the sonographer said, "Is it ok if I shake a little hard now?" Cue lots of fierce prodding which would have had me in a very embarrassing position if I hadn't just been to the restroom.
"Is there still a heartbeat?" I asked, heart in my mouth, thinking of all the travelling and hiking I'd been doing.
"Oh yeah yeah, 170bpm, all perfect. This baby's just sleeping," she said. Through all that?! Talk about an eerie resemblance to its father!
R was called in, and we both watched Pataani's (pea pod) butterfly brain, and yoga poses. Its fists curl up and out now. I asked if the sonographer had a best gender guess, with the caveat that I knew she couldn't actually tell at this point. She zoomed into a potty shot, since the baby wasn't cooperating with a nice side profile, and R's convinced it's a girl ever since. ("But it has a boy's head!" he adds.) This time, we got a nice shot of the baby's head, despite its unwillingness to pose for too long.
I snuck a peek at the lab technician's notes, saw 1.5mm, and combined with my age + family medical history, figured we're probably in the clear for the NT results (I estimate a 1 out of at least 50,000 risk, which is pretty good. I clearly read too many pregnancy forums given I know this stuff cold). Still, I had to go give a vial of blood for the IPS1 portion of the test. There was a mess-up with my paperwork; the clinic had lost the requisition forms we'd dropped off earlier, and they had to re-draw them. I think they messed up this part, actually, because they asked for a urine sample as well as blood. I'd been so sure only blood was required that I'd blissfully been to the restroom a couple more times by this time. The clinic and I just can't seem to get our bathroom breaks synced correctly!
I went down to the lab, sat down for the extraction, and was not particularly reassured by the technician saying, "Aiyi, your nerve is the size of the needle! Such thin veins, eh? Now we pray to God." To be fair, it made me clench my fist harder, and she didn't have any trouble putting the injection in. We got a couple of phone calls from the clinic & lab over the next couple of days - everything's in the clear. I've to appreciate their diligence calling people up to let them know so quickly, I know it must be really nerve wracking for couples with dicey family history/age. I took back some of the swearing I'd been doing over the bungled paperwork + long wait time.
R was planning to tell his brother our news on the last day of the 12th week... but we heard about their avva's hospitalization the same day, and it just doesn't feel right any more. I'd planned to tell my bestie the news today, but I'm not sure yet if I will. Either way, we're going to Newfoundland next week, so that gives everyone a couple of weeks to process all this.
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