The last two weeks have been a bit of a rollercoaster. I hurt my back doing a workout that I did completely pain-free a week before and had to spend an entire off day lying on the couch with a pillow between my legs, totally uncomfortable and unable to take any pain killers to help. Whenever I get sick or injured I can’t help but feel like I’m a bad person… like I obviously did something wrong to deserve this punishment.
We also had our first doctor’s appointment this week, which was a little bit of a downer as well. We didn’t get any sort of ultrasound, which I was really hoping for not only to make this all seem real, but because the chances of miscarriage go down so much when you do. Instead, I got a script for a blood test that I have to go get done elsewhere and a lot of information about future testing that I found totally terrifying. The worst part for me was that even after they do all this testing there are still false positives and false negatives and even though you’ve given a million vials of blood and read outdated magazines in dozens of waiting rooms, the best news they can give you is that there’s an 80% chance that your baby won’t have this disease, or a 90% chance that they won’t have that one. Somehow those odds don’t do it for me, especially since you could be making life-changing decisions based on false information. It was not remotely comforting to me, just frustrating, and a reminder that even though reaching the end of each week feels like a big milestone to me, there is soo much road yet to travel.
So many doctor’s appointments that I have to try to travel an hour both ways to and hope that no one at work minds. So many clothes that will no longer fit. So many more nights when I will wake up at 4 a.m. (it’s like clockwork now) to go to the bathroom. So many more worries. More days when I alternate between nauseous and famished. Many more months until I feel like myself again, if I ever do. I realize that this is a blessing, not a burden. That many women would give up everything just to be able to have these “problems,” but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard or scary when it happens.
It’s been difficult hiding my “condition” from everyone, especially when I’m working 12-hour days with a long commute and not always feeling well. It’s amazing how many times I haven’t been able to do something, even in the last month, because I’m pregnant. Dinners out with friends who would absolutely notice that I didn’t order a glass of wine, office happy hours, work yoga classes that I’d love to take but can’t because there’s no sly way to tell the teacher I’m pregnant so I don’t get in any positions that would be a bad idea. No easy responses to friends and coworkers who ask why I’m not signing up for this race or that one. No easy explanation for why I hurt myself working out, doing something that was easy a couple of weeks ago. No one to complain to (but Mike) about how hard it is to give up caffeine, or to make it through a workday when you feel like you might faint or vomit at any second. A million doctor’s appointments to schedule without anyone catching on, or worse, thinking you’re going on job interviews. Not feeling comfortable asking about maternity leave benefits because then everyone will know. Feeling paranoid that people are on to me, or that they saw me quickly closing windows on TheBump.com. So much uncertainty.
And then there’s the funny stuff. The crazy dreams (and waking fantasies) about random food. Last night it was egg sandwiches and White Dog Parmesan Truffle Fries with their amazing dipping sauce. Actually, maybe that’s all of the funny stuff, so I guess it hasn’t been so much of a rollercoaster as just a really hard couple of weeks feeling kind of alone and frustrated. Maybe I need a different doctor who gets me better. Maybe I need to buck up and stop whining, or maybe I really just need a good night’s sleep.