How many transvaginal ultrasounds have I had over the last two years? So many that if I had a dollar for every transvaginal ultrasound, I’d probably have enough to cover the out-of-pocket costs for one of them. Which is a commentary both on the state of my reproductive organs and the US medical system. But I digress. The dildo cam is a regular visitor of my vagina. And I’m so used to assuming the position for its entrance that I’m surprised that my body doesn’t naturally fall into the legs-in-the-stirrups position when I sleep.
But last week, at 7 weeks pregnant, I had a transvaginal ultrasound like no other. As soon as it went into place, we saw a tiny little blob with a perfect flickering heartbeat. The dildo cam has never revealed anything like that before. Then we heard the heartbeat. 132 bpm. Which the doctor said was very good – but, of course, that didn’t stop me from google-checking him afterward. Turns out, he was right. My husband and I just stared at the screen. And then, as quick as the dildo cam went in, it was out.
Wait! I wanted to scream. Give us a second here! The doctor was just so quick and nonchalant about the whole thing, that afterward, my husband and I rode down in the elevator staring blankly at the ultrasound pic, wondering if that all just actually happened.
Over the last week, I’ve allowed it to get more real. And on a couple of occasions, I’ve even caught myself mentally marking March in my mind as a time when life will change. You’d have thought the last two years would have shown me never to do that. Because all it really means is that we have gotten this far. To this milestone. And then we must wait for the next.
I still am paranoid about every symptom, or should I say, lack thereof. I’ve had a few brief waves of nausea, but nothing that sticks around for longer than 5 minutes. Which means I am lucky. But I’d feel much luckier if I were puking my guts out every 20 minutes. It’s likely because I’m on prednisone, which apparently masks morning sickness.
I’ve noticed that all of my veins are much bigger, and so I have this obsessive compulsion to turn my arm over and look at the veins on my wrist every half hour, ensuring they haven’t gone back to normal. But mostly, I’m just exhausted all the time. I could literally sleep for 20 hours a day if it was socially acceptable. And I generally have no motivation to do anything. Luckily, I work from home most days, which means I don’t have to try and hide my exhaustion from people.
I also feel just totally mentally blah. I’m guessing a lot of it is from the hormones. But I think some of it is just the waiting and unknowing. I feel like for the next four weeks, I’m in a mental purgatory. Pregnant, but not wanting to fully believe it. Wondering if any little thing I do will have an impact. If I could wrap myself in bubble wrap and never leave my bedroom, I totally would.
I keep telling myself that once I get to the end of week 12 – if I get to the end of week 12 – I’ll breathe a sigh of relief and start to feel more confident. But will I really? Not likely. I guess all there is to do is keep going, waiting for the next meeting with the dildo cam. 3 days and counting.