heavenly host
Friday, January 12, 2007
Monday's 20-week scan entirely scare-free, unlike the last time back in Cambridge, when we were whisked into a Family Room and plied with sugary tea and explanatory pamphlets. This time around, it appears, I have managed to grow a correctly-specced umbilical cord with the traditional two arteries and one vein. Last time, being a novice, I went for the economy model with one of each, sending everyone into a frenzy apart from the sensible foetal medicine obstetrician, who took a look at the scan and blood results and gruffly remarked 'that is a perfectly healthy baby: go home and enjoy your pregnancy!' In any case, the sonographer has assured us this time around that the two-vessel cord is a normal if uncommon variation and is regarded as an interesting anomaly rather than a danger sign unless there are other indications present (such as actual anatomical malformations in the foetus). Information I could have used three years ago, but no matter.
Apart from a standard-issue cord, the scan showed a perfectly-good-size-for-dates and anatomically correct wee proto-person of undetermined gender – having no marked preference (although Rebecca is clamouring for a sister) we've decided to wait and see. Will post pics of the HP's noble profile as soon as we can figure out how to digitize the images from the films – our poxy wee scanner is currently rendering them as so much black on black.
In other news, the morning sickness continues unappeased by the news that everything's going well ('good sign' my gastric sphincter). Food has become the enemy, with my digestive system rejecting entire nutritional groups on an apparently random basis – I have visions of a tiny bearded and cloaked thesp perched at the frontier of my duodenum clashing two wee sticks together and and squeaking 'You SHALL NOT PASS!' – and frequently making me sick even on an empty stomach, presumably to keep me match fit for the next time I dare to eat something it doesn't fancy the look of.
Accordingly, yesterday's midwife visit mostly focussed on the condition of the host organism, and the question of why, well into the second trimester, during which it is traditional to moon about in a floaty frock stroking one's belly with an expression of imbecilic contentment, do I feel so unremittingly shitty? Dismissing as medically unsound my theory that I'm simply rubbish at being pregnant, my formidable LMC has ordered a bunch of tests, as well as prescribing Actual Drugs for the sickness (my timid suggestion that I could just put up with it for the next four months was also met with a snort of derision).
Weighed myself sneakily on the way out: discovery that I have gained not an ounce, not so much as a gram, during the entire pregnancy, afforded a moment's grim satisfaction. Am now off to drink sugary solutions and be bled – there being an hour's interval between these two events, I shall spend the time caressing my bump in the waiting room and practising looking fulfilled. And, hopefully, not puking.
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