Is That Indgestion or a Heartbeat?

Week 9, Day 5

The last couple of weeks have been rough. I'm crabby. I'm tired. I'm not hungry and the food that does sound good either has gluten in it or it's not in my refrigerator. And even when I do have the food I crave in stock, I've lost interest in it within 30 seconds.

So I ask, "When does the whole glowing stage of this pregnancy thing begin?"

The answer: This morning at 8:47!

Today was my first prenatal appointment with the doctor and we got to hear Ambric's heartbeat.

Our chances of hearing the heartbeat were 50/50 according to Dr. E, because I am only 10 weeks, 5 days (at this appointment she also pushed my due date back a week to April 1st). I tried to not get my hopes up, but I so desperately wanted to hear a heartbeat-- I wanted to hear that last confirmation that yes, indeed I am pregnant.

At first there was a lot of "other noise" -mostly my breakfast digesting. Then is came across, fast and strong. There is no explaining the feeling that comes over you when you hear the steady whump, whump, whump.

It was hard for me not to burst into tears and start crying, "Thank you. Thank you, God."

Before my colectomy, I was pretty adamant that I didn't want to have children. My surgery saved my life, it also gave me what I thought I wanted-- the possible inability to conceive. And like all rash wishes, I realized how much I didn't want it, once I got it.

After I married Eric I felt guilty. I knew he wanted children and he knew about me. But once we started 'not, not trying' and month after month went by, I started to blame myself. I should have done more to convince him that I was a bad choice, that I was defective.

Not only was this self talk destructive to me, but it also hurt Eric. I thought I was only blaming myself, but I was also undermining Eric. Of course he knew my health history. He understood what "possible infertility" would mean for him. Despite all that he accepted, and still does, that colitis is just something that happened to me and that we'd deal with it as necessary. Love isn't just getting through the rough times as they come up, it's also knowing what those rough times are going to be and still saying, "I do".

And Mothers Across the Country Give a Knowing Nod

I took this photo on my first ride after I found out I was pregnant. All I could think was, "Is riding the right thing to do?"
Okay. So pregnancy isn't going to be the cake walk I'd hoped for, in fact, let's not talk about cake. Or any other food for that matter.

In the first glowing days of my pregnancy I'd foolishly figured, "I'm tough, I'll be fine." The tough don't look so tough when you're passed out on the couch. I can't believe I'm sleeping so much-- 10 to 11 hours a day. I don't have energy to eat, not that I want too, much less swing my leg over a bike saddle. Plus, keeping my heart rate below 140 is much harder than I thought it was going to be. Grandma's on their merry way to get ice cream are passing me.

And, I'm going to be honest, I'm freaking myself out about riding. The "what ifs" are killing my enthusiasm. I'm not a high risk pregnancy, and obviously if my body thought I was healthy enough to get pregnant while riding, it must be good for me. But what about accidents? There is a saying in biking, "You aren't a cyclist until you've broken your collar bone." Under normal circumstances this doesn't phase me, but I'm not so sure now.

Plus, I don't think little Amberic wouldn't be to happy about that taking a corkscrew ride over the handle bars. And the possibility of a miscarriage is there for any woman-- colitis or not, bike riding or not-- but if I do, and I'm riding, I'd never forgive myself. Regardless, if the riding was the cause or not.

So, I've decided to not ride this year. However, next year... I'm due March 26. What better way to drop the baby weight than to train for a 3 day, 210 mile bike ride, with little Amberic strapped safely in in his/her wagon?

A Fear So True

The dark circle is the amniotic sac. The ring floating in the sac is the yolk sac, and the 'diamond' on the ring is little Amberic!

I think the absolute worst words a newly pregnant woman can hear are, "There is an unidentified spot on your ovary and we need to eliminate it as a possible ectopic pregnancy."

Remember the unidentified pain I've been having in my abdomen since January? My OB had finally determined it was time to go in and remove whatever was causing the problem, most likely adhesion. I've already had this done once and I just had my gall bladder removed. Both times the attending doctors had made comments about my "abnormal" anatomy. I'm to the point now where no one is cutting me open without my colon rectal surgeon there to say, "Don't touch that! It's just fine how it is."

I live in Muskegon and my surgeon is in Grand Rapids, and of course my OB is in a different hospital than my surgeon, yadda, yadda, yadda. Long story short, I needed to see an OB doctor in Spectrum's network, so Dr. Lucky and the new OB could have shared hospital privileges.

I was already five days late at my appointment with Dr. E and she asked if I was pregnant. I laughed and said, "After we get this taken care of, I'd like to start working on getting pregnant part if you don't mind." All I have to say is, Damn, Dr. E isgood! One appointment and I'm knocked up.

Because of my impending surgery, Dr. E ordered an early ultra sound just to take a look around. For my convenience the ultra sound was preformed in Muskegon and the results were sent to Grand Rapids.

I hadn't heard anything after a week, so I assumed everything was fine. Then a nurse called me from Dr. E's office to schedule another ultrasound. There was a spot on my ultra sound that could be an etopic pregnancy. They got me in first thing the next morning. That was the most agonizing 18 hours, 47 minutes of my life. Waiting. Afraid that three years of yearning were all going to be lost.

And thankfully everything was fine! The ultra sound technician was able to show me the fetus and yolk sac. Everything looked fine and I was sent home with a picture. She also gave me a new due date of April 1st. She couldn't even find the spot on my ovary. Such relief.

And then pure rage overtook me. It had taken Hackley Hospital ONE WEEK to send my possible ECTOPIC PREGNANCY ultra sound results to my doctor. There is no WAY I'm giving birth at a hospital that isn't responsible enough to forward lab results in a timely manner. Women can die from an ectopic pregnancy if the fetus ruptures. There better have been several life or death cases in front of me that prevented someone from picking up the damn phone and saying, "Yeah, there might be a problem with this one." Oh wait, my case could have been life or death!

If they aren't responsible enough to send results to my doctor, what assures me they'll bother to look at my previous medical history?

But hold on, calm down Amber Mae. It's me, not the hospital. I have a deep concern for myself and my child that they apparently don't share.

* Post note: As of 9/4/09 I've contact the Hackley Hospital twice regarding this matter. They have yet to tell what the hold up was. Several key people to this case have been on "vacation".