Slowly

This adverb "slowly" accurately describes my recovery this week from the stomach flu. Just when I would think that my stomach could adequately handle some sort of food, it let me know very quickly and in a very unpleasant and painful manner that no, it was not ready. I wish it could just let me know ahead of time instead of tricking me with a random hunger pain and then punishing me after the fact. This type of trick had me wandering the house in the middle of the night in pain in search of something, anything that would get my bowels to calm down and let me sleep. Last night a truce was called and I actually got some sleep which should help make for a more productive day. I really don't think I can stand the suitcases sitting unpacked on the ground much longer. I swear they are beginning to taunt me when I walk by them but when you're seriously low on energy, you have to budget wisely.

Yesterday was my normal OB appointment and I ended up being bummed out for the rest of the day. I don't think that's right considering that everything went well. We heard what's it's heartbeat (a first for V.), my blood pressure was nice and low, my weight right on the money, and besides, I had those awesome test results from before. I figured it would be a really positive appointment. But no, of course not. After looking at my chart, the first question was, "Are you going for genetic counseling?" I asked him if he had seen how good my test results were and I didn't see a need to sit down and talk with someone unless some test showed something worrisome. Yeah let's sit down and have a negative, the-sky-is-falling conversation about risks that are not coming up in my results - what is the friggin' point of that?!

The doctor said okay but again reiterated that at 40, they highly recommend an amnio. I just simply responded, "No thanks." He said that was my choice but began reiterating the whole "at 40..." converation to which I stopped him with, "we wouldn't do anything no matter what the amnio showed anyways." That stopped him in his tracks and he said, "Well that's good to know."

Here's the rub: I picked this guy over 10 years because he was positive, cheerful, calm, and always in a pleasant mood. And now this time around, I've wound up with Eeoyre. I mean he says all these things pleasantly enough but it's just the fact that this is a wonderous time, a miracle of life and when I go into that office, it's like everyone is just waiting for the other shoe to drop and God forbid, don't say anything positive about how smoothly the pregnancy and tests are going. Don't acknowledge that - that may be way too much positive energy. What's ironic is that when I go to the place to get the tests done, they are very positive - "Oh, the baby looks perfect", "You're only 40, we have tons of 47 year olds running around here and most everybody's tests are fine." Because that is the reality. The majority of babies born to healthy mothers are just fine so why does the medical community concentrate on that 1%?

I'm hoping that once we've reached the point of no return, when all the tests are done, that these pointless conversations are over and they can start approaching this pregnancy as a happy thing, a healthy thing. I swear this is why people have home births, to circumvent this level of bullshit. Okay, enough for now of me on this soapbox.