Episode 2: Attack of the Hypodermic

Enter the doctor. He is a pleasant man with a friendly demeanor. Tracy chats with him as I eye him suspiciously. Does this man have what it takes to properly care for my wife? I conclude that he does and allow him to continue.

To refresh; during an amnio, the doctor puts a needle through the patient’s abdomen and retrieves copious amounts of fluid, while carefully avoiding poking the baby. The patient is conscious during this, as is hopefully the husband, and there is no local anesthesia because the pain from the anesthesia is apparently worse than the amnio itself.

As the doctor readied himself, Tracy closed her eyes and drifted away to her happy place. I was fully prepared to look away and resume reading my book, in hopes that I would not break in to a cold sweat and hit the floor like Apollo Creed after Drago leveled him in the charity boxing match. But something came over me. My desire to make sure Tracy and Charlotte were in good hands was stronger than my aversion to all medical procedures and the embarrassment of passing out.

The 32 inch television screen for the sonogram was still functioning. It is mounted directly in front of us so, if we choose, we can see the baby as the doctor sucks the broth. He pushed on Tracy’s belly and you could see on screen, Charlotte moving in response to this pushing. He created a safe pocket to shoot for and quickly readied the needle. I felt a little better once I saw its size. I expected some bazooka looking utensil that required three nurses to hold it steady. In reality, it was more like what you would see when giving blood.

As soon as the needle pierced the naval, you could see it on the monitor. The doctor took great care to make sure there was always ample distance between the baby and the syringe. I watched, giving telepathic coaching tips like “move it a little to left”. I am confident I helped in some respect. Yellow fluid flowed in to a tube at a rapid clip. Before you could say, “get that friggin needle out of my stomach!”, it was, and the worst was over.

Following the amnio, you are condemned to 48 hours of bed rest in hopes of minimizing any of the possible side-effects like cramping, bleeding, and other things I don’t care to mention. Tracy was a good patient and obeyed the doctor’s orders. Results take two weeks so now we wait patiently with confidence that everything is progressing perfectly.

The end.

The Amniocentesis

Episode 1 : Return of the Ultrasound

I never thought I would say this but having your stomach pierced with a needle was not as bad as it sounds. I was expecting a serious belly wound. I figured Tracy would be experiencing the kind of agony Tony Soprano went through when Uncle Junior put a bullet in his paunch. But the whole procedure was relatively innocuous.

The session consisted of two parts. First, they bring you in the back to chat with a counselor. Our counselor took some information from us, drew us a rudimentary picture of our family tree and then proceeded to go over the risks involved. After assuring us how safe it all is, we are asked to sign a waiver guaranteeing we will not sue them for malpractice. Um, ok.

We sign the papers and are then escorted back to the waiting room to wait (obviously) until we are called for the sonogram and amnio. The nurse comes to retrieve us and we follow her back to the examination room, which is kept at about 11 degrees Fahrenheit. I supposed they are not concerned that the doctor will succumb to a sudden shiver while brandishing a very sharp object. As we enter the room, the nurse asks Tracy for her blood type and without hesitation Tracy replies, “A positive”. I stand in the background quietly impressed that my wife readily knows such information. Beyond the color red, I’d be hard pressed to provide any additional details about my blood.

We were excited for the sonogram because we haven’t seen any pictures of the baby since it was the size of a dried wasabi pea. And, my oh my how little Charlotte has grown. We saw the four chambers of the heart; a spine; the head; and arms and legs with 10 fingers and I counted at least 7 toes. Good enough.

From the traditional black and white sonogram picture, she changed to some different high tech scanner, which was in color. As she navigated around the womb, we were treated to glimpses of an eye socket, the bump of an ear and a half of the face. (The other half was buried behind the placenta like a person hiding its head under a pillow trying to keep the morning light out.) She then panned downward and I was given a brief start:

“Whoa! It looks like we have a little Dirk Diggler growing in there!” I gloated.

“Don’t get excited. That is just the umbilical cord.”

A common mistake, I would surmise. The nurse told us that everything looks great, the baby is growing wonderfully and she printed out a few pictures for us to keep. And then Dr. Needlebelly entered the room…

To be continued.

We've been tagged!

Don’t worry. That is not a bad thing. Our new friend and mommy, Kristin, has sent us a mission. Tracy is to report on 6 strange or interesting things about herself. After careful consideration, here is what she came up with:

1. A beverage of choice when I was, oh about 12, was milk and pancake syrup, mmmmm!

2. I can’t eat the ends of hot dogs. Tom, my brother, used to tell me that, the reason the end of the hot dogs were pinched closed like they are, is because pigs poop them out. I still, to this day, cannot eat the end of a hot dog.

3. I loathe the song “I will survive”.

4. I cannot make decisions to save my life. I can be in the grocery store in one isle debating between Wonderbread or Pepperidge Farms, while my husband is done with all our shopping, in and out of the check-out lane and ready to go. (Should I include this one as one of my six? I can’t decide.)

5. All 5 of the companies I’ve worked for in the past have gone out of business.

6. I’ve thrown up on my husband a couple of times now and he still married me. The first time was on our first date. He took me parasailing for my birthday. (Derek here – this is true. We are soaring 50 feet in the air overlooking the majestic skyline of downtown Ft. Lauderdale when she suddenly starts spraying like New York City fire hydrant. And, of course, I am shackled to her directly behind her so there was no place to hide.)


*One final note - the most interesting thing (some may think it’s corny, but it’s rare in this day and age). Fairy tale love is real. After being together with my husband for approx. 8 years, I still cherish every moment I get to spend with him!!!!


(Me again - I swear I didn’t pay her to come up with that one!)

PS - We had the Amnio today. Everything went fine! I full report to follow.

Pretty Woman

When I think of “things that are not fun”, several come to mind. For example;

Christmas shopping the week before Xmas on a Saturday afternoon at a mall in Boca Raton. Not fun. Watching any Julia Roberts movie. Not fun. Having a white-hot sewing needle jabbed through your eyeball. Again, not fun.

And now I have to add to this list; getting sick while being pregnant. As if women don’t have enough to worry about with potential month four issues that include - nosebleeds; anemia; elevated blood pressure; dental problems and the list goes on. Now, if your head becomes a phlegm receptacle, you cannot take any medication to combat it. Apparently, unborn babies are not fond of Airborne and Nyquil.

It is quite a nuisance. Saturday we were at the in-law’s house watching a DVD and between Tracy’s hacking and their dog farting (reason #134 not to have a dog), it was very hard to hear the movie. But I digress as this is not about me and my problems. This is about poor Tracy. And poor little Charlotte. She must be in that womb being jostled like a bingo ball, wondering what the heck is going on.

So we now enter week 17, full steam ahead like a giant wad of mucus hurled from the mouth after a productive cough (sticking with the illness theme). 17 out of 40 weeks breaks down to 42.5%. And with this number I am waffling between a sense of suppressed optimism that we are nearly half way there, or feeling widely despondent because we still have 23 weeks to go.

This week marks an important week in the itinerary that maps our pregnancy. We are scheduled for the gut-wrenching (pun intended) amnio on Wednesday. If things continue as scheduled, Tracy will have the amnio Wednesday morning and be banished to bed rest for the duration of the week. There is still some discussion left to be had so this is not etched in stone. Even if we cancel the amnio, we may still be looking at a series of blood tests as the alternative.

Neither choice is very appealing. It’s like being told that when you walk out of your house today, you will either be kicked in the crotch or hit over the head with a bucket of shit. Take your pick.

Bring on those dirty diapers!

Twas the night

Twas the night before yesterday and all through the house,
Not a creature was nauseous, not even my spouse.

The Zofran sat in the cupboard, it stashed,
In hopes that the worst, of this sickness had past.

For days we had gone, without any issue,
No medicine was needed, nary even a tissue.

Then yesterday morning, I heard a strange din,
I awoke with a start, from the bathroom within.

When what, my listening ears, should I hear,
The sounds of Tracy heaving, that was all too near.

Up granola bar, up grilled cheese, up chicken noodle soup,
Up popsicles, up sherbet, and the rest of her fruit loops.

Afraid the morning sickness had returned, I lay on my bed,
Under a mountain of pillows, I buried my head.

But in the end, I was relieved at what I was told,
No returning bout with the morning blues… she has just caught a cold.

And to all, a good night.

The Tool Man

The day is rapidly approaching when I need to start thinking about preparing the baby’s room. Get some sort of game plan together. Boy, where to start with this one. I am to Home Improvement what cousin Oliver was to the Brady Bunch. It’s just not a good fit.

I am dreading this; partly because I suck at it and partly because I get no joy from this sort of activity. Doing "house stuff" is about as much fun as watching NBC’s Deal or No Deal. Or as I call it, opening random suitcases with Howie Mandel. I’d rather read a book than work on landscaping. I’d rather watch a movie than construct a backsplash over the stove in the kitchen.

However, it must be done and it isn’t very sporting of me to delegate this task to Tracy. What kind of husband would I be if she were climbing up on ladders to paint and stencil butterflies or footballs on the walls, while I am sitting in the other room sipping Starbucks and watching Jarhead?

Without going hog-wild with research, I casually flipped through some magazines only to find that people really go nuts with decorating. Rooms actually have themes. Complete themes like those cheesy adult motels have. Checking into the Tarzan suite, Mr. Smith? The room comes with a complimentary loin cloth and a continental breakfast. Of course, the kid themes are much more kid friendly. Ponies and rainbows and whatnot.

Everything must match and be color coordinated. I’ve got to be honest. If it takes me more than a few seconds to find matching socks; I am out the door with a blue one and a black one. Trying to get a whole room to match is a monumental task. I am going to have to make sure the color of the giraffes on the sheets matches the border around the ceiling, which has little flecks of the same color from the carpet, which is a good secondary color to the crib? Yeah, right.

So I ask you…why? Does anyone remember the room they had as an infant? The first decoration I can remember on my walls was a Samantha Fox poster and I am pretty sure that was put up well beyond my infant stage. Are there scientific studies that show a baby in a cowboy-themed room will grow up to be successful, while a baby in a plain room will be the next Ted Kaczynski? Sounds like flimsy conjecture. In reality, we decorate the room for ourselves. And to impress everyone that comes over to see the room.

Not me. If I try, I’ll just end up screwing things up. The lesson here is, never try. (I need to write these nuggets of advice down for when the kid get older).
A crib, a changing table and one of those dangling things that hangs over the crib and possibly plays music. Done.

Trip Report

1755 miles – distance traveled.
784 – number of BBQ’s we passed along the way.

We are back from our road trip and if there is one thing I Iearned on this trip, it is that the south really loves their barbecues. Every few miles it was another billboard. Sonny’s; Maurice’s; Dustin’s; Big Daddy’s. One billboard actually looked like pig mashed between two halves of a bun. And not a cute pig like Babe or Charlotte’s friend, but one that looked like it was sent through the meat grinder a couple of times. At one point, after listening to the dulcet sounds of James Blunt crooning over the airwaves about a beautiful girl on the subway, the DJ followed up by reminding us that we were, in fact, listening to WBBQ. I swear I am not making that up. We ate pizza all weekend.

Our first, and probably only, pregnant vacation was by most accounts a huge success. Our major concern was Tracy’s ability to cope with an abundance of travel time in a car. I am happy to report she handled it very well. The only major difference from past road trips was her newfound ability to sleep for long periods of time. While happy she was able to rest, it did leave me with lots of alone time in car. But I combated that by making up little games for myself like,

Try and change lanes without hitting the reflectors in the road.

Or,

What just hit my windshield? - That was a dragonfly!

And the ever-popular,

Guess which muscle will cramp next! Will it be the neck? Perhaps it will be the calf.

Unfortunately, the one thing that can dampen a road trip is traffic. Leaving Florida, there was a stream of cars and trucks floating along the two-lane highway like platelets through a major artery. And of course, half of the time I am stuck behind Bobby Brake-A-Lot. You know, the guy who feels the need to hit the decelerator repeatedly, like he senses a squirrel is about to dart in front of him at any moment. But even Bobby couldn’t break our spirits.

We enjoyed North Carolina. I actually found myself saying a couple of times, "we’ll have to come back and visit here with the kid". Probably the most enjoyable thing about the state was the people. While visiting friends, I asked if we were just lucky or are people really this nice? He confirmed they are indeed very friendly. For example, he explained;

"You can be at an intersection and in a lapse of attentiveness, not realize the traffic light has turned green. The car behind you, instead of honking, cursing and giving you the finger, will sit silently, patiently waiting for you to realize you have the green light."

"You are kidding, right?"

"No. They’ll even sit there just pondering, ‘I wonder what that person in front of me is thinking about’?"

That is wonderful, if not a little too passive. I want to learn how to do that. I have become one of those mother-cursing finger flippers and that is not something I want to teach my child.

Anyway, over the weekend we entered week 15. Things look pretty much the same as last week. Tracy is maintaining a healthy weight. I, on the other hand, ate too much pizza.

Worth a thousand words...

Yep, we are really pregnant. And back from vacation. Details to follow.