Twisted Ovaries

Calmly Putting My Mask On Before Helping Others

Just got home after a full-day meeting in London.

I managed to speak to the lab, who finally had my results at about 1:00 pm (which they didn't have when I rang them at 10 am.  Not like I'm persistent or anything.)

Our Lemonhead is just fine.

We don't have Down's.

We are both very, very happy.

Full chromosome report in three weeks and tomorrow a visit with my consultant (where I will beg and plead for one more check on the Lemonheads as a post-CVS review that they are, indeed, ok). 

Because if tomorrow he checks in on them and all is well then I will start to relax and chill about this whole pregnancy, because IVF was scary and pregnancy is scary but at some point I need to just believe, and because our Lemondheads are fucking superheroes.

Circling Over the Airport

(Warning-with picture below.  If you're feeling upset or fragile today, you maybe want to skip this post.)

I'm 13w3d today.

The cramps have stopped (well, I still have some cramps, but they're back to the level they were pre-CVS, and the consultant told me that's just my uterus stretching.  It's official. I have Play Doh Uterus.) and I haven't had a single bit of bleeding or anything like that.  It's true I have a headache and a cough, but I've had both for some weeks now, so neither of them worries me.  I won't know for sure until I see my consultant on Tuesday (and beg him for a check to just make sure they're ok, as I won't have another scan for 7 weeks now and post-CVS I do want to make sure they're ok), but I am beginning to think I'm in the clear.

I think I am ok.  I think I haven't miscarried. I might be wrong, but I have no symptoms to suggest otherwise.

I've been doing weekly pictures of my stomach since finding out I was pregnant, just so that I can have a record.  I nearly didn't do one this week as I felt I've had too much on, but this week?  This week was starting to own me.  I was so afraid of losing anything, I was so afraid of miscarrying, I didn't even want to think about pregnancy.

Then I decided that fear can go grab itself by the ankles and fuck itself. 

Today I'm 13w3d.  Tomorrow, I will be 13w4d.  I will make this pregnancy continue if I have to go in there myself and sort things out.

Results Monday, although unfortunately both Aidan and I are in an all-day meeting in London, so I'll be diving out of it every time the phone rings.

Last night I dreamt the doctor called to tell us the results.  In my dream he told us the sex, too (which we will be clear about, we don't want to know.) 

In my dream, I dreamt that I have a chromosomally normal baby.  And it's a girl.

And dammit, I'm going to just believe that, too.

That chick who wrote that book Oprah is cawing about (if you believe it, it will come) has NOTHING on me.

So this is me yesterday with a total weight gain of 5.5 kilos (12 pounds), all of which seems to have been put on in the "baby approrpriate area" (click to embiggen and gawk at what has all the signs of "you should really do more sit-ups).

You're Planning on Sticking That Thing WHERE?

Home now, and despite the fact that I'm supposed to be at a two-day conference in a part of the country I call Upper Buttfuck (I hated the place before this even happened, and now I really hate the place) and although I've left messages for my boss I worry that he's angry I'm not there, I'm glad I chose to stay home.  A four hour train journey (each way!) and a stayover at the Holiday Inn, which is the only hotel I could find a room in Upper Buttfuck in, do not a comfortable stay make.

We went to the clinic in London late yesterday afternoon.  We're glad we left early for the appointment because parking at the NHS hospital was something primal, a blood sport for the driving population. I'm convinced there were cameras about videoing drivers as we became animals in our quest to just find a bloody parking spot (When Drivers Become Cavemen!  Watch what happens when a little old lady pauses to put a mint in her mouth, she's taken out WWF style!  Live tonight at 7pm on th WB!).  People walking in the car park were relentlessly stalked by those expecting them to free up a parking spot, I fully expected other drivers to get out of their cars and bang on hoods of their vehicles with femurs, a la Caveman extraordinaire.  After hanging out and waiting for a young mother to put her twins away in a car (and nearly coming to vehicular blows with another driver who was going to race us for the spot), we finally parked up.

My nerves were shot long before the parking escapade.  They were in real tatters after that.

The hospital itself was crazy busy, which I took comfort in.  To me, a hospital should be busy.  If they're not busy, how do I know they're not in the back turning prospective patients into Soilant Green?  We make our way into the information desk to ask for directions.  We are directed to walk some distance until we make our way to Northern Wales, otherwise known as the Great-Long-Walk-To-Fetal-Medicine.  When we get there we check in and wait.  The only periodicals are child rearing magazines, or else we can watch an extremely snowy TV showing Diagnosis Murder.  We chose Diagnosis Murder.  The alternative felt like an uncomfortable jinx.

When the doctor calls us in, he's a very kind, very soft-spoken man with a long, unpronouncable Greek last name.  He tells us to call him by his first name which is short and easy to pronouce, so we assume he's used to yuks like us being unable to say his last name.  A fetal medicine midwife joins us.  The doctor, it turns out, is a Senior Fellow at the hospital, which as it's a teaching hospital it means  he's not only a doctor involved with patients, but he's a professor/senior lecturer.  I took great comfort in that.  I suppose if the doctor was a real quack, he wouldn't be in that kind of position, and during our appointment he spoke at length to us in calm and easy tones.  He spent well over an hour just working with us alone.

He went through every one of my questions, which I'm including here in the extended post in case anyone goes through this and needs answers themselves, because Google will drive you mad trying to find people who may have the same questions you do.

The nice doctor scanned me again.

Both babies are growing fine-in fact, growing a lot!  Twin 1 is now 69mm and Twin 2 is 73mm.  He showed us all the component parts of the Lemonheads, and I'm happy to report they both have the correct number of arms, legs, fingers, thumbs, and toes.  Their heartbeats were perfect and their body structures were, he said "right on target".  He pointed out the bladder, stomach, etc, but it just looked like a a fuzzy image to us, like he needed to adjust the aerial or something. 

So the numbers, which he cautioned us are less reliable than the numbers we had last week simply because the twins are both considered too old for a very sound NT scan (he said it should be done 11-12 weeks, 13 weeks pushes the results to less than certain), are:

Twin 1 - Down's risk has gone from 1:598 to 1:898.

Twin 2 (our worry twin) - Down's risk has gone from 1:124 to 1:90.

If I was on the fence about testing at 1:124, I fell right off the fence and landed headfirst into that cow patty known as reality.

As far as testing he felt an amnio at 16 weeks was our best bet, as he said it's safer and twin parents generally want results on both babies.  He described the procedure to us, but considering how the twins are placed, our risks are higher than usual-the twins' placentas are nowhere near each other, which we were told is unusual in twin pregnancies (my Lemonheads.  Already taking the road less travelled.)   Twin 1's placenta is buried in the uterus towards the posterior, so it's facing my back.  Twin 2's placenta is right near the top of the uterus and is the closest thing to the outside of my stomach.  An amnio would have to go through Twin 2's placenta, into the sac, get fluid, somehow manipulate around Twin 2, change syringes at the top of the needle, then go straight through Twin 2's sac, through the twin membrane, and into Twin 1's sac.  This did slightly increase the risk of infection and of twin-to-twin contamination.

It also seriously freaked me out.

I pictured Twin 2 deflating like a badly managed water balloon.

An amnio for twins carries a 1% miscarriage risk, and at 16+ weeks if one did have Down's and we chose to reduce, the risk for total miscarriage came to 15%.  If we did a CVS, the miscarriage rate is 2% (1% per twin), but if we chose to reduce should the results come out badly, the total miscarriage rate is "only" 5%.  But a CVS  wouldn't be possible for both twins-for Twin 1, the placenta was so far out of the way it would be impossible to get to. 

Aidan and I discussed it.  Honestly, while we both love and feel concern for both twins, we are mostly worried about Twin 2 right now.  At 1:598 or 1:898, Twin 1 has betting odds that we will take.  1:90 is too high even for me and I knew I couldn't wait 4 weeks to test, it would play on my mind like a bad Barry Manilow song for the entire wait.  So even though the doctor told us it was unusual, we elected to just test the one twin via CVS.

We had the CVS yesterday on our Twin 2.  We both honestly felt all signs pointed to it.  The placenta for Twin 2 was (in the doctor's words) extremely easy to get to for a transabdominal CVS procedure.  the doctor was highly experienced in that he averaged 6-7 CVS a day.  He said it would be simple to do as I was thin (seiously, I've gained 5.5 kilos since getting pregnant.  I felt raw, honest love for the doctor when he said that).  We felt the 1:90 risk was just too significant to overlook. 

I shook like a crack addict on withdrawal. 

We signed consent forms.  More midwives came in to assist.  Just as we were getting ready, me lying flat and worried on the table, the power went out.  When it came back on, we waited for it to reboot.

I stared at the screen.  "A power cut doesn't exactly instill great confidence in me, you know," I laugh nervously.  They laugh with me.  I was only half kidding. 

The power came back on.  The doctor took one of my hands and clasped it to the inside of his elbow for me to feel reassured.  With my other hand gripping Aidan's so hard it was cutting off circulation, I can confess I did indeed feel reassured.  "Ready?"  the doctor asked.

"Yes.  And, um, I know other women who have this procedure done want you to be careful and don't want anything to happen to their babies, but I want  my babies even more than them, so please be careful." I whimper.  And I know it's a hideously unfair thing to say, I'm sure those of you with babies want yours as much as I do, but still.  It was desperate times.  I would have sacrificed goats to ensure my babies made it ok.  And I'm a pacifist.  And a vegetarian.  I'm truly crunchy granola.

He inserted the needle.  I didn't get anesthetic because really-what's the point?  Anesthetic is just topical, it never reaches the uterus, where the real party is going on.  He inserted the needle like a javelin or a dart, it went in fast and hard.  In retrospect I think doing it that way was easier than slowly inserting it, but it feels pretty strange to be a part of the Fetal Olympics.  The other needle got threaded through the javelin, and he made jabbing motions in the placenta, much like you do when you've reached the bottom of your snow cone and you jab at the ice to break it down so it can fall into the goopy syrup.  The ultrasound showed he didn't come close to the baby, but stayed only in the placenta. 

It was not a painful procedure, but it was very uncomfortable.  You feel instant period-like cramps that are pretty strong, and the idea of a needle that big close to something you care about does make one's bowel threaten to loosen a bit.  I wouldn't ever want the procedure again but it really wasn't as bad as I'd feared it would be.

We were done quickly.  The miscarriage rate does come from infection, but the doctor said most doctors can generally tell when the procedure has gone well or is potentially at risk.  He said our CVS was easy and clear-cut, so actually he puts our miscarriage rates at less than 1%.  If I am going to miscarry, it will happen in the next 5 days, so I'm on alert for any signs of infection or fever or excessive bleeding or cramping or anything that automatically worries any hypochondriac at all.  If I show any signs, I am to get thee to the Central Delivery Suite at our hospital for emergency antibiotics.   In the meantime, I'm on rest for today.

The results will come in on Monday about the Down's aspect, but the full results will take several more weeks.  Although we want to know the full results, it's the Down's part that we are focussing on at the moment.

I honestly feel ok about the test and I think it was the right decision.  I am not spotting blood or amniotic fluid at all (knock on wood), and although I am still cramping it's managable with paracetamol.  I feel optimistic that I won't miscarry-perhaps this is a mistake to be so positive, but the doctor truly was absolutely excellent and the procedure itself was clear and concise, aided by the fact that I could see it all myself on the ultrasound.  I will look forward to Monday, though-I'd like the results as soon as we can.  And we have another visit to our midwife on Tuesday, where I will beg/bribe/throw a tantrum/blackmail them to see if they can just quickly look in on the Lemonheads and make sure they're ok.

At the end of the scan the doctor played their heartbeats for us.  It was the first time we've ever heard them, and they were amazing.  No sign of fetal distress, no irregularities, and just the right tempo.  They sounded like a washing machine drum in the middle of the suds cycle. 

They sounded perfect.

Let's hope that they are.

PS-a good friend of mine who just had a miscarriage (after ages of the fun of infertility) has just started a blog.  Go say hi, and lend some encouragement.  She's hilarious and I love her, so hopefully you'll love her too.

The Planning Stages

So yeah.

Still working on it.

Since last Thursday, I've been thinking about the babies and the testing, oh, I dunno, every 0.054 seconds.  I suddenly have baby on the brain, which should amuse me as I'm an IVF'er, you'd think I'd have more baby on the brain than I have done.  Suddenly, when said babies are worrying, they're all I think about.  When the babies are fine, I'm more likely to be thinking about CSI or when I can suggest we have macaroni and cheese again or which superpowers I would want from the characters on Heroes (I'm thinking it would be the cheerleader's powers, because then the third rail on the Southwest Trains tracks wouldn't freak me out so much.  I reserve the right to have other superpowers though, if I want to change my mind.)

Now, I worry about babies.

Kind of a surreal change.

And something the lovely Ms. Pants said last week rings true with me-I had been fully bonded with the babies, or as bonded as you can get when you're freaked out that you're actually having two babies, and now after potentially bad news and seeing myself in a potentially risky situation, I'm suddenly all "Babies?  What babies?  You mean the babies I think about every 0.054 seconds?  Those babies?  I can't hear you la la la."  I am indeed detaching, and I think this is a bad thing, so now I am trying to encourage my lame ass to imagine those birthing scenarios I had been imagining before said bad news (and yes, I confess I did try to imagine what birth day was like.  I admit it.  SO?  Haven't you tried to imagine it, too?)

I've been on the phone 100 times with the midwives in our clinic.  Say what you want about the NHS (and many do), but I honestly think this hospital is fantastic.  Yes, it's in the stereotypical NHS-like building-a horrific looking 1970's job that makes one think of "Insitutional Yellow" and it's a confusing rabbit warren of badly labelled departments and yes, it does smell funny in there and they have the past 10 years of Hampshire Country Living as the only periodical to read and the guy at the pharmacy squicks me out.  But the staff in my antenatal unit-like the staff in the A&E when I was miscarrying last year-are amazing.  They're so incredibly kind and really, really go the distance for you.  So the midwife I've been speaking to handles all of the invasive testing and genetics counselling.  She's booked us in at a specialist clinic in London, which is known for being the country's best clinic for the testing of all babies, but especially of twins (I was surprised to find our hospital's antenatal unit is also highly ranked, and I take comfort from that.)  I love the midwife.  I'd give her a kidney.  Or a muffin, whichever is more palatable.  Her choice.

We go to the London clinic Wednesdy for a consultation.  We talked to our own consultant, my former IVF doctor who's now my high-risk OB, and he's said that he advises us to go with whatever advice this clinic has.  They do over 700 amnios a year (the industry minimum for recommendation is 50 a year), have some of the country's best consultants, and are also a leader for CVS (whose stats I didn't ask for as it wasn't a consideration at the time.)

But CVS is back on the boards for us.

It's just as Marie-Baguette said in my comments-in some places, amnios and CVS both have the same miscarriage rate.  This clinic is one of those-for twins, the miscarriage rate in this London clinic is the same with both amnios and CVS, both hover around 1%.  And this clinic can just test the one baby that we are worried about, although it's moot really-the leading cause for miscarriage in CVS and amnios is infection, and if you get an infection your body can go into labor, and unfortunately nature hasn't evolved the uterus enough yet to figure out that one cargo should go, but not both.

We have many questions.

1) What is the doctor's real feeling about a 1:124 chance, especially as we are considered a borderline risk-the babies' neck folds needed to be at max 2.5mm, and Twin 2's neck fold was 2.6mm (ALL THIS FOR 0.1MM!)?  (We know the doctors here will never recommend nor not recommend an invasive procedure, but I'm looking for best practice feelings.)

2) Can they put me on a course of prophylactic antibiotics, to prevent infection, because infection is bad, like a 5'2 curvy blond homewrecker with no gag reflex?

3) How will they know which baby is which?  Apparently before 24 weeks, the babies move around and can even switch places (which makes no sense to me as the twins are dichorionic, which means they have their own sacs and placentas, but I guess the doctors know what they're talking about.)  The neck folds disappear in the next week-will they know which is which, or are we looking at two tests?

4) I'm a tough chick in many, many ways.  I've been through a lot.  I can take a lot of pain in all areas but one-I have the wussiest uterus known to man.  I go running for the ibuprofen during a period at the drop of a hat (which is a no-no while pregnant, so don't worry, I'm not taking the stuff).  As the twins grow, I have substantial cramps.  What kind of impact will an invasive procedure have on my pansy ass uterus?

5) The clinic's stats are at 1% miscarriage rate, but what is that particular doctor's rate (the twin specialist, I mean)? 

6) I understand the quad panel and all blood tests are not useful when carrying twins, but are they SURE they won't help?

7) Can they scan me again and re-check?  I'm not saying that because I doubt the expertise of the other ultrasound tech, but seriously-0.1MM!

8) Can they promise that they won't hurt my babies or cause me to lose them?

OK, I know number 8 isn't possible.  Still, doesn't hurt to ask. 

It turns out they may be able to do a CVS procedure on Wednesday if that's what we elect to go for.  CVS must be done by week 14, and I'm at 12w4d today, so time is running out.  If we choose to wait, we can have an amnio week 16.  Or we can choose to do nothing.  Although the "nothing" is what I'm leaning to, Aidan is very, very strongly wanting more information.  And there are two of us in this, so I think I need to respect his preference.  I'm terrified of having bad news, and I'm terrified of losing either or both of the Lemonheads.  But though I think I would prefer not to test, we are a team in this, and both of us have "rest of our life" on the line here.

We won't have any answers until Wednesday, at which point we'll decide either yes or no for the test, and at which point the test may even be done, and then at which point I'll spend the next 5 days worrying both about the result and about the possibility of infection. 

In the meantime, I've cancelled my London meetings for tomorrow.  I'd rather stay home and re-group.  I think I'm going to need it.  I'm going to think positive and upbeat if it breaks my head open, because in some small way I think it'll make a difference.

What can I say?  I'm naive. 

(Oh also?  My subhorionic bleed is gone.  Score one for the home team, and another reason I need to believe my Lemonheads have superpowers.  They're the strongest Lemondheads in the world.  They believe in me, I need to assure them I believe in them.)

Thinking (aka Working Without Tools Again)

OK, so a lot of info has been coming our way.  We're waiting to find out more info from the hospital where we would be having the amnio done-our local hospital doesn't do twin amnios as they are considered a specialist practice, it's a hospital in London (not the same one as you mentioned, Thalia, although I'll be giving them a call, too) and the two consultants who do twin amnios there are considered field experts and have many thousands of frequent twin amnio air miles on them. 

This gives me some relief.

The nuchal showed a risk based on the neck measurements alone.  The rest of Twin 2 looked just fine, it was just the gap in the neck flap that put it over measurement.  I'm tempted to have a second opinion, but at the end of the day I don't know how helpful that would really be. We cannot have the blood test, which I think is called the P-APP, because twins knock the results out of the ballpark anyway.  We get this ultrasound alone as our screening test.  CVS wasn't offered, but the miscarriage rates for CVS are higher anyway, so I think maybe it's better if we don't do that one.

As to why we want to know more, well I'm going to be honest here and I'd really appreciate if I'm not attacked for it, your reaction may be to judge and I understand that, but we're all in differnet places in our lives.  Honestly, Aidan and I don't think we have what is needed to be parents to a Down's child.  We both have friends with Down's babies, and while I have no doubt (and have seen myself) how sweet and loving their children are, we have also seen (and been told by the parents) the extreme toll that a Down's child has on the marriage, the finances, and the family.  We're asking ourselves a lot of questions right now-if we have a Down's baby, how will that impact Aidan's two kids?  How will the healthy twin be impacted?  What will happen with our finances and jobs, as Down's babies are an incredible about of work in terms of time, attention, and special care?  If we don't test, will we spend the next 5 months in complete fear?  These are questions we feel we need to ask ourselves.

As for the test, the question of what happens if it is a Down's baby remains unanswered here.  We just don't know what we'll do then.  Do we reduce?  Do we keep it?  Is it even possible to reduce by one at that late stage here?  Can I live with myself if I do that?  Don't get me wrong-I'm pro-choice, and I remain firmly so.  But I believe the choice is up to the individual.  I've seen the heartbeats.  I've seen the swimming.  I've seen the moving and growing.

And above all, I've completely fallen for my little guys.

At this point, do I feel "the choice" has become something exclusively for other women, and not for me?

I know it seems crazy that we're thinking this much about something that simply reflects the odds.  The odds are we won't have a Down's child.  But when you go from low-risk to high-risk in the space of a half-hour ultrasound then it does something to your thinking.  The odds of miscarriage are relatively low-if I have a 2% chance of miscarrying anyway through the rest of the pregnancy for whatever reasons (genetic defects, cords cutting off air, the sun being in Sagittarius), then is adding a one-off 1% really so dire?  If most clinics have stellar rates of success for not miscarrying (I've seen anywhere from 1:200 to 1:5,000), why does the UK quote 1:100?  And are the rates worse for twins, who have a higher "average" miscarriage rate anyway?

I always knew that infertility was a roller coaster.  I think I stupidly and naively though pregnancy would be a cake walk compared to those early days. I hereby beg forgiveness from the universe.

So my answer is I don't know what we're going to do.  Aidan is keen for us to do the amnio, and he is my partner and the father of our children and his wishes and fears register high with me.  I fluctuate between thinking we should do an amnio and thinking we shouldn't.

The one thing I do know is that if something happened to these babies I would fall apart.  I'm not trying to be Alexis Carrington about it, but I would honestly need to be checked into some kind of facility for a while, because I wouldn't even be able to follow my bubbles to determine where the surface is anymore.  I know it seems crazy-I was freaked out that we're having twins (and I still am, really), but they are a part of my life now.  I don't want to lose them.

In my heart of hearts, I truly and completely believe we are carrying two normal, healthy babies.

But if I am wrong, then the change to our lives will be so monumental as to oblierate what the face of it once looked like. 

Lots to think about.

I'm officially about a third of the way through my twin pregnancy, and already the Lemonheads (the name is perfect, Donna) are so hugely important to me it makes me swell up like a Hallmark card.  Feel free to barf at the sweetness.  I know I will.

I created this website to be private, to hide my fertility treatments and my failures and successes from my mother and sister, so that I could feel like I have a calm and private place where I'm not constantly being read (yes, I am putting things on the web, but I am using pseudonyms all over the place and you'd have to actively look for me to find me).  My mother and sister have apparently felt that my needs and wishes are irrelevant to their own, and have (I have discovered) been reading this site anyway.  So fuck it. 

And people wonder why I'm in therapy.

Never Been a Fan of Roller Coasters

My dad and stepmother have given the twins nicknames, which I'll come out with at some point but right now it feels a bit like jinxing things.

The scan and nuchal translucency are over (and WHY did no one tell me that when you get an ultrasound on the outside of your stomach and thus need to have a full bladder, that the ultrasound technicians push down so hard?  HUH?  Keeping it to ourselves are we?)  It has been an exhausting day.  We're at home Googling like madmen now, which is always dangerous. 

Nuchal risk categories done in our hospital are defined as "low risk", whereby the odds of Down's are over 1 in 250 (so if I have odds of 1:500 then I'm low risk) and "high risk" as anything less than 250, so a 1:200 is considered a high risk.  Going in to the scan today, based on my age and the lack of Down's Syndrome in our families, my odds were set at 1:398.

Anyway.

Aidan accompanied me to the appointment at the hospital where we will be delivering.  The scan didn't take long.  Both babies are still alive and kicking, and are about the size of lemons.  The details:

Twin 1 measured right on track, everything looked fine.  An active little sucker, Twin 1 was always moving around, wriggling, waving, and at one point had the hiccups, which amused me no end.  The ultrasound tech pointed out the various parts of the body, showed the two lobes of the brain, the arms and legs, and we saw the long snaky spinal cord.  Twin 1's nuchal was perfect, and it has a 1:598 risk of having Down's Syndrome, thereby putting it right in the category of "low risk".  The nuchals here also offer odds on Patau's Syndrome and Edward's Syndrome and Twin 1 looks absolutely fine on both of those.

Twin 2 is my quieter twin.  Low key, easy going, active but not nearly as acrobatic as Twin 1.  Twin 2 has gone from being the smaller twin to the larger twin.  Twin 2's nuchal showed a very low risk for both Patau's Syndrome and Edward's Syndrome.   At the end of the scan, the technician came back to us looking quiet. 

Based on its proportions, Twin 2 has moved from a 1 in 398 chance of having Down's to a 1 in 124 chance.

Twin 2's scan has moved it to the high risk for Down's Syndrome.

We have come home to think about our options but it looks like we're headed for an amnio in four weeks time (when I'm 16+ weeks pregnant), which stresses me out no end.  Stressed not because amnios involve needles of anything like that, but because amnios have a 1% chance of causing a miscarriage and in a twin pregnancy that miscarriage odd refers to both twins, because a miscarriage from an amnio is actually premature labor and if I lose Twin 2 (the only one that needs testing) from the amnio then I will lose them both.

Any advice from those who have had amnios is gratefully received.

A picture of Les Babies is attached (click to embiggen, and the bottom picture is much clearer).

National Lampoons Holiday Has Nothing On Us

We're home now.  I've already been snoozing on the couch and will go crawl back and snooze some more in a moment.  I know this is ill-advised-in general we work on the principal that you shouldn't nap when going to/returning from holiday as it fucks up the sleep schedule, but I figure the hell with it.  I'm bloody exhausted and I'm napping. 

The holiday didn't remotely go as planned.  In fact, in terms of holiday screwiness, we have achieved epic National Lampoon style limits.   Everything that could go wrong on holiday did go wrong.  Everything.  The one saving graces are that:

1) I never lost the passports.
2) There was no evidence of arterial bleeding from any of the four of us
3) We never actually missed a plane.  Even though we came so fucking close you wouldn't believe it.  And even though we were supposed to go to Jamaica, but never actually made it there.  That's right-due to a sudden visa issue having to do with cricket tournaments and murdered cricket coaches and Aidan's daughter having only had her Swedish passport with her as her English passport is being renewed, Jamaica wouldn't allow her in the country.  Nice Jamaica.  Plays so well with others.  So we swapped locations (and for the princely sum of £1500, which in hindsight makes us weep and informs us that this?  This was not worth it) we went to Cancun instead. 

Cancun rewarded us with a huge host of problems, including both Aidan and his son coming down with flaming ear infections from the Mexican hotel pool (and this was a really posh upscale resort, too!   Who saw that coming?) and Aidan's daughter coming down with an outbreak of Herpes Simplex A on her face (NOT the kind related to sexually transmitted disease, this is the viral kind related to exposure of chicken pox.  Still, not something that one is necessarily proud of).

Strangely, the pregnant lady?  She fared ok.  Hopefully.  I mean, yes-the scan is tomorrow, and for all I know they could have bailed on me (I wouldn't have blamed them.  Last Wednesday on that boat with the huge rocking waves?  Yeah.  That was me lying prone and moaning a lot due to seasickness.  If they were going to clock out, that'd be the point in time when it would've made sense.)  But despite having reached that magic end of first trimester mark today, I can confirm I still feel like shit, complete with a side of increased heartburn and body discomfort.

I think I also get why they recommend not flying during the first trimester.  Not because of any problems, although I did have a lot of mild cramps, but because your stomach swells like a balloon.  I looked like I swallowed one of the Harlem Globetrotters mid-ball twirling.  It got pretty uncomfortable.

The weird thing is, all of a sudden on Saturday?  I started looking pregnant (I also had some brown spotting that day, which disappeared same day).  Honest to god pregnant, not "beer gut" stomach-y.  It happened overnight.  Strange thing-there I was, a few days short of the 12 week mark, and suddenly the pregnant stomach appears, much like it does with the Sims.

Tomorrow is my scan, and in many ways it marks the end of the worry stage for me.  I'm sure I'll worry still about the two of them in there, but somehow I have this mental image of doing a Chariots of Fire bust through the tape in my mind upon successfully meeting the 12 week mark and having them both still doing somersaults in there.  My mind may never fully be at ease, but I think it will be much easier from then on.

We told the kids about the pregnancy while we were away.  I broke it to his daughter and he told his son while out quadbiking through the jungle together.  They were both amazingly supportive and ok about it, in fact they're actually excited about it.  His son has declared he wants to be a mentor to one of them and very cutely leans in to my stomach and asks it profound questions.  His daughter wants to babysit as often as possible and likes to point out pregnant women on the street and exclaim "Look Vanessa!  That'll be you!  But you'll be even BIGGER!  You'll maybe be 100 KILOS (220 pounds)!" with a level of glee that makes me wonder how fast I'll be able to get the post-pregnancy weight off, and which also makes me want to assure everyone within a three block radius that I'll be nowhere near 100 kilos, especially as the first trimester is ending for me and I'm up a grand total of 4 kilos (8.8 pounds). 

They both have started a list with Aidan and I of boy and girl names.  Although we have the final veto, a lot of the names are quite good-all four of us like traditional, solid names.  None of this "Dalton" or "LaShalala" bullshit.  If it hasn't been heard of before or sounds like the name of a new line of Range Rovers, we're not interested.

Although Aidan's son is going to be disappointed.

We're not going to be using his two favorite names.

I love the kid madly and all, but no way am I naming the twins Wayne and Krusty.

PS-the peanuts-the clinics I see here are beginning to advise pregnant women to not eat peanuts (nuts in general to be used in small doses, peanuts to be avoided completely.)  Apparently, there is some potential evidence to suggest that eating peanuts in pregnancy can lead to nut allergies in the children.  I don't really know if this is true or not, but avoiding nuts for the next 6 months seems an easy enough thing if it saves me future nut allergy fears.  But seriously-I really miss my peanut butter.

Walking the Wild Side

So on Sunday Aidan and his kids and I head out of England on holiday.  We're off for 5 days in Jamaica and then a few days in Key West.

Key West and Jamaica will be so great.

In Jamaica we're staying at a poshy hotel with about 500,000 water slides.  We have so much planned-we're going diving.  We'll be sliding up and down those water slides all evening.  I'm debating taking up wind surfing or cliff diving as well at one of the local waterfalls.  We may take horseback rides through the surf.  There's loads of real Jamaican rum to be had, and that's not even mentioning the fact that we're going to get a few tattooes and smoke some of the local ganja.  I understand there's a reggae club nearby that will let us dance all night long, and I can't wait to practice my twist, which I've been perfecting.  There's a local fish they serve raw that I'm desperate to try, and of course I'll be eating all the peanuts my family gets on the plane.

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Or, you know, I'll be doing none of the above.

While Aidan (who is a certified diver already) and his kids (who are getting certified this trip) will be diving, I'm on shore duty managing the towels.  The irony is I am the one who got everyone into diving as I've been a diver since 1996, but diving is one of those big no-nos when you're knocked up.  It's cool though-I'll listen with glazed wonder as they recount their adventures, and I'll ensure no snorkel gets left behind.

The water slides are also out-Aidan and the kids will be on them, and I will watch the beach chairs with the ferocity of a mother lion.  I do get to swim a lot though, which is good-I haven't been to aqua aerobics since I had some bleeding after I last went so it'll feel fantastic to get back in the water.  I am bringing my mask and snorkel as while diving is out snorkelling is ok, and I plan on snorkelling when I can in the sea.

Also no worries about the tattooes, the ganja (I've never been high in my life, although I did try a space brownie in Amsterdam some years ago, but I was already pretty drunk when I ate it so I passed out and had WILD dreams that night).  There will be no cliff diving or wind surfing, and My Friend Flicka is off the roadmap as equines are on the "not allowed" list.  The homemade rum is out-I've tried it before and I really like the stuff, but it does indeed feel like it's stripping a path down your esophagus as it goes so I can imagine it's probably not a good idea-even though the doctors here allow two units of alcohol a week I'm pretty sure the local drinking equivalent of paint stripper isn't what they had in mind.  Fish will be cooked, peanuts are a no-no, and as specified by the doctor any twisting motion is out (as is the case for those carrying twins). 

In fact, I plan on doing very little besides relaxing, reading books, swimming occasionally, and enjoying time with my family.  It'll be an action-packed holiday for the family and I'm happy to just go and soak up the warmth (in my tankini, which will help my "I look remarkably like a beer gut" stomach), although pregnant women are more susceptible to overheating and too much sun so I'll be slathered in sunblock strong enough to repel nuclear radiation and chilling beneath an umbrella (which is ok as I also have had skin cancer in the past so staying out of the sun would seem like common sense, wouldn't it?)

We'll be back on the 18th and then our scan is on the 19th, at which point I hope they're both alive, kicking, and not in danger of needing more testing to see if they have Down's.

I'll see you when we get back, when I am 12w1d, and hopefully I'll have successfully cleared that first trimester hurdle.

The Dumpy Stage

Everyone has what I call The Dumpy Stage.  You know the one, where you're so seriously fugly you wish you could erase your appearance from everyone's mind?  That one?  Yeah.  Mine was when I was a pre-teen and I have photographic evidence of huge braces, tragic glasses, and the world's worst poodle perm in history (and no, I won't show you those photos, mostly because you'll never read this site again.  You'll be scarred.  You'll need to bleach your brain to free it of the horror.)  When Aidan saw those photos and he still said he loved me, I knew he was the man for me. 

It turns out it's possible to be in the Dumpy Stage again in life.  I thought that was all behind me, and yes-while the tragic poodle cut and frightening 80's glasses are in my past, I'm in a new Dumpy Stage.

It's called "I don't look pregnant, I just look like I need to do a lot of sit-ups". 

I weighed myelf on Tuesday and was shocked to see I'd gained 8 pounds.  It's true that I apparently need to get up to 15 pounds within the next two weeks (according to some sources, anyway.  None of the books are consistent because, you know, this whole thing isn't confusing enough.) but 8 pounds in one week was a lot.  Then I realized that whole "constipation" thing was indeed a problem, I visited my friend the Organic Prune and Angus discreetly didn't mention the phenomenal amount of methane I was emitting, and I'm here now to report that my clean colon and I are really only up 6 pounds, not 8* (don't tell me you never weighed yourself after a clean out session, because I know you did.  ADMIT IT.)

But my clothes are getting too tight.  I'm down to wearing my last pair of what Statia calls Big Girl Jeans as they hang off my body and the butt on them is somewhere down around my knees, but luckily they still fit as they're low-rise suckers, so I strap on a belt and look like I have the dress sense of Vanilla Ice.  I went to the shop the other day and bought two sundresses that have a lot of give, so I'll be able to wear them for a while if I continue to ride the Pregnancy Train. 

I also had to buy a bathing suit.

This was where the real trauma was.

My current bathing suit has ratty straps anyway, and my little paunch was getting obvious.  So in a startling move for someone who's gained 6 pounds, I bought a two piece swimsuit, a tankini, because it'll last several more months at least, if not the duration of the pregnancy (although by the end of this, it'll be looking like a bikini instead.)  I tried it on and was satisfied enough, but one thing's for sure-

Next week on holiday I'm going to be looking like the American who ate too many Cheetos.

Where is this gentle, gliding slope that women on TV have, the one that hallmarks them as being in the early pregnant stage?  What, was Hollywood fucking with us?  Is there such a slope?  Because I have what looks stunningly like a beer gut, my friend. 

But my body's changing.

(I know-you're probably thinking Way to go, cub reporter!  You're totally on the ball now, Pregneto!)

I can't suck in my stomach at all now.  And my little beer gut?  It's really hard, like a tight ball is under there.  I don't think it's actually fat, as I was overweight in the past, and this doesn't move like fat.  It moves like I am smuggling a rugby ball. 

So the twins-which I do believe are still alive in there, although I can't really explain why I think that, I just do-are about the size of plums.  Both of them.  That might explain my gentle Mrs. Claus rounding.

My next scan isn't until the 19th of April, at which point we go nuchal.  As for me, I'm doing ok.  Still hideously tired and, while I'm constipated, headache-y, occasionally nauseaus and usually hungry, I also have a new symptom which exploded on my horizon this week-I have a lot of saliva going on.  I'm like Droopy Dog before a BBQ buffet, I am Captain Drool.  It would be bearable except for the fact that it gives me bad breath, too (Aidan came up to me the other morning and told me, "Your breath is terrible."  I like to think it was because he was tired and really hung over, so I angelically forgave him his transgressions, and then I made out with a bottle of Listerine.) 

I  also can't really explain it, but I feel very strongly that I know one of the sexes of the twins.  Apparently with fraternal twins you have a 75% chance of having one of each, and so we're trying to set our expectations that we'll be having that.  But I can't tell you why, it makes no sense at all and I'm probably full of shit, but since seeing Fetus 1 on the screen the first time, I've been certain it's a boy.  I dunno why.  I don't really have that kind of certainty about Fetus 2, but stats say (and I'd be very pleased if this were true) that it's a girl. 

We'll find out when they're born, because the boy and I made a deal-we're not finding out the sexes of the babies beforehand. 

We're masochists like that.

*Still eating healthy**.

**OK, there was that event now known as the Great Cheese Doodle Event of 2007, but we don't talk about that day, and otherwise I'm eating healthy.***

***Well, yes-I am on the way to the grocery store and yes-if I dont' have a donut RIGHT NOW I may die, but other than that, I swear I'm eating healthy.

Partial Outing From a Hidden World

There's something to telling someone about being pregnant.

Really.

Aidan told me on my birthday I was allowed to tell my Dad and Stepmother-the only family I speak to, and the family that I love very much-that we are expecting.  Even though we're two weeks shy of that magic 12-week mark - and I don't even know if they're ok in there-we were going to tell them earlier because even if I miscarried, I would need and want their support.  I didn't know why I wasn't allowed to tell them before that, I just wasn't.

Turns out the reason why is because Aidan and my family arranged a surprise-they flew 6,000 miles to see us for my birthday. 

So for the first time, I got to tell someone in person.

(Throwing up in front of my colleagues then admitting the pregnancy didn't count.)

Sat at a lovely French restaurant in the heart of Covent Garden, I fidgeted. 

"So, we have a date for you to put into your calendars," I hedge.

"Wonderful!"  "About time!"  "When's the wedding?"  "Finally!" came the confusing barrage of responses.  Aidan and I are doing things slightly out of order-we're not married, we're engaged, and yet we're already carrying Parentsville bus passes.

"It's October 31st," I informed them, blushing.

"Excellent, it'll be this year!"  "Already?"  "Perfect!"  "Strange choice, but memorable!" came the host of happy responses.

"Actually," I said swallowing.  "October 31st is my due date."

My stepmother started cooing, "Oh my GOD!" and teared up.  My dad looked like a train hit him.  "You're pregnant!" my stepmother cheered.

"You're pregnant?" my dad asked, dazed.

"You're having a baby!" my stepmother raved.

"Actually, funny thing about that," I hedged.  "We're actually having two.  I'm pregnant...with twins."

My stepmother lit up like a roman candle.  My dad looked like a deer in the headlights.  My stepmother reiterated what I'd told him about pregnant with twins, because it was very clear he was thrown for a loop.  She had to re-tell him twice, before the stubborn fog cleared.

And it sunk in.

His smile was enormous, and his eyes got watery, too.

He turned to the waitress.  "I'm going to be a grandpa!" he exclaimed loudly.  He told her twice, actually.  And yes, he's already a grandpa to my sister's child, but he wasn't being exclusionary about it, since he really does like being a grandpa there, too.

They're over the moon and have already informed us that they'll be here often.  They want to handle most of the nursery.  They can't wait.

And even though I'm still in shock and we're still overwhelmed and it's all still so incredibly hard, I cannot tell you with my little words on my electronic blog how amazing it felt to have someone (in my real life) be so thrilled and so happy and so joyous. 

It meant the world to me.