24w3d

Friday's peri appointment was good. Too bad there wasn't an actual peri there, eh? I don't know what the deal was, but after my ultrasound (more on that in a moment) I was dismissed. Pardon?

I asked if the peri wasn't going to come in and they said "There isn't one here today, did you have questions?" Again.. pardon?

I didn't have questions, but I had been told to expect labs at 24 weeks and I had been expecting to see Dr. B. The nurse said "yeah, we expected him, too." Pardon?

Seriously, I was confused. I get that things happen, but wouldn't it have made sense to mention that he wasn't in? I don't know. It was strange. And lead to us having to pour over my chart to see if Dr. Sunshine had noted which labs he wanted at 24 weeks, which he hadn't noted at all. So then I was going to have to wait until Monday when they could ask someone. Normally that wouldn't be a big deal, but since I knew one of them included a 24 hour urine, I really wanted to do it Sunday thru Monday so I didn't have to take my pee jug to work.

Fortunately God smiled on me and literally as I was checking out, Dr. B called to check-in (and I got to listen as she told him all about the patients she'd sent off to L&D, making me very sad) and she asked about the labs. "..patient here with a history of preeclampsia at 26 weeks, 24 weeks now.. said Dr. Sunshine told her labs, but there's no record of that... oh.. just order them.. oh.. okay.. alright.. all of them? okay..." :phew: She was really nice, but she really did act like maybe I was trying to get by with something. Maybe I'm running some pee-jug insurance scam. Who knows? All's well that ends well.

But back to the good stuff- the ultrasound was great. Baby Chello (have I explained the Chello thing? Our current baby names are Charlotte & Elliot, so I mashed them up and came up with Chello.) was really quiet that morning. Not a kick to be had all morning. It was a hectic morning (had a meeting with the daycare over the previous day's drama. All is better now.) so maybe I was just distracted, but seriously, I was starting to get stressed and the only thing keeping me calm was knowing that I was hours from a check.

As I was about 5 miles from the hospital, I started to feel a few kicks and as I was waiting to be seen, Chello started going crazy. I had to keep myself from giggling out loud in the waiting room because my belly was dancing. When the u/s tech came to get me I warned her we were about to get a show.

The tech was great. Sometimes they seem sort of irritated if the baby is really active, since it can be challenging to get a good still shot to make their measurement. This tech thought it was cute. I wish I could have her every time.

Chello looked great. Actually measured just a little ahead at 62%. Closer to 25 weeks than 24. She estimated the weight at 1 pound 13 ounces. I commented that was more than my son had weighed when he was born at 26 weeks. That lead to a moment that actually caught me off-guard. "Twenty six weeks? Wow. Did he live?" I answered that he had, he's 3, he's doing well. We then had the usual follow up conversation (How long was he in the hospital, any complications, yada yada yada.)

And then I laid there and thought about how truly screwed up that question is. Now, many friends thought it shouldn't have been asked, at least not in that way. And in hindsight, I do think it could have been asked more delicately. But I really wasn't offended. She works in a peri's office. She's seen a lot of things. She ended up telling me about her triplet grandchildren who were born at 28 weeks, so she probably has a perspective that few people do. But I thought "Wow. That's actually a legitimate question because it doesn't always turn out that way." A wave of sadness washed over me. It was a wave I hadn't felt in quite a long time.

While I will always feel sorrow about the way in which Robbie came into this world, it's not something that just eats at me on a daily basis the way that it used to. It's a little like telling people that my parents were divorced or my mom wasn't around. Yeah, that's sucky, but really, it just IS. It's part of our history, but not something to really dwell on. But all of a sudden, I felt myself dwelling a bit. It honestly stuck with me the rest of the day. Three years later and prematurity can still launch a sneak attack.

But back to the good stuff (again.) Chello was all over the place. Kicking and punching and wiggling around. She kept kicking her legs up by her face where it looked like she was trying to suck her toes or something. We laughed about envying that flexibility. I hoped that meant her abdominals are stronger than Robbie's were. (And I had her check the diaphragm again, too. Still looking good.)

Once they declared her healthy and took my BP (130/68. 130 wasn't the greatest, but the nurse was asking about the circumstances of Robbie's birth as she was taking the pressure, so I was a little agitated. It's been more like 115/65 most of the time.) and we play "Who's on first" about the peri, I was on my way.

The nice (if blunt) u/s tech burned my pictures on disc, so I can share them. I bring you.... Baby Chello!



Profile


Face


I'm pretty sure she's about to give us the finger here.


Arm and foot up by the face




The weekend has gone fine. After Friday's acrobatics, Chello was very quiet the rest of the weekend. I broke out the Doppler THREE times today (there is a direct correlation to my level of anxiety and the use of the Doppler) because it was starting to really worry me, but tonight she's finally been active again. Maybe it's another growth spurt, I don't know.

I'm mid-pee jug and will have my labs drawn tomorrow. I'm hoping that all those results are normal and I can take a few deep breaths and feel better at least for a few days. Twelve more days until milestone 2. I think I can.. I think I can...


Trish