I remember talking to my mom when I was younger and I would ask her about before I was born and she would say, "those things happened back before you were even a glimmer in my eye" or "back before you were even a blip on my radar". I say that to my kids now, so here's the story of Hannah...ya, know...back before she was even a glimmer on my radar or some shit like that.
Part 1 - What do you mean I'm pregnant??
When Jon and I met I was already a mom to a pretty great little girl. Finding Jon and seeing that without ever really being around kids he seemed to posess a great instinct towards being a dad was more than just a little sexy. Then I realized the qualities that he was exhibiting were that of being an overgrown kid...the sexiness wore off just a bit.
Right off the bat we had a discussion about more kids. He said he wouldn't mind having one of his own....some day....but he was fine just being a stepdad to Olivia. We decided that we would focus on our relationship, making Olivia happy, getting married and give it about 3 years before we would discuss baby.
My body had other plans and before we were even married it began to alert us on how it thought this whole procreation thing would go. First off came the unplanned pregnancy which at 10 weeks ended in a miscarriage. I was heartbroken. Jon felt unable to comfort me and I began being OVERLY careful to keep this type of thing from happening again.
It was difficult because from the start of our relationship up until about a month into our engagement I was plagued with horrible cramps and extremely irregular menstrual cycles, sometimes not having any break between periods even with birth control. I finally went to the doctor to find out what was wrong. It was deemed after many test and procedures that I had a lame ovary, broke down cervix and my uterus was crap! They found that I had endometriosis. My left ovary was covered in scar tissue and kept adhering to whatever it came close too, my pelvis was tilted and there was a small tumor that needed to be removed from my cervix and biopsied. No biggie.
I was shocked because I was only 21. I had a friggin broke down palace of a femal reproductive system. Yippee for me. Thanks genetic makeup of my family...you fuckin rock!
The doctor did the biopsy and began handling the cervical issues. I was advised that plenty of women can conceive with only 1 cooperating ovary and that changing birth control would help with the pains of the endometriosis and hopefully get the periods under control.
July 12, 1998 brought our wedding day. Life as a family of three continued pretty smoothly and seamlessly until October 13, 1998 when while driving home from picking up dinner my car was hit by a jackleg that ran thru a stop sign because he was trying to swat at a bee and smacked into my car while going 45 mph. Olivia thankfully walked away unscathed. I was not as lucky. After being released from the hospital I began a grueling regimen of physical therapy. Every month I was still following up with my doctors about keeping the pain of the endometriosis in check. I would have my good months and my really bad ones.
In November 1998, after a particularly disheartening appointment with my doctor, he advised that having a child sooner than later would be best for us. My endometriosis was getting worse and not better and there were other issues. I was having increasing amounts of ovarian cysts and my cycles were bordering on hemorrhages and not just bleeding. He told Jon and I to discuss a time frame that we would like to get pregnant and then we could all sit down to discuss when it would be a good idea to stop the birth control.
Jon and I talked. We hadn't even been married 6 months yet. Most of which had been spent with me in therapy for the accident or at the doctors for my female issues. We hadn't even had our honeymoon phase because I threatened to kill Jon if he tried to touch me. The pain from the injuries from my accident squashed any desires I had to have sex with Jon. It had been a long, long, LONG frustrating month for us. Now we had the added stress of thinking about a baby. Or at least trying to get pregnant. This was too soon. It was too much to think about.
Deep in our hearts, however, we knew we wanted to have a child together. Olivia was almost 4 1/2...we figured if we could get pregnant in the next year that would be a good time frame. What if it was truly now or never? We decided to go for it.
The following month's appointment fell on December 11th and it was decided that I should stop the pill immdiately. With the amount of problems I was having on it the doctor really thought that the "probability of you conceiving in the next 6 months is highly unlikely" he suggested that I would most likely be pregnant by "spring...summer at the earliest". We should have asked him to be a bit more specific.
I took my last pill on Saturday, December 12, 1998 out of pure habit. I started a brand new job on Monday, December 14 and on that following Saturday, December 19, Jon and I attended his company Christmas party at a 5 star hotel with open bar. It was a good week.
We rung in the New Year of 1999 in the ER with Olivia battling pneumonia. On January 5, 1999 I was rushed to th hospital in dire abdominal pain and burning up with a fever. We were only 5 days in at this point, but we deemed that 1999 sucked monkey butt!
Upon being admitted the nurse asked me if there was any chance I could be pregnant. I wanted to spit at her. Finally I found my voice and said, "in order to be pregnant you have to have sex". She didn't find that humorous.
I, however was dead serious and referring to the fact that since my accident in October the grueling hours of physical therapy in order for me to regain full use of my left arm due to nerve damage and torn rotator cuff I was in so much fucking pain that if Jon even attempted to look at me sexually I would kill him in my mind. NO we were NOT having sex...thank you very much for bringing that up while I am sure I am dying from god only knows what this is.
They called my gynecologist since he was the only doctor I ever saw. Sad...very, very sad when you are NOT pregnant but are on a first name basis with your gyno! Jon tried muttering something in my ear about sex and an open bar but I told him to shut the fuck up unless he was injecting pain meds via osmosis through my ear lobe. He retreated to the corner of the ER cubicle and attempted to sleep through my crying.
They wheeled me away to ultrasound. Finally they declared that I was in need of an emergency appendectomy. They took blood and urine to declare in fact that I was NOT pregnant...surprise...and whisked me away to surgery. I woke to the joys of a morphine pump and left many a funny drugged up message for my husband who got to sleep unbothered in our bed. I didn't care because I got to spend my 22nd birthday hooked up to my new best friend and the nurses brought me cake. Super score!
I returned home to recouperate from surgery but found that every time I tooked the prescribed medication I would vomit. At first I thought I was having an allergic reaction to them. I called the nurse at the surgeons office and was advised that if I wasn't itching or breaking out in a rash that it was most likely not an allergic reaction. She advised me to cut the pills in half and try that.
Two days later I was in a world of pain and puking my guts out. I called the surgeons office again. By now I had myself convinced that I was one of those individuals that had a surgical tool or gause sewn up inside me and this was my bodys way of alerting me. In hindsight I am truly thankful that we didn't have a computer in our house at this time because I would have been googling the shit out of this type of thing. Instead I was calling the surgeons office every 30 minutes until I drove the nurse insane and she finally agreed to give me an appointment.
I went in to see my surgeon. He checked the incision. Clean. He felt my belly. Not swollen. He asked me my symptoms. I told him I was exhausted and vomitting. He looked first perplexed and then concerned. I thought...ahhh haa...see I'm not crazy...he thinks he may have left something inside me.
He orders an ultrasound. Immediately. I'm thinking okay they are gonna send me over to the hospital to have it done...la la la laaa...and then boom next thing I know there is a monitor in the room and they are squirting gel on my belly.
I was more than just a little freaked out at this point. I'm thinking oh my god...I'm gonna end up on one of those medical mystery shows.
Ten minutes later he has me to go and take a urine test. I mentally get offended thinking...I am NOT crazy or on drugs (hello, did you not hear how I've been puking them up)...but alas I pee into the cup.
His nurse walks in looking confused. He follows directly behind her and shuts the door. He sits down solemnly in front of me and says the words you NEVER want to hear from someone who has cut you open, "I don't know how we missed this..." dun dun duunnnnn.
Oh god...oh fuck me god...I'm dying. I brace myself for what is about to come next. "Jessica, you're pregnant."
Gulp.
"I don't know how we missed it but you are pregnant." Double gulp.
My mind is racing....ummmm....not possible....I've had NO sex....since, oh...hmmm...god, when exactly WAS the last time....oh was it October...like the 11th maybe...oh god...oh god...this is horrible..I am a married...newly married woman...I am sexy..why am I not having sex.
This thought reel is interupted by another one. Nope...he has to be wrong...very, very wrong...I'm not pregnant...the hospital said I wasn't pregnant...I remember....I was in pain they were witholding medication saying that first they had to make sure I wasn't pregnant...I remember wanting to kill the nurse, kill Jon....kill anyone that might refuse me pain meds....they jammed a friggin sonogram rod up into my vajayjay then catherized me because CLEARLY I was NOT in enought gut wrenching pain to take the cleanest of clean urine samples...after which they deemed they would need to draw blood to make "triple" sure that I was indeed NOT pregnant....then finally they gave me the news that yes all test were in fact negative and I could have my reward...pain killers.
Nope, nope, nope...I bet he found surgical scissors or a clamp in there. Yep, that is what it is...he's trying to save his ass...oh, he's talking again...I guess I should listen and figure out how to sue him later.
Surgeon: Are you okay? Should I call your husband??
Me: Umm...no. No. I. Umm...I. Are you sure?
Surgeon: Well I'd like you to follow up with your gynocologist, since it's his specialty...but I'm pretty sure.
Me: (mind made up that he is obviously smoking crack) Ok...well I will call the office to make an appointment. Am I ok to go??
Surgeon: Yes, we will just need to see you in about a week to remove the sutures. And really, please make sure you make an appointment with the other doctor. Soon. Like before your next appointment with me.
I leave the surgeons office and go directly to the drug store. I purchase a 2 pack of EPT. I need to see this shit for myself. I mean...clearly this fool has no idea what he is talking about. He should stick to removing appendixes and gall bladders. Unless I have achieved immaculate conception (twice...because my mom still hasn't wrapped her head around the idea that I actually had sex to conceive my first child) there is no way I am pregnant.
I pass a billboard for Jon's work. And then like a ton of bricks it hits me. OH MY GOD...the Christmas party. We had sex after the Christmas party while we were staying the night in that plush, overly expensive, hotel suite. Oh shit...ohhh, shit, shit, shit! This guy could be right.
3 hours and 2 pee sticks later I am locked in our 1/2 bathroom. Jon has come home from work and is standing on the other side of the door trying to negotiate with me to come out. I yell through the door to run to the store across the street and buy some pregancy test. He is not aware the I am already holed up with 2 positive reads and the info from the surgeon's office. About 20 minutes later he returns. I try to get him to slide them under the door. I can tell his patience with me is wanning so I shove the two test I've already taken in a drawer. Open the door. Snatch the next 2 test from him. Force a smile and slam the door. I can hear him shuffle away to the couch in defeat and then television clicks on. I spend the next few minutes chugging down a cup of juice that I snuck while he was a the store and finally am able to take the final two test.
I emerge from the bathroom crying. Jon is clearly distressed and unsure what to make of me. I hold up all 4 test and declare that he is gonna be a dad. Joy turns to fear and then worry. He is thinking the same thing I am. If I AM pregnant like the multiple pee soaked test have announced, then that means they did surgery and I spent 2 days on a morphine drip all while growing a human. FUCK!
I called to make an appointment with my gynocologist and was surprised when the office was all "yeah, we've been waiting for your call...your surgeon sent down your file and told us you would be calling...figured we would give you until tomorrow and then we would call you to schedule an appointment". Double FUCK!
We went in and I peed in another cup. Positive. What a shocker!?! Didn't really think I'd end up with 4 false positives...5 if you count the one I took the day prior at the surgeons office.
Then they ordered an ultrasound so we could hopefully view the little tadpole. You could barely see that there was anything there but there was a flutter. They said it was a heartbeat. The doctor asked over and over again when the date of my last period was. It was hard to calculate since I never stopped bleeding. But I knew for a downright fact the only sex we had since before October 13 had been on the night of the Christmas party. I knew that was FOR SURE the night this little squiggly dot was conceived.
The doctor tried to be all nonchalant about the fact that it seemed surgery was performed while I was just shy of 2 1/2 weeks pregnant. He said we would just have to take a "wait and see" attitude and he would want me back in a month or "sooner if there is any signs of distress". I felt like asking do you mean signs of distress in my womb or just generally with me? It seemed too broad a question so I kept it to myself.
The journey to motherhood (the second time) was just beginning and I kept thinking...man I had always wanted the next go around to be a bit less dramatic. I bet this means the pregnancy will be smooooooth sailing....
~JP
