Turning the Corner

I’m cautiously optimistic that my morning sickness is getting better. For the last three afternoons and evenings, I’ve been able to make dinner, tidy the house and keep a smile on my face. Before Monday, John would come home and usually find me on the couch, house in chaos, children covered in dog hair, dog covered in apple juice. I’m pretty sure this is the real thing because I feel like me again. I have happy thoughts about life, am optimistic about the future, and can plan activities that don’t involve the couch or TV or napping. It’s a very exciting time.

If you were at the Mom’s Group Cookie Exchange you can skip the rest of the blog. You’ve already heard it. It’s just me complaining about my last OB visit.

OK, so my last OB visit made me absolutely furious. First, the gay nurse boy who does the temp, blood pressure, weight check was moron enough to comment on my recent weight gain of 7 pounds in one month. Perhaps comment is too kind. He snickered and said something like, “Oh my. You sure put on a few pounds.” Whatever. I’m having twins and have been too sick to get off my couch. Wanted to smack him to within an inch of his silly gay life with a non-designer shoe – just to add insult to injury.

Then, my OB took it upon herself to explain to me that declining prenatal testing and waiting until the 20 week ultrasound to reveal any “problems” was going to make it much harder for me if I decided to terminate my pregnancy. Hello. Can’t she see “devout Catholic” and “work for a pro-life group” stamped on my head? She said, “Have you considered what you would do with a Downs Syndrome baby.” (Note, she didn’t say “a baby with Downs Syndrome” which is bad news. Descriptions that place the emphasis on the problem rather than the baby serve no purpose but to dehumanize the baby). I say (stunned that we’re even going down this road right now when there is absolutely no indication of any problem – unless you count the gay nurse boy’s reaction to my weight), “We’d keep the baby, of course.”

But the doctor isn’t done. She continues. She says, “You understand that if there is a problem, terminating an 18 week old fetus is much harder than terminating a 20 week old.”

I stammer, “No. Absolutely not an option. We’d never do anything like that.”

She continues, “I just want to make sure you fully understand what you’re doing. It’s much more difficult to terminate a 20 week pregnancy.”

I cut her off. “We’d never, ever do anything like that. That’s not something we believe in.”

Let me point out that our decision to pass on the prenatal testing was a sound decision. We don’t feel the need to work ourselves into a tizzy over test results that may or may not be accurate. Many prenatal tests give a substantial number of false positives and false negatives. Plus, we’d never abort. Plus, prenatal surgery for things like spina bifida aren’t an option since we’re having twins. So why do the testing? What good is the testing at this point? We’d just have several extra weeks of worry, maybe a few additional ultrasounds. I like being happy and unworried right now, thank you very much.

I’d also like to point out that even though I told her we would keep the baby, she persisted in the discussion on abortion. Not only did she persist in the abortion talk but clearly betrayed her own preference for the abortion of children with disabilities. Maybe she forgot that I’m carrying twins and an abortion of one of them would be a serious danger to the life of the other. I have no idea what she was thinking but it was so wrong on so many levels.

I’m surprised I kept it together as well as I did. I didn’t start crying until I got in the car and called John to explain what had happened.

I’m trying to figure out what to do now. Switch? Stay the course with the stupid gay nurse who makes me feel fat and stupid doctor who wants to kill my babies?

Good thing the Packers are in the play-offs and kicked ass against Oakland.