I always wondered why so many bloggers suddenly stop posting as much after successfully getting knocked up. I figured mostly it was an abrupt slowing of narrative — particularly compared to the flurry of data that was IVF, early pregnancy is pretty low-key, leaving less that needs urgent discussion. What never occurred to me was what I think now must be the real reason, at least for some people besides me: crazy exhaustion.
I can’t complain much about my symptoms thus far — I do spend at least part of every day trying desperately to avoid vomiting, but it’s nothing like as bad as some have it; my waist vanished surprisingly early, despite my having lost several pounds in the past few weeks (not just OHSS weight, either), but I’m not sure my waist was ever one of my better features; my boobs hurt a lot, but I also love how they look — but heavens, I am tired. If I get any more low-energy, I may actually become a houseplant. And at the moment, I am a houseplant trying to teach summer school and plan a wedding.
Which is to say, sorry for posting less. Things will likely pick up in two weeks, after I stop waking up at night to fret about the number of tables in the church hall we’ve rented or why my mother has decided we need a bubble machine.
Yesterday, however, was not a slow day. Yesterday, I learned that how you get results from the OB practice that has been saying they’d call you back for the better part of a week and won’t let you even try to make an appointment (and at least this one takes both your insurance and new patients) is to have a hysterical, weeping tantrum about how upsetting it is that you can’t get signed up with them, the RE has dismissed you from the clinic (so your insurance is done with them), and now you’re spotting and have no where to go.
Suddenly, I had an appointment an hour later. I may not love the manner of the receptionist, but I must admit she did right by me.
The wee bean is fine, by the way. The sonographer was so sweet. She played the heartbeat for me when I couldn’t find it on the screen and asked after it in a terrified voice. She printed out a very fuzzy picture without my asking. We had talked about IVF, and when I half-apologized for freaking out about what really was a very tiny amount of bleeding, she said, “You’ve been through a lot.”
I met with an OB who isn’t the one Dr. Baby Factory recommended, but I like her well enough, I think. The practice rotates all OB patients through all doctors, so I don’t suppose it matters much who the main one is. She took my history and did a standard gyn exam, since it’s been a year since my last pap. Paps, really, since I get to have two — lucky me! She felt my uterus and said, “You feel pregnant!” That was surprisingly lovely to hear.
The less lovely part was when she said that my double-door womb situation may make a vaginal birth impossible. On one level, that’s not surprising: obviously, I don’t need a baby trying to come out of both cervices at once. Hearing it out loud was a bit of a gut-punch, though.
…and I have too much to say about *that* subject to possibly wrap this up in time to make it to school. So we’ll have to pick that thread up later. The doctor did say “may” not “will,” and we agreed to discuss it another time.