Progress…kind of ~ 24 weeks, 5 days

I think you would all be proud of me.  Well, hopefully anyways.  I know I am at least.  I am learning to be better at controlling my worry.  It’s not a complete 180 or anything, but it’s improving and that’s something to be proud of at least a little.

So last week we went for our standard 24 week check up.  Our regular doctor is on holidays so there is a sub filling in for her.  She does all of the usual things: weight, heartbeat check and belly measurement.  It takes her a little longer for the belly measurement.  She measures a few times.  Then she mentions that I’m a bit smaller than I should be at this point, however she says that our 20 week anatomy scan was perfect for measurements.  She suggests coming in again in 2 weeks to get measured again.  No problem.  She might have measured wrong or something.  I make the appointment and I’m also given the requistion for the glucose screeening too.  La dee da.

Yesterday I go for my glucose screening.  No problems.  It was pretty boring sitting and waiting for 2 hours – not to mention getting stabbed 3 times.  Later in the evening I check to see if the results are availble online.  They are and I’ve passed!  Yippee!  BUT…. yes, but.. I notice that I’m a little low with my red blood cell count.  It’s been flagged on the report since it’s out of range by 0.6 or something.  I mention this to Nick, and he starts reprimanding me for over-analyzing things.  I let him know firmly that I’m not that concerned or worried, and that if there’s a problem then the doctor will say something.  He’s impressed and satisfied by this statement from me, and quite frankly so am I! 🙂

So, everything’s good right?  Haha… My actual “Official Worry Test” came in about an hour later when the doctor’s office called me.  DUN DUN DUNNNN…..

{phone rings}
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is the doctor’s office calling with your ultrasound appointment for next Monday.”
{Confused silence for a moment.  Did she really just say what I think she said?}
“Oh, I get another one…?  What is this for?”
“The doctor requested it.  She just wants to check to see the growth of the baby.”
“Oh.. okay…”
{she gives me the details and we hang up}

I tell Nick what is going on, etc.  I’m okay for about 15 minutes…and then I have a full on freak out.  Crying, blubbering and worry-wart to the max.  C’mon, did you honestly think that I wouldn’t?

A third ultrasound???!!  Really?  That must mean there’s something seriously wrong!  Usually you only get 2 here in Canada, unless you pay for another one from a private clinic or if you are high risk.  I immediately think of all of the horrible things that could go wrong – bad move, especially with my creatively irrational thought processing.

Enter Husband of the Year.  He lets me cry.  He lets me freak out.  He doesn’t tell me to stop crying.  He calmly tells me that it’s probably nothing and that when the doctor measured me she said that I’m only a tiny bit smaller than I should be – and that she didn’t seem too concerned about it.  AND THEN… he googles it for me because he knows full-well that I will do it anyways and then spiral out of control.  He reads from google that it is quite common for women to measure either a week behind or ahead and it just might mean that we have a smaller baby instead of a ten-pounder.

“The doctors are just going by the ranges that they have in a book that say normal.  And really, what does ‘normal’ mean anyways?  Nothing.  It means nothing.

This might be something that they routinely do.  It just means we might just have a jockey instead of a basketball player.  It’s irrational for you to worry yourself like this.  It’s not healthy for you or the baby to stress out.”

He tells me that there is nothing to worry about until we are told something.  He then runs me a bath to calm me (and my round ligament pains) down.  I calm down.  I relax.  I stay relaxed until the morning when I spill a few worried tears in the car on the way to work.  He calms me down in a few minutes, and remarkably I manage to stay that way.

It’s progress.  Baby-steps, yes.  But it’s still progress.