Back in the Bladder, Again.

I’m back on antibiotics again. Yessireebob, we’re up to UTI #6 since mid-January.

The Gynie God was out of the office, but one of his partners reviewed my charts & wants to start me on daily antibiotics. I know the baby is positioned right over my bladder, and I’m worried these infections are going to get worse as the little one grows.

I drink cranberry juice. I take cranberry pills. I pee frequently. I drink 80-90 ounces of water every day. I wipe front to back. I double-empty my bladder. And no nookie, since I’m always on the antibiotics and we’re not supposed to fool around while I’m infected.  And still, they keep coming back.

I know I should just stop whining about it, already.  But I’m at the end of my toilet-paper rope, and I still have 23 weeks to go.

The Good, The Bad, and The Funny.

The Good!
The Gynie God mailed me a script for antibiotics to take to Vegas, in case of another bladder infection. I was seriously thinking about postponing the trip, because I didn’t want to be saddled with a $1,000 ER bill if I snagged another UTI while we’re on vacation.

We leave in just over 2 weeks, and I can’t freaking wait! The weather here has been so, so, so bad. We’re supposed to be at 45º every day, and it’s maybe going to hit 37° today and 40º tomorrow. And more snow on Sunday and Monday.

The Bad!
I’m still smarting about the revolting maternal/fetal medicine appointment earlier this week. Unfortunately, he’s in the same office as The New Gynie God, and I can’t decide if I should leave the entire practice, or just complain to my ob/gyn about what a complete and utter pig his partner is.

But thank you all so much for your kind words! Oddly enough, I take a lot of comfort in the words of complete strangers & consider my internet “family” more important than most of my offline friends.

The Funny!
I think the dogs know I’m pregnant. Zoey has been obsessively following me around all week – barging into the bathroom if I forget to shut the door tight; sleeping curled up tight against me or on the floor right next to the bed; and body blocking anyone who tries to get near me. I think the big oaf may have finally realized her classification as a “working dog”.

Or not.

Disastrous.

Because I’m classified as a high-risk, The Gynie God wanted me to consult with one of his partners, a maternal fetal medicine doctor specializing in “complicated” pregnancies.  Normally, I’m thrilled to death to be under close medical supervision; because it means we’ll all be prepared for any problems that may come up over the next 24 weeks.

From the getgo, everything went wrong.  I showed up at the clinic for my 11:00 appointment; only to find out that I had been bumped to 12:30.  No phone call, no explanation, nothing. 

When the nurse finally brought me back to the exam room at 1:00 (30 minutes late!), I took an immediate dislike to her.  For starters, I told her that I’m still having some burning and abdominal pain from this UTI.  Since I started the antibiotics on Wednesday, I expected relief by now.  She looked at me, rolled her eyes, and said, “You know, I’m not at all concerned with your bladder infection right now.  All I care about is the protein levels in your urine.”  Well, f*ck you very much.

I gave her my first morning’s urine, and told her that I wanted a urine culture done to check for bacteria.  She reluctantly agreed, telling me to “hurry up already”.  I came out of the bathroom, and we headed to the exam room.

Only she took me to an ultrasound room.  I told her that I thought I was only there for a consult, since I’d had an ultrasound done 10 days earlier.  Again, she rolled her eyes and said that Dr. Crabbycrack had to run his own set for review.

She took my blood pressure, and had me lie back on the ultrasound table.  Only it wouldn’t go up with me on it.  Of course, the nurse had to call in another nurse to see what the problem was, making me feel more and more ashamed.  I know they both thought I was too fat for the hydraulics; even though I tried explaining that it worked fine when we were in the week before.  The second nurse finally said not to worry about it, and left me alone with the cranky one.

As she was entering my age & estimated due date into the computer, we had quite the conversation.
Her:  Wow!  You’re 35. 
Me:  Yup.
Her (incredulously):  And this is your first pregnancy?
Me:  Yeah.
Her:  Well, what happened?  Did Mr. Wonderful come along late in life, or were you one of those driven career women?
Me (taken completely aback):  Um, neither.  I was 29 when we got married, and it took us 6 years to get pregnant.  And I had one ovary removed, which you should have read in my charts.
Her:  Oh.  Well, no wonder you’re considered high risk.

She finally left the room, and said the doctor would be in shortly.  10 minutes passed, no doctor.  15 minutes, no doctor.  Finally, 20 minutes later, he walked in gave the once-over look of disgust.  If you’re overweight, you know the look.  Like he didn’t want to touch me.  I wanted to get up and run from the room, but I was frozen in place.

He started waving the ultrasound cradle around on my stomach, but I told him he was way too high.  He kept pushing down and sighing, and I knew he was having trouble finding the baby.  I tried to tell him that the ultrasound technician had better luck last week by pressing on my lower stomach, and angling it upwards; but he insisted that I just had too much belly fat to get an accurate reading.

I tried to ask him why he was having so many problems when the technician got clear, concise images only 10 days ago; and he just ignored me.  He finally said that he wanted to try with the transvaginal wand, since the baby was still too far down to get a decent reading. 

I took off my bottoms and laid back down on the table, and reminded him that I had a bladder infection and my entire system still felt extremely sensitive.  He responded by ramming the wand inside me harder than a jackhammer blasting through concrete.  I could feel the wand crashing into my cervix, and I laid on the table and prayed for him to finish up soon.

But he didn’t.  He kept pulling the wand out and shoving it back in, trying to find the right spot to see the baby.  Up and down, in and out, like a demented porn flick.  I was in agony. 

I couldn’t see anything, because his enormous head was blocking the screen.  When I tried to tilt my head to the side, he yelled at me to stay still.  I felt a single tear trickle down my cheek, and I was too uncomfortable to even wipe it away.

He finally pulled out the wand, and said that the baby was too big to be seen on a transvaginal ultrasound.  Apparently, they should only be used for babies up to 7cm, and my little champ is about 14cm.

Then he started talking about Down’s Syndrome.  He said the baby was measuring okay, and he didn’t note the extra nuchal folds or shorter arms & legs associated with Down’s babies.  When I tried to explain that we had already decided not to do an amnio because of the risk of miscarriage, he also told me that it was a waste of time, since I’m too fat for their 9 cm amnio needle.

So, basically I’m too fat for the external ultrasound and genetic testing which we didn’t even want, and the baby is too big for the internal ultrasound.  Oh, and I’m also going to have a small baby because of my hypertension, even though my reading was 110/68 and it’s controlled with meds.  And I’m going to start swelling any day now, and will probably develop pre-eclampsia.  And I’m more than likely going to have gestational diabetes and have a big baby because of my weight.  And I will also get blood clots in my legs because of my weight (yet he never mentioned my Dad’s history of deep vein thrombosis, which is hereditary).

How can I have both a small hypertension baby and a large gestational diabetes baby?  I’ve never met a more condescending prick than Dr. CrankyCrack.  Guess who left the doctor’s office with her UTI and her self-esteem in the toilet?

Hit me baby, one more time.

Back to the clinic with another bladder infection.

Fortunately, I caught this one early & it’s pretty mild.  But God, enough already!  This is UTI #5 since the middle of January, and I’m only 15 weeks pregnant (according to the last ultrasound).

If you need me, I’ll be tethered to the toilet.  Again.  

Clearing the Air.

Well, it’s 3:10 a.m., and I’m wide awake with a burning bout of acid reflux.  I woke up with the dreaded fire in my throat, and here I sit, 2 glasses of milk, 2 slices of bread, a little peanut butter, and half a sleeve of saltines crackers later.

I wanted to stave off any confusion over my last post.  I forgot to mention why the ultrasound technician thinks I’m having a girl.  He didn’t get a glimpse of the female “golden arches” or anything like that – it’s still way too early to sneak a peek and make any accurate predictions.

Oh, no.  He thinks I’m having a girl because of the problems I’ve been plagued with during this pregnancy.  The continuous bleeding.  The kidney stones.  The bladder infections.  The nausea.  The headaches.  As he put it, “A little boy would never cause his beloved mother all those troubles.  Oh, no.  Little boys adore their mothers.  Now, little girls on the other hand,  ooof.  They will do whatever they can to make their mommies’ lives harder.  Mark my words.  You’re having a girl.”

Interesting theory, even though I know it’s an old wives’ tale.  And now, I can’t stop looking for other silly little gender predictors.  I’m craving sweets (girl).  My belly is getting rounder up high (girl).  The baby’s heartbeat has always been above 140 (girl).  And on and on and on.

We scheduled our anatomy scan for May 2nd.  I’ll actually be 21 weeks by then, so I’m hoping we can get a good look at the baby’s bottom bits.

I’m also signing up for a water fitness class at the local “Y”.  They offer a 45-minute low-impact class four days per week, and I need to do something to manage my ever-expanding butt and belly.  And the prices aren’t too too bad.  You can pay $53 for ten drop-in classes, or sign up for a 3-month unlimited water package for $156.  I’m going to head over there and watch a class from the spectator section this week, and hopefully start taking the classes next week.  I just need to find a swimsuit I can live with (so far, I’ve ordered four of them and they’ve all gone back).

Right, then.  I’m going back to bed.  It’s now 3:45, and it’s waaaay too early to stay up and face the day.

Advanced Maternal Age

Yesterday was the first official meeting with the new Gynie God.  We had to be at the office for a 7:30 a.m. ultrasound, followed by a consultation with the doctor at 9:00.

When the office called on Thursday to set up the appointment, I was a little bit worried.  The receptionist referred to the ultrasound technician as “he” and “him”, which seemed strange in my sexist little mind.  All of my ultrasounds thus far have been done by women; and the thought of a guy poking around my lady bits with a penis-shaped transducer made me a wee bit uncomfortable.  But my worry was an utter waste of time.

Serge (not his real name) is 55 years old, with a 28-year-old son and a 24-year-old daughter.  He earned his PhD and practiced as an ob/gyn in Mexico; but switched to radiology when he and his Wisconsinite wife moved back to the United States.  We talked about family values, and we both have similar morals and beliefs.  I was completely relaxed through my entire appointment.  Well, except for when he “misfired” with the internal transducer and poked me in places a lady should never be poked.

The baby was asleep when he first started prodding my cervix, but s/he soon woke up and started wiggling around like a cheerleader after a 12-pack of Mountain Dew.  Arms were flailing, legs were thrashing around, and poor Serge couldn’t get an accurate heart rate because of all the activity.  I’m not sure if the pulses or the light from the ultrasound could have woken the baby up; or if s/he can hear at 14 weeks.  In any case, he said the placenta is in the right place and all the movement is a good sign of fetal development and abundant amniotic fluid.

And he thinks I’m having a girl. 

But I never thought to ask for a picture.  And I completely forgot to ask if we could hear the heartbeat.  The more I think about it, the more I worry about becoming one of those mothers who leaves her baby strapped to the cart at Walmart, and drives all the way home before realizing she remembered to grab the soda; but not the baby.

Then it was off to meet The Gynie God.  Oh my.  He’s extremely hyper, a self-confessed control freak, and a Type A personality to the nth degree.  I am laid-back, mellow, and somewhat of a clutterbug.  We are polar opposites.

First he went over my family history.  He’s not worried about my grandparent’s maladies (including breast cancer and pancreatic cancer); but he’s borderline obsessive about my Dad’s deep vein thrombosis (blood clots in the legs).

And he told me to only gain 15 pounds during my pregnancy.  Despite the fact that the scale in his office weighed me at 12 pounds more than my scale at home.

And he reminded me of my “advanced maternal age” 15 or 20 times.  That one wasn’t his fault, though.  They use a software package called E-Natal; and every time he pulled up a new screen, it screamed OLD LADY OLD LADY OLD LADY at the top of the page.

Because of my high blood pressure and weight, I also have to see a maternal fetal medicine doctor at the clinic specializing in high risk pregnancies.  And I’m going to have to see The Gynie God once a month until May; then every 2 weeks until July; then once a week until I deliver.  With ultrasounds at every appointment (yay!!!!!).

We also talked about amnio testing for Down’s syndrome, and he threw some interesting statistics my way.  According to his data, 1 in every 348 babies born to women over age 35 will have Down’s.  However, the risks of the genetic amniocentesis are 1 fetal death in every 200 tests.  There’s no way in hell I will risk this pregnancy to find out if my baby has Down’s syndrome.  No way.  Not when the odds of losing the baby are greater than the odds of Down’s.

And starting tomorrow (Sunday), I have to do a 24-hour urine collection.  That’s right.  Every time I pee, I have to save it in an orange gas can and store it in the refrigerator – sandwiched between the Brita water pitcher and the gallon of milk.  Let’s hope I don’t get up for a 2:00 a.m. glass of water and get the containers mixed up!!!

But most important of all:  yesterday afternoon, I felt the baby move for the first time.

I know you’re in there, little one.  And I can’t wait until the day you’re ready to come out.

Fortunate

Found in my Chinese fortune cookie after dinner tonight: 

Truer words have never been found in a cookie.

You want to know *what*???

I have my first appointment with The New Gynie God next Friday.  Last week, they sent me a “new patient packet” in the mail with their privacy practices, financial policies, a registration form, and a 4-page health history questionnaire.

The registration form is pretty standard.  Patient information, next of kin, financial guarantor information, insurance information, and injury/accident information.  Now, they know I’m pregnant.  Why do they ask me if my condition was caused by an accident?  I want to check the “yes” box, and write all the details of our sordid sex life (including the parts about the whipped cream and the sex swing) in the space where it says to briefly describe the injury.

And the health history includes all of your run-of-the-mill invasive questions. 

Do you examine your breasts? 
No, my husband does it for me.

Have you ever had a breast problem?
Does paying $46 for a DDD-cup bra count?

Are you sexually active?
No, I prefer to lie there and let my husband do all the work.

Do you have more than one partner?
Not at the same time, no.  

Do you have pain with intercourse?
Only when we use the handcuffs!

Do you typically eat 3 meals each day?
No, I’m pretty much shovelling it in non-stop.

But then, I got to the dodgy portion of the questionnaire.  “Do you attend religious services?”  “If yes, where and how often?”  “Is your faith important to you?”  “Do you pray?”  “If yes, how often?”

Now, why on earth do they need to know that?????  I am spiritual and my faith is important to me; but I don’t believe I need to be a part of a group worship on Sunday to prove that.  I talk to God almost every day, and He’s never once said to me, “You need to go to church every Sunday, or I will banish you to the eternal fires of hellllllllll.”  In a deep, throaty, Charlton Heston voice, of course.

So I went back to their website, and right there, in big black letters on the home page is their mission statement:
“The mission of Your Hooha Clinic is to provide the highest quality care, delivered by the highest quality staff in an environment that reflects our Biblical, moral and ethical values .”

So, if I don’t attend church services regularly, are they going to give me substandard care?  Are they going to try & harass me into joining their church?  Why else would they ask these questions?????

What if I slip up and say “Oh, F*ck, I forgot to trim my bikini line again.  Sorry for the tangle in the amazonian rain forest!”?

I think this place takes the term “The Gynie God” to a whole new level.  And I’m not sure if I like it.

All-Inclusive.

I have about a million and six questions related to giving birth.  Some are silly (“Will I be able hear the needle crunching into my spine when they do the epidural?”), some are strange (“Can we limit the number of visitors at any one time, because I don’t want my CRAZY annoying relatives all yelling over each other and scaring the baby?”), and some are downright shocking.

But the most important question I have is this:  If I have to have a C-section done, can a surgeon be called to remove my gallbladder and my appendix at the same time?  I’m already going to be in the operating room.  Can they just go in laproscopically & take out my unneeded appendages?

My entire family has a history of gallbladder disease, and we already know I have some gallstones just waiting to rear their ugly heads.  And when my kidney stones were acting up, the doctor was worried that my appendix was inflamed.

Can they do that?  Has anybody else ever had a 2-for-1 deal with a C-section?

Carrying On.

Today marks the last day of my first trimester.   Yay!!!!!

I can’t wait for my energy levels to pick back up.  Between the kidney stones & the bladder infections & the nausea & the puking & the tiredness, it’s been a long 12 weeks.

I’m grateful for every moment of it, though.

Well……maybe not the kidney stones.