Are you in there, little fetus?

This morning, I was sending messages back and forth with my husband while he was at work. He sent this message “I was looking for psychiatrists yesterday. Im just having a hard time finding them with [our insurance] convention.” (I don’t want to be seen at a public hospital/health center)

I replied back “Awesome... So I guess even if I had gotten a recommendation it wouldn't have meant anything.”

He didn’t answer. An hour later I sent him another, unrelated message, and he replied to that one.

I texted the doctor anyway then, as I mentioned in my previous post. "I’m sorry to be bothering you again, but do you happen to know any psychiatrists who speak English? All of Husband’s colleagues work in the public sector and I don’t want to have to way too long to be seen. Thank you regardless.” It was not an easy text to send, but I immediately felt so much better. Like I was taking active steps to get better, for myself and for Baby. I did not mention our insurance, because, come on, he’s obviously not going to have a list of all the providers that anyone he knows might cover. But maybe he could recommend someone who happens to work with our insurance? It’s worth a shot. And besides, he obviously accepts our provider so it’s not an insane idea that he would know someone else who does...?

A few hours later I got a response. “Dr. Jane Doe. She told me to give you her phone number. You can call her directly for an appointment. 555-5555″

And I just feel so overwhelmingly grateful. Even if this doesn’t pan out, even if I can’t afford to be treated by her, I really feel so grateful that he took the time to reply, and not only that, but to speak to someone on my behalf first. 

But. I told me husband after I got that reply.

Me: i texted the doctor this morning anyway Me: i figured there was literally no harm in it so why not Husband: Why Me: I didnt have a great morning, okay? Me: and i felt better about doing SOMETHING that maybe would lead to progress Me: even if it turned out to not do anything, it was something i could try

Yesterday, though... yesterday was something else. It’s been getting a little worse every day, but yesterday it did not get a little worse. Yesterday it got a LOT worse. Yesterday I had my postpartum appointment and being in the waiting room basically killed me. Everywhere I looked there were these beautiful pregnant women with their bumps and I just felt so empty. I had been dreading that appointment for weeks, because it marked the absolute end to my pregnancy and I wasn’t ready to give that up yet. And still, I had no idea how hard it would be going there.

Pregnancy was the absolute best experience in my life. I have never been happier than I was for those months. I wanted to be a mom so badly for so long that when I finally got pregnant... I didn’t even need the citalopram. I was ecstatic all the time.

Then when I was about seven months pregnant, my husband asked me how I would feel about adoption for our second child. And I understand now why you shouldn’t make huge life decisions when you’re pregnant, because I happily agreed to his suggestion. Sure, adoption sounds wonderful. Giving a home to a child who doesn’t have one, that sounds lovely! I was so touched by his suggestion, and I felt so blessed to have married such a caring, giving man.

But the thing is... We will never be able to afford more than two children. I’ve always wanted three, and he’s known that, but we’ve talked about this many times, and the money will probably never be there. I’ve known this for years. I’ve made my peace with it.

What I did not make my peace with was that this pregnancy was going to be my last. After having her, that was it. And I did not have nearly enough time to process that before giving birth.

My husband doesn’t understand why I’m so upset. “My opinion might change” he says, but I can’t just pretend he doesn’t feel the way he does, and hold out hope for years that he MIGHT change his mind. That’s not healthy for anyone. And he thinks that by mourning the children I don’t get to have, somehow it means I love our daughter less? He thinks that by focusing on what I’ve lost, rather than what I still have, it means that I don’t appreciate her or value her enough. That I’m putting these hypothetical children above the flesh and blood child I gave birth to less than two months ago.

That’s not true, of course, and I’ve tried to explain it to him. He says he understands, but I know he doesn’t. How could he? I barely understand what I’m feeling. I’m heartbroken that this was my last pregnancy, and only found that out when it was almost over. I feel guilty because I should be enjoying my daughter, who I truly love so much, but instead I just want to cry all the time. I feel so resentful that he would spring that on me in the middle of my third trimester, when we’ve been married for years and we spent an entire year trying to conceive her in the first place. I feel trapped, because I agreed to his suggestion so easily, and what kind of woman - what kind of MOTHER - would I be if I said no, I changed my mind, let that child stay an orphan, I want to make my own baby?

This isn’t the only problem, of course. I have depression even without this extra emotional strain. But it is extra emotional strain.

I texted my doctor a few hours ago asking if he knew any psychiatrists that speak English, because of course that’s another problem. Usually when I see a health care professional, I can make do with the Portuguese I speak if they don’t speak English. If I can’t, I always have my husband (a fellow health care professional) there to help me explain, and to give relevant medical details that I wouldn’t have known were relevant in the first place. But psychiatry is the one specialty where I’d prefer to be alone. I need to be able to talk about these feelings of resentment and hopelessness and crushing loneliness without him feeling guilty. Because he does, always, every time I ever make even a minor complaint about anything, he has to rush to fix it. That’s really sweet of him, but it’s also a huge annoyance. I remark that he forgot to get extra fries when he brought McDonald’s home for lunch? He begs forgiveness and offers to go back, right that minute, to pick up the fries. It’s exhausting. And this is for something as minor as potatoes. I’ve had to straight up say, stop. I’m sorry if it hurts you to see me sad, but please don’t tell me about it, and please stop offering to quit your job to “be there for me.” I need to be able to feel sad without feeling guilt that I’m also making my husband sad. I am not at a place right now where I can handle that emotional burden. So I need to speak to someone alone, and I need them to have a decent grasp of the English language because I can barely articulate these thoughts in my native tongue, I’ll be useless if I try to do it in Portuguese.

The other option, of course, is going right back on the same dosage of citalopram without seeing anyone.  My husband is a doctor, it’s very easy to get a prescription. It worked very well before for my depression and anxiety. But the side effects... They are something that, if I can, I’d like to avoid this go-around. For the first time in literally years, I have a sex drive again. I’m actually seeking out and enjoying sex. Both of those things happening at the same time? Probably has never happened. It took years before having sex became something I actually enjoyed (it was so, so painful for months, and then it was extremely uncomfortable for years), but then I started the citalopram and lost all desire to have sex. Sure, it didn’t hurt anymore, but I didn’t want it either - and when I did, I could rarely achieve orgasm anyway. Great! The anorgasmia disappeared shortly after getting off of the medication, but the low sex drive persisted until shortly before I conceived. And then once I did, we refrained from sex. For the first trimester it was because I bled so easily, and then later it was because my husband didn’t feel comfortable having sex when I was carrying his child, even though he knew that was ridiculous. And that’s fine, he’s allowed to have things that make him uncomfortable, and I respected that. The baby is here now, and we are finally having sex again. My sex drive actually increased, by a huge amount, on the second day postpartum. I was literally sitting in the hospital bed, tired and crying and sore and bleeding... and aroused. That was a confusing experience.

So if at all possible, I’d like to retain my sex life. This is why I need an actual specialist to see me to talk about my different treatment options, rather than going back to the 70 year old, Portuguese-speaking-only family doctor that prescribed the citalopram in the first place.

I was surprised to find that there was finally some change! Among other things, I had finally started to dilate! Only one centimeter, true, but it still meant that my body was gearing up for labor. And it meant that if we were to try inducing, my body might actually respond and I wouldn’t need to have a C-Section. We sat down with him, preparing to ask to be induced that day as we had mentioned a few days before... And he told us that inductions are sort of a first come, first serve situation, and as it was already ten AM, they were basically already full. Obviously if I went into labor spontaneously or if there were some emergency they would find a place for me, but as it stood, that day was just not a great day.

Okay, we said. We’ll come back tomorrow morning, right at eight. The amniotic fluid was starting to get low (for the first time), but her heart was strong and normal, she was moving, and I felt fine. We could wait one more day.

We left the hospital, took the car home, and then walked to my favorite sushi restaurant to have a “last hurrah” meal. I kept contracting regularly every fifteen minutes, and while in the restaurant munching on salmon realized that they were getting stronger. Noticeably stronger. But, you know, sushi. So I finished my meal, and no one besides my husband was aware that I was in early labor at the sushi buffet.

We went home, and I realized that I was probably not going to make it to 8 am. She was actually going to come on her own! With that in mind, I took a nap for a few hours, while the pain was still something I could sleep through.

That night I decided to make spaghetti for dinner... But then had to ask Husband to make it after all, because standing up made the contractions more painful. Not more frequent, but more painful. We had a nice meal while watching the season 2 premier of The Good Place. At around eleven, we headed to bed to try and sleep a few hours. By this time, I had my Contraction Timer application open on my phone, and was timing it. I could not fall asleep. I let Husband sleep for as long as I could, and at three in the morning, with contractions I could barely breathe through coming every four minutes, I had to wake him up. It was time to go.

I hopped into the shower, gathered up my things, and we left again. Of course, there was no traffic, but we still hit every single red light from our house to the hospital. We got there at around four in the morning, and I was a little disappointed. I really loved my obstetrician, and I was upset that I probably wasn’t going to be delivering the baby with him. He had given appointments all day the day before, as I personally could attest to, so it was unlikely he was going to be there overnight.

Well, there was another surprise! My doctor was indeed there, and after a final examination concluded that I was definitely in labor, and was four centimeters dilated. Hooray! I discarded my clothing, put on the stupid flimsy hospital gown, and then immediately went to get an epidural placed. Husband was initially not allowed in the room for that, and I cried (from fear put also pain) when the IV was put into my hand. I hated that thing. It hurt the entire time it was in, and I could barely move the hand because it would pull and hurt more. Fuck that thing. It also made my arm go randomly numb, and that didn’t go away until a week later. My OB came in to check on me before the anesthesiologist arrived, and I tearfully asked if there was a reason that Husband was not allowed to be with me. Possibly because I was obviously already traumatized, but probably because Husband is a doctor and would know how to shut up and stay out of the way, he was allowed to be with me.

The anesthesiologist took two attempts and what felt like twenty minutes to get the epidural placed, but once it was in... Man, that was amazing. It was incredible - I lost all feeling in my uterus, but I could still perfectly feel my legs, which I wasn’t anticipating (they had reduced sensation, but I was still able to move them, even able to walk to the bathroom unassisted an hour later). The  anesthesiologist told me that the medication would probably start to wear off after two-three hours, and to call a nurse when I needed more medication. Sure thing!

Sure enough, after about two and a half hours I started realizing that I was in pain again. I called the nurse, she spoke with the doctor, and I got more medication. Except only an hour later, I was in pain again. I got more medication. I waited for it to work. It didn’t. Throughout all of this, my OB checked on my dilation, broke my water (which was such a gross feeling... sort of like peeing a waterfall of jelly?) and mentioned something else: The baby had turned around, and was no longer in an ideal position for birth. He suggested that I roll over onto my side and push with one leg pulled up against my belly, as that might make it easier for her to come out.

At that point, I had been in labor at the hospital for nearly twelve hours, something clearly was not working as far as pain management, and I was starting to hyperventilate. The constant forceful pushing gave me a hemorrhoid the size of a new potato (says Husband, anyway, who was so alarmed that he had to fight to remain calm lest I have a full blown panic attack). A different  anesthesiologist showed up (as I had been there for so long that the first had gone home) and verified that, yes, the epidural had somehow fallen out of place. He went to put it back, and like his colleague before him, took two attempts to put it in. So in total, four needle pricks in the same location of my spine.

At around five in the evening, my OB arrived for the last time to deliver the baby. Why he was even still at the hospital I don’t know, as he had been there for well over thirty hours at that point, but I’m extremely grateful. He told me that, despite our best efforts, the baby was not going to get through the birth canal by my pushing alone. She would need to be assisted with vacuum suction. Fine, just get her out. Well, and unfortunately we’re also going to have to do an episiotomy. Again, fine. I don’t love that, but it’s clearly unavoidable, and at this point I just want her to be born as quickly as possible.

And at five seventeen (17:17) on September 22nd, she was born. As soon as she came out, she cried, and as soon as I heard her, so did I. The nurse wiped her face and immediately gave her to me. Husband and I stared at her in awe. How did we make something so absolutely beautiful? So perfect? Her eyes were open and she was looking at me, and she looked so content to finally be born.

After about twenty minutes (by Husband’s estimate, as I had lost the ability to track time hours before), he cut the cord, and she was taken to be cleaned, weighed, measured, and given the vitamin K shot. I was rolled into a recovery room, where the nurses worried over the fact that my heartbeat was still so fast. After about an hour (during which I could not even rest because the stupid heart rate monitor kept beeping to announce my tachycardia), it finally calmed down, I was given my beautiful baby again, and we made the journey to our room, where Husband, his mother, and his sister were waiting.

I’m not anti C-sections... if they’re medically necessary. If something is wrong with Baby or with me, and she needs to come out immediately, then I’m all for it. Her health is the most important thing here, and I will absolutely not sacrifice that for the *~majesty of natural childbirth~* . But I also never wanted to be one who would voluntarily schedule elective surgery to remove my child from my womb just because she’s been there enough time in my mind.

And that’s the thing: She’s healthy. She has fantastic movement, and great levels of amniotic fluid, and her stress tests have been going really well. I’m healthy. I have no real complaints (blood pressure is fine, swelling is normal, no GD, no more reflux, no sciatica). As far as we can tell, we’re both doing great, even at 12 days past the due date.

So if she’s healthy and I’m healthy and my body isn’t ready for labor in the first place, why am I going to induce?

42 weeks is a scary number. Like, a really scary number. Statistically, babies born after 42 weeks are more at risk for a whole host of health problems, including stillbirth. Now, this does not mean that every baby born after 42 weeks will have problems, especially if they’re still registering as perfectly healthy at 41+6. But it does mean that I can drastically reduce those risks by not allowing her to stay that long.

So basically it comes down to this: Which is better? Letting a healthy baby stay in the womb of a healthy mother until she is ready to deliver, hoping that the child stays healthy throughout that period, however long it may be? Or forcibly removing the baby from the womb before the mother is physically ready to deliver in order to assure that there will be no complications associated to a post-term pregnancy? When we spoke to my doctor about this yesterday, he told us that there is no wrong decision (which is helpful, but at the same time I think I would feel better if I didn’t have to make a decision at all - if he would make a decision for me I think I would be way less anxious).

I’m currently 24 weeks 4 days pregnant. Five and a half months! Baby girl is perfectly healthy as of her anatomy scan at 21 weeks.

I’ve gained about 5kg so far, which isn’t bad, but they don’t want me gaining more than 8kg for the entire pregnancy, so I need to get my butt back to the gym! I’ve gone to a few hydrogymnastics classes and they’re really great. I get cardio and a bit of strength training, but without any stress on my joints. I can also easily modify any of the exercises if they put too much stain on my belly, and that’s really nice.

We’ve started buying some small baby things. I bought a few outfits from her at Primark, which is the most amazing place ever. I hate the idea of spending a fortune on a mountain of baby clothing that she’s only going to wear a handful of times before growing out of it, but I also can’t rely only on hand-me-downs. Primark is an amazing compromise. She has 15 onesies (two of which have a skirt, so they look like dresses) and we’ve spent less than €40. I also have started buying diapers, which can be tricky because who knows how different brands will fit her or whether her skin will react to any. Right now I have three small packages (25-30), each from a different brand. The return policy here is like 15 days, so I can’t even buy a shitton of packages as they go on sale and keep the receipt to return later. I have an envelope that I’m now stashing money in that will ONLY be used for diapers once she gets here.

We also found a carseat! We haven’t bought it yet (still waiting on the tax return), but we found it and fell in love. It’s the Doona and it is absolutely perfect for us. So perfect that I think I’m going to make a blog post specifically about it later lol.

I’m not having any unusual cravings yet. All I ever want to eat is sushi, but that’s not something that changed with pregnancy. I try to limit myself to no more than twice a week, because fuck sushi is expensive. There have also been days when I’ve thought “I need Oreos or I will die.” One of those occasions happened at night when the store was closed, so obviously I did not get the Oreos and obviously I did not die. I was sulky for like an hour and got over it. Is that how cravings work?

Symptoms: My skin is a hot fucking mess (really bad acne everywhere, including big pimples in places I’ve never had acne before, like my hip/top of my thigh/lower belly), occasional constipation, super sensitive nipples, and fatigue.