Thin Blue Lines

Dateline January, 2009:

It was early January, and I had determined that I had put off my yearly “girl” examination long enough.  So in the bleak midwinter I trekked OB/GYN-ward, to make sure that turning 40 hadn’t caused my body to suddenly start decomposing in strange and exotic ways.

I saw my usual doctor, an affable catholic fellow with six children whom I had spent the past five years baffling with my body’s stubborn refusal to produce the “spare” to go with my “heir.”  I was normal and healthy, and so was Hublet, but apparently “healthy” didn’t necessarily translate to “fertile.”  It was just one of those things, apparently, and IVF wasn’t an option I was going to undertake, so Hublet and I had pretty much given it up.  The doc and I had our yearly conversation, which went like this:

“So how come we never got you pregnant?”

“I dunno.  I think someone is trying to tell me something.”

“Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, for sure.”

I dodged the politely horrified questioning of the nurse who was amazed that I wasn’t contemplating an IUD or some more permanent form of birth control, with the phrase – “I think we can give it another year.  Seriously,” and then I headed home.

Two weeks later, I went for my scheduled mammogram.

Three days after that, I realized that I was late.

Two days later, the testing stick turned blue before I was even finished “applying my sample.”  I wasn’t just pregnant, I was PREGNANT.  With a capital “P” that rhymes with “C” that stands for “HOLY CRAP!”

Hublet’s reaction to my hysterical laughter?  “Are you crying?”

Nope.  Not at all.

So I toted my non-vitamin-taking, wine-drinking, boob-irradiating self and the tiny burgeoning person within back OB/GYN-ward, where I politely endured the guffaws of my affable doctor, received the news that yes, I could ride rollercoasters at Disney, and was told not to freak out about the wine/vitamin/radiation stuff, but that I would probably need to start taking vitamins and knock off the other two for the foreseeable future.

Did I mention I love my OB/GYN practice?  I really do, especially after the other doctor, an equally affable and unruffled fellow, informed me that frankly, I was just part of the zeitgeist, because 23-year-old pregnant women were a lot scarcer than pregnant 40-year-olds nowadays, AND that there was a lady in her mid-fifties having twins there.

I was reassured.

Until I got to the GENETIC COUNSELING portion of the conversation that they reserve for women of ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE.  I put this in all caps because that seems to be how it’s pronounced by the nurses, with a long pause and then loud, proper enunciation, as though someone of my advanced years is obviously easily confused and hard of hearing.

Yes, honey.  I know.  I’m old, and it’s amazing that my shriveled ovaries managed to eke out one last ovum, but there you go.  Life will find a way and all that crap.  Thanks, Michael Crichton.

So anyway, we chatted about the testing, I opted for the first trimester ultrasound/blood test screening, and got the appointment.

I was interviewed by an excessively earnest 12-year-old girl (seriously, I felt like I was on the distaff version of “Doogie Howser”), who seemed amazed, again, that someone of my age understood what a nuchal transluscence was, as well as what Down’s and Trisomy were.  I felt like leaping to my feet and yelling, “Be in awe of my massive accretion of life experience, little girl!  That, and my ability to READ!”  But in an amazing feat of hormonal control, I merely smiled pleasantly.  No sense terrifying the children, after all. 

Anyway, off I went.  Got the ultrasound, saw some dramatic interpretive dance moves by the womb nugget, and was reassured that the nuchal measurement looked good.

Blood work was equally okay, so we proceeded to inform the family and the world at large.

And so here we are – if all goes well, the Big Arm family will welcome another member this autumn.

Consider this fair warning – when I added “now with 50% more irritability” to the header, I wasn’t kidding.

How’s YOUR 2009 been so far?