(Edited to add for clarity: This is a story about something that happened LAST THURSDAY. As in, before I posted yesterday's ultrasound results, which were YAY and GOOD. Yes, I have chosen to discuss my pregnancy before the three-month-mark, come good or bad or disaster, because...well, it's my blog and I'm like that. Have always been like that, actually, because I very much depend on the support network I have here...again, come good or bad or disaster. I did not mean for this story to sound insensitive -- it happened, it was scary, it was okay.)
(Seriously, about that last bit: IT WAS OKAY.)
On Thursday morning, after Noah's occupational therapy appointment, I chatted with his therapist and breezily, brazenly -- and completely impulsively -- blurted out the pregnancy news. I'm still not sure why, because she in no way fits into my squishy parameters of Invisible Internet Person and/or Real Life Person In Whom I'd Depend On In The Event Of A Miscarriage Anyway. But the words fell out of my mouth, and that was that. The news was out. And now that I've mentioned it, do you mind watching my kids for two quick minutes because OH MY GOD I HAVE TO PEE SO BAD.
I dashed down the hall to the restroom, which was occupied, and I bounced from foot to foot impatiently for what seemed like FOREVER until the door opened up.
I was barely done sighing with relief over making it to the toilet when I realized I was bleeding.
I stared at the reddish spot on the paper and blinked a few times, my brain immediately reminding me to NOT PANIC, THIS HAS HAPPENED BEFORE. Twice before, once during each pregnancy, each time the result of a raging urinary tract infection and nothing more. I took a deep breath and stood up...
And immediately saw the bloody clot-like thing in the toilet. That had...definitely not happened before.
Looking back, I have to commend myself for not simply slumping to the floor in a weepy fit. That was not even an option. My children were in the lobby waiting area, surrounded by other kids and parents and center staff and we needed to get home and get lunch in time for Noah to catch the school bus and get Ezra down for a nap.
Once all of that happened, I thought, I could deal with this. But not until then.
I went back out and weakly collected the boys and waved goodbyes and hustled them out to the car. I drove us home, ordering myself to STOP THINKING ABOUT IT and focus on the road, which had about as much impact as if I randomly commanded Noah to stop talking about Star Wars all the damn time.
Of course, I mentally chided. OF COURSE. Way to go, telling people, including blurting it out all willy-nilly to semi-casual-acquaintances! Way to go, telling your mom! Next time just kick her directly in the head yourself, and save some time. You thought this was "meant to be?" That you "deserved" this? Or some shit? You're a goddamn pollyanna dumbass, Amy.
(Let me tell you, there is nothing more fun than trying to navigate Washington, DC-area traffic in the pouring rain while in the midst of an existential crisis of faith.)
I got us home and slapped together some peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches before dashing into the bathroom, convinced that I was going to witness some horrible horror show of pureed bloody dreams, but...there was nothing. Nothing except a slight burning sensation when I peed that I hadn't noticed before.
Yes. Once again, I managed to get myself COMPLETELY and IRREVOCABLY keyed the fuck up over yet another UTI. I needed cranberry juice and some antibiotics, not a D&C and some mourning sweatpants with a giant box of wine. I was fine, otherwise, and still fully pregnant with a fully alive little blob-thing.
Last night, I threw up for the first time. And I was totally okay with it. Grateful, even.
PS. My dad made it through a session of chemo yesterday with flying colors. It was a "lite" low-dose day and they're upping the meds back to 11 today, so I know he could use your thoughts/prayers/virtual-fist-bumps/whatevers. Let's turn this string of good news into an honest-to-God streak, already.