Tag Archives: Pregnancy

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And Then, I took the Test

A while back, shortly after I found out I was pregnant, I had to get my prenatal testings done. Among those tests included a Cystic Fibrosis genetic test, which they pretty much told me you had to take. The downside was, they told me that they might have to fight for the insurance to cover it. I tried to get out of the test, but it was important they said. So, I took it. When they’re already taking 20 tubes of blood out of you, what’s one more?

Now, 3 months later I opened up a bill from a genetic testing lab. It was more than sticker shock when I was facing a bill that said $713. Oh, I stared for a while thinking, “that can’t possibly be right”. That’s like the $800 bill I received when my son had the doctor take a pair of tweezers and pull a kleenex out of his nose. I had to get something done, and I get to go broke doing it? It’s amazing to me why people would possibly complain about the state of the healthcare system. <insert eye roll and sarcastic tone.

They assured me when I was signed up for this test, that they would fight the insurance company for me. Unfortunately, they were closed when I got this bill. Hopefully on Monday, I can get this straightened out because that’s terrible. Luckily, I was blessed with a very short temper and a quick to argue personality, which my mother just attributes to me being a bitch. Case in point, a DJ doesn’t show up for my Jack and Jill, and I got the night free and a discount on my wedding. Maybe luck will be on my side and this will go away without my pocket crying, and without too many medical professionals crying. I rather like most of the people that work there, and would like to continue going there. So, I hope people fix the healthcare system, because this is one of probably millions of cases daily that happen because CEO’s of these companies would rather have their 6th Audi or Lexus than make sure we get the care we need.

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To Baby Reality Television

I admitted before, I watch some reality shows for the sole purpose of laughing about them. People can’t really be that crazy or dumb, right? That’s wishful thinking on my behalf I think, but it has its own entertainment factor. During boring hours of the early morning, I admit sometimes watching those baby birthing reality shows. With my recent condition, I now watch these with more scrutiny than I had previously. That is where we find ourselves today in my post.

In watching this, I realize that when I’m in the delivery room birthing this bloody child out of me, I don’t want a crowd of people in there watching blood and goo coming out of me. I don’t even want to watch it, and I don’t want to watch everyone else watching it. Maybe this makes me sound cold-hearted about the “miracle of birth”; I’m not cold about it at all. I just don’t understand why everyone and their everyone would want to watch something as grotesque as the laboring process. I also definitely do not want any bloody “crotch shots”. No one, and I really mean no one, ever wants to see these and I would rather not have my vagina immortalized on film. What if my child got hold of those photos? That’s scarring for the both of us. Then there’s the degrading factor of it all; the birthing process is degrading enough for a woman with 20 different people sticking their fingers up you and staring at things you’d rather them not be staring at. Yep, for all you expectant mothers out there, I have warned you of what you’re about to face. I’ll keep it mostly clean though, and tell you that your first push is never the baby. Don’t be embarrassed, now you expect it.

I noticed something that does make me cringe a little, and this might make me sound like a horrible person. (Because everything I just said didn’t already, right?) Why would you kiss a mucusy, bloody baby right in the globs of it, especially considering what came out before it did? I want to hold my baby when it comes out, I’ll hug its dirty little body. I think I’ll hold of the lip to skin contact until after its bath though, I’m not too much of a OCD germaphobe to say that out loud. Though with previous experience, I don’t think I have to worry since the hospital I’m going to apparently doesn’t believe in the person who spent hours birthing it should touch it first.

I think I’ve learned from these shows, that first I am an overly logical person that thinks before I feel. We are talking to the person who her husband said “if we get married, we’ll save money on health insurance” to convince me to finally take the step of marriage because I didn’t see a logical reason to get married. I think of the logistics of birth: the work, the blood, the gore. Much like everything else in life, it’s more rewarding when you work for it. After hours of painful non-epidural labor, you meet this thing that’s been growing in you for what seems like forever. That’s the biggest reward of all, when you hear the first screams and finally meet it.

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Things I Learned at the OB/GYN

Yes, another installment of my “Things I learned”. I know, you’re excited to see what happened.

The first thing I learned at the OB/GYN is that apparently I have to wait because someone decides that they should get a test that’s been scheduled for a week done right before their appointment. I’m all for a little procrastination, but I’m not for making someone wait an hour for their appointment because I was too lazy to do something a week ago. Which makes no sense, because generally they schedule them after the appointment, so you could’ve just went there on your way out. My theory is they put the lab there for that single reason of “oh I should get this done before I go”. Don’t worry, I had my Droid crossword puzzles and idiots in the waiting room to inspire this post, so I forgive you.

The next thing I learned, I should mention that I learned from a nice and intelligent group of teenagers. One was pregnant, and she decided it’d be a fun field trip for her and her friends. I know when I think of a fun day out with my friends, it’s having everyone together with me, while I’m covered in nothing but sheets while my female parts are on display. Sadly that’s not the reason I mentioned it, and I’ll ask you to prepare a /facepalm. The pregnant one says “I wonder if I can get them to C-Section this thing out of me 3 months early. I mean, its brains fully developed so it should be fine.” Her friend responded, “I’m sure it’ll be OK, you should ask while we’re there.” If you’re going to talk in the waiting room, don’t speak loud enough the entire place hears you say something stupid. Secondly, maybe being pregnant you should probably learn something about fetal development. I actually wish I was her friend in that moment to see how the exam with the midwife or doctor went. Oh, I laughed imagining what the medical practitioner’s face would look like in that moment.

The last thing I learned is that mothers don’t always know best. While sitting outside, reading the information packet my midwife gave me, a woman is walking by with her male partner and an infant in her arms. While holding her child, she has a lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth, with ashes dropping on the child’s clothes. The infant coughs, and she said “I wonder why he isn’t breathing well?” She tosses the baby to her partner, and drops the lit cigarette to the ground and walks in while her partner says “that’s why we’re here. He’s not doing so well.” It’s always sad to see a sick baby, those poor helpless beings. I might not be an expert in the medical field, but something tells me that carrying a child while smoking in their face probably isn’t helping them breathe any better. I’d also gather that smoking in a child’s face during the cold and flu season isn’t the best thing to do either. In fact, I think I’d go out on a limb and say just maybe, this is a long shot though, that blowing smoke in a baby’s face is causing them not to breathe well. Just tossing some free and unlicensed medical advice there.

And with that, I conclude what I learned. I hope any of this information is useful to you.

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A Day of Ups and Downs

On Friday, I woke up nervous to go to the doctors. At the last visit, she was hopeful to hear a heartbeat of the little Ginger Asian, but assured us that it was nothing but her trying to get a head start and it was too early for it anyways. Naturally, anyone would be nervous for the next appointment so my husband and I took a deep breath and went to the doctors assured that everything was going to go perfectly fine. To deny there was a pit in my stomach, I’d be lying. Luckily, the rational part of me overcame the hormonal part with my husband’s usual optimism.

My midwife is an incredibly nice and bubbly person, and greets us with a loud hello as she prepares my fat stomach for the “heartbeat” machine. Somehow naming it in my head made me feel a little more comfortable, until we heard silence when she searched for our little fetus. “At 13 weeks, we’d expect to hear something. Off to Ultrasound you go. I wouldn’t want you to wait a weekend to find out what’s wrong.”

I was shocked, completely scared and if my husband wasn’t there I probably would’ve snapped. He was there, walking me down assuring me that it was because the baby was a pain in the butt and everything was fine. “It has to be a girl, if it’s being this difficult”, he mused. I tried to laugh, but I was too scared to and fighting any normal person urge to start crying. We made it there and they didn’t make us wait long to be seen. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that grateful to someone in the medical field that wasn’t a friend.

To make this long-winded story short, she found the heartbeat very easily. It was also a good source of laughs for all of us because the little Ginger-Asian is apparently the little acrobat refusing to stay still for the technician. Leave it to me to have a baby that somersaults in the womb, and did I mention it waved to us? Yeah, that’s my future kid… the gymnastic ham. It all thankfully worked out in the end. And I wasn’t 13 weeks, I was just about 11, which explained everything. I bet it is a girl, because only a girl would give you that much of a heart attack and be that crazy.

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The Ginger Asian

For a while after we got married, my husband and I started talking about children and all that fun stuff that married people talk about someday procreating more of us. We affectionately nicknamed this future fetus to be “the Ginger Asian”. We planned it would happen when it happened, and such is life, it happened far sooner than I anticipated though I’m no less overjoyed by this.

Yes, you read correctly. Another me is entering into this world, as long as nothing horribly bad occurs before then. My husband was far more excited about it than I thought, and I often wonder if he’s more excited than I am. I worry though, I always worry. I have a nasty habit of staying realistically pessimistic until I’m proven that things will work out. I’m still happy though, everything will happen as it’s supposed to.

So for the holidays, we gave our families a special gift: the announcement that a new baby will grace them with their presence. They clapped, and smiled and cheered for joy. We held them to secrecy, until today’s doctor’s appointment would confirm it because the last thing we wanted was a false positive that ended up to be cancer. Yes, that would be my luck.

I hope the world is ready for you, Ginger Asians, I’m sure you’ll take the world by storm.