Abe, normal

Still don't have the internet at home, which is probably a good thing in hindsight. If I had had (easy) access to Wikipedia last week, I probably would have gone into pre-term labour due to mouse-induced stress. So I went for my routine 28-week checkup, it coincided with my birthday (May 6). Along with all the great news the doc gave me -- vitamin and iron levels sweeping bottom etc -- she also told me she was sending me to a cancer specialist for another colposcopy.

I had my PAP smear (abnormal) followed by the first colposcopy (abnormal) in Jan/Feb 2010. Back then the doc told me that some cells in my cervix looked suspicious but that she would wait a couple of months before further action. Those couple of months passed pretty quickly and now she was sending me to a C-specialist. The appointment was in four days in which I was convinced I had only two more years to live (full blown cervical cancer) and that my doc was not telling me everything. Very routine check up that and a great 31st birthday. I refused to do anything and spent the evening wondering if my baby would be motherless and if eventually s/he would have a white or a dark-skinned step mom. Partner was very loving, which made it even worse.


Silver lining in the situation? No internet access to confirm my suspicions and confirmation that despite my MIL's very helpful "You have not grown much since I last saw you" statement (I immediately began thinking premature, underweight baby), my doctor told me the baby's size is/was slightly above average for 28 weeks. By the end of the week thought things were back bright and beautiful (except for the bit about an unsigned contract, looming deadline and absolute inability to write anything, even shopping lists).

The visit to the C-specialist was bad. Instead of focussing on what she said about the suspicious cells now being possible early cancer, I was more pissed off about her attitude and comments about me, ie about exercise and smoking.
"Do you do any exercise?"
"No."
Disapproving frown. "Do you at least walk?"
"Yes. I walk to the supermarket. ?"
Humour not appreciated, frown deepens. "So basically you don't do any form of structured exercise are a smoker."
"I haven't since I've been pregnant."
Not impressed, rolls eyes and says in very authoritarian, disapproval-laden, you-are-a-moron tone, "What are we going to DO about you?"
I smile to avoid telling her exactly what was on my mind. Despite usually harping about my lack of exercise, Partner wisely did not join teams with the C-specialist.

Towards the end of the session that included questions about vegetarianism and the efficacy of yoga, C-specialist performs a biopsy. It alarmed me somewhat because so far according to what I had read (er,) biopsies are not performed in pregnancies. At least that's also what my doc had told me after the first colposcopy. After the C-specialist pokes around in me and tells me not to worry about the biopsy ("But doctor..." was ignored), she announces that depending on the test results we could be looking at a possible operation at 34 weeks. And that "usually" that would mean the baby would be born as well.

"Can it harm the baby?"
"Not really, unless you bleed too much."
"But then it would be a pre-term baby...?" I sound somewhat harsh because I didn't want to sound hysterical.
"Yes, but the baby has good chances of survival?" she says.

WTF does "good" chances of survival mean? I've had morning sickness, severe tummy and abdominal aches (I thought my pancreatic fluid or something was leaking), horrendous constipation (enough to make me fantasize about having good poos), inconvenient kicks in the gut, less than desirable physical manifestation of mental horniness (decipher that!) and many unwanted horror baby-birth stories... in short, I've been through some things and I'm WAITING for my baby. I want to say "My waters have broken" or "Honey, we need to go to the hospital NOW" or "The baby's on its way" or "Where's my Prodigy CD?" or whatever else... I want to feel the pain, have someone tell me to push, crush Partner's fingers and after it all, HOLD my baby.

And now this bloody, possibly vegetarian, definitely yoga-loving, disapproving, insensitive-to-pregnant-mother C-specialist tells me my baby has "good chances of survival"? It was not enough and I was shit scared. Of everything. Both Partner and I were shaken up. That was on Monday (May 10). Thankfully by Friday evening, my doc had called and informed me that I did not have gestational diabetes and that my biopsy showed that it was only CIN , ie not cancer and only on the surface. She still has to tell me about operation dates. Let's see.

The C-scare apart, I've been exercising like a maniac, in a manner of speaking. We moved house recently and it's a two level place, so I've been doing tonnes of cleaning up, setting up and general stuff that has me moving a lot. Even going up and down stairs, which anyone will tell you is legitimate exercise. The fact that I just cannot sleep -- baby obediently and religiously kicks at 12 am, 2 am and 4 am -- also helps in clocking extra hours for exercise.

I am also expanding exponentially. And helpful statements from well-meaning friends/people like, "You haven't put on much weight, you're all baby" are not helping at all. Since I've recently rearranged my clothes, I know just HOW big I am. All my jeans are getting stuck at the knees, I've discovered underwear that can now only fit my ears and bras that... Well, Partner pointed out that my breast(s) are bigger than my head. Get the picture?

I am also changing fundamentally and I can't seem to control, shape or prevent it -- and it's the lack of control that's bothering me the most. Like retail therapy now means shopping for various types of cleaning products and optimum space management solutions. While the criteria for personal clothing is still the same -- feels good against my skin and comes off easily -- the intent and purpose are dramatically different. Earlier it was seduction, now its turning into sedation. AND I have 10 more weeks to go of waiting. Sigh.