Week Six, Day 7 (cancel the red alert)

I forgot something important in the last blog update. Remember I mentioned my naughty night of alcohol consumption before I found out I was pregnant? It was my major worry from the moment the test showed positive. Not long ago I watched a documentary on Foetal Alcohol Syndrome and was left with the very clear impression that just one night of over-indulgence was likely to cause severe brain damage to the foetus. Such was my panic that it was the first test I asked Mr Richard about (and before him, Dr Kaye). Both assured me that it was far too early to cause damage, and a one-off incident that early on (no matter how extreme) is not really a problem. It seems the documentary was aiming for shock value to get their message across. As long as I avoid alcohol now until the 14th week there should be no problem, and apparently after that the occasional glass of wine (ie no more than 1 a week) shouldn’t be a problem either.

Not that I actually want a glass of wine! Presently the thought of alcohol makes me nauseous so no danger there. Good news though that Tadpole isn’t going to pay for her mother’s need to let her hair down on one innocent occasion.

Speaking of nausea.. who the heck came up with the name ‘morning sickness’? I hear the experience is different for every woman, and apparently the style that is ruling my life at the moment is fairly common. It’s the ‘all day and most of the night but especially when you eat’ sickness. The reflux is annoying, but I can live with it. According to the books etc, nausea indicates that the hormone levels are significant, and these are hormones that are indicative of a healthy pregnancy. So each time Tadpole sends me some ‘baby vibes’ I take it as a good sign that she’s doing well and that the old body is behaving exactly as it should. That helps a lot.

Well Thursday rolled around and it was time to take the afternoon off and go into the city to get that blood test done. It was a boiler of a day, and as I had foolishly believed the weather forecast, I was dressed for cooler weather. The blood test form meant I had to visit a particular medical lab chain, so I looked in the phone book and found their biggest branch was at a certain private hospital. Bigger branch meant more staff, so if they fluffed it again, at least the blood wouldn’t be thrown out (hopefully). The things we do.

When we walked into the clinic my eyes were caught immediately by the sight of the technician from Tuesday, sitting behind the desk. She spotted me and wailed “Oh no! Not this lady, I no good for this lady!” That kind of echoed what I was thinking, except that my version had a lot more profanity in it. The other technician (a middle aged, sturdily built woman with a no-nonsense attitude) whisked me through to the room where I was delighted to see another of those wonderful chairs. I warned her I was a bit of a sook, she nodded, and started feeling around the crook of my elbow. This area was already sore from the attentions of two days ago, but in moments she nodded in satisfaction, said “Let’s do this” (which was my cue to close my eyes and focus on the memory of the baby’s heartbeat). I’m blessed with very strong mental recall, so it took no effort to “see” the TV monitor in my head and zoom in on the tadpole’s steady pulse. I focused on her heartbeat, and this allowed me to not terribly mind what was happening to my arm. I still felt it, but in the scheme of things it was unimportant. Certainly less important than that heartbeat.

Btw let’s be clear here – it is not the pain. People think it’s the pain that triggers the phobia. Perhaps it may be for others, but for me it’s the sensation of that metal object inside my flesh. I wish it were just pain – that’s much easier to deal with.

But in the mean time I’ve found my mantra to help me get through the future tests. Think of the heartbeat , remember what is important, disregard that which is not.

I think it was as little as fifteen seconds later that the technician said “We’re done!” and withdrew the needle. It was so quick that I questioned whether she had enough. “Oh yes” she laughed, “more than enough”. Sure enough – three fat vials were filled to the top. It seems I’m still a gusher after all.

She told me that coming in feeling hot had helped a great deal. (Mental note to self: wear a parka, thermal longjohns, woollen trousers and Ugg Boots next time).

No blood pressure dips this time – but I couldn’t wait to lay waste to a lemonade iceblock!