It’s always awesome when someone tells you that you look great; it’s even more awesomer when it’s your doctor who exclaims, “you look fabulous!”
Today I had an appointment with my hematologist, the blood doctor who prescribes the aforementioned “bane of my existence” blood thinning shots. She’s delightful, this woman, barely pocket-sized, with a strangely ironic name (kinda like a dentist called Dr. Root-Canal) who matches her eyeglasses with her shirt — today both were lime-green.
And what girl doesn’t like someone who tells her she looks good? And not just good, but “fabulous!”
Add to that equation the idea that I’m 16 weeks pregnant and I about kissed her.
She’s that delightful.
My hematologist and I see each other every other month or so. They take my blood and count the platelets to see if my dosage needs to be altered in any way…perhaps I’m too clotty, perhaps I’m not clotty enough, and we strategize our plan of attack for the next few months.
I am to continue with the Lovenox shots (I knew that), and start a Baby Aspirin a day around 20 – 22 weeks or so (about 4 – 6 weeks from now). Even though the Lovenox is clearly doing its job, according to all my blood tests, I still cringe a little when I remember that starting around week 24 with Ollie was when the s–t was starting to hit the fan. I want any extra reassurance that we really are doing all we can to let this one gestate properly for as long as possible.
So chew a Baby Aspirin! Can do! After the next appointment in September, we will become even closer buddies by seeing each other every month or more, depending on what secrets my blood is whispering at the time. I’m under the impression that these tests can even determine if there are clots developing anywhere in my body, and I can’t begin to talk about the sigh of relief that gives me.
So far, though, I’m somewhat reassured because this pregnancy is different already from Ollie’s. I went through the same weeks of absolute exhaustion, but have yet to add a single pound to my frame (which is good, since I’m still lugging about baby weight from a pregnancy that only lasted six months). I’m not as hysterically emotional this time around, but instead added in a couple rounds of your stereotypical — deemed “overrated” about a week before I ever experienced them — cravings.
Raise your hand if, as a non-pregnant person, you’ve wanted to eat a maraschino cherry wrapped in a slice of salami.
Nope, didn’t think so.
But I did.
And it was delicious. I’m not gonna lie.
I’ve stood in the kitchen with cherry juice dripped down the front of my shirt at 11:30pm, carefully wrapping two cherries in a slice of salami and stabbing them in place with a green plastic cocktail toothpick. I actually got out of bed to invent this diabolical snack (diabolical? yes, lunch meat is now frowned upon by medical experts while incubating a living person…) and it was quite delectable. In fact, I might call it the perfect mix of sweet and salty…for now.
Cravings…overrated? Maybe not so much.
But I also have a case of the itches. Itching so bad I’ve gone through two bottles of anti-itch lotion and had my liver and something called “blood salts” tested to see if I was going into liver failure.
With me, you never can tell what’s going on.
Thank God, I’m not experiencing liver failure, just a random, run-of-the-mill pregnancy-induced allergy to…something.
So far unidentified, this heebee-jeebee waxes and wanes like a tide. During the day, I’m not going to go nuts with the itches, but I get spots. I scratch a bit, make my skin turn to a red roadmap of where my fingernails scraped, and go about my business. In the evening, though, I’m transformed into a red ball of itches, needing immediate attention, or I about go crazy trying to reach it.
Which, incidentally, doesn’t make self-injections any easier.
Trying to keep an inch pinched, keeping a syringe steady, while my skin is crawling with some unknown hypersensitivity to something I’ve eaten, worn, somehow encountered, inhaled, touched, smelled, slept near, looked at funny…whatever, requires real talent, stability, focus and true grit.
But, hey, since this pregnancy is going so differently from Ollie’s, I’m convinced of two things: 1) This one’s going to end completely differently: full-term and healthy right from the get-go, and 2) if anyone has true grit, it’s us.
And I look fabulous(!) being all true and gritty and stuff.