egg scramble: make it a double (8 weeks)

make it a double (8 weeks)

It's one of those things you know is more than possible but still, when it takes this much just to get pregnant, it seems greedy to hope for it too much. But when we go in for our first ultrasound last week, the ultrasound tech asks, all low-key and chitchat like, So how big is your apartment?

Three bedrooms, I answer, trying to ignore the cold probe pinching at my insides as she twists it for a better view, Two are pretty small though.

Well, she continues, I hope you're ready to make some more space. She turns to us with a big smile and announces, You're having twins!

The boy squeezes my hand and grins; I'm shaking. Down by the machine, the tech continues to take her measurements, says she'll show us what she's seeing after she gets all the numbers (the boy is already leaning over to peek). Good as her word, she soon rotates the screen.

And there they are. Two tiny white blobs nestled in bigger black blobs, pulsing away.

o o o

The next day is our fifth wedding anniversary. We haven't planned much; between ivf stresses and new job stresses and moving to a new country stresses, the last thing either of us has felt like doing is planning some big elaborate getaway. The boy comes home early with a big bunch of fresh sunflowers; we make last-minute reservations for a nice dinner. We're plunked down on our bed in a warm lazy snuggle when I glance at the clock. I need to change, I say, disentangling myself reluctantly. So change, says the boy, uncooperatively continuing to hold tight. I need to pee first though, I announce. He laughs, So pee. Then lets me go.

On the toilet, I do my usual post-wipe inspection. At first I think I'm imagining it: a pinkish tinge. Get a fresh piece of toilet paper; wipe again. Look closer. Still pink. Don't panic, I tell myself. A few weeks ago I had light brown spotting; implantation bleeding, the nurse had said, totally normally, everything fine.

I think I'm spotting, I tell the boy. Spotting? he asks. Spotting, I confirm, Just lightly, but it's not brown like the last time.

I'm still telling myself not to panic when I go to the bathroom again twenty minutes later. I wipe. And this time my heart's in my throat: Red blood. Like period blood. I'm bleeding, I whisper, Oh no, oh no, I'm bleeding.

I cry from the bathroom, the boy rushes in. Soon he's running downstairs to dig up my doctors' numbers. I'm calling the family doctor here in Toronto, my clinic back in Massachusetts, trying to figure out what this means, what I'm supposed to do, if one day after our happy ultrasound news it's all gone, all over. After calling and waiting, calling and waiting, hanging up and waiting some more, the consensus seems to be to sit tight. I'm told it could just be from having recently lowered my progesterone dosage and stopping the low-dose aspirin; it might also just be weird uterus stretching stuff. It's not uncommon, everyone assures me, don't go to the emergency room; take it easy, try to relax. (What's unspoken is that if the worst is what's happening, there's nothing anyone can do anyway. I know this rationally, but still, it's not much comfort.)

Which is why the boy and I spend our fifth-anniversary eating take-out Thai in bed, watching a really dumb comedy about paintball, trying not to think about what I'll find the next time I get up to go the bathroom.

As it turns out, the bleeding only lasts an hour, doesn't even soak the skimpy pantiliner I've slapped into my underwear. The red soon makes way for dark-brown; by the next morning, it's just medium brown spotting when I wipe. The brown lingers over the next few days; it gets lighter and lighter, starts to appear only after I've been moving around during the day.

When I finally go in for my follow-up ultrasound, the spotting's been gone for a couple of days. The little beans still look fine; measuring perfectly, all is well. There's a little bit of blood they can see behind the placenta; a subchorionic hematoma, incredibly common amongst IVF patients I'm told. Doesn't generally cause any problems with the babies, they assure me ... but add, there might be more spotting in the weeks to come.

So I'm trying not to worry too much, stress too much about what I'll find on the toilet paper next, overanalyze every tummy twinge. I' m eight weeks now, still pregnant, with twins, and this is cause for celebration, news to let myself enjoy.

# posted by y @ 8:09 AM