Pisser

After such a happy post yesterday, I'm tempted not to put this one in at all, or at the very least to try to come off as slightly more sane by waiting a day or two before I admit to it. But what the hell: if you haven't figured out that this journey is a wicked roller coaster by now then I haven't been doing a good enough job of depicting it.

Whooooooosh! (that's the sound of the roller coaster descending from a height, leaving me screaming my head off)

Today was a less than stellar day. I suppose it truly started last night, when I had trouble sleeping. My typical action, when I find myself tossing and turning, is to do what Bruno calls "resetting": I get up, go pee, and come back and try start over with sleeping. I must have reset no fewer than 20 times last night, and the more I went to the bathroom, the less I had to use it, which made me get paranoid about feeling like I had to pee but not being able to, which quickly spiraled into fear that I actually had a urinary tract infection which would cause my cervix to shorten.

I was practically in hysterics by the time Bruno's alarm went off.

Made it through breakfast, called the doctors office, and was told to come on in for a pee-test to see if I had an infection. Gathered my stuff to leave, then went to the bathroom and...DAMMIT!! Prego brain strikes again: peeing is the last thing you want to do when you are heading to the doctors office to go pee in a cup. And now I've left myself the perfect excuse to doubt the results of the doctors test, because of course that pee will be too new: there won't have been time for the bacteria I know must be there to have built up a detectable level in my bladder. (The pee doesn't have to be held in the bladder for any amount of time for the test to work. The nurses have told me this over the phone, but what the hell do they know, right?)

Is the roller coaster at the bottom yet?

Go the doctors, pee in the cup, and of course the test comes back negative. The nurse calls me into the back to tell me this, and what do I do? I start to cry. She nabs the doctor, throws us both in the doctors office and asks me to tell the doctor my symptoms. I don't have any symptoms; I'm just a paranoid freak!! They are both incredibly sympathetic, and the doctor even offers to check my cervix for me to put my mind at ease. He is alone in the office today and his waiting room is full of pregnant women who have appointments, and I just can't do it to him or to them. I thank him, but tell him I'm sure everything is fine and I'm just having a tough day. I shuffle through the waiting room with my head hanging over my chest, and burst into tears by the elevator.

Oh, this is just so hard.

Every little thing has the potential to open my cervix. Every little pain is a potential contraction. Every new sensation is a possible symptom of pre-term labor. I am so so scared of losing this pregnancy too. I think in a weird way, this may be a backlash to having come out on the blog. I got a whole slew of congratulations e-mails, which was honestly what I was hoping for: just a little moment of normalcy and celebration, of not letting my previous tragedy take away all the joy of being pregnant again. But it has also left me feeling incredibly vulnerable and exposed, and, according to the laws of superstition, poised for another public crash and burn.

I try to remember that this is a different pregnancy. That my doctors have a great new set of plans. But the flaw in the plans is that they all rely on my being able to report the symptoms properly, to call in if I start having contractions or feel a,b, or c symptom. But am I up to the task? Will I know a real urinary tract infection if it happens? Recognize a contraction as different from the way my stomach feels when I get over zealous with the kale? The doctors can't do this part; neither can Bruno. This part, the first line of defense, is all on me.

I so wish they could just put me to sleep for the next six months, monitor my body and do whatever they need to it, and wake me up when the babies are good and properly cooked.

Oh, this roller coaster is such a freakin' pisser.