For stress relief, try a different stress
It's been a while since I posted: not a lot has changed. I've got a nuchal scan date: later than I hoped, at 13 weeks,so if it's bad news it'll mean lots of rushed, late, nasty decisions. But I seem to have done all the advance mental processing of that that I need to, and put it on a mental back shelf for now.
In physical symptom news, no big surprises: nausea well controlled by frequent snacks and (first thing) a slug of Innocent banana, pineapple and coconut smoothie. What an excellent invention. I've had intermittent changes in colour of discharge, so spent a looooong time googling this phenomenon, and finally found a blog of someone who'd had the same problem in week 9 and been told by her doctor that there was nothing to worry about unless it was red. Which it isn't. I notice with slight unease that this woman was expecting twins, which I absolutely hope I'm not, but I am sure this is not of any universal significance. Or almost sure, anyway.
I'm seeing the midwife for the first time next week, which will be good, especially if she can hear a heartbeat. Other than 2 very close friends, nobody in the school circle yet has any idea that I'm pregnant. I'm a slightly different shape with no clothes on, but fortunately don't have to turn up at the school gates naked, and when covered with my usual vaguely arty long skirts and jackets, there's nothing to notice.
But I only have a certain amount of time to gaze at my still inverted navel, because my parents are increasingly worrying me. My mother is scheduled for a total hip replacement in 11 days time. Her chance of a serious complication is roughly the same, perhaps a little more, than my chance of a severely abnormal baby. She's in good physical health, other than dreadful arthritis, but she's nearly 80, and you never know. Even more worryingly, my father, who has vascular dementia, is slowly slipping further and further into the land of little green men. When I see him, he's generally reasonably lucid, in a deaf, slow on the uptake sort of way. But he has moments when he's waaaay out in left field, arriving in Mum's bedroom at 3 am asking, "Why are all those people fishing in our pond?" or "Why are the people upstairs so noisy tonight?" when not only are there no people, pond or upstairs flats, but there NEVER HAVE BEEN in their entire 50+ years of marriage.I don't know how Mum copes as well as she does. When she's in hospital, I'm going to have to visit Dad and keep an eye on him, because he won't go into a home for the duration, and there will be no support from Social Services - apparently if you have any help from your family at all, that's all you're expected to need. We're all worried about him coping alone, but there are no other valid choices.
Oh well. At least, soon, this dreadful time of limbo, waiting for these various assorted landmark events, will be over, and I can get on with actually coping with the surgery, Dad, the scan, and so forth, rather than just worrying about them. Overall, it will be less stressful, unless something really dreadful happens, and even then it's unlikely to be something I haven't already faced in morbid fantasy, as some sort of grim psychological self-training regieme.
Next post after the midwife, probably.
In physical symptom news, no big surprises: nausea well controlled by frequent snacks and (first thing) a slug of Innocent banana, pineapple and coconut smoothie. What an excellent invention. I've had intermittent changes in colour of discharge, so spent a looooong time googling this phenomenon, and finally found a blog of someone who'd had the same problem in week 9 and been told by her doctor that there was nothing to worry about unless it was red. Which it isn't. I notice with slight unease that this woman was expecting twins, which I absolutely hope I'm not, but I am sure this is not of any universal significance. Or almost sure, anyway.
I'm seeing the midwife for the first time next week, which will be good, especially if she can hear a heartbeat. Other than 2 very close friends, nobody in the school circle yet has any idea that I'm pregnant. I'm a slightly different shape with no clothes on, but fortunately don't have to turn up at the school gates naked, and when covered with my usual vaguely arty long skirts and jackets, there's nothing to notice.
But I only have a certain amount of time to gaze at my still inverted navel, because my parents are increasingly worrying me. My mother is scheduled for a total hip replacement in 11 days time. Her chance of a serious complication is roughly the same, perhaps a little more, than my chance of a severely abnormal baby. She's in good physical health, other than dreadful arthritis, but she's nearly 80, and you never know. Even more worryingly, my father, who has vascular dementia, is slowly slipping further and further into the land of little green men. When I see him, he's generally reasonably lucid, in a deaf, slow on the uptake sort of way. But he has moments when he's waaaay out in left field, arriving in Mum's bedroom at 3 am asking, "Why are all those people fishing in our pond?" or "Why are the people upstairs so noisy tonight?" when not only are there no people, pond or upstairs flats, but there NEVER HAVE BEEN in their entire 50+ years of marriage.I don't know how Mum copes as well as she does. When she's in hospital, I'm going to have to visit Dad and keep an eye on him, because he won't go into a home for the duration, and there will be no support from Social Services - apparently if you have any help from your family at all, that's all you're expected to need. We're all worried about him coping alone, but there are no other valid choices.
Oh well. At least, soon, this dreadful time of limbo, waiting for these various assorted landmark events, will be over, and I can get on with actually coping with the surgery, Dad, the scan, and so forth, rather than just worrying about them. Overall, it will be less stressful, unless something really dreadful happens, and even then it's unlikely to be something I haven't already faced in morbid fantasy, as some sort of grim psychological self-training regieme.
Next post after the midwife, probably.
posted by Alison at
2:12 PM
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