Worrywart

This morning I awoke to discover I was spotting ever so slightly, and I found myself in the unfortunate position of choosing between two extremes: a) be myself, stay mostly calm, keep an eye on the problem, and hope it all works out for the best, or b) be my sister, convince myself that the baby and I are dying, call the doctor crying, and demand an ultrasound pronto.

I gave myself a leisurely hour before making a decision. I didn't really think anything was wrong, but I had this nagging voice in my head that was listing off all of the other times in my life in which I should have called someone but didn't, and how differently things could have turned out then, typically for the better. So I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out the folder I was given on our first visit and glanced over the short list of things to notify the doctor about. Sure enough, the very last thing listed was bleeding, and it said all bleeding, even if very light, should be reported in early pregnancy. My problem then became: I'm 13 weeks. I'm in my second trimester. Surely that doesn't constitute as early pregnancy? More like mid-pregnancy, but just barely.

My reasoning (excuses) fought the good fight and I ended up calling. Better safe than sorry, right?

A nurse answered the phone and I very calmly explained my situation, carefully recounting every small detail, even a few strange, probably unrelated, occurrences that happened during the days prior. I figured the more detail, the more likely they'll be able to tell me whether or not something was seriously wrong. I also answered all of her questions, however embarrassing, and managed to feel relatively mature throughout the entire conversation. And after conferring with a doctor the nurse informed me that what I had experienced was probably nothing, but I was more than welcome to come in this afternoon for a quick exam to make sure everything is okay. I graciously accepted the emergency appointment, mostly because I couldn't see myself making it through the next three weeks, until our next check-up, without questioning every little discomfort.

The baby and I are fine. We're both going to live. I was just told to take it easy for the next 24 hours or so. It was actually a very exciting appointment as I got another ultrasound and it's amazing what a difference a week can make when compared with the ultrasound pictures I received last Wednesday. It could be the angle, but honestly, in the matter of 6 days the thing growing inside of me has gone from strange little alien to thumb-sucking human. It's beautiful.