The big reveal
I'm sitting in a waiting room with walls the colour of Pepto-Bismal, waiting for my name to be called. Ironically, or perhaps fittingly but somewhat premature, I'm in the maternity ward of the same hospital where I delivered both Tristan and Simon (because the Fertility Clinic is not set up with an obstetrical ultrasound unit.)
On the way up to the fourth floor in the elevator, I realized that I don't think I've been here since I took Simon home from the hospital two-and-a-half years ago. Walking down the long hallway, my senses were bombarded with the unique sounds and scents of the maternity ward and I am catapulted back in time, remembering the endless hours we paced this hallway, trying to goad a reluctant Simon into making his entrance.
As I passed plastic bassinettes full of fresh babies, my heart leapt to my throat yet again. I don't think I've been able to fully swallow my emotions since I peed on the stick ten days ago. I could have one of those soon, I thought, looking longingly at the flannel-wrapped bundles, and tears sprung to my eyes.
And so I wait for my name to be called, notebook open on my lap to catch errant impressions, but with no semblance of concentration. Finally, it's my turn. I can't tell you how many ultrasounds I've had in the last five years, but I'm sure it's more than 25. I start to take off my pants, and she tells me not to bother, as this will be an abdominal ultrasound at least to start. I'm mildly surprised, but pleased at this less intrusive approach. Except she is unable to find anything with an abdominal ultrasound, and the whisper of panic that I've been hearing for days in my head crescendos to a roar.
And then, blissfully, it appears on the screen. I tell the technician about the history of twins in my family, and mytwo preschoolers preschooler and kindergartener at home, and she searches very carefully for any more surprises, but finds none.
One perfectly placed embryo, snuggled in for the long haul. Measuring 6w3d, ahead of its gestational age by a day, with a heartbeat of 105 beats per minute. Everything is exactly as it should be. Everything is perfect.
Due date: May 8, 2007.
On the way up to the fourth floor in the elevator, I realized that I don't think I've been here since I took Simon home from the hospital two-and-a-half years ago. Walking down the long hallway, my senses were bombarded with the unique sounds and scents of the maternity ward and I am catapulted back in time, remembering the endless hours we paced this hallway, trying to goad a reluctant Simon into making his entrance.
As I passed plastic bassinettes full of fresh babies, my heart leapt to my throat yet again. I don't think I've been able to fully swallow my emotions since I peed on the stick ten days ago. I could have one of those soon, I thought, looking longingly at the flannel-wrapped bundles, and tears sprung to my eyes.
And so I wait for my name to be called, notebook open on my lap to catch errant impressions, but with no semblance of concentration. Finally, it's my turn. I can't tell you how many ultrasounds I've had in the last five years, but I'm sure it's more than 25. I start to take off my pants, and she tells me not to bother, as this will be an abdominal ultrasound at least to start. I'm mildly surprised, but pleased at this less intrusive approach. Except she is unable to find anything with an abdominal ultrasound, and the whisper of panic that I've been hearing for days in my head crescendos to a roar.
And then, blissfully, it appears on the screen. I tell the technician about the history of twins in my family, and my
One perfectly placed embryo, snuggled in for the long haul. Measuring 6w3d, ahead of its gestational age by a day, with a heartbeat of 105 beats per minute. Everything is exactly as it should be. Everything is perfect.
Due date: May 8, 2007.
Said DaniGirl at 6:43 a.m. #
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