Week 25: Doc Visits, Delurking, Kick Counts

I seem to be late to the game, but apparently this week is National Blog Delurking week. If you're a lurker, feel free to come out of the closet and comment.

I had a real-life delurking, in a sense, when I went to my doc appointments yesterday. This was the first time since getting pregnant that the Mister didn't come with me, as he's out of town. He even told me to tell both the Endo and OB that he was sorry he couldn't be there and that he didn't want to be seen as a slacker husband.

My endo started our appointment by telling me one of her patients she'd seen from the day before mentioned, that she read my blog. Of course, then I wondered who it could be, and with HIPPA laws, she didn't want to say. But I was thrilled that someone out there is reading me enough to mention it. I guessed a few people who I know live in Mass. or else see my doc, but Endo said no to the names I guessed. So I felt like a celebrity, which put me in a fine mood.

I hadn't faxed a few days of numbers recently, so Endo looked at my readings through my meter, and finally agreed with me that the numbers were a bit high, despite my awesome A1c. She made a few tweaks to my insulin-carb ratios and raised a 3am basal. "So, again, should I expect this kid to be heavier at birth," I asked. (This comes up probably every visit.)

"No, because you're checking so many times a day and correcting immediately, so your highs aren't high for very long," said Kind Endo. "You're doing exactly what you should be doing and your numbers are just where they should be."

Have I mentioned how great it is to see my Endo? No judgment. No anger. No guilt. Just kindness.

She mentioned she was curious about reading my blog, and while I want to share and hear how great and funny it is, I also immediately thought of one infertility blogger who stopped blogging after her infertility doc found her blog and was offended by some of the writing. I didn't bring this up, but Kind Endo suggested maybe it would be better to read the blog after I give birth and stop seeing her so frequently, which I thought was a good idea.

Of course, she asked about the book project and how that was going. It's been hanging over my head about how close I am to being done with a strong proposal and how long I haven't worked on it. I said the day job, with this week's 12-hour days, kept me busy and I hadn't worked on it in awhile, but that's bothering me. I need to get this project moving and out the door, ideally before there's a small child taking up even more of my time.

Then it was on to see High Risk OB, who I had a bunch of questions for. Things like "Why did the kid kick so much last week and this week seems quieter? Why'd I only gain a pound in three weeks when I've gained nine in the previous six weeks? Why are my cankles so prominent?"

High Risk OB was doing an emergency procedure on another floor, so I met with an OB resident instead. I didn't mind, as she had answers for my questions. Under an ultrasound, the baby looked fine, moved plenty ("You didn't feel that?" she asked after the kid flailed around. Thankfully, I did.), that weight gain was in line with what I should be weighing, and that yes, I should probably cut out my beloved half-sour pickles to spare myself the pillowy ankles. (Kind Endo had also taken my blood pressure and it was a totally normal range. So no pre-eclampsia today. Just once-big ankles, as I've recently chilled on the salt intake.)

The Resident did an ultrasound and commented that the Kid's legs were long. Really long. "Like, freakishly long?" I asked. "No, the femur is measuring in the 61st percentile," she answered. "Oh, it was a bit higher three weeks ago," I said. I'm about 5'8" and the Mister is 5'10" or so, so genetically, our kid is likely to be tall. It's sort of a mind game to think that something that's tucked inside me right now will likely be someone I look up to, literally, but let's not get ahead of anything.

Resident also mentioned kick counts, and that I should start counting how many times I can feel the baby kick in an hour. An ideal number is ten.

"Call us if you have fewer than ten kicks," she said.

And if there are more?

"Consider yourself lucky."

She suggested counting while lying down after having had a glass of juice. "I don't drink juice," I countered. "I'm diabetic and I tend to avoid it. Would a glass of Seltzer work?" Seltzer is fine, she said.

So last night, on my last night of singlehood, I lay down in my pillow-strewn bed with a magazine, noted the time of 10:46 pm, and started to count.

Thirty minutes later, I was up to 26.

The coolest thing was that when I put the magazine down, held my stomach, and really concentrated on sending messages of movement and happiness to the baby, when I said "Show me you're inside and feeling healthy," I would get a kick in return.

This has only happened two or three times I've tried it, but it was amazing. Such a weird connection between me and the baby that's growing inside me. I don't know if it's a coincidence or not, and it sounds sort of sappy, but it was really magical.