Size Matters

The proverbial dung has hit the fan.

Today I woke my pregnant butt up and drove it to the doctor's office for yet another round of "Whose Cervix is Not on First?"

Once finished with the standard conversation about the non-goings on in my body, we agreed that induction would commence next Thursday evening with an infusion of something called Cervidil, to "ripen" my cervix, followed Friday morning by Pitocin and the normal induction procedures to bring on the labor.

Then it was off to the Perinatal Lab for a Biophysical Profile and Non-Stress test to make sure my son was not living la vida loca in my uterus.

The ultrasound was performed by a fairly crabby technician who seemed obsessed with my due date. She was also keen on using the entire bottle of conduction gel on my belly; so much so that I found it on my underwear and pants at the conclusion of the scan. Thanks for the memories, lady.

She said Spencer "passed" the scans just fine and the ultrasound doctor (Dr. McSomething or other) came in to confirm all was well. He asked if my doc wanted the fetal weight and I said "I don't know but I'd love to find out if you have any idea". He went on to tell me that if my doc hadn't ordered it he won't tell me because there is a margin of error which makes it not the most reliable measurement. So much for THAT.

Then down to the next part of the test - the non-stress test, where they monitor the baby's heartbeat, checking for movement and change of pulse during movement. Spencer got wise to this right off the bat and more or less went to sleep. They had me in a fuzzy red Barca lounger with a back that wouldn't stay put. I had two hockey-puck sized apparatus strapped to my belly which the technician had to move when Spencer decided his "left side of mommy's body" hang out was calling him. I was given a button to push whenever he moved. About 15 minutes into it, with things being fairly quiet, the technician (who was sweet and accommodating and spared me the abundance of conduction gel) asked me if I'd been keeping track of his movements each day and actually seemed concerned. I laughed cause this kid has been about as quiet as fireworks. And, as timing would have it, almost on cue he started bopping around and gave the technician all she needed to see. She took her readouts to the doctor and came back herself to tell me I was free and clear to go.

So, happy day for me. Baby good, I'm good, and I now have a deadline scheduled to go have my little man, so he's coming one way or the other. Time to shop!...or just find something light to wear for the next week since it's about 30 degrees hotter than normal. Did I mention it went up to 90 today?

I talked to my friend Donna and was planning to maybe go to a local mall to stroll around but when she talked about how weird it would be if my water broke in the mall and I had to have my baby at King of Prussia, I scrapped the idea and opted for local strip mall instead.

I hit Old Navy for a coupla tank tops and pajama bottoms that were stylish enough to wear out of the house. I bought some groceries and drove around a bit and headed home, where Guy was situating himself after a long day of depositions and "putting my shoe into a witness's mouth". Relaxed and ready to unwind, I found a crossword puzzle from the Philadelphia Inquirer and set myself outside on the chaise to attack it. Guy puttered around the yard and Mack was content to roll around and sniff the grass. Ah, Friday.

After about 30 minutes, suddenly above the din of some Adult Alternative music on WXPN, we could hear the phone ringing. In usual fashion, we ignored it in favor of the answering machine since telemarketers are notorious for calling near dinner time. Guy then thought better of it, thinking it might be the plumber calling back about finishing installation of toilet and sink in our new bathroom on the first floor (a project 6 months in the making). He went in and in moments was leaning out the screen door, waving me in...

"Your doc called and wants you to call him back about the test results today. He said it's nothing to worry about but call him."

NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT?
NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT?
I repeat....
NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT?

I immediately called and got his answering service. The ever-so-helpful-and-kind operator was more than happy to tell me to call back Monday. I almost had an aneurysm on the spot. She was more or less dismissive when I informed her that I was told he wanted to speak to me today and that I was 4 days past my due date. She reluctantly agreed to get him the message and I hung up, distraught. For 10 minutes I tried to go back outside and go back to the puzzle, but it was to no avail. I was WORRYING full steam. What could have happened between the tests and now? Did something show up? Was there not as much amniotic fluid as they thought? Was something amuck?

Back into the house I went, phone in hand and listened to the docs message to see if there was some kind of code I was supposed to give the operator or something so he would get the message. It turns out there was a little subtlety to it that I had not mastered, so I prepared to call again. Guy came in and sat down with me while I called. The operator I got this time was much smoother in her handling of the situation, despite her Benson & Hedges rippled voice. So we sat there for 5 minutes, both of us now WORRYING.

My doc called. By the way I don't know if I've mentioned it, but his name is Dr. Brest. Yes, an ObGyn, and his name is Dr. Brest. The comedy is not lost on me. So, Dr. Brest called back and proceeded to tell me the following...

All the results were fine, and the technicians DID take that fetal weight measurement afterall and the staff physician (Dr. McWhatsajobby) wanted to know if Dr. Brest wanted the info. Apparently with an ultrasound at this time, a larger size baby has weight measurements with a + or - 15% discrepancy. A LARGER SIZE BABY. They measured my baby as being a little over 4500 grams, or about 10lbs.
That's right, people. I may be carrying a 10 pound baby.
Now add or subtract 15% and this kid is somewhere between 8.5 and 12 pounds.
I have a giant baby.
Nowhere do Guy or I know of anyone in our families giving birth to giants.
I called my mom, she doesn't know.
Guy has renamed our son Moby Baby.

The not-so fun part of it is that I now have to decide between a scheduled C-section on Monday the 17th (Dr Brest had a slot for it and scheduled me in case I wanted to do it now) or waiting til induction and seeing what happens. There is no real exact science here, just alot of possibilities.

In the car on the way to pick up steaks and slurpees, Guy asked me to get out a pen and paper and start writing down questions to ask and look up. He's so logical. All I could think about was missing out on labor and having to lie there strapped to a table, and he was making lists. I was thinking about scarring and loss of my fun tummy I used to have and plastic surgeons and whether or not I'd be able to get up and down the stairs, and he was thinking about risks and health benefits. We were clearly Yin and Yang in the Saab with Mack in the backseat slobbering all over us. As I sit here now indulging my slightly clobbered ego, he is reading about C-sections.

So for the next 12 hours or so, we'll be home trying to decide what's best for us and my gigundo son. I already told Guy this kid better be an all-star, the likes of which noone's ever seen. I said "Do you realize by the time he's 4 he'll be taller than me?" to which Guy replied, "He'll be taller than you when he's born. He's already a month old in there". I also now realize that either half or all of the baby clothes folks bought us will probably be too small for him. He'll outgrow his infant seat in a month. I may have to change the name of this blog to "My Life with Hercules". Am I growing a superhero?

This is becoming a real melodrama, no?

Until our next installment, here's an interesting statistic I think I'll post from now on at the beginning of each entry 'til he's born:
Number of strangers today who felt compelled to comment on my pregnancy: 4