12/20/2006: "The Know-Nothing Party"

Note: While the title of today's entry refers to this political party, I think it's also an apt representation of everyone at Kaiser Permanente. As you shall see.

Well, I had the amniocentesis on Monday. A fun time was had by all, if by all you mean absolutely nobody, especially me. As is quickly becoming the norm with Kaiser, it's just one bit of mass confusion after the next, with Tycho and I firmly in the middle.

Dave and I arrived for the appointment 15 minutes ahead of time, as instructed. I had been drinking water for the last hour and a half. When the appointment was being made, I was told to drink 32 oz. of water 90 minutes before the appointment and hold it. After I picked myself up off the floor from the hysterical laughing fit I had when told this, as I am completely unable to even look at a glass of water without needing to pee desperately these days, I tempered the directions with my own judgement. I assumed that drinking 32 oz. of fluid within the 90 minutes prior to the appointment would suffice, so I started with small amounts at 2 pm and by 3:30, when the appointment was, I'd polished off all 32 oz. Right in time!

The one thing I didn't count on in my brilliant plan was that if your doctor's appointment is anything but the first one in the day? You will be brought in late. Very late.

AN HOUR LATE.

And the thing they kept telling me was, "We're not quite ready for you yet." Now, "We're not quite ready" indicates, to me, that a little clean up needs to be done. Perhaps a needle needs to be sterilized or a file put away. "We're not quite ready" is good for about 10 minutes of wait time because it indicates the state of Almost Ready, just not Quite. As we approached 20 minutes of wait time and everyone who'd come in after me had disappeared into the offices, I leaned over to Dave and pointed out that, time wise, we'd passed "not quite ready" and gone into "we're running a little late" time.

But it didn't end there. As we passed the 30 minute mark and my bladder started indicating in no uncertain terms that it was full! And hurting! And please please for the love of God visit the restroom, won't you!? I pointed out to Dave that we had now blown past "we're running a little late" and entered "we should have told you about this when you checked in".

The next 10 minutes were a meditation exercise in which I thought only of deserts and the surface of the moon. Places where there is no fluid to be found. Unlike my bladder, which was holding all the fluid in the Western Hemisphere. It's not only embarrasing to be doing the Pee-Pee Dance as a grown woman, but also very uncomfortable. Who would sign up for that? Nobody. I mean, I dare you to drink 32 oz of water and then sit for 2 hours. You would refuse, and you would be right to!

When we got to 45 minutes late, and I'd told Dave we were clearly at, "We've stopped giving a damn about you" time, he caught a nurse and asked how much more time we would be waiting since my bladder was at critical mass.

Do you know what she said? Can you guess? Because I couldn't have guessed on a bet.

"Oh you don't have to have a full bladder. They keep telling people that on the phone but it's not necessary. You can go to the bathroom."

I admit that I sort of lost my cool at that moment. In a voice that was a wee bit lounder than I'd intended I blurted out, "Oh my GOD, are you KIDDING me? Why did they tell me to drink 32 oz of WATER two HOURS ago and then HOLD it for God's sake? Why didn't anyone TELL me this 45 MINUTES ago!? Where the hell is the BATHROOM??"

I think the rest of the people in the waiting room were laughing at me, which is good, I like to be the afternoon's entertainment, but JESUS! When I got back from my pilgrammage to the porcelin Mecca, I told Dave, "I think this is confirmation that Kaiser hates me as much as I hate it."

Eventually we got called in. The tech who did the ultrasound said about 3 words to us the whole time, so Dave and I got to play "Guess That Baby Part". I hoped that by making wildly innaccurate guesses ("Is that a leg or another baby?") the tech would be prompted to give us a clue as to what we were looking at, but no dice. This tech, following the Kaiser protocol of Keep 'Em Uncomfortable, mashed the living hell out of my lower abdomen, apparently in the belief that if he crushed the baby, it would provide better images. I'm still sore today, almost 48 hours later. He said he needed to do it to get better pictures, but that was total baloney because when he would let up the pressure, the image didn't change one iota.

Then... he left. Without telling us anything. Being a reasonably intelligent person with eyes, I could see for myself that Tycho has but one head and one spine and appears to have two legs and an arm or two (given the angle it was hard to see both at once). The one very thrilling thing we learned is that Tycho moves! I could not feel this, but we saw it with our own eyes. Tycho kicks and waves his or her delicate little arms around and jerks about in a way that made Dave say with great sympathy, "I think you have a kicker in there." It was exteremly creepy, to tell you the truth. I have a little parasite in me that moves around and I can't feel it. It sort of gives me the heebie-jeebies.

In a miraculous, wonderous sort of way.

So then, finally, Dr. Wonderful arrived, to great fanfare. I had started referring to him as Dr. Wonderful in a sneery, sarcastic way - I can't imagine why my Snarkometer was peaking. I asked Dr. Wonderful what news he could provide, as the tech had told us nothing. Was a nuchal fold measurement taken in the 45 minutes of abdomen mashing? Was it within normal ranges? Were other measurements on track... from the 45 MINUTES OF PAINFUL ABDOMEN MASHING? Dr. Wonderful informed us that, despite the fact that Tycho was measuring exactly to dates, he or she was a wee bit too small to see things like a heart and brain ("and da noive...") which they like to check out. I would have liked to have been assured that Tycho has a heart and not an empty black cavern in which hate and despair festers, but no such luck. Many measurements could not be taken today. I would have to come back in 3 weeks for that reassurance.

I would like to digress here for just a moment and send up a plaintive WHY??? to the universe. Why on God's green earth did Kaiser BOTHER to schedule this appointment at 16 weeks if the baby, who is measuring exactly 16 weeks, would be too small to check out!? Doesn't someone KNOW when an appropriate time would be? I am confused. It is not the first time, nor, I fear, will it be the last.

So anyway, then the party really started. The needles were brought out, my belly was iodine covered, and I promptly freaked the hell out because OH MY GOD WE ARE STICKING A LONG NEEDLE HALFWAY THROUGH MY BODY WITHOUT PAINKILLER AND ALSO IT WILL BE VERY NEAR MY BABY AND HOLY CRAP THIS PROCEEDURE HAS COMPLICATIONS AND WHAT WAS I THINKING!!!!!?????

And then it was over.

Actually, it took longer than that and do not believe anyone who says, "Oh it doesn't hurt, you don't even feel the needle" because they are lying to you. I'm here to tell you that I felt the needle. I felt it pierce my skin and I felt it pass through my abdomen and I felt it go through the uterine wall and I felt it move around and hurt and I hope this grosses you out because this is the real world, baby! I don't sugar coat it. That needle hurt. I felt it. I whined. I said quiet little "ow"s so the doctor would know I felt it and it hurt and my eyes got big as saucers and there was a needle halfway through me, people. Who would believe you wouldn't feel that?

And when it was removed I knew it (because I could feel it), and there was a great outpouring of breath on my part because who knew I could hold my breath for that long? Learn something new every day.

So. In summary. Here is what we know:

We know that I am gestating a baby and not a shrimp (I had my doubts). We know it has an actual head. We know there are legs and arms and a spine. We know that it moves (actually, we know that it's capable of flipping over - the tech pictures showed it belly down but by the time the doctor showed up, it was laying on it's back. My child is the next Nadia Comeneche). We know it is measuring right where it should. We know that needles stuck through our abdomens are painful (which should be a big duh, but somehow surprised even me).

Here are some things we thought we might learn, but did not:

We do not know the baby's gender. We do not know if the nuchal fold measurement indicates any potential problems. We do not know if Tycho has a four chambered heart like other mammals or if he/she is harboring some sort of freakish mutation which will turn on us in a bloody rampage.

Not knowing these things is troubling. I will keep you posted.

And now, what you actually came here for. Pictures!

Here is Tycho on his or her stomach. The head is on the left, body in the middle, legs are scrunched up on the right.

And here is Tycho about 30 minutes later, flipped on his or her back. I love this picture because you can actually see the face. We made a baby with a nose, people! This seems like a great accomplishment! Good job, kid! See you again in a few weeks!

Replies: 2 Comments - Read 'em!

on Friday, December 22nd, Vicki said

Wow, I would have lost my mind with every single person at that doctor's office. Love the pictures!

on Saturday, December 30th, Lise said

Wow- that sounds rough. You are very brave to go through that. I am sure it did hurt. (sharp pointy things poking through your body usually hurt).
I pray your baby is healthy.

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12/20/2006: "The Know-Nothing Party"