I'm a Flight Risk

This, again, won't be a funny post. Sorry y'all.

You guys might remember reading the post I wrote entitled: "Crossing the Fear Threshold." Or you might not. Evidently, there's been a study done recently by the University of Rochester that discovered long term effects of miscarriage - evidence of long-lasting depression and anxiety, even after the birth of a healthy child. I don't have a whole lot of depression, (only occasional bouts of self-pity, and I hear those are normal), but boy howdy do I have the maternal anxiety. According to the nurse who taught our birthing class, that'd be normal even if I hadn't had the miscarriage - a hormone-induced heightened sense of caution is an evolutionary survival technique for our species. But I am certain I carry it to an extreme.

I worry about EVERYTHING. I follow all the rules the medical community has laid down for a healthy pregnancy. I avoid every food on the "don't eat this" list. I haven't touched a lukewarm or cold meat product in 7 months. I eat my steak well done, (when all I want to do is order it rare). I stare longingly at the smoked salmon display at my local grocery store, but walk on by. I only eat fish twice a week. I have nearly amputated my caffeine fix to a once-a-week-MAYBE cup of tea. If someone with an "MD" after their name has said, "don't do this" about anything, then I don't freaking do it. Because frankly - it's not worth the risk. No cheese could be that tasty!

As this pregnancy has progressed, and it has become more and more likely that Rhys intends to stick around, hopefully for the long haul, I've started researching all the products we will use with him. Organic, chemical-free mattresses. Chlorine-free diapers. Formaldehyde-free EVERYTHING. I don't particularly want to be one of those parents that other parents, (or my mother-in-law), will roll their eyes about and say, "oh you know, she's so OVER-INVOLVED," but...but...I'm responsible for him. Sandy and I are the only people Rhys has got to make decisions that could affect him for the rest of his life.

(Which, incidentally, is TERRIFYING. I'm still not entirely comfortable making decisions for myself, much less a tiny human being.)

So I purchase videos on teaching baby sign language and make sure there are no hanging fabrics near the crib. I attend the birthing classes and the breast feeding classes and the baby care classes. I hire a doula. I schedule a tour of my hospital's L&D wing. I read the latest studies on the needs of newborns. And I worry about doing this thing, arguably the most important thing I will ever do, RIGHT.

Possibly a small portion of all this anxiety revolves around the fact that I'm going through this pregnancy in a kind of female emotional-support vacuum. (Hence the hiring of a doula). My best friend Kara, who has two children already, recently had a health scare and I haven't been pestering her with questions lately because she had enough on her plate without me adding to it. And my mom is ALSO going through a lot right now, (a hideously ugly divorce, etc), and hasn't been able to focus on anything else but what is happening to her - which is totally understandable. Any phone call to her regarding my pregnancy eventually devolves into her talking about the divorce, and her fears, which just makes my total level of anxiety way worse. So she's out. My mother-in-law, while very close in physical proximity, adopted all of her children so for her pregnancy is all second-hand information. She's also a VERY tough bird, and doesn't have much patience for the sort of shenanigans I'm indulging in - I'm sure I currently irritate the daylights out of her. I don't blame her - I irritate the daylights out of myself, too. I don't LIKE worrying about stuff all the time! It's exhausting.

It'd be awesome if pregnant women had a sort of modern-day equivalent of the Red Tent - part of me wishes I was crunchy enough to pack up and join a mothering commune someplace. And there's always the internet - and six billion message boards and forums - but after reading one incredibly ignorant post advocating dog abuse and abandonment on a pregnancy board I decided it'd be healthier for me to avoid those altogether or risk completely losing my mind and/or going on a homicidal preggo-rage rampage.

Meanwhile, I've got a sister in law who is a few months behind me, also pregnant. This is her first pregnancy, and she has never had a loss. She went on a trip to Colorado to go skiing, (moguls! black diamonds! tree runs!). I've watched her eat tuna salad sandwiches, and soft cheeses! She hasn't scheduled a class yet! She's easy in herself and her pregnancy - confident - calm. Her blissful lack of concern is a marvel to me. I wish I could be more like her.

And then I was given an opportunity to be more like her. My husband's family planned a trip to Mexico, and we were invited. I would be 25 weeks pregnant when the wheels of the plane touched down in Cancun. Part of me thought, instantly, "Oh hell no. 3rd world country medical care. Parasites." Another part of me thought, "SUCK IT UP, WOMAN!" I asked my doctor what he thought at our next OB visit. He said, "oh yeah sure! Go! It will be fun."

Have I mentioned before that my OB is the most relaxed human being on the face of the planet? Because he is. He's so freaking calm it's almost irritating. I'm sure it's necessary, in his position - he's dealing with hundreds of crazed pregnant women and their fears all day long. But still. Anyway, he said there'd be no problem. That whatever organization makes recommendations about travel and pregnancy say you can fly up until 34 weeks without difficulty - and I'd still be in my second trimester, so it'd be totally fine. Just not to drink the water, or eat any uncooked vegetables or fruit that I couldn't peel a thick rind off of. No lettuce, no ice in my bottled water or drinks, that sort of thing.

Part of me was relieved. Doc says it's okay. Another part of me was pissed. Dammit! No easy way out of this. No gracious excuse. I have to really consider doing this thing - traveling far away from reliable medical care at the very cusp of when Rhys would be considered viable should the worst happen and he had to be delivered. At 25 weeks, if he was born in a really good hospital with an excellent NICU, he might survive. At 25 weeks, if he was born in the closest hospital in Cancun? Results Not Favorable. And a small part of me was super-annoyed at my husband. The same man who yells at me for lifting something heavy or trying to clean up a spot on the carpet with what he refers to as "death chemicals" has no problem with asking me to travel to a third world country and play Parasite Roulette for a week? I could tell Sandy really wanted to go. And he wouldn't go without me, even if I told him it was okay. (Mostly because he would sense that it was a trap and that I'd never forgive him if he left my enormous pregnant behind at home and went on a babymoon without me). So I said "Ok."

I still worried. And fretted. And read up on Moctezuma's Revenge. I looked up the nearest hospitals to the resort we'd be staying at. I tried to find out how long it would take to get a flight to the nearest American hospital, (probably in Miami), in an emergency situation. I researched placental abruption, and pre-term labor, and deep vein thrombosis. I fretted over how I was supposed to meet Rhys' nutritional needs if I had to treat every piece of lettuce like an Unexploded Gut Grenade. I told myself I'd bring it up again a month later, at my next OB appointment, and not to worry about it until then. Two weeks passed relatively peacefully.

My next appointment was at 20 weeks, with the doc at the high-risk pregnancy center. We were going in for our super-high-resolution measurement ultrasound. I asked this doctor what he thought about me traveling to Mexico at 25 weeks pregnant. And he said, "I wouldn't risk it. Flying is fine, but Mexico? What if something happened?"

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

The little voice in my head that had been fretting and worrying over every possible worst-case scenario turned and glared at Sandy in self-righteous fury. "SEE?!" it said. "You're asking me to risk our baby!!!" The other little voice in my head that had been yelling, "You're a FREAK! RELAX!" turned and glared at the doctor. "Thanks a lot," it said. "Now she's going to be completely impossible to be around."

We had already told Sandy's family that Dr. G had approved the trip for me. They were expecting us to come. We had trip insurance, so we'd get at least a partial refund if we cancelled - but my mother in law? She'd never forgive me. Or forget it. And I would forever be branded ridiculous and overly-sensitive in her head. (I probably already am, but it would be WAY worse if we cancelled the trip). Sandy leapt into action, in full 'mitigate-the-emotional-pregnant-woman-crisis' mode. He began snapping out time tables at the doctor, about how fast he could have me on a med-evac chopper to Cancun, and how quickly he could get a plane to take us to Miami. The doctor argued with him about the speed with which things could go wrong. I sat on the exam table with goo on my belly and a giant paper napkin tucked into my waistband, and mentally gnawed on my own fist in uncertainty.

In the end, it was ultimately my decision. One doctor for, one against. Concerns about what anyone else involved thought - well in the end they really didn't matter. Even Sandy, (because men seem to be to be far more pragmatic than women, and more accepting of negative outcomes - they appear to move on more easily). Yes I realize that's a stereotype and a generalization, and there are lots of guys out there that would be just as insane and guilty as I would be. But, trust me to know my husband - not mine. I know he would feel awful, but he'd get over it.* I would not. So ultimately, I was the one who was going to have to live with the outcome, for better or worse. Knowing that if something DID happen - I'd never forgive myself. Never. No matter what anyone said. But also knowing that if I let fear win this time I'd maybe never get out from under it. And I was so damned tired of being scared.

At my next OB visit, a few weeks before the trip, I told Dr. G that Dr. N thought the trip was a bad idea. Dr. G seemed slightly miffed, (the most irritation I've ever seen him display, and I've probably given him WAY more cause in the past to be annoyed), and said there was no medical reason for me not to go. I was healthy, my pregnancy was progressing perfectly. He looked at me, and he knew I was worried. So he said, "tell you what we'll do. You come back for a visit right before you're supposed to leave, and we'll measure your cervix, and check for cervical tunneling...actually - you know what we could do?" he drawled out as he thought about it, "why don't we do a Fetal Fibronectin? I just swab a bit behind your cervix and if the results are negative then we know you won't go into preterm labor for a week to 10 days following the test."

I stared at him. "That's possible?!"

"Oh yes. If the fetal sac starts to separate, those proteins are released, and we can detect them. But if they aren't detected, your sac is in good shape, and it's as much guarantee as I can give you...barring some violent trauma etc."

"DO IT!" I said. Here was a way to calm the first voice down, and try and sneak out from under the weight of The Fear. Things could still happen, of course - but with the test at least I'd know I wasn't at risk for things to go south on their own. For everything else - I could just be careful. I would just be careful. Dr. G = Best Doctor Ever.

And that, kids, is the story of how I wound up in Mexico at 25 weeks pregnant. Pictures and stories of the trip in the next post!

* Incidentally, I verified this with Sandy before posting it. He agrees. He doesn't know why, but he agrees that he would be able to come to terms with a traumatic late-pregnancy loss, and the associated guilt of knowing it might have been prevented, more easily than I would. After staring at him for a minute, I said, "this is why some women become lesbians." (That's not true at all, guys. Sorry. I was just trying to express that sometimes, a woman might prefer to be in a relationship with another woman, because dammit - it's not right that you could lose a baby under those circumstances and think, "well, that sucked - but it happens.") Sandy then replied, "I'm sure there are lots of women out there who are capable of coming to terms with things more easily than you, too." Now I'm not speaking to him. Hormones are awesome**.

** Yes, that is sarcasm.