Friday, November 07, 2003

We are at 9 weeks. We have a heartbeat.
The events I have been writing about took place in 2001 during my wife's second pregnancy. This blog will tell the story leading up to the third (and current) pregnancy.

But today I am jumping ahead to the present. Today is ultrasound day. I have lost track of the weeks, but I think she is 11 weeks along. This is the point where we found out the second pregnancy was not viable. Not Viable is such a fucked up term.

So - K has been sicker than sick. We are taking this as a good sign. This pregnancy seems so much more like the first one - that produced our daughter. But my wife has been so sick. I know her morning sickness is a good sign, but she is so darn sick.

We are heading off to the doc at 9:30 this morning. I am so scared that I can barely contain myself. I have been unable to contain my excitement about this pregnancy, but the memory of two years ago hangs over both of our heads. We are both so scared for this test. I just need to get through the next two hours.

I will blog back later today.

Saturday, November 01, 2003

Losing what would have been our second child in the first tri-mester was a tremendous blow to me. I can only imagine that it was 100 times worse for my wife. It does no good to ask questions like "what did I do wrong". We consoled each other that it just was not meant to be, but I know that deep down inside - she still wonders what she did wrong.

We have friends and family that have miscarried. And it could have been worse. We know someone who lost an infant to SIDS. It destroyed her, and her marriage.

I had just told my co-workers that morning that K was pregnant. We had arranged to go down to L.A. to visit my family. They suspected some impending good news. Our daughter was 3 at the time, and we had told her the good news about her getting a little brother or sister. How the fuck do we get out of this one. She has asked us several times over the last two years when the baby is going to get here.

After a mandatory six month waiting period, we started trying again. My wife was now seeing a fertility specialist. K did not have a "hostile environment", and in fact she had a "beautiful uterus". Damn - I always knew that I married well.

And one other thing. My sperm can kick your sperms asses. And I know this for a fact. It was time for me to get a semen analysis. "Producing the Sample" is the medical term for whacking off into a sterile cup. We live 25 minutes away from the lab, and you must get the "sample" there within 30 minutes. I would have preferred to take care of everything there at the lab, but there is a fine line between "producing the sample" and "whacking off in the bathroom". So, I was gonna have to do this at home and then drive like a mother fucker to get there in time. I was hoping K would "assist" with this test, but nothing doing. I was on my own. Now don't get me wrong. I have produced many a sample in my life. But damn - she could have helped.

So now the clock is running. I had the sample under my arm (the recommended place for keeping it warm), and I am hitting every fucking light red. And the God damned school zone with children present. FUCK - get out of the way or I will run your asses over and let my Allstate lady deal with you. I skid into the parking lot and sprint to the building. And what do I find, but a waiting room filled to capacity. But at least there is no line. So I walk up to the counter and hand over the sealed sterile container to the lab worker. But unfortunately my paperwork is not right. It just says SA on the line of testing to be done. So she calls over her co-worker. Now from their conversation it is clear that they know what is in the cup, but they don't know what is on the slip. Come on girls - I am handing you a cup of semen. What The Fuck do you think I did that for. And just to make matters worse, one of them asks - out loud - "Does anyone know what the code for a semen analysis is?". The fucking waiting room has 50 people in it, and I am trying to downplay the fact that I just "choked the chicken". Shut the fuck up - bitch. And it turns out that the code is SA - exactly what I have on my paperwork. So, I turn around and walk out with my head held high.

But in the end, it is good to know that my swimmers are high in quantity as well as quantity. I have a lot of motility in those little mother fuckers.

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