The very first thing I did this morning was elect COBRA coverage. I had been putting it off because I literally got sick every time I thought about that little letter I got in the mail not too long ago telling me how much basic health coverage was gonna cost me through this "convenient" and "helpful" program.
714 a month. Yes, you read that correctly. SEVEN HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN FUCKING DOLLARS A MONTH.
We have exhausted our other options. I'm getting nowhere fast with Medicaid. In order to get on Dustin's health insurance, which will kick in about a month after he starts, we have to prove domestic partnership. Apparently, "he's my baby daddy" isn't sufficient proof. While we've been living together for more than a year and are one hundred percent committed to each other forever ever, proving this on paper is almost impossible. We never put utilities in both of our names. Or leases. Or cars. Or anything. We've been living with family...so no landlord to speak of. Our addresses on our licenses are not the same, mainly because we're lazy and hate the dmv. In order to get domestic partnership, you have to prove...through more than one valid document as specified by the health insurance company, that you've lived together for six months. And...well crap. We can't do that.
Marriage is something we've spoken about...but it's not an option at this juncture for a variety of reasons. Plus, I am gun shy on getting married because of insurance. Talk about taking the romance out of the situation.
So, long story short, COBRA it is until something else can be figured out. Hopefully there is a job waiting for me in Scranton, but for now I need to be covered. So with a few clicks, I resigned myself to an exorbitant fee for what is decidedly the crappiest health insurance I have ever had in my life.
The reason I had to do this on this particular date was because I had a doctor's appointment today. It was the 16 week appointment. For those of you who are male or have never been pregnant, you go about every four weeks in the beginning as long as everything is progressing normally. Despite some scares we had early on...which weren't really scares as much as us just finding out too early to know that this was a viable, healthy pregnancy...I've been having a pretty easy go of this. Still, every single time I drive to a doctor's appointment, I have a mini panic attack. I convince myself that this will be the appointment where everything falls apart. The doctor will tell me that I actually AM having an alien and for the safety of the world, we will have to terminate. Or more realistically, one of the bajillions of tests I've taken will come back with horrific results.
I always make a mental list of all of the terrible things I did in the four weeks since my last "everything is ok" appointment. I didn't drink enough water. I was too stressed out. I yelled at the cat for 45 minutes because it was playing with the blinds when I was trying to sleep. I didn't get enough sleep that one week. I took benadryl when I broke out in hives. I also took tylenol for a headache. The virgin bloody mary mix I've been drinking was probably accidentally spiked. I pushed too hard during a particularly tough BM. I forgot my prenatal pill that one day. I ate too much ice cream and not enough veggies.
In all honestly, this is just a fraction of the terrible things I think. I won't even get into the more horrible deformities and illnesses I convince myself my kid has. I think writing them down will make me break out in shingles.
So by the time the nurse leads me into the room, I'm a nervous wreck. I make silly small talk in a weird, high pitched voice. I shake as I hand her my pee (yeah you have to pee in a cup at home and bring it in.) I breathe too heavily and feel like I'm gonna pass out. I get too warm and have to take off whatever coat/sweatshirt I have on, revealing all my tattoos and then freak out internally because I think they're gonna report me to the government as an unfit mother. Today I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I bled.
The way my practice works is there are seven doctors. It's a large practice and you see all of them on a rotating basis. It's good and bad. It's good because it means that at least one of the doctors you've seen will be available to deliver your baby instead of someone you've never met. It's bad because in the beginning you are a new patient every single time you go in.
Today was a non-sonogram appointment, which is a bummer. Seeing your kid on the big screen is pretty thrilling. I imagine that's why so many parents push their kids to be famous. But whatever, they need to make sure shit is going well. Plus there were some things I was looking forward to (and terrified of)...getting test results back, measuring the uterus and hearing that incredible heartbeat again.
My anxiety starts with the sugar in the pee test that the nurse does right away. I tested a little high in the blood sugar department a few weeks back so they've been watching me like a hawk.
Sugar pee test passed.
Next is the scale. I've been steadily losing weight during this pregnancy and the last time I was there the doctor was VERY specific in saying that he needed to see at least a little bit of a weight gain at this appointment otherwise he'd become concerned.
One pound gained.
Blood pressure is my third hurdle. I have had dangerously low blood pressure in the past.
120/80.
Nurse smiles and tells me everything looks great and that the doctor will be right in. I click on my kindle because "be right in" often means "will be in within the hour." To my surprise, he does come right in. My trashy romance novel will have to wait.
This doctor is the youngest I've seen. I like younger doctors. I don't trust older ones. I feel like a lot has changed since they learned medicine. So young doc sits down next to me and asks me the obligatory "how are you feeling" questions. Great, grand, wonderful, no problems. (It's nice to say that and be telling the truth. Before pregnancy I would lie to doctors all the time. No that doesn't hurt, no I don't smoke more than a pack a day, no, I'm just a social drinker.) Young doc pulls out my scary "odds that something is wrong with your kid" test results and takes the time to explain them to me. My results are as good as you can get. He smiles and says "You're having the pregnancy of a 20 year old." I replied that 20 years olds shouldn't be having babies, and he laughs but explains that, unfortunately, your body is at it's baby prime in your very early 20's. I guess that's because in olden days you were a senior citizen by the time you were my age.
He goes on to say that if I was younger, he wouldn't send me for the second part of the scary "odds that something is wrong with your kid" testing because my initial results were so stellar and the second round of testing can cause unnecessary worry because they tend to yield false positives sometimes. But, because I'm over 30, he's gonna send me anyway. If I get a false positive, I will probably go off the deep end...just warning you guys now.
The next part of the exam was something I was really excited about. I'm a chubby girl. 92% of my chubbiness is around my belly. I'm PRETTY sure I can see some growth in that department, but because of said chubbiness, I'm in doubt. Dustin has said that he can tell a clear difference, and so has everyone else who has seen me...but I dunno. I feel so normal and am still in most of my regular clothes so..I'd like to see some marked progress here.
So the doc tells me to lay back, we're gonna measure the old uterus. Hooray! I exclaim. I also ask him to please show me exactly where my uterus is. He looks at me like I might have a learning disability. "I know it's not in my shoulder or my thigh," I explain. "I'm fat and I can't tell if this belly is baby or ice cream." He laughs again and begins the belly smashing. He nods and seems happy with his exploration.
"You're measuring perfectly," he says. "Right here is the top of your uterus," he explains, pressing gently just a tiny bit below my belly button. I move my hand there and as if by some shift in physics, I can now clearly feel the hard baby cocoon. He whips out a tape measure and takes some seamstress like measurements. "Yeah, you're showing. See this bump? That's a baby. You're actually measuring closer to 17 weeks," he goes on to say. He glances back at my chart and does some math in his head. "Yes," he nods. "You're about sixteen weeks and five days. We're gonna have to revise your due date a little." I clap. That means this pregnancy is even CLOSER to being over!!
Finally, the doctor pulls out his little hand held heartbeat doppler thingy. How amazing is modern medicine? A dab of lube on my belly and we're good to go. He finds my heartbeat immediately. I bite my lip and worry that we won't hear the baby's. He listens to my heart for a bit. "Nervous?" He asks. (My heart is racing.) "Yeah," I reply, trying to calm the eff down. He moves the doppler down and to the left. I hear some whooshing, but no baby heartbeat. "The baby is moving," the doctor explains. "He won't stay still; it's making it difficult to get the heart." He chases the baby around my belly for a bit and I telepathically instruct the kid to stay still for 30 seconds. Suddenly, the room is filled with the amazing, galloping sound of the life inside of me. "There it is," the doctor smiles. "Sounds perfect. Strong. Perfect."
He keeps the doppler on for a moment, letting me listen. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about COBRA. I wasn't thinking about my now days away move. I wasn't worrying about money or health or my car breaking down. I just listened to that amazing heart. The heart of my child who doesn't care that I'm broke or an anxious mess. The heart that I already love and will stop at nothing to protect. The heart that is half me, and half a man I'm so lucky to be creating life with.
All that being said, I'm gonna dry heave every time I write this COBRA check and I'm also going to make sure that the first time this kid breaks curfew or lies to my face I make him or her feel really guilty for all the crap I have to go through right now in order to give him or her the best life I can.
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