So the beginning of November I found out I was pregnant with Deuce (baby #2). Michael was working (because he's ALWAYS working) and I went to Kroger and bought a pregnancy test on my way home from the gym. The combination of anxiety and a can of Red Bull caused me to graze the side of the garage door while parking, I threw Morgan in the bath tub, took a deep breath, and unwrapped the stick of doom (aka pregnancy test). Digital letters flashed 'pregnant' and sealed my fate. I took a picture with my phone and sent it to Michael (at work). It's amazing how unspecial having baby #2 is...he texted me back something along the lines of 'hmmm' so then I texted my closest friends the picture of the test and immediately received a waterfall of texts like 'OMG!' and 'WHYYY?' and a few 'congrats!'
Then I called my parents. I tried to be all cute about it and said 'Morgan is going to be a big sister!' but that just totally confused both of them because it was after 9 which is apparently the time their brains fall asleep for the day. My mom was like 'how did that happen' and my dad was like 'how do you already know it's a girl?'
*bangs head against wall*
Then I texted both of my brothers who were excited because another grandbaby from me meant less pressure on them to have kids. Apparently they're smarter than me after all. Sigh.
At my first doctor visit I got to answer all the lovely questions like 'is your husband the father of this child' (um, one man in my life is more than enough) and 'have you ever tested positive for HIV?' (no but I'm addicted to cupcakes) and 'do you take any street drugs?' (does Red Bull count?)
I don't know why they waste their time asking all of these questions because then they send you down the hall for all of the blood work to check for HIV and STD's and cupcake addictions.
I loathe needles. That (and the fact that I can't stand smelly gross people) is what kept me out of the medical field. But I knew that once this blood work was complete, it would be awhile before I would need more done.
I was wrong.
At the next doctor appointment, one of the doctors (whom I had never met, but I told them I wasn't picky and I would see whomever was available) came into the room and said 'have you ever had a blood transfusion?'
say whaaaa?
My first round of blood work showed that I am making an antibody for something called Little C. I had never heard of it in my life. But apparently there's something called Little C, Big D, Grouchy E, you get the picture? This doctor confessed that in 40 years of practice she has never had a case. Awesome. She knew the basic information, which is always worst case scenario, and sent me home thinking I was going to die.
Not really, but I was a little scared.
What is Big C? Well honestly I need my biochemistry husband here to help me explain it, but he's at work (duh). Basically, my body is creating antibodies for this Little C, and if they get stronger, they can attack the baby's red blood cells causing anemia, and if the anemia is really bad, the baby will need a blood transfusion before birth, or will have to be born early for one.
How's that for a run-on sentence?
Michael and I (and a few of our friends) did some online research and there's not really very much out there; basically just the same stuff my doctor told me.
I had asked the doctor why it was showing up now, and not during the first pregnancy, and she said that during my pregnancy with Morgan, her blood mixed with mine and caused mine to create these antibodies. Each pregnancy they will get stronger.
Sheesh Morgan, if you wanted to be an only child, why didn't you just say so?
Michael and I both had to be tested for Little C to see where it came from. Michael was NOT thrilled at all about having blood work done (mwaahahahahahaha). We went together to the hospital where I've had blood work done for years (for my diabetes and thyroid issues...that's another blog) and I helped him sign in and showed him where to go. We took turns watching Morgan run circles in the waiting room of the lab while each of us had blood work done. The lady looked at our prescriptions and scratched her head. She'd never seen a test for Little C come through her lab and had no idea what to do. Apparently certain tests require certain vials to be used (I'm learning so much...) so after a couple of phone calls she figured out what she needed to do and out came the needles. 6 vials of blood from both of us. I'm really proud that neither of us passed out or threw up. To celebrate, we went to a fantastic Chinese restaurant for dinner.
At my next appointment, I found out that we both tested positive for Little C, but the odds of us both being carriers was really slim. Michael's levels were higher than mine so my theory was that is came from Michael and through Morgan, my blood is forever tainted. My theory was confirmed after our visit to a 'high risk pregnancy specialist' in Pittsburgh. He was such a nice doctor. Very patient, answered all of our questions, explained things very well, set our minds at ease. He said the antibodies were so very low, that the chances of them ever being a threat would be very slim. And if the levels got higher, that I would have to start going to my appointments there instead of my normal doctors, so they could do ultrasounds to monitor the baby's blood levels. And even then, the chances of the baby getting anemia to the point of needing a blood transfusion was slim. It was good news all around. We celebrated with Chick-Fil-A for lunch.
BUT...I still have to have blood work every 4 weeks to check the antibody levels. And now that I know this is Michael's fault, maybe I can get a cruise or something out of it...
Every time I have blood work done, the lab tech is totally confused about what to do. Last night it took half our of me sitting in that chair, fighting off the lightheaded feeling, while the lab tech tried to figure out what to do. Once she found out, I asked her what I could do to help the next time, and the time after that, and the time after that. I just need to remember - purple, pink, red. 1 vial of each.
Last night I also had some screening done for Down's Syndrome and other disorders (since I'm 33, a little old to be breeding apparently) so it was 5 vials of blood...and even though I had my head turned away so I couldn't see the blood leaving my body, she laid each one down where I saw it from the corner of my eye. It's rather disturbing to see all of that blood, knowing it's supposed to be IN me and not in a little vial. But I didn't throw up or pass out. I'm getting tough in my old age.
The good news is...Michael and I should never really donate our blood. It's tainted. It would transfer Little C to whomever receives it, which really isn't a big deal unless they end up pregnant. I mean they would still gladly take our O- and B+ but honestly, how can we risk passing this along to anybody? ....yes, I'm looking for excuses out of donating blood.
So basically....my husband and my kid have a pact to try to kill me...physically and mentally.
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