Spoiling away the worry

My slide into champagne socialism continues. I've just cashed in most of my airmiles upgrading all my overnight flights during this big China/Europe/Singapore trip to business class. That's right . . . business class. On purpose, not because of getting bumped up, which has happened to me a big fat once in my fairly airborne life, and that was on a two-hour flight before my drinking days started, so I think basically I got some nicer orange juice out of it. And it's Singapore Airlines business class. I'd be lying if I wrote I wasn't excited. I have a feeling being able to actually lie down and sleep is going to make long-haul air travel a totally different and much more pleasant experience.

I'm spoiling myself. Having moderately high blood pressure whilst pregnant has pitfalls, like being advised to dial back the running to half an hour of lighter cardio every day (today I ran in the grocery store to get some eggs while the F-word was already lining up at the cash and realized how much I missed it), and like worrying about the baby and I both dying in a big pre-eclampsia storm, or wondering if I'm going to get a stroke or dead kidneys, or wondering if the theoretical possibility of fucking Ren up forever by taking drugs for my high blood pressure is outweighed in terms of his or her well-being by me not dropping dead all of a sudden.

All of these, besides missing running, are nonsense thoughts. My blood pressure really isn't that high, the drugs really aren't dangerous - especially at the tiny doses prescribed - and the risks really aren't that big. But for the first time I'm dealing with my health and my choices having an impact on someone else who doesn't have a choice about them, or a choice about their relationship with me, but to whom they're as important as they are for me. Frankly, it's a little stressful. And so, spoiling myself. Giving up on the Asian Studies certificate for now, besides finishing this joke of an international terrorism class, and eating whatever I want that's reasonably sensible, and cashing in a few years worth of air miles so that I can sleep while I travel. Spoiling myself helps. At least half the mental space I was spending worrying I'm now spending looking forward to about 22 hours of business class flight.

Super Ren

Feeling rather less grim today because we had our 11-week ultrasound yesterday, which turned out to be a 13 week ultrasound. WTF? Every time we check on the due date it seems to move up a week. I don't know how that's possible. I mean it's not like we weren't doing the deed at that point but - well, just more evidence against the rhythm method meaning a damn thing. Ren is growing by leaps and bounds and moving around like he or she knows what she's doing in there. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

And Ren - so far, Ren is normal. Ren is unfrightening. Ren isn't posing any difficult moral questions. Ren waved at us. I'm 100% relief - and relieved Ren's development has progressed this far, so that if I do have to start blood pressure medication, I'm going to worry a little less about things going wrong. I'd really rather hold off until the third trimester, though. We'll see.

Also less grim because I met my midwife. Or a midwife, anyways, who'll be tracking me and who'll take care of the delivery if it turns out to be a normal delivery. And she was great. It was the first time in this whole cunt of a thing that I've seen a medical professional who inspired me with more confidence than doubt. Even sister-in-law buggered me up bad for no reason by pulling out the molar pregnancy card, a really statistically negligible possibility for someone of my age and ethnic group, when I first found out about the high blood pressure. I mean, fuck.

The meaning of joy

Feeling a little grim. My blood pressure is back up a bit this week and yesterday hit absurd levels at the doctor's before falling back. The doctor and I will be having a little confrontation this week, I think. They seem to be leaning toward putting me on medication, but thanks to a little privileged access to obstetric literature via the sister in law I know where my blood pressure is at the moment - even with the spike at the office - definitely wouldn't call for that if I was in Canada or if I was going to be staying here for the next two months. They've said that themselves. And it's not as though on my travels I'll be heading to darkest Africa - I'll be going to a series of cities bigger and with better medical resources than this one. So we will have to have a frank discussion about that, I think, when I go back there Friday.

The other reason I'm feeling grim about all this is that I can't get life insurance now. I've checked, and having this blood pressure while pregnant disqualifies me. Fuck, I should have got it before I got knocked up, but the F-word was just shooting too straight. Obviously that's grim. I'm not horribly worried but I know that my risk of pre-eclampsia is way higher than other women's, and that makes it quite a bit more likely I'll die and leave a baby for the F-word to fend for on his own. It's still a pretty unlikely prospect. Just more likely. I should have thought about it before. Oh well, it's done now. 

A symptom of how grim I'm feeling: yesterday morning was a bit of a freak-out. I had, basically, two hours of deja vu. It was quite pleasant, but being familiar with the mechanisms of seizures and brain problems through Lexie's mum it was also a bit unsettling. There've been no other signs of problems - no blank-outs, no dizziness, no smell or sounds hallucinations - just a very odd morning. But then, three times over the course of the morning, I experienced the most overwhelming feelings of joy, well-being, contentment with my life, and profound awareness of my love for the people in it - joy of that sublime degree where you feel it's not so bad if you die now, because everything's been really great and it's a really great universe you can trust.

And my reactions to these moments of unmitigated joy? "I'm having a stroke." For fuck's sake. So few moments of perfect happiness in life, I get three in one morning, and I have to react to them by thinking I'm having a fucking stroke.  I told the F-word about it when he got home, and he pointed out that I finally may be benefiting from the happy hormones now that I'm reaching the end of the first trimester, instead of getting my ass kicked all the time by the pukey tired ones. That honestly hadn't occurred to me. Somehow the idea that I was having a stroke made so much more sense.