High Drama

Want to know how to scare the ever-loving crap out of a pregnant woman?

It’s pretty easy: have her listen to the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh heartbeat of her 17-week-old fetus and THEN tell her that you suspect that she may have a malignant tumor in her uterus which will crush the life out of it in a few weeks.

According to my OB/GYN, the fact that my nausea has not improved with the advent of my second trimester (in fact, it has only increased in intensity over the past few weeks, which I didn’t think was friggin’ possible) means that I may have a partial molar pregnancy. Now, if you don’t click on the link, there are two ways partial molars throw down: 1. Instead of having 23 chromosomes from each parent, the fetus has 23 from the mother and 46 from the father, meaning that it develops abnormally and eventually dies; and 2. This isn’t elaborated on in that specific link, but rarely, a malignant tumor (quite possibly a dead twin) develops along with the normal embryo and eventually kills it. Symptoms of a partial or complete (no embryo, just a tumor) molar pregnancy are: intense nausea, vaginal spotting/bleeding, high levels of hCG, elevated blood pressure, hyperthyroidism, and a large uterus.

“But what about hyperemesis?” I say. “Out of that list, all I’ve had is the nausea. Right?”

“Yes, BUT,” she says. “Nausea isn’t supposed to increase during the second trimester. Even in cases of hyperemesis, the nausea does improve somewhat. … Also, that ultrasound we did at 12-weeks, where you had a completely normal looking embryo? Yeah, that may be wrong.”

What this means is that my low-risk, relatively “healthy” pregnancy has been catapulted to the realm of “oh shit, there’s something seriously wrong with you. Plz to be coming back in two weeks so we can find out what it is.”

Now, IF I have a molar pregnancy, I’ll have to go in for a D&C procedure (known in layman’s terms as an abortion) to remove the tissue so it doesn’t turn completely cancerous. I may also need low-grade chemotherapy, depending on how much the tissues are spread around. I will be forbidden from “falling” pregnant again for a year, as the likelihood of my having a molar pregnancy again will be 1-2%. I’ll probably go get my nursing degree, or something. I’ll also need to take an antidepressant of some kind because I can already tell I’m not going to be able to handle a miscarriage halfway through what I thought was a healthy pregnancy gracefully.

If I DON’T have a molar pregnancy, the general assumption is that there’s still something wrong with me. I have an ultrasound and a hell of a lot of blood work scheduled for Jan. 28th, so all I need to do is wait (and not stress, because stressing out is the worst thing I can do if the pregnancy ends up being viable… *insert hysterical laughter here*). Because the ultrasound will be the last one I’ll be having, the likelihood that we’ll be able to determine the sex of the fetus is virtually nil, which is annoying but fine. I may go on antidepressants anyway because, holy crap, how does this drama keep finding me?

If my tone seems harsh and detached, well, it is. I’m in the pissed-the-hell-off mode of grieving right now (which is normal for me because I tend to look at anger as an active process). I’ve already flirted with denial and depression, bargaining never helps, and acceptance is at least two weeks away.

There is, however, a brief spot of good news: my sister has quit her job and will be flying out next Friday to make sure I’m not alone during the day, which is definitely going to prevent large amounts of stupid on my part. I can’t ever say my family doesn’t love me.