No. 9 gets grounded

Until 20th January 2009. No negotiations.

I started bleeding last night. Or, at least, I bled. I'd been having lots of cramping during the afternoon, but since I've been crampy-pregnant since day one anyway, I didn't really worry too much. I just took it easy. The husband and I took the dogs for a walk at the park, drove down, ambled around, and I had a sit down part way through feeling like a noddy for being a bit pathetic. And then, not long after I got home I felt this ... rush I guess. Girls, like when you have your period and you feel it go. Do you know what I mean? I sort of clocked it being odd, but it didn't really register. Then it happened again shortly after and that one registered. But I still wasn't expecting to see a lot of bright red blood when I went to get undressed for a shower.

It's funny how your mind works. The whole time I was standing there, rooting to the spot, saying "oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no..." my rational mind is saying - there's nothing you can do to stop this. If you're going to lose the baby, you will. Use your brain - go and get a pad or something so you have a gauge to measure the blood loss from here and have something to catch residue in case it wants testing or something. Don't use your mooncup because you won't be able to see what's happening and you won't be able to give anyone any information.

And I couldn't move a muscle. I just stared, and tried to breathe. And then, because No. 9 seems to have his mother's dark little sense of humour, I puked. Bless. I'd like to think he was trying to tell me it was ok, but I think he was probably just being a toad.

From there, I swear I checked what was happening about every 10 minutes, but there was no more blood. Just the one decent whoosh and that was that. There wasn't even spotting, which is probably the only reason I stayed sane overnight. I didn't get a lot of sleep though, especially when the cramps ramped up and a most unholy backache set in.

But, before bed, the husband gave No. 9 a complete telling off and grounded him, and somehow that made me feel better. The husband can be very forceful when he's telling off. I usually do what he says. OK, well, sometimes. Either way, because he'd told No. 9 to stay, I felt better.

The hospitals were completely useless - I rang the Clinic which I knew would be on answerphone overnight, but which I also knew provided an emergency number. That number goes to National Women's, who told me to ring Auckland Hospital Women's Assessment Unit who told me to ring someone else. No idea who. The lady on the phone sounded Russian and the only thing I took in was the phone number. The phone number which wasn't being answered. I got there in the end, but there was very little help to be had other than being told that I was either having a miscarriage, which I'd know (yes, I did, thanks very much), or an early pregnancy bleed (no shit).

So, I waiting until this morning and rang the Clinic again and they brought me in for a scan at 11.45am. Al and I had been holding our collective breath all night so were obviously feeling very wrung out, and even the Clinic staff were pretty serious when we got in there. We were told that blood would be ok, but blood and cramping were a really bad sign. But then, we knew it didn't look good.

And there he was. No. 9. Bouncing away (literally! Even the Dr laughed), happy as a clam, with a good strong, rapid foetal heartbeat. Safe as houses. Or rather, as safe as houses as an IVF foetus gets. And there were really big smiles from the nurse and the doctor, blimmin girly tears from me, and a very, very relieved and happy husband (and possibly a sniffle, but I couldn't take my eyes off the screen to check). We also got our first photo, which I can't stop looking at. Our little kiddly. Measuring a perfect 8 weeks, one day ahead of where we thought he was.

Suffice it to say, I've been severely warned by my body as to overdoing it, and will be taking due heed of said warning. I spent the day plastered on the couch, gave in to a sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon, and I'll be having an early night tonight. The Clinic told me not to go back to work while I was still having issues and reminded me of the higher risks of IVF pregnancies, so I'll be transferring from bed to couch and staying there again tomorrow.

We've been recommended to go with an OB for our maternity care, and there was no question of that ads far as the husband was concerned, cost be damned. I'll be getting a move on with that budgety seriousness post that's for sure - we're not covered by our insurance on that one. Definitely no more shopping ever. But then, I could hardly give a toss too. I booked in with the OB as soon as I got home. It's one of the specialists from the clinic, he's been really good through our cycle and he did No. 9's scan today, so I'm very comfortable staying with him. We know, and it was reiterated to us that we would get perfectly good service from the hospitals and a midwife, but aside from the fact that it was strongly suggested we have a doctor involved, all things considered, I want to feel safe, and I want someone on call. This kid is arriving safely, and that is that.

There you have it - 'twas a very eventful night and day, but it's ended well and we feel like someone was listening while we prayed out hearts out last night and this morning. Even though we did use swear words.

And on that note, I'm going back to look at the picture of our baby again.

Oh, and there is most definitely only one of him.