We Need a New Couch

We need a new couch. The couch that we have has served the Meyers family well, but after spending three and a half days on it, I have decided that it is not suitable for such extensive resting.

Neither am I, if it comes down to it.


The couch has been around longer than I have. My parents had it when they were in married student housing in Bloomington, Indiana when I was born. Back then, it was a nubbly, sparkly turquoise. It was recovered in New Concord, Ohio in a lovely gold appropriate to the late 1970's, and then again in the late 80's in its present cream color. This was how it came to me, and then Fritz started dismantling it with his claws. It is down to the wood on the corners and covered with duct tape, sticky-side-out. It now wears a slipcover in a heavy, dark, cat-hair-attracting green. Pete has long remarked on its lack of comfortability, but it has not really bothered me much.

Until now.

At around 6:30 in the evening on Saturday, I started bleeding. It was still there at 8:30, and it was a significant amount. Pete came home from his gig at 2:00 a.m., and I was still up, waiting. I had not wanted to alert him while he was playing because there was really nothing to be done about it. If it was going to go wrong, it was going to go wrong. And if it went wrong, there was probably a biological reason. I was worried, I was nervous, but I was also resigned.

After all, according to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, 15 percent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage, and most occur in the first trimester, before the 12th week. I was ten weeks. This was why I was reluctant to tell people.

What happened?

Well... For the first time in a month, I felt, you know... frisky. I was relieved and pleased because it had been so long, and I had started to wonder if it would ever come back. I won't get too graphic, but suffice to say that the "O-word" is now on the list of fun things I don't get to do or have anymore, at least for awhile. It was soon afterwards that the bleeding started. I was not cramping or having any other symptoms, it as just red, red blood, twice, and then spotting.

Pete and I went to bed, and I managed to sleep until 8:00 Sunday morning, when I got up and called the nurse line. The nurse was very helpful and sane, and she said that I was doing what I should be doing, for now, but to get pads, monitor, and rest. "You get the remote, he does everything else."

I plonked myself back on the couch and watched Friends DVD's. Christine came over to knit and chat. Later, Pete and I watched the Bourne Ultimatum, which was good, but I am uncertain as to what the actual "ultimatum" was. I was not having any other significant bleeding, just spotting a bit when I peed, and nothing was really collecting in the pad. I was still not cramping, no fever, no tissue passing. I was hopeful that it was stabilizing, but still feeling that it was out of my control.

Pete was worried and having more outward emotions, which was fine. Pete really wants this pregnancy. He's ready. I guess I could not allow myself big emotions; I was trying to maintain an even keel. It certainly clarified that I wanted to be pregnant, and I want to have a baby, and I did not want to lose this pregnancy, but I also realized that I was attached to the end result, attached to the idea that we would have a baby in September. I started thinking things like "Well, I guess I can have a glass of wine on Valentine's Day, and I can drink at Matt and Rebecca's wedding, and then we can try again." I was not being morbid or even "looking on the bright side," I was being realistic. We got pregnant; it did not take long; we can try again.

Monday morning, we got up, and I decided to call in sick. It felt weird because I was not "sick," but they don't know yet, and this was certainly not the moment to tell them. I did not have much going on, and I figured it would just be better to continue to rest. I also felt like I was waiting for something to happen, or not happen, for that matter, and I would be distracted at work. The nurse at my clinic called in the morning, and she said they wanted me to come in for a blood test to check my pregnancy hormone levels and then come in on Tuesday for an exam with Edie, my nurse midwife.

It was back to the couch for more waiting.


Every time I went to the bathroom, I worried. That's an interesting feeling, one that does not lend itself to regularity. At about 2:00 on Monday, though, it could no longer be avoided, and I had to poop. As I was doing that, I could feel something else coming out, and I thought "Well, there it is." When I stood up and looked, it was a dark red clot, about 3 inches by 1.5 inches, just laying there in the bowl like a dead fish. I poked it with a matchstick, and it felt pretty solid. I sent a text message to Pete, and he called back. He told me to call the nurse line, but again, I did not see what could be done about it. If I was going to lose it, I was going to lose it. That good old resignation. But I called. The nurse had that "Oooo, that does not sound good" tone to her voice and asked me a few more questions. Again, I had no fever, no cramping, no back pain, nothing. She said I sounded stable, and there was not much to be done until we got the test results and I came in for my exam.

Waiting.

I had no more spotting that day, and no more on Tuesday morning. Pete went to work, I stayed home. He came back for lunch and to pick me up for the appointment. I was not sure what they were going to do, but the test results had come back the day before with high and appropriate levels of the pregnancy hormone HCG, which seemed like good news. But that was before the clot.


They weighed me (154, thank you very much), and the nurse took a few notes. Then Edie came in and reviewed what had happened. She listened to my lungs and my heart and did a breast exam. Then she said she was going to check for a heartbeat. She warned it might still be too early; she said she might not be able to find it; we all knew it might not still be in there. She put the little ultrasound on me and moved it around for a few seconds, and I heard it, the fast, bird-like whoosh whoosh whoosh. I knew what it was, Edie looked at me and said "There it is." Pete was a foot away listening with a look of consternation on his face, mouth half open. He didn't understand. He was starting to walk toward me when I said "That's the heartbeat."

"That?"

"Yes."

"But it's so loud!"

"That's because we can turn up the volume," said Edie.

I said that Pete was a musician, so he was always interested in sound.

Edie was encouraged by the heartbeat, as were we. She then did a pelvic exam and pap. She found that I had old blood in there, but that my cervix was closed up, and there was no new blood. My uterus was the right size and position, and everything looked good.

Now it's fingers crossed. We have an ultrasound and first trimester screening on Monday morning, and then we will see if I need further testing.

Now I just have to get over my fear of pooping, as if I needed one more reason to be constipated.

And hopefully, I won't really need that new couch until we remodel.