I saw my high-risk doctor this morning, the maternal-fetal medicine specialist whom I've been seeing in addition to my regular OB throughout this pregnancy.
She wrote me a prescription for a 39-week induction and told me that I don't need to come back and see her again.
Whether I'll actually be induced or not is still up for debate, and depends on how our monitoring goes and how the baby looks. If there's the smallest fear the baby is in trouble, of course we'll induce right away. If the baby appears to be doing fine, we'll probably continue to wait and see.
But the point is: She's finished with me. As far as she's concerned, The Deuce is Good To Go. (Well, good to continue to be monitored twice-weekly, but no longer needing office visits with her.)
She told me that she'd just met with another patient who has a similar health history to me (her baby died, but for no specific reason; she has no particular health issues). She said, "So I told this girl, 'I usually don't see normal patients.' But then I come next door and here you are!"
All about perspective, right? To most of the world I'm a worst-case-scenario freak statistic. To an MFM? My pregnancy is totally boring and normal. And I am not complaining about it. I hope it stays that way. I also that the Deuce's birth is the most boring and normal birth EVER.
She also asked me what I was most worried about: "Are you worried about getting the baby out?"
Uh, no. I've done that before. Pretty sure I can do it again. Doesn't actually require any skill or forethought, to tell you the truth. I'm not saying it's delightful and I'd like to do it everyday, but it's not number one on the list of Things Keeping Me Up At 3am.
I said, "No... I'm worried about something happening between now and then."
It sounds so vague when I put it like that. What I mean is, I'm worried that ten minutes after the Deuce has passed a kick count, his or her heart will just stop beating. I'm terrified that I'll wake up in the morning and there will be a heavy, floating stillness where there should be wriggling and kicking. I'm scared shitless that they'll put me on the non-stress monitors and suddenly there won't be any heartbeat to hear.
She reminded me that I've come so far, and that if it weren't for my tragic health history, we would have absolutely no reason to worry about the Deuce or consider this a "high risk" pregnancy at all.
And so we wait.
No more baby aspirin.
Seven more non-stress tests. At the very most.
We are so freaking close.
Given that there was nothing else to discuss about this pregnancy, my MFM proceeded to talk with me about the book Fifty Shades of Grey, which she referred to as pornography, right before offering to LEND ME HER COPY. Awesome. (She hasn't read it yet. She's not sure what she's saving it for. I awkwardly suggested, "Uh... vacation?").
Every other time I've "graduated" from one phase of my life, I've always had a moping period where I'm overwhelmed with nostalgia. Even when I left middle school for high school, I felt kind of sad about it (Because eighth grade had been so amazing? Hardly.). David can attest to the fact that I bawled my eyes out after graduating from college because, "*sniffle* Things just won't ever be the same! *sob.*" (That was true, although it turns out there is a bit more to life than Gumby's pizza and high-drama romance). Leaving graduate school has been hard because my good friends are scattering across the country (even though I'm happy for them as they score good jobs). I'm just not really great with big changes, and I always think with affection of all the familiar things I'll miss.
I did not feel that way as I walked down the hallway leaving the MFM office today. No qualms about walking away. As much as I like my MFM, I couldn't help but smile when she said no more appointments.
I am ready to say good-bye to this scary, high-risk, pregnancy-after-loss. I am ready to cross the finish line. I cannot wait to meet this baby.