just relax!

i was nervous this morning, going in for z's and my checkup, but the appointment was so early (8 am!) i didn't have much time to build up a major anxiety attack.

i checked in and they called me back for my stats. as usual, upon walking into the pre-exam room, i shed my jacket and stepped out of my shoes and approached the scales, but the aide stopped me and told me to sit down. okay, then. she wanted to take my blood pressure first, because, she said, everyone's blood pressure goes up when they see how much they've gained. i assured her that my weight was not my biggest priority, but she already had me cuffed up, so she turned the blood pressure machine on and then sat down on her stool, staring at my chart on her computer screen while i got the squeeze.

she decided to make small talk. this attempt would be a first. when i have interacted with her before, i have had to repeatedly ask to be told what my own blood pressure is.

"is this your first baby?" she asked. while looking at my chart. even i can see the banner in red at the top of the page, the one that says i'm high risk, after a stillbirth and a miscarriage.

"no," i said. i was incredibly zen. i did not feel obligated to bonk her on the head with the explanation.

"are you having a boy or a girl?" she asked.

"well, i'm only 15 weeks," i said.

"oh, you're too young. yeah, you're too young. i mean, early. you're too early yet. well, what do you want?"

i smiled. "it really doesn't matter," i said. "i just want-"

"i know," she said. "you just want it to be healthy."

"well," i said, starting to lose a little of my zen mojo, "i was going to say 'alive'-"

she cut me off again. "do you have a boy and a girl at home?" what???

"uh, no," i said, with deadly but now distinctly un-zen-ish calm. "my son was stillborn and then i had a miscarriage, so that's why i-"

"oh, that's why you said 'alive'."

"yeah, and why i'm a little anxious today."

"well, it shows. you're blood pressure is way too high. you've gotta relax!"

of course, i immediately tensed up.

"that's actually not very helpful to say that," i said quietly.

"what?" she said. "can't you relax?"

i sighed deeply. "for future reference, it's really never helpful to tell someone to relax when they're anxious."

"well, you're going to HAVE to relax, 'cause your blood pressure is too high!" she adjusted the cuff and turned the machine on again.

"please stop saying that," i pleaded.

"what? are you upset? i'm trying to help!"

"then please help me by not saying that," i whimpered.

"I'M JUST TRYING TO HELP!" she yelped.

"then please don't say anything. that's how you can help me."

"well, you're going to have to relax!" she said. yet again. after all that.

"DON'T SAY THAT!" i barked.

"well, i'm just trying to help, but i won't say anything."

and then there was quiet, but it was too late. it was awkward, embarrassing. i had just YELLED at this person, this person who was attending to me professionally. i started to cry.

the door blew open, and there stood my avenging angel, in the person of justin, who heard me yell "don't say that!" through the heavy door and from across the long waiting room and came running to my rescue.

"what's going on???" he demanded.

"i had to explain, and then she kept telling me to RELAX," i sobbed. justin turned on the aide.

"we've lost two fucking babies in this place!" he yelled.

i cut him off. "she knows, justin. i told her. please don't curse at her." i was thinking about the afternoon in the emergency room, with the tadpole, when the clerk called the police on justin when he got upset. he sighed, and apologized, and sat down in the other chair in the room. but then he and the aide started going back and forth - i can't even remember what they said - while i broke down again.

we are a class act.

i broke in finally and told justin i asked her to help me by not saying anything, so to please not say anything to her, either; it was only fair. i don't know where i got that from. it really doesn't make sense. but they stopped yelling at each other, and she started trying to foist cups of ice water and urine specimen jars on me. no, no, no, i said.

"why don't we start with the scales and go from there?" i asked. so she turned on the scales, and i stepped up, and justin disappeared into the practice's hallways. then she offered to take my blood pressure manually, since sometimes the machine "acts up." i agreed, and forced myself to be very, very calm, and this time my blood pressure was 110/60. she never did tell me what it was before.

i said i didn't think i could produce a specimen at the moment (hard to pee when you're tensed up, you know), but i'd take the cup with me and take care of it before i left. she took me to the exam room, and we picked justin up from the hallway. he was standing there with my ob's nurse and a couple of the aides looking at him, mouths open. i'm not sure what transpired there. i'm not sure i want to know.

my ob came in almost immediately, and i asked him if we could do the doppler check first, rather than last, for my peace of mind. he happily complied, but the doppler would only produce static. i tried to be hopeful. or numb. "i feel kinda staticky today," i joked lamely. he wheeled the doppler into the hallway and came back with another one. this time, he zeroed in right away on z. 158 bpm. "perfect," he pronounced. and even he was amazed at how easy it was to find. i've been trying to remember the spot he used all day. maybe we just haven't been directing the doppler to the right place at home.

so everything is just fine. i was freaked out about nothing, of course. they drew blood today for the quad screen, and the results should be back late next week. he wrote me a permission slip for my lawsuit-petrified dentist, so i can go get my old cavity that's bothering me refilled. he didn't want to start the anatomical study until at least 18 weeks, so that what they see is really clear, but we'll be in argentina that week, so we'll go in for that ultrasound with the peri in four weeks, and then immediately after to see my ob for a checkup.

which is all fine, except - four weeks is like a lifetime to me right now. so i took a deep breath and said, "i need to ask for a favor." i told him i could coast for about a week on a good checkup or ultrasound, but four weeks was too much to ask. could we just go ahead and schedule a doppler check in two weeks, which would be the halfway point? so i could leave for my last pre-baby vacation (god, i hope) with confidence?

he smiled. he thought i might want such a thing. bless his heart. he entered the order for the two-week check and sent us off to the lab. two weeks. i can live for two weeks. or at least one week. and then there's only one week to be neurotic. one week of neurotic overload is much better than three.

i have a feeling that z is going to be supremely confident, fearless, completely mellow because he or she doesn't worry about a thing, a real cool cat - because his or her mother is such a nut job that she does all of the worrying for everyone. after nine months of swimming around peacefully, growing completely normally, thank you very much, while his or her mom was a freakshow, z will be used to treating my ravings as so much chicken little-speak. "what's the big deal?" will be z's signature phrase (or whatever like thing the kids are saying around then). it will drive me insane. but at least it's a better scenario than z inheriting my capacity for insanity, right? right? oh, god.

*****

and now, a word about richard totten button (or "dick" as we all know him), the commentator and critic of figure skating.

to me, he's the voice that belongs in the background when i watch figure skating, but to justin, who grew up watching hockey at the olympics and not this girly stuff, dick's brand of cattiness is unbearable. when justin gets home from work, i am in bed watching the last rounds of skaters (the medal contenders) and he listens in awe to dick's criticisms.

"who is he to judge?" he asks in wonder.

"well, he is a former gold medalist himself," i say, "in, like, 1952 or something."

"how does that give him the right to be so nasty? what's he done in the last half-century or so?"

"he's the voice of figure skating," i answer with a shrug, as if to suggest, that's just how it is, and justin is foolish to not accept it.

"what about the olympic spirit, huh?" justin persists.

"uh, well, i think figure skating is a pretty evolved sport at this point. the moves and the jumps and the science of it and the politics and the infrastructure - they're all more developed than, say, the luge. figure skating can take this kind of critique." i let my theory soak in.

"hrrrumph," he says finally. "i still don't see why anyone has the right to be that nasty, or why anyone would want to listen to it."

i give up and go back to half-heartedly studying for my upcoming exam.

today i thought to myself, who IS dick to judge? so i did a little googling:

• he was the first american to win the gold in figure skating at the olympics.
• he won two, back-to-back gold medals in men's figure skating (1948 and 1952).
• he was the five-time world men's champ (1948-1952).
• he was the first skater to perform a double axel in competition...and then four years later he was the first to perform a triple jump in competition.
• oh, and he attended harvard while he maintained the title of world champ.
• he also graduated from harvard law
• he has appeared in television specials, on stage and in the movie "the bad news bears go to japan." (not that the bears' movie is anything of which to be proud, but still, it's not like you were in that movie.)
• he created, among other competitions, the battle of the network stars. weird, huh? shameful, really, but weird.
• he won an emmy for his commentary on the 1980 winter olympics.
• he's a broadway producer and the author of a couple of books.
• oh, and by the way, he's an authority on american furniture and decorative arts.

so that's who he is to judge. i'm okay with it. i think it's the persona he cultivates. justin still thinks that "his panty hose are on a wee bit too tight." of course, this is coming from a man who actually uses the word "wee."