24th of February, 2010. That was a hell of a day.
I attended my “routine” first appointment at the Mater. This was supposed to be the one where they take your history, blood pressure, blah blah, all that routine stuff. I told Andrew not to come as it would be a nothing appointment. I was 15 weeks and hadn’t even bothered to do anything other than see my GP because I was feeling seasick all day long and not wanting to eat much. My GP said I was a ‘bit big for my dates’ but not to worry, because you are often bigger quicker in your second pregnancy. Heh, I cynically snickered. Imagine if we had twins. Dear God no. We’d die. Our life would be over. We’d have to buy a bigger car. Just check it out with the OB when you go in, she said.
OK let’s take a quick look, said the OB. Whipped out his scanner thing. Checking the belly. Me, lying down going, yeah yeah get it over with. Then he said it. “Oh, two!” My guts fell to my feet as I wriggled up on my elbows to look at the screen. Two skulls. Oh. My. Holy. Shit.
Not sure if Hysterical Pregnant Woman 101 was a part of his medical degree, but if it was, he must have skipped that lecture. After two hours of not being able to pull myself together, another, more detailed scan, calling my husband in distress and a cuddle from the midwife, not one person offered me a number to call, a person to see, a single service to help me process this news that knocked me off my feet.
I arrived that day expecting nothing in particular. I left expecting two baby boys. Two.