Apparently they’re approximately the length of a pea pod at thirteen weeks.
I was incredibly vague for that twelve week update, so I thought I’d go into details now.
In a minute.
Plus we received more information and I COMPLETELY LOST MY MIND.
There was howling.
There was vomiting.
There was much snot.
And there was a difficult talk between P and I that Really Needed To Happen ™ and based on how much better I felt the next day, I needed that crying vomitous release and / or that difficult talk.
I still feel Really Intense. Terrified. Worried.
One of the twins has a bit more fluid on its neck which is a flag for birth defects.
There’s a blood test, called the NIPT test (it’s in Dutch, sorry not sorry) that allows one to test for a wide range of birth defects. Before the NIPT test, you had to get a sonogram / echo scan and combine it with a different blood test, compare it to the mother’s age and you’d get a statistic probability about your chances of birth defects. The NIPT test flat out tells you whether or not the fetus will have a birth defects.
And, yes, you can’t get the NIPT test if you have fraternal twins.
So we had That blood test along with the sonogram and my hope was that the blood test would come back so obviously awesome that they’d say, ah, the sonogram was a fluke and everything’s fine and no worries and unicorns and rainbows.
The doctor called Tuesday with news about the other blood test I had done last week, for iron levels, and said that my iron levels were fine, but it didn’t matter what the blood test said for the birth defects, she was going to refer me to the bigger local hospital for the next tests.
Which was my nightmare.
Which is why I flipped out.
I literally just started vomiting.
The doctor was worried.
I confirmed I had another appointment back with them the next day, which calmed her down. She confirmed she’d call me on Thursday when she did the official recommendation (can’t do it until the blood results arrive) and we hung up.
Tears. Snot. Vomiting.
P and I had a difficult conversation wherein we confirmed we’re on the same page regarding what choices we’ll make based on test results.
I woke up better.
And now we’re at thirteen weeks.
At that appointment the next day which was officially my intake to the POP PoliClinic (sorry not sorry totally in Dutch, too), which is a specific department for women who are pregnant who also have a mental illness so that they have the support of both the gynecology and psychology departments of the hospital, I explained that I’ve puked more in the last week than I did ever in the previous twelve and was having trouble sleeping so I got shiny new nausea and sleep meds.
And a single emergency phone number to call if there are any issues – mental or physical.
The scary appointments at the big hospital are theoretically next week.
The psychologist is going to make a corresponding appointment so we can talk about and process the experience. And we’re going to have regular appointments because this pregnancy is proving more difficult than my last one. I was in the POP PoliClinic when I was pregnant with Sasha, but it was a comparative cake walk.
These words keep running through my mind.
Please be healthy.
Please be fine.
Please be healthy.
Please be kind.
I know, logically, that the worry doesn’t help.
But it persists.