Tag: over 40

The Geriatric

Somehow, it’s already August, and I’m in the seventh week of pregnancy. This time around, things are different. I have a loving and attentive partner, Jason, by my side. Younger me was in a totally different place than I am now. (No need to dive into the details of my first pregnancy, but let’s just say having a great partner is a true blessing!)

Jason works on rotation, so he wasn’t home when I found out I was pregnant. He had to endure his entire hitch anxious to return. Talk about timing, right?

I think I’ve done remarkably well for someone who has said they were “done with all of that.” I adore my first baby, but since he’s 20 and an adult, we’ve been enjoying a fair amount of freedom in our lives. Let’s be real—it’s nice being an adult with an adult child. We can sleep in and eat lazy croissants on Sundays. I can take a spontaneous 3-hour hike. We can stay awake until 2 AM having intense conversations about everything. I completely understand the appeal of this lifestyle!

Well, let’s brace ourselves, because things are about to change drastically. In fact, they’ve already begun to change! According to my fitness watch, my resting heart rate has gone from 51-53 beats per minute to about 60. I’ve also noticed my mood go up and down and a little extra tiredness.  And oh, the hunger! The hunger is huge. I’m talking constant snacking and planning what I’ll eat next while I’m still eating—it’s madness! I must plan ahead to make healthy choices. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck with a carb-heavy diet!

Some of my favourite things so far are curry with rice, giant salads, and tonic water with lime. (Like a gin and tonic without the gin!) The fresh, clean taste of citrus and water is irresistible! (Oh my goodness, where is my glass?) 

I saw my family doctor on Monday. She checked my vitals (all great) and is referring me to another doctor since most of her patients are seniors. “Young, pregnant women” aren’t her typical clientele, you see (her words, not mine!). I reminded her that I am, in fact, 40. She frowned and said, “I need to get you in with an obstetrician right away,” as if she had half-forgotten she was looking at a ‘geriatric’ pregnancy. (Speaking of seniors!)

Ah, medicine, with its delightful vocabulary like “mucosal plug,” “mons pubis,” and the ultimate gem, “geriatric pregnancy.” Apparently, anyone pregnant and over the ANCIENT age of 35 earns this charming title. What a self-esteem boost! My “advanced maternal age” makes me feel so incredibly attractive.

Now, I’ll admit I’m half-joking here. I’m a bit vain, perhaps, but not entirely clueless. I know there are added risks at my age, so I’m mentally preparing myself for a battery of tests. At this stage, we still don’t even know if everything is okay!

As I left the appointment, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of adventure lies ahead. I should be hearing from the new doctor soon, I’m expecting an ultrasound appointment shortly, and have a requisition for blood work. The excitement is real!

**I wrote most of this a couple of days ago. We had the ultrasound today! The baby is within the uterus, and there is a detectable heartbeat! So far, everything looks good! I like exclamation points!

The Unexpected News

June 15:

Pregnant. The word ricocheted through my mind, an elusive pinball of emotion bouncing between fear and wonder. I paced around the house. I dazedly picked things up and put them back down again. I tried to listen to part of a podcast and then wandered off and paid no attention at all. Pregnant.

Moments before, I had taken an expired pregnancy test, one I had dug out from the back of the cupboard, and the result had screamed at me from the viewing window. Two pink lines. Brazen as you please.

Reason urged me to dismiss its validity. It was expired, right? I had checked the wrapper, and the best before date was 2019. Four years ago? Come on, it couldn’t possibly be accurate. I only used it because my period was a bit late. (Ok, so it was four days late.)

Well, anyway, I’d just need to buy a new one and get a real answer. Nothing to worry about. Heck, later I’d probably be enjoying a gin and tonic in the sun, laughing at my own silliness. “Pregnant.” Pfft…”Perimenopausal,” more like. Lots of people my age have trouble getting pregnant. I was surely being stupid.

Still, I found myself caught in a frantic dance of restless steps, tracing aimless paths across the familiar terrain of my home. Pregnant… I would try to put it out of my head, only to find the resounding echo bubbling up through my thoughts.

I had to be chill. I was stuck waiting until my son came home. He was borrowing the car for an errand, and I needed him to come back with it. My son. My only other child. My 20-year-old son. The last time I was pregnant.

When he finally came back, I muttered something about needing to buy cat food and jumped into the car with a singular purpose. I tried not to allow myself to follow the pinball clanging around my mind. If you’re pregnant now, the baby would be due in March. I turned the radio up.

Once at the grocery store, I grabbed a big bag of cat food and casually hit the pharmacy aisle. Toothpaste, maxi pads, condoms…dammit, where are they? After far too long (and some less-than casual hunting), I finally found what I was looking for.

Once I was out of the store (the person ahead of me needed a price check, wouldn’t you know it?), I was back in the car and guzzling from my water bottle. Pee was the next important step. There needed to be pee.

Once home, I dropped the cat food on the floor along with my keys and made a beeline to the bathroom. I took the second test. There was no need to wait the full 3 minutes prescribed by the test. The damn lines were back almost instantly.

Oh.

Oh my. This wasn’t part of the plan...

I’m 40, and I’m pregnant.