Baby Makes Three, and Babies Make Four!
Mark and I have been hoping to get pregnant with twins since last October. Twins because I’m 36, we want two eventually, and we just want to get it over with.
We decided before we started trying that if it happens great; if it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be and we weren’t going to take drastic measures to become “with baby.” We also chose not to tell anyone we were trying. Well, I told the three people I share an office with—but no one else! Oh, and then there were two couples, friends from college, with whom we went to a UD basketball game (Go Flyers!) in December—but no one else after them!
Since I’m pretty healthy—I eat a varied diet, get adequate exercise, and maintain a healthy weight—I thought I’d have no problems getting a bun in the oven. But May rolled around—time for my annual ObGyn exam—and we were eight months in to heavy practice with no result, so I chose to tell my doctor—but no one else after him!
After my exam, the nurse (I didn’t tell her; Dr. Busacco did.) gave me a paper and directions on how to record my basal body temperature. I was to bring this for the doctor to study in three months.
The paper has four blank graphs with temperature on the vertical axis and days of the cycle on the horizontal. The bottom line on the graph represents 97.0 degrees F. The top line is 99.0, and the 19 lines between are all tenths of a degree from one to the next.
The first graph on the page is a sample. It depicts the perfect temperature fluctuation of a patient whose husband, I’m sure, hit his mark on the first attempt. Before ovulation, this woman’s temperature ranged from 97.5 to 97.8—pretty tight. She hit ovulation right at 98 degrees but more important than that, her basal body temp remained well above 98 degrees for two more weeks, just like that of most Fertile Myrtles.
On the way home from the doctor’s, I bought a basal body thermometer at CVS, the national chain drug store.
Mark and I left for my dad’s in Georgia that night—a 10-hour drive. I took my temperature around 5 a.m. but I doubt it was true since I’d gotten little sleep and only intermittently, and I was sitting, and I’d been eating junk food, like we do when we travel in the car, not that junk food would affect my temp, but you never know.
After a couple days at Dad’s house, my temperature was all over the place yet. I thought there had to be something wrong with the thermometer so I asked Dad where the nearest CVS was so I could take back the thermometer “that I’ve been using to take my basal body temperature because Mark and I are trying to get pregnant.” So I told Dad and my step mom Mary Beth—but no one else after them!
They live so far out in the boonies that the nearest CVS store is 30 minutes away, and I couldn’t find the basal body thermometers, and the high school girls behind the counter twirling their hair and chewing gum were clueless—as was the pharmacist. So I had to rely on that old (or, actually, new) out-of-whack thermometer until I got back to Ohio. (I felt like its batteries were low or something).
So we caught some fish and bought some shrimp (50 lbs. fresh from the shrimp boat to bring home and freeze) and returned to Ohio, and I got a different thermometer from the CVS near my house.
The next morning, before even lifting the covers, I took my temperature in the dark of 5 a.m.
The thermometer is digital and beeps once to indicate it’s on, beeps four times after the temperature has stabilized, and beeps a single time again when it shuts off. My left ear is deaf to high pitches, and I’m a right-side sleeper (to eliminate noises from the chirping birds and insects in the tree outside my window that would enter through my good ear). My side table is right there so for the first several mornings I would raise a bit to reach the alarm, turn it off, grab the thermometer, turn it on (I heard the beep), and then lay my head back on my pillow and wait for the temperature to register. And, of course, then I wouldn’t hear the four beeps telling me my temp had been taken. One tortuous morning, after a hot chocolate and a full glass of water before bed that previous evening, I thought my bladder would burst before the temperature registered. It was the odd night that Mark slept in the same bed (see Sleeping Arrangements for explanation), so I didn’t want to turn on the lamp to check; therefore, I got up and ran to the restroom. The thermometer wasn’t even on! In my haste and fumbling and half sleep, I hit the on/off button twice yet did not hear two beeps. Ugh.
So I dropped to the floor and stuck the thermometer under my tongue. Thankfully, my temp registered in record time, and I relieved my bladder straight away.
Now into my fourth month of morning temperature taking, I make sure I’m fairly awake before I turn on the thermometer, and since I’m awake, I no longer fumble. While its in position, I lie on my back so that my right ear is exposed and I do not miss those important four beeps, and I think how bothersome it would be for a deaf woman to take her temperature every morning: she’d basically have to wake up fully, turn on the light, SEE that the thermometer was on, and check periodically for the stable readout, which equates to trying to see the end of your nose.
Thank goodness I have one good ear.
Oh, and Mom and my brothers and my cousins, they all know we’re trying now. Mark told his family too. We had to tell those closest to us to ease the stress of the whole ordeal. The trying part is not stressful. It’s the unsuccessful part that is.
The afternoon before we left for Oregon, Mark and I met with my ObGyn. He studied my temperature pattern and ordered a blood test to check my pituitary gland’s function, possibly damaged from my head injury from 23 years ago.
Stay tuned for more infanticipating updating.
We decided before we started trying that if it happens great; if it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be and we weren’t going to take drastic measures to become “with baby.” We also chose not to tell anyone we were trying. Well, I told the three people I share an office with—but no one else! Oh, and then there were two couples, friends from college, with whom we went to a UD basketball game (Go Flyers!) in December—but no one else after them!
Since I’m pretty healthy—I eat a varied diet, get adequate exercise, and maintain a healthy weight—I thought I’d have no problems getting a bun in the oven. But May rolled around—time for my annual ObGyn exam—and we were eight months in to heavy practice with no result, so I chose to tell my doctor—but no one else after him!
After my exam, the nurse (I didn’t tell her; Dr. Busacco did.) gave me a paper and directions on how to record my basal body temperature. I was to bring this for the doctor to study in three months.
The paper has four blank graphs with temperature on the vertical axis and days of the cycle on the horizontal. The bottom line on the graph represents 97.0 degrees F. The top line is 99.0, and the 19 lines between are all tenths of a degree from one to the next.The first graph on the page is a sample. It depicts the perfect temperature fluctuation of a patient whose husband, I’m sure, hit his mark on the first attempt. Before ovulation, this woman’s temperature ranged from 97.5 to 97.8—pretty tight. She hit ovulation right at 98 degrees but more important than that, her basal body temp remained well above 98 degrees for two more weeks, just like that of most Fertile Myrtles.
On the way home from the doctor’s, I bought a basal body thermometer at CVS, the national chain drug store.
Mark and I left for my dad’s in Georgia that night—a 10-hour drive. I took my temperature around 5 a.m. but I doubt it was true since I’d gotten little sleep and only intermittently, and I was sitting, and I’d been eating junk food, like we do when we travel in the car, not that junk food would affect my temp, but you never know.
After a couple days at Dad’s house, my temperature was all over the place yet. I thought there had to be something wrong with the thermometer so I asked Dad where the nearest CVS was so I could take back the thermometer “that I’ve been using to take my basal body temperature because Mark and I are trying to get pregnant.” So I told Dad and my step mom Mary Beth—but no one else after them!
They live so far out in the boonies that the nearest CVS store is 30 minutes away, and I couldn’t find the basal body thermometers, and the high school girls behind the counter twirling their hair and chewing gum were clueless—as was the pharmacist. So I had to rely on that old (or, actually, new) out-of-whack thermometer until I got back to Ohio. (I felt like its batteries were low or something).
So we caught some fish and bought some shrimp (50 lbs. fresh from the shrimp boat to bring home and freeze) and returned to Ohio, and I got a different thermometer from the CVS near my house.
The next morning, before even lifting the covers, I took my temperature in the dark of 5 a.m.
The thermometer is digital and beeps once to indicate it’s on, beeps four times after the temperature has stabilized, and beeps a single time again when it shuts off. My left ear is deaf to high pitches, and I’m a right-side sleeper (to eliminate noises from the chirping birds and insects in the tree outside my window that would enter through my good ear). My side table is right there so for the first several mornings I would raise a bit to reach the alarm, turn it off, grab the thermometer, turn it on (I heard the beep), and then lay my head back on my pillow and wait for the temperature to register. And, of course, then I wouldn’t hear the four beeps telling me my temp had been taken. One tortuous morning, after a hot chocolate and a full glass of water before bed that previous evening, I thought my bladder would burst before the temperature registered. It was the odd night that Mark slept in the same bed (see Sleeping Arrangements for explanation), so I didn’t want to turn on the lamp to check; therefore, I got up and ran to the restroom. The thermometer wasn’t even on! In my haste and fumbling and half sleep, I hit the on/off button twice yet did not hear two beeps. Ugh.
So I dropped to the floor and stuck the thermometer under my tongue. Thankfully, my temp registered in record time, and I relieved my bladder straight away.
Now into my fourth month of morning temperature taking, I make sure I’m fairly awake before I turn on the thermometer, and since I’m awake, I no longer fumble. While its in position, I lie on my back so that my right ear is exposed and I do not miss those important four beeps, and I think how bothersome it would be for a deaf woman to take her temperature every morning: she’d basically have to wake up fully, turn on the light, SEE that the thermometer was on, and check periodically for the stable readout, which equates to trying to see the end of your nose.
Thank goodness I have one good ear.
Oh, and Mom and my brothers and my cousins, they all know we’re trying now. Mark told his family too. We had to tell those closest to us to ease the stress of the whole ordeal. The trying part is not stressful. It’s the unsuccessful part that is.
The afternoon before we left for Oregon, Mark and I met with my ObGyn. He studied my temperature pattern and ordered a blood test to check my pituitary gland’s function, possibly damaged from my head injury from 23 years ago.
Stay tuned for more infanticipating updating.
posted by Elizabeth Evans Fryer at 7:35 PM
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