I get to the hospital and once admitted they perform an ultrasound to see what the heck is happening. Well, lo and behold, I was pregnant and now miscarrying. This was so odd because I was on birth control. I mean after giving birth to four children in five years, with the last one being born just three months after brain surgery, do you really think I was “trying to get pregnant?” Plus, I was strutting my new and improved Linda Hamilton physique- remember those arms in the Terminator? I wasn’t ready to give THAT up!
For me not to notice that I was pregnant is in itself an unheard of phenomenon. Usually I am so overcome with nausea and dizziness during the first trimester that I am completely inoperable and useless to others. In fact, during one of my pregnancies, I remember feeling so ill that even certain types of sounds provoked a full blown vomit attack. Unfortunately one of those noises was the sound of my own husband’s voice. I told him that he had to begin whispering during our constant bantering if he wanted to stay together in marriage. He obliged. Now that is true love!
Back to my story. When I saw my doctor, we began reflecting about my whereabouts, overall health and nutrition, contraceptive practices, (I have been known to forget a pill or two and then while panicking, double or triple up as soon as I remember.) We came to the realization that most probably while vacationing in Mexico on a post-surgery “romantic trip” where I ended up violently ill- from the one time I forgot about the ICE in my bottled water drink- the attending ER doctor had prescribed me heavy duty anti-parasite meds. I had been instructed to take them for about a month to basically destroy anything and everything inside my body.
Don´t start rolling your eyes upon reading the following as it is not just a worn out cliché, but I really do strive to see the positive in everything. This time I just reasoned that if I had screwed myself up so badly from this internal fumigation, it was better that this was happening NOW and not later. Nothing inside of me could have withstood such a brutal assault. And had something indeed survived this “cleansing,” it certainly would have emerged unhealthy.
Nevertheless, I came to terms with this rationale and accepted my ideologies about the current circumstance and once again, was escorted into the OR. I was relaxed and enjoying the laughing gas and sleep…. My doctor and his staff performed the standard procedure to detoxify my battered organs. When I awoke shortly thereafter in the recovery room, I began chatting with the nurses, trying to impress them by bragging about my past two surgeries. "This was nothing," I exclaimed arrogantly, "Thanks to a dear old friend, anesthesia."
During the week of the obligatory bed rest period- no pun intended- Father’s Day arrived. After a beautiful day full of homemade gifts, zany songs and quirky videotaping, my husband began to philosophize about how everything in life is a sign, a message in disguise... you’ve heard it all before. “I think that everything that just transpired was a message from God, Mi Amor, that we are not quite finished bearing children.” Being the good wife that I am, I bought into his hypothesis “hook, line and sinker” and two months later my womb had a new boarder, Baby Number 5.