Thanks to a minor heart anamoly, I have the extreme pleasure of having nasty caridac symptoms while pregnant. For example, my resting heart rate last evening (in the supine position, if you will), was 104. That's small potatoes, really, (my heart rate during my last pregnancy liked to hover in the 120-130 bpm range), but it makes me feel like impending doom is near - I can't breathe, I feel like I need to claw out of my own skin. It's pretty much akin to the symptoms someone feels while having a major anxiety attack, but for me there's a physical cause for it. Not to say I'm without anxiety - please.
Are you jealous of me?
I'm thrilled to be going in for an echocardiogram on Monday, "just in case." I love those words when spoken by a doctor - JUST IN CASE. "I'm sure it's nothing, but let's make sure....just in case." Ugh. Well, doc, should I start planning my funeral? Making arrangements to screen potential new wife candidates for my husband so that I know who will replace me as Nat's mama? Because when you say "just in case" to me, those are the thoughts that pop into my head. Then he felt the need to follow up with "Because, you know, the one time we don't run the test is the time that we miss something seriously wrong." Good Lord, sir, how many times has that happened in your practice? Put me on the list for a transplant now, then, would you? I'll even take a baboon heart like Christian Slater in that movie that started with the song "Tom's Diner" by the same woman who sang "My Name Is Luca," the names of both movie and artist escaping me at the moment.
On a happier note, I've been amused lately by the random thoughts that pop into my head in the middle of the night when the fetus sees fit to try to rearrange my insides with its feet. Last night's thought?
I wonder what Regis Philbin wears when he sits in his apartment watching television.