Because we found out I was pregnant right before our move, our Florida doctor told us to not get an OB referral until we were in California. We pulled into Cali mid-December, at 10 weeks pregnant. I did some research and called an off-base OB to set up an appointment, but because of the holidays, I couldn't get an appointment until the new year, which would put me at 13 weeks -- the last possible time to get in for an ultrasound to assess an appropriate due date.
Shaun's parents had come out to California to see us over New Year's. We didn't have a place yet, so we were living in the base temporary lodging facility, where Dan and Donna also happened to get a room. We were exploring this new area together and having fun spending time as a family.
The night before, all four of us stayed up talking and conversation turned to our pregnancy. Shaun mentioned how he isn't inclined to be overly emotional over the pregnancy -- excited and happy, to be sure, but not moved to tears simply because it's not quite his MO. He mentioned that when we get the opportunity to hear the baby's heartbeat, he didn't think he would react with anything more than "Huh, that's pretty neat."
After his parents left to go back to their room, I was getting ready for bed and realized that something was very wrong. I yelled for Shaun, and he, in line with his rational nature, assured me that everything was probably okay. I had a little bit of bleeding at 8 weeks pregnant after a stressfully snowy, 14-hour stretch of caravan road tripping to Colorado, and Shaun reminded me that everything ended up okay, so it was likely just the same thing. I cried; we prayed; and we slept, deciding to reassess the situation in the morning.
The next morning was no better, and we called Dan and Donna to tell them that the museum trip we had planned was called off: we were headed to the emergency room instead. They came over and prayed for us before driving us to the hospital.
A couple hours, a urine sample, blood work, and many insurance and triage questions later, I was sitting on a hospital bed in a paper gown, clutching Shaun's hand. The ER doctor came in and asked questions about the bleeding and who my doctor is, when I mentioned we had not seen a doctor yet, he decided the first thing he needed to do was find a heartbeat -- that would help him determine if there was a serious problem, like an ectopic pregnancy.
He moved the doppler over my belly and we caught on to a heartbeat, but it was slow and deep. He put a finger on my wrist and said, "Hmm, that's your heartbeat." He searched around a little and my heart sunk into my stomach. I was convinced that the slow beat was the only one we'd hear that day. Then we heard it : a rapid, rhythmic thumping sound.
"That doesn't sound like mine," I said.
"That's not yours!" the doctor replied. "But it's a great, strong heartbeat, and that's some very good news!"
And what do you know? My not-so-emotional, "I'm-not-going-to-cry-over-a-heartbeat" husband's cheeks matched mine: tear-streaked and grinning from ear-to-ear. We agreed that we'd never heard such a wonderful sound in our lives. It was a great way, albeit a frightening way, to start 2012. We were so blessed to hear that heartbeat, and so blessed to be able to meet our little Corianne and see her sweet smile.
Here's to an uneventful New Year's Eve this year (Our plans are to go to bed early! Staying up until midnight is for young'ens, something we no longer are.) and a very blessed and smiley 2013! Happy New Year, everyone! :)
.jpg)
