So it turns out I'm an emotional wreck.
I'm on night shift this week ..which is never good emotionally. This week is the 10 year anniversary of my dad's death - which I never deal with well. I spent a lot of time last night re-reading my blog entries written during the last pregnancy ...and I think I wrote 27 times that I would never be pregnant again because it (anxiety, physical discomfort) was so horrible.
I don't do this well.
So. Eight week check up. Everything with the baby is fine. Still there. Heart still beating. Hard to tell much beyond that at this point.
Then we talked about symptoms. Probably the most concerning symptom that I've had - which has been there since I was on spring break and before I knew I was pregnant ...is really, really bad shortness of breath. It seems to be getting worse. It only happens with exertion. At first I wrote it off to fluid shifts or something. But ...it's gotten worse. It's now to the point that I have to stop and rest while I'm walking from one building to another at work (maybe 1/4 mile walk). Yesterday, several of the docs noticed I was breathing heavily just talking to them. I also noticed that even while I was dictating a patient note I had to stop several times to catch my breath. Not good.
So ...I'm getting worked up for a couple of different things. One - pulmonary embolism. Because I drove to florida recently without stopping and have a history of a previous clot. Great. I love high dose radiation exposure in early pregnancy. The second - and quite honestly my biggest fear and suspicion - cardiomyopathy. Even typing that word right now made me cry. I don't even know what will happen if that's what's going on. No. fucking. idea.
Because I re-read my blog, I have a fairly fresh idea of what a nutcase I am and keep rationalizing that this probably nothing. But I'm still scared shitless.
Someone promise to make me go on an anti-anxiety medicine after this pregnancy. Assuming I'm still alive.
For the love of God.