Apparently my doctor is in the business of torturing people. Because according to Google (and everyone knows if it’s on Google it must be true!), a healthy adult bladder can hold sixteen ounces (or two cups) of liquid. Yet my doctor had given me strict instructions to drink thirty two ounces of water before my seven week ultrasound!
So there I was, sitting in the waiting room awaiting my ultrasound and violently tapping my feet to try and get my mind off my rising urine levels. Throw in my morning sickness and all the crazy hormones swishing around my body and you’d probably run for the hills if you’d encountered me that day. They say misery loves company, so I suppose it should have been some solice to find myself surrounded by a whole lot of other disgruntled, urine-saturated pregnant women. Every time a person wearing scrubs entered the room we’d all look up hopefully, then simultaneously flash them a death stare as they called some other name.
In the movies the ultrasound is always such a magical time. Serene music plays in the background while the husband and wife smile lovingly at each other. The radiologist gently maneuvers the transducer over the woman’s belly and there are gasps and happy tears as the baby’s image pops up on the screen.
In reality, I found myself doing quite the Kegel work out with each violent poke and prod of my belly, desperately hoping that wouldn’t be the one to set my bladder off. My husband, Josh, was ordered to stay outside in the waiting room while they did the initial measurements.
“Wow, your bladder’s really full,” the student nurse remarked infuriatingly. (As if I needed the reminder!)
At first my mind was consumed with the abuse my poor bladder was taking, but after a while my discomfort turned to alarm. Surely an ultrasound shouldn’t take this long? My fears seemed to be confirmed when the student nurse turned to me suddenly and said, “I just need my supervisor to look at something.”
“Is everything OK?” I asked shakenly.
“Everything looks great,” she reassured me, but she had a weird look on her face and I wasn’t convinced. While she was gone, my mind went to horrible places. Chemical pregnancy? Blighted ovum? Ectopic pregnancy? Molar pregnancy? Needless to say, I was a jittery mess.
She finally returned with her supervisor and they both squinted at the screen.
“Wow, your bladder’s really full,” the supervisor remarked.
“I know!” I practically growled.
“Why don’t you go relieve yourself a little bit and in the meantime we’ll have your husband come in?”
Relieve yourself a little bit! She had to be joking. That’s like putting a starving person in front of an all-you-can-eat buffet and saying, “You’re only allowed to eat the lettuce.” I think I managed to reserve only a few drops.
When I returned Josh was there, looking all excited and nervous. They squirted some more gel on my belly and pushed the transducer around once more. The absolute maddening thing is, they didn’t appear to have any problems despite my bladder being practically empty. So what did they tell me to drink so much water for? An epiphany suddenly hit me. I bet the walls are actually one way mirrors and a bunch of hospital employees sit behind them with bowls of popcorn, laughing at our expense.
“Is that what I think it is?” the student nurse asked her supervisor, pointing at something on the screen.
“Ah, yes,” her supervisor answered. “Are you comfortable telling them or do you want me to?”
“I can do it,” the student nurse replied.
She gingerly turned the screen towards us and my heart stopped.
“What is it?” Josh asked, seeing my shocked face but unable to decipher what the blobs on the screen were.
The student nurse pointed at one blob. “This is baby one…” Then she pointed at another blob. “… And this is baby two…”
“What do you mean baby two?” Josh asked stupidly.
“We’re having twins!” I yelled.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my husband turn such a brilliant shade of white. After a few gulps he managed, “Can you make sure there isn’t a third one in there?”
People often ask how I felt in that moment. It’s difficult to describe. I was feeling a million things at once. These are some of the thoughts that were racing through my mind:
– (*Long list of expletives*)
– I can’t even get my head around pushing one out, but now you’re telling me I need to expel two?
– We’ll be broke!
– Wait, is this one of those YouTube pranks?
– Awww, twins! (And I’m not sure why, but suddenly I pictured the Olsen twins, Tia and Tamera, the Sweet Valley twins and the Property Brothers all running happily through a meadow in slow motion).
– Wouldn’t it be funny if they were two boys? Then I’d have two penises growing inside me! Ahahaha!
– Wait a minute. It’s actually not all that uncommon to miss a third baby. What if-? (*More expletives*)
– I’ll never sleep again!
– Is this really happening?
– Haha, look at Josh’s face!
– I really need to sit down.
I’m a twin mommy who will make you feel better about your parenting skills. Sign up for e-mail updates at the bottom of this page if you want to follow my journey into insanity. You can also follow me on Facebook.