Incorrect Co-ordinates

Our 4pm appointment eventually materialised at 5.15pm. I was actually reasonably calm when I hopped on the couch, but my heart pretty soon sank into my trousers, because everything looked wrongwrongwrong. There was a sac of sorts, but it was grey, fuzzy, and despite The Professor muttering ‘Well, there’s something in there’, I couldn’t see any sign of a recognisable foetus, let alone a heartbeat. The Professor was doing serious battle with the ultrasound machine, but whatever buttons she pressed and whatever knobs she twiddled, nothing good was coming into focus.

‘It doesn’t look awfully hopeful, does it?’ I stated. I was beginning to feel the numb disbelief settle on me. She scanned for another minute or so and then evidently decided to start again from scratch; she took the magnification right out and made a wide pelvic sweep.

Suddenly a large black sac flashed past.


Thank God.

”THERE it is! AND a heartbeat!’

And everyone…breathe.

The professor was quick to poke fun at her several-OMG-so-long-minutes-worth-of-attempts to discern a foetus within (what turned out to be) my uterine cyst. She was evidently fairly unsettled by it, although once I had stopped shaking, I did comfort her with the honest fact that legions of experienced sonographers have come to abject professional grief regarding my anatomy over the years. She is not the first. She probably won’t be the last.

‘I know you told me it was on the left, but that uterus is quite incredibly lateral – it’s all twisted around, and it’s even managing to be more lateral than your ovary. All the usual markers are no clue whatsoever.’

Instead of the conventionally rare:

I seem to have something like:


So essentially, Turbo is sitting so far over, he practically out-lefts Karl Marx. (Your right, my left, remember.) 

Professor’s flusterment extended to her measuring, the first attempt at which measured 7-weeks-today Turbo at a satisfactorily chunky 9mm, and the second at a precocious and unfeasibly giant 12mm. Either way: larger than last week.

I am going back in a fortnight. I am relieved and pleased, but dreadfully anxious about the next couple of weeks, which are a common time of occuring disaster for genetic abnomalities.  I have also been instructed to ruthlessly harry my GP for nuchal scan referral paperwork, and – which seems indecently hasty and premature to me – a midwife appointment. Also, really bloody ridiculous, because I will have exactly no meaningful input from her if last time is anything to go by.

I promise faithfully to swear off the peesticks, which is an addict’s promise if ever there was one – I know there is zero information to be had from them now, so I am actually giving up nothing. You deserve more from me, so: I promise not to panic if the general Ickiness fades out again.

This doesn’t seem… real.


37 Responses

  1. Oh, I have checked for your post probably 20 times this afternoon. Keep up the good work.

  2. I’ve been following along just lately and am so grateful for this update. So happy for you. Sending clingy thoughts and wishes your way.

    (We got news of our own infertility issues and pregnancy impossibilities and possibilities back in January. We’ve a long row to go ourselves.)

  3. Can you stop bloody doing that?! But great news so far.

    (And I’m still waiting for the final peestick count).

  4. Good God, woman, are you trying to give us all a heart attack? Google Reader ends the excerpt just after “grey and fuzzy” and I almost sprained something clicking over.

    Big sigh of relief, glad all is well at present despite the uterus’s best attempts to foil the scientists. (I say that lovingly as someone whose recent scan turned up my ovaries smashed together in a totally unnatural way.)

  5. Phew. I have a tilted uterus and a posterior left ovary, so I’m aware of persons digging round up there and being thoroughly confused.

    I would like to commend you on your previous post title. You, madam, are hilarious even in the face of constant anxiousness and adversity.

  6. I did actually think I was going to vomit out of sheer relief when she found it. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

    Smashed ovaries! Fabulous!

  7. Oh, thank Universe. Can breathe now. That lovely blue tinge is fading from my lips and nails as we speak.

    Oh, bugger, I’ve burst into tears.


    And yes, mullerianly-defected uteruses are twisty little turds. I was told at my first 6 week ultrasound that E was in my right horn. My whole pregnancy I was thoroughly flustered by the fact that the left side of my belly was always lopsidedly-bigger.

    Wasn’t until my c-section that I found out she was in my left horn all along. Apparently my uterus was twisted up early on. I guess I’ll trust the guy who actually cut it open and held it in his hands, huh?

    Also, I’m feeling more than a little smug that I told you a few posts back to put down the peesticks. 😉

  9. Can’t take any more. Going to bed with wine. Inexpressibly pleased that all is OK so far.

  10. Don’t DO that!! I nearly had a heart attack!!!!
    And as for you turbo. There you are happily doing what you shouldl be and you poor mummy. Bit worried she is!!

    So pleased it was a good scan


  11. Hooray! Figuring out the time difference was maddening, so was left to check your blog every 30 minutes! Glad glad glad oh so very glad!


  12. Oh my! Hooray!

  13. Is it wrong that I had to skip past the first two thirds of the post to find out what had happened before I could go back and read? Your bloomin’ clipped feed produced a few heart attacks around the Internets, I bet.

    But Go Turbo!!

    And my limited anatomy knowledge bows to your diagrams…

  14. Phew! Seriously, whenever you go to the doctor for any reason, you should round up a phalanx of medical students so they can see what unusual really is!

    Glad to hear Turbo is right where he/she is supposed to be.

  15. I’m releasing another, slightly larger rainbow fart!!

    Also, loving your artistic talent. Anatomical diagrams have nothing on you.


  16. *lets loose a small rainbow coloured fartlet*

    YIPEE. Happy Face!

    Turbo STAY!

  17. Good work Turbo!

  18. I couldn’t stay awake long enough for this post last night (I’m 7 hours ahead of you) so took the laptop to bed with me for the earliest morning check I could manage! So happy to eventually read that Turbo was found lurking in the darker reaches 😉

    I will now breathe more easily and unclench crossed bits but maintain figurative finger-crossing and most definitely the positive thoughts.

    You should now stay away from Dr Google and pee sticks and get busy baking cakes or something similarly creative 😉

  19. *Breathes out*

  20. oh, phew! somehow i had missed seeing the last 5 posts show up in my reader — cardiac workout now complete. professor sounds like a good egg. i like a doctor who can admit being wrong with good humor. (but not as much as i like a little flickering spot on a u/s.)

  21. Oh! Oh! My nerves! I’d want to slap you, but can’t slap a pregnant woman (!!!). This is all very good indeed! Three cheers for confounding anatomy rather than DOOOOOM on the screen 🙂

  22. Oh thank farking gawd. I got no grading done today, at all. I kept clicking over to google reader. Your uteri are making me crazy!

  23. Phew! And double phew!
    Ah the booking in appt. Fill in a 54 page form listing every pregnancy in detail successful or not then repeat all the answers whilst the midwife taps it in to the computer with one finger. The same computer that details all those previous pregnancies already. Result being the midwife declaring you high risk and needing consultant led care. No shit Sherlock. That said do it as nothing happens without it.

    So glad that all is ok.

  24. PHEW, PHEW, PHEW. *Wipes sweat off brow.* This is the mother of all roller coasters, alright – I am pea-green but determined to hang on – if you can, I can!

    Here’s hoping for some nice gentle undulating teacups now.

  25. Right, that’s it. No more scares. No more peesticks (dear God, above all no more peesticks). This is the point now where you start throwing around the “P” word.

    Onwards nuchal. I also remember that if you’re carrying just one, you can harrass for a blood test that can help show further info that nuchals cannot. Is that available up yonder?

  26. I hope you’re going to donate your innards to science when you’re all done with babies.

  27. Oh my goodness, this post was the source of great anxiety for a few moments. Exhaling a tentative sigh of relief. Quietly egging on (ha ha) Turbo.

  28. OK, now no more drama! Glad to hear the news that they located the hiding Turbo!

  29. Bravo Turbo! And bravo brave mama for comforting the flustered specialist doc. Maybe Turbo wanted to be left alone in peace and didn’t want to be found by the ultrasound — a precursor of future temperament, perhaps? Might Turbo might be inclined toward anarchy as she/he gestates within a horizontal world?? Only time with tell!

    I send you and yours the very best wishes I cheer you on through this pregnancy. Thanks for relieving my anxiety by posting this update….

  30. Can we all fart a few rainbows now! Hooray for sac, hooray for heartbeat, hooray for Turbo! Your new ladybits drawing closely resembles a California highway interchange, but in them we all pledge our faith!

  31. Fantastic news, apart from the even more screwed up innards, but hurrah.

  32. Phew. I have no fingernails left now. So do not have any more traumas until they have had time to grow again please. or preferably no traumas at all.xx

  33. You must feel like you are stuck on that hideous looking roller coaster at Blackpool, you know, that one that looks about a mile high and no-one in their right mind would ever go near!

    Thank goodness that she found Turbo in the end and that he/she is laughing in the face of “small for dates”. I KNEW those 2p pregnancy tests of yours were not saying sooth! Bin the unreliable little buggers!

    Fingers crossed for you getting off the roller-coaster and that this pregnancy becomes more “It’s a small world” in Disneyland…rainbows and unicorns extra.

  34. Oh good grief what a hideous few minutes.

    So pleased, so very very pleased.


  35. Thank, well, everything. I did thikn everything was ok but of course you never know and OMG what a heart stopping moment. reminds me of the day of my 24 week appointment, where I had just had the courage to go and buy a little white baby gro with sliver feet on it because it was on sale. First thing I’d bought. Then I lie down on the OB’s table and he can’t find the heartbeat. For about 10 minutes. So we go downstairs for a scan, both of us not knowing what to say and —there’s the baby. Think we both cried.

    Good little fetbryo. Shall we have a nickname competition now or do you want to wait til after the nuchal?

  36. Wahoo!

    I had this feeling those pee sticks were merely playing evil games.

    Three cheers for the leftest of left uterii!


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