Naquadah Tipped Warheads & Banana Smoothies ~ Over 16s ~ 2 of 11
Details, disclaimers and Part One *here*
Dowload the mp3 podcast for this chapter by clicking (right click to save) here
Please note that the podfic has swearing... right at the beginning and then no more.
If you would like a version without the naughties, please feel free to email me audrich08 @ aol.com
May 24th 2007
I read over what I’ve written.
It sorta makes sense. Kinda.
Do you understand?
Do you get it so far?
You fucked me.
You fucked off.
You left me fucked UP.
I hate you, you bastard, filled with the bastard you left me with.
May 25th 2007
Jack, I’m so sorry that I said all that.
My hormones are all over the place.
Please forgive me.
I can’t stop crying.
Sam
xxxxxxxxxx
May 28th 2007
I’ve had a couple of days to pull myself together and I apologize for what I said on the 24th.
I feel as though I owe you a mature and considered explanation, but suffice it to say that I was SO DAMN ANGRY with you for getting yourself captured but I know I have no right when we’ve both spent most of our adult lives putting ourselves in danger for what we believe in. You more than me, I guess.
I did consider deleting the entry... but then I suppose that would defeat the object of getting all this down and out?
I’m now 18 weeks pregnant.
I’m showing (a little, anyway) and I can feel the baby moving.
Alive.
It’s time to acknowledge the past and get on with it.
Your Sam.
May 28th (Later)
Hey, Jack, I thought you might like to know what happened the next day after I confessed to Hank Landry.
First off, the next morning, a slice of dry toast was half way to my mouth in my kitchen when I get a call from him to say that the S&R was a failure - false intel. Dead end. Brick wall. Another bone crushing disappointment.
And then he told me Carolyn Lam was on her way to my house. I guess I’m not getting away with that doctor’s appointment - house calls ‘r’ us.
By the time I'd changed into sweat pants, Carolyn is banging on my door with a non-plussed look on her face. Credit to Hank, he asked her to call, but he didn’t say what was up with me. I could have said you had been up with me, but then that would be a tasteless joke ;-D (Another one of Cassie’s Smileys - tilt your head sideways to get it).
Confessing to a second person was way easier than the first, and, well, Carolyn is my doctor, even if she is Landry’s daughter.
She was completely professional - has been all along, actually. She didn’t judge me over an unplanned pregnancy or condemn (I nearly typed ‘condom’ - how’s that for a Freudian slip?!) me for delaying seeking medical advice, especially with my interesting National Enquirer blood work. She provided Kleenex when the waterworks started again. Honestly, you’d think that I’d have no fluid *left* in my body.
Do you want to know about the exam? There’s not much to tell - I relaxed on my own bed while Carolyn took my pulse and blood pressure and then she felt my tummy and under my armpits (I’m like: I’m not pregnant up *there*). She asked about the pregnancy tests that I had taken and calmly told me that yes, I probably was pregnant. ‘Probably’? When I asked her if she was going to do a test, she said, what’s the point - the drugstore tests were just as good as the ones she used and she hadn’t brought the portable ultrasound. She did however take some blood to check my general health - I admitted that I barfed up almost every day for a month and that I’d lost some weight.
She’d noticed, apparently. Oh well.
We discussed how far along. She asked me about the Lunelle, when my last proper period was, (way back in January!) consulted her diary, and then informed me that I was 11 weeks pregnant. Not nine weeks... eleven weeks. Apparently pregnancy starts from a woman’s last period, not when she actually gets pregnant. Oooo-kay. Eleven weeks already. Verily *whizzing* by.
The baby would be due the last week in October, October 27th to be precise. Then she started to talk about what happens next. She asked if I’d spoken to the father. I said no and nothing else at that point, but I get the feeling she knew who dad was (were we that transparent?) She asked me if I was in anyway unsure about the baby - was I considering termination or adoption? It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I was so busy thinking about being pregnant, I wasn’t sure if I *should* be. I had been waiting for you so that we could make a joint decision. You know, discuss the issue like mature, informed adults and then I would break down sobbing, and beg you to marry me, hehehe.
Seriously, I knew I needed to think about this - taking the decision to go ahead with the pregnancy and face the possibility of raising our child alone. I told Carolyn I hadn’t decided... but you know, as soon as I’d said that, I realized I had - I wanted the child - *our* child so badly, even if you walked through the door now and said you absolutely didn’t want to be a father again, I could NOT have destroyed the little scrap of life that we had (perhaps) carelessly created in a alcohol enhanced, sex-filled evening.
I wish you were here.
How can I think like you? You unique, irascible, dependable, loyal, intelligent, self-effacing, brave, annoying, sexy man. Do you want to be a dad again? Do you want the sleepless nights, the barfing, and all that crying? And that’s just me.
I think that you do.
And after Carolyn left, leaving me to think about things over the weekend, who was I gonna call to sound out? Not Ghostbusters, the next best thing - Daniel Jackson.
May 29th 2007
Me again. Daniel was right, I do feel better getting this down. Clever man is Daniel.
So, keep on trucking...
And speaking of Daniel, yes, I called him. He was still awake after getting Landry’s call about the failed S&R and despite his jet lag, as soon I asked him to come over, I could hear him grabbing his PT Cruiser keys.
I offered him Colombian coffee, cheerfully informed him that he looked like crap, and then told him that not only had you and I had been together for several months, I was also pregnant with your baby. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Not pregnant with Daniel’s baby... *your* baby. But you know that. *headdesk* (Another one of Cassie’s - I know you’ll like that one).
Anyway, he was thrilled. Lots of ‘wows’, hugs and dimpled grinning - he reminded me so much of the happy Danny boy after we killed Apophis. That mission where I bit you? Seems like another life now. It was the first time I’d told anyone who was actually pleased for me/us. Having said that - I’d only told three people including him and only two of those knew who the daddy was. He was genuinely joyful. It kinda rubbed off. It was then that I started to get excited about being a mom.
Oh. And he had guessed some time ago that we were together and so did Teal’c. So much for being discrete. We should have told them. And Cassie.
I did stop him then and explained that I’d asked him to come over because a) I had told Landry and Carolyn out of necessity but I wanted someone I loved to be the next to know (I’d have to try and catch up with Mr.T later) and b) I needed to ask his opinion over whether he thought that you would be happy over me carrying on with the pregnancy without you.
He looked at me shrewdly and stated that I already knew the answer to that.
And as with Carolyn earlier, I realized I did.
You do love me.
You would have been surprised but overjoyed about the baby.
You would want me to carry on without you if that’s what I wanted.
And I did.
Pregnant and proud to be so (and just a little bit terrified).
He took me out to Pizza Hut, ordered the largest deep pan Hawaiian they offered, and got me drunk on sparkling water and motherhood.
June 4th 2007
21 weeks. Took a break for a while. The Hermes project is taking up quite a bit of my energy so I’m taking it easy in my downtime.
I’ll carry on. After the day I described up there /|\, I started to sleep a little better. On Sunday Carolyn called me to say that an appointment had been made for me the following Tuesday with the ob-gyn unit at the Academy hospital and that General Landry had come up with an excuse to keep me around the SGC for a week or two rather than go back to Nevada. Monday morning I reported to Cheyenne and tried to make myself useful and avoid Daniel, because he was practically beaming every time he saw me. He suggested coming with me the next day but I declined his offer - if you couldn’t be there, I wanted to do it on my own - does that make sense?
In retrospect, I wish I had said yes to him.
The ob-gyn turned out to be the Harvard med school head honcho - a pinched faced, rat eyed 50-something with a stunning figure and the loveliest smile. Relax, she’s female. She has the highest civilian security clearance, so I take it she’s treated the President, or rather his wife. She read my file and I didn’t have to kill her.
She laid it out straight.
Option #1 - Termination.
Could be done the next day. All goes down a tube the size of my little finger.
No more baby. A quick end to the little problem. All the debilitating symptoms would disappear within a week and I could regain control of my life and volunteer to work on your S&R. WHEN I found you, perhaps I could bring up a discussion about taking things further.
But you know now I couldn’t have gone through with that - Catholic school and hell and damnation aside. I know that you are lapsed, but I also know that you still pray, even it’s just ‘Give Me Strength’ while Daniel is in ‘explaining’ mode.
There is also the point that if you are *not* found, I would have killed the only remaining connection that I have with you. Could I take that responsibility? No. It’s a no.
Option # 2 - Adoption.
I know so many people who have given a home to unwanted children and totally transformed all of their lives. Childless couples finding joy, sad children finding love.
I respect them and admire them. If I was to go through with the pregnancy, could I give up our child at the end of it?
Selfishly (?), no.
I was already becoming very protective over Baby Carter-O’Neill. Who would have thought? I was very happy being childless. I *like* children. I will admit I prefer older children who can interact with me - I haven’t got a clue about babies. It never bothered me that I was nearly 40 and I still hadn’t had the urge to wear smock tops and keep Gummi Bears in my purse. As Ally McBeal would say: 'There is nothing ticking!' I am totally fulfilled with work and my loved ones and friends. I admitted to you when Pete asked me to marry him - would it be irresponsible of me to have a child when my daily work can be so inherently perilous? Anyway, if I thought about the global population crises, the prospect of bringing yet another mouth to feed onto this planet might be construed as somewhat self-centered. But I had *hoped*.
Rat eyes morphed into insightful. Her name is Professor Mary Lucy, by the way. Totally the wrong name for her. She looked at me, diligently taking in all the info she’s throwing out, and when I look up, I know that she knows that I’ve already decided on:
Option #3 - Have the baby, become a mom, get a Toys’R’Us storecard and buy in a whole stash of Gummi Bears.
::raises hand::
What in Netu am I doing?!
She did the same exams that Carolyn had performed. Tummy, armpits, blood pressure. She asked me to wait while she read more about my blood work - a dead Goa’uld protein marker wasn’t something that she had previously come across, but it didn’t daunt her.
She did want a sonogram though. Straightaway.
She called a nurse, asked me to relax on the exam table in her room, and within five minutes I was looking at what I thought was a very fuzzy black and white blob that was supposed to be our child. I couldn’t see anything beating, moving or waving, although Prof-Doc Lucy confirmed the age of the embryo corresponded with my ‘dates’. I’ve heard that bounded about quite a bit. My ‘dates’. My DATES. Hmmm. She provided a photo of said very fuzzy black and white blob that I gazed at for a couple of minutes until I realized that she was waiting for me to get off her couch and pull my pants up.
Then she started. I was relatively old to be a first time mom. She asked the age of the father and looked serious. My physiology was unusual and excess protein can have damaging effects on a developing embryo. She listed all the common syndromes and disorders associated with older moms. By the time she was finished, I was berating myself for ever even thinking about having sex with anyone, least of all you. But the rabbit had died, no use crying over spilt milk and any other empty clichés you can think of.
She started talking about a screening for abnormalities. I thought she might. She suggested that we start with a nuchal scan (no, I’d never heard of it before either but I’ll explain in a minute). She would have normally performed this in combination with a blood test checking my plasma protein, but of course, Jolinar put paid to that test being viable. Basically, she was going to measure the fluid at the back of the baby’s neck. By combining my age with information from the scan, an individual statistical chance of a chromosome abnormality can be calculated. Sounds so tidy. She also recommended invasive diagnostic tests; an amniocentesis, or a Chorionic Villus Test, but she did warn me that for every 100 women who have these invasive tests from the 11th week in pregnancy, one will miscarry.
Of course, I had the right to refuse all screening and diagnostic tests.
Crap.
I really needed some air at this point.
She then went on to talk about neural tube defects and I’m sorry to say I phased out. Not in as in out of phase like Daniel after his encounter with Quetlezcoatl, but just generally wanted to do the ‘head-in-sand’ thing. By the time she got to the actual birth and all the risks associated with me being over 35 - a greater risk of miscarriage, pre-eclampsia, intervention at the birth, I was feeling rather shaky. But I would like to think I’m not a coward. I’m not denying I get scared crapless on some missions, but it’s how you face up to your fear, isn’t it? I squared my shoulders, thanked for her information and asked for the nuchal scan.
She seemed to be pleased at that and disappeared for a few minutes. I fiddled with my out-of-control hair (it’s got a mind of it’s own at the moment) and tried to read my upside down notes. I was just getting my cell phone out to have a sneaky switch-on when back came Mary Lucy and asked me to comw with.
Huh? Oh. She’s performing the scan now. Oh.
I trot behind like a 7th-grader following their Principal to a new imaging suite. When I realize that it’s built with some of the Asgardian technology that I helped to backward-engineer, I sputter out a giggle. Mary Lucy looks at me. I guess she’s wondering if it’s just pregnancy hysteria or if I should be in the psych. wing with those nice white jackets that do up at the back.
I’m asked to drink 62 gallons of water. Well, not quite, it just felt like it.
They do the scan. This time I get a fantastic image of Baby. Jack, I saw the facial features, the little hands (just two, you’ll be glad to know), and two legs with two feet and two heads. Ha. Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Just the one head, with what looks like your petulant chin. Doc tells me the kiddo is fully formed with all the essential organs, and that some of them are beginning to function for themselves. Isn’t that amazing? When I acknowledge that I had briefly considered abortion, it was very hard to squash down the emotions to avoid being a sobbing wreck. Again.
She analyses some measurements taken from the nuchal scan and it’s quiet for a bit while she taps the figures into a laptop.
Prof Lucy informs me that with the information that she has, there is a 1 in 15 chance that the baby may have Down’s Syndrome. I was actually quite calm; I was expecting this. She states that the only way to know for sure is to perform an invasive test; an amniocentesis or a Chorionic Villus Test (a CVT - like we could do with more three-letter acronyms). And yes, there is a risk of miscarriage.
More options.
Option #1 - I don’t have the invasive tests. I carry on with the pregnancy. Later scans might show up the physiological markers associated with certain genetic syndromes and disorders and if that happens, more informed decisions can be made.
Option #2 - I wait three more weeks for a standard amniocentesis. That test seems to carry less of a risk of spontaneous miscarriage than a CVT, but the results take a further two weeks to come through.
Option #3 - The CVT. It could be done the next day. Although it’s risky, the results could be ready in days, but this is not as comprehensive as an amniocentesis and won’t show up neural tube defects (like Spina Bifida).
There is a 4th. Prof Mary Lucy has performed hundreds of amniocentesis procedures. She herself is confident that she could obtain viable results at 13 weeks - I’d only have to wait less than two weeks to have the test and another two to get the results. She would also check the heart function. I trust her. And everyone says pregnancy is a waiting game, don’t they? I say yes to #4.
Then of course, I need to have decided what I’m going to do about the baby if it is shown to have a problem. I can’t have the tests and not have thought about what I’d do with the information. But then, if I decided that I would carry on anyway, why would I opt for a procedure that may kill the baby? To be informed, that’s why. Intel.
I thanked the Professor, made it along the interstate without barfing and spent most of the night researching on the Internet.
Wrung out much? Oh, yeah.
Determined? Yes.
Decided if I will keep the baby if it has a birth defect? God forgive me, no.
By the way, I got told the sex. Would you want to know?
Sam
xxxxxx
Part Two - Without swearing or blasphemy
May 24th 2007
I read over what I’ve written.
It sorta makes sense. Kinda.
Do you understand?
Do you get it so far?
You left me in such a mess, I hate you.
May 25th 2007
Jack, I’m so sorry that I said all that.
My hormones are all over the place.
Please forgive me.
I can’t stop crying.
Sam
xxxxxxxxxx
May 28th 2007
I’ve had a couple of days to pull myself together and I apologize for what I said on the 24th.
I feel as though I owe you a mature and considered explanation, but suffice it to say that I was SO DAMN ANGRY with you for getting yourself captured but I know I have no right when we’ve both spent most of our adult lives putting ourselves in danger for what we believe in. You more than me, I guess.
I did consider deleting the entry... but then I suppose that would defeat the object of getting all this down and out?
I’m now 18 weeks pregnant.
I’m showing (a little, anyway) and I can feel the baby moving.
Alive.
It’s time to acknowledge the past and get on with it.
Your Sam.
May 28th (Later)
Hey, Jack, I thought you might like to know what happened the next day after I confessed to Hank Landry.
First off, the next morning, a slice of dry toast was half way to my mouth in my kitchen when I get a call from him to say that the S&R was a failure - false intel. Dead end. Brick wall. Another bone crushing disappointment.
And then he told me Carolyn Lam was on her way to my house. I guess I’m not getting away with that doctor’s appointment - house calls ‘r’ us.
By the time I'd changed into sweat pants, Carolyn is banging on my door with a non-plussed look on her face. Credit to Hank, he asked her to call, but he didn’t say what was up with me. I could have said you had been up with me, but then that would be a tasteless joke ;-D (Another one of Cassie’s Smileys - tilt your head sideways to get it).
Confessing to a second person was way easier than the first, and, well, Carolyn is my doctor, even if she is Landry’s daughter.
She was completely professional - has been all along, actually. She didn’t judge me over an unplanned pregnancy or condemn (I nearly typed ‘condom’ - how’s that for a Freudian slip?!) me for delaying seeking medical advice, especially with my interesting National Enquirer blood work. She provided Kleenex when the waterworks started again. Honestly, you’d think that I’d have no fluid *left* in my body.
Do you want to know about the exam? There’s not much to tell - I relaxed on my own bed while Carolyn took my pulse and blood pressure and then she felt my tummy and under my armpits (I’m like: I’m not pregnant up *there*). She asked about the pregnancy tests that I had taken and calmly told me that yes, I probably was pregnant. ‘Probably’? When I asked her if she was going to do a test, she said, what’s the point - the drugstore tests were just as good as the ones she used and she hadn’t brought the portable ultrasound. She did however take some blood to check my general health - I admitted that I barfed up almost every day for a month and that I’d lost some weight.
She’d noticed, apparently. Oh well.
We discussed how far along. She asked me about the Lunelle, when my last proper period was, (way back in January!) consulted her diary, and then informed me that I was 11 weeks pregnant. Not nine weeks... eleven weeks. Apparently pregnancy starts from a woman’s last period, not when she actually gets pregnant. Oooo-kay. Eleven weeks already. Verily *whizzing* by.
The baby would be due the last week in October, October 27th to be precise. Then she started to talk about what happens next. She asked if I’d spoken to the father. I said no and nothing else at that point, but I get the feeling she knew who dad was (were we that transparent?) She asked me if I was in anyway unsure about the baby - was I considering termination or adoption? It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I was so busy thinking about being pregnant, I wasn’t sure if I *should* be. I had been waiting for you so that we could make a joint decision. You know, discuss the issue like mature, informed adults and then I would break down sobbing, and beg you to marry me, hehehe.
Seriously, I knew I needed to think about this - taking the decision to go ahead with the pregnancy and face the possibility of raising our child alone. I told Carolyn I hadn’t decided... but you know, as soon as I’d said that, I realized I had - I wanted the child - *our* child so badly, even if you walked through the door now and said you absolutely didn’t want to be a father again, I could NOT have destroyed the little scrap of life that we had (perhaps) carelessly created in a alcohol enhanced, sex-filled evening.
I wish you were here.
How can I think like you? You unique, irascible, dependable, loyal, intelligent, self-effacing, brave, annoying, sexy man. Do you want to be a dad again? Do you want the sleepless nights, the barfing, and all that crying? And that’s just me.
I think that you do.
And after Carolyn left, leaving me to think about things over the weekend, who was I gonna call to sound out? Not Ghostbusters, the next best thing - Daniel Jackson.
May 29th 2007
Me again. Daniel was right, I do feel better getting this down. Clever man is Daniel.
So, keep on trucking...
And speaking of Daniel, yes, I called him. He was still awake after getting Landry’s call about the failed S&R and despite his jet lag, as soon I asked him to come over, I could hear him grabbing his PT Cruiser keys.
I offered him Colombian coffee, cheerfully informed him that he looked like crap, and then told him that not only had you and I had been together for several months, I was also pregnant with your baby. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Not pregnant with Daniel’s baby... *your* baby. But you know that. *headdesk* (Another one of Cassie’s - I know you’ll like that one).
Anyway, he was thrilled. Lots of ‘wows’, hugs and dimpled grinning - he reminded me so much of the happy Danny boy after we killed Apophis. That mission where I bit you? Seems like another life now. It was the first time I’d told anyone who was actually pleased for me/us. Having said that - I’d only told three people including him and only two of those knew who the daddy was. He was genuinely joyful. It kinda rubbed off. It was then that I started to get excited about being a mom.
Oh. And he had guessed some time ago that we were together and so did Teal’c. So much for being discrete. We should have told them. And Cassie.
I did stop him then and explained that I’d asked him to come over because a) I had told Landry and Carolyn out of necessity but I wanted someone I loved to be the next to know (I’d have to try and catch up with Mr.T later) and b) I needed to ask his opinion over whether he thought that you would be happy over me carrying on with the pregnancy without you.
He looked at me shrewdly and stated that I already knew the answer to that.
And as with Carolyn earlier, I realized I did.
You do love me.
You would have been surprised but overjoyed about the baby.
You would want me to carry on without you if that’s what I wanted.
And I did.
Pregnant and proud to be so (and just a little bit terrified).
He took me out to Pizza Hut, ordered the largest deep pan Hawaiian they offered, and got me drunk on sparkling water and motherhood.
June 4th 2007
21 weeks. Took a break for a while. The Hermes project is taking up quite a bit of my energy so I’m taking it easy in my downtime.
I’ll carry on. After the day I described up there /|\, I started to sleep a little better. On Sunday Carolyn called me to say that an appointment had been made for me the following Tuesday with the ob-gyn unit at the Academy hospital and that General Landry had come up with an excuse to keep me around the SGC for a week or two rather than go back to Nevada. Monday morning I reported to Cheyenne and tried to make myself useful and avoid Daniel, because he was practically beaming every time he saw me. He suggested coming with me the next day but I declined his offer - if you couldn’t be there, I wanted to do it on my own - does that make sense?
In retrospect, I wish I had said yes to him.
The ob-gyn turned out to be the Harvard med school head honcho - a pinched faced, rat eyed 50-something with a stunning figure and the loveliest smile. Relax, she’s female. She has the highest civilian security clearance, so I take it she’s treated the President, or rather his wife. She read my file and I didn’t have to kill her.
She laid it out straight.
Option #1 - Termination.
Could be done the next day. All goes down a tube the size of my little finger.
No more baby. A quick end to the little problem. All the debilitating symptoms would disappear within a week and I could regain control of my life and volunteer to work on your S&R. WHEN I found you, perhaps I could bring up a discussion about taking things further.
But you know now I couldn’t have gone through with that - Catholic school and hell and damnation aside. I know that you are lapsed, but I also know that you still pray, even it’s just ‘Give Me Strength’ while Daniel is in ‘explaining’ mode.
There is also the point that if you are *not* found, I would have killed the only remaining connection that I have with you. Could I take that responsibility? No. It’s a no.
Option # 2 - Adoption.
I know so many people who have given a home to unwanted children and totally transformed all of their lives. Childless couples finding joy, sad children finding love.
I respect them and admire them. If I was to go through with the pregnancy, could I give up our child at the end of it?
Selfishly (?), no.
I was already becoming very protective over Baby Carter-O’Neill. Who would have thought? I was very happy being childless. I *like* children. I will admit I prefer older children who can interact with me - I haven’t got a clue about babies. It never bothered me that I was nearly 40 and I still hadn’t had the urge to wear smock tops and keep Gummi Bears in my purse. As Ally McBeal would say: 'There is nothing ticking!' I am totally fulfilled with work and my loved ones and friends. I admitted to you when Pete asked me to marry him - would it be irresponsible of me to have a child when my daily work can be so inherently perilous? Anyway, if I thought about the global population crises, the prospect of bringing yet another mouth to feed onto this planet might be construed as somewhat self-centered. But I had *hoped*.
Rat eyes morphed into insightful. Her name is Professor Mary Lucy, by the way. Totally the wrong name for her. She looked at me, diligently taking in all the info she’s throwing out, and when I look up, I know that she knows that I’ve already decided on:
Option #3 - Have the baby, become a mom, get a Toys’R’Us storecard and buy in a whole stash of Gummi Bears.
::raises hand::
What in Netu am I doing?!
She did the same exams that Carolyn had performed. Tummy, armpits, blood pressure. She asked me to wait while she read more about my blood work - a dead Goa’uld protein marker wasn’t something that she had previously come across, but it didn’t daunt her.
She did want a sonogram though. Straightaway.
She called a nurse, asked me to relax on the exam table in her room, and within five minutes I was looking at what I thought was a very fuzzy black and white blob that was supposed to be our child. I couldn’t see anything beating, moving or waving, although Prof-Doc Lucy confirmed the age of the embryo corresponded with my ‘dates’. I’ve heard that bounded about quite a bit. My ‘dates’. My DATES. Hmmm. She provided a photo of said very fuzzy black and white blob that I gazed at for a couple of minutes until I realized that she was waiting for me to get off her couch and pull my pants up.
Then she started. I was relatively old to be a first time mom. She asked the age of the father and looked serious. My physiology was unusual and excess protein can have damaging effects on a developing embryo. She listed all the common syndromes and disorders associated with older moms. By the time she was finished, I was berating myself for ever even thinking about having sex with anyone, least of all you. But the rabbit had died, no use crying over spilt milk and any other empty clichés you can think of.
She started talking about a screening for abnormalities. I thought she might. She suggested that we start with a nuchal scan (no, I’d never heard of it before either but I’ll explain in a minute). She would have normally performed this in combination with a blood test checking my plasma protein, but of course, Jolinar put paid to that test being viable. Basically, she was going to measure the fluid at the back of the baby’s neck. By combining my age with information from the scan, an individual statistical chance of a chromosome abnormality can be calculated. Sounds so tidy. She also recommended invasive diagnostic tests; an amniocentesis, or a Chorionic Villus Test, but she did warn me that for every 100 women who have these invasive tests from the 11th week in pregnancy, one will miscarry.
Of course, I had the right to refuse all screening and diagnostic tests.
Crap.
I really needed some air at this point.
She then went on to talk about neural tube defects and I’m sorry to say I phased out. Not in as in out of phase like Daniel after his encounter with Quetlezcoatl, but just generally wanted to do the ‘head-in-sand’ thing. By the time she got to the actual birth and all the risks associated with me being over 35 - a greater risk of miscarriage, pre-eclampsia, intervention at the birth, I was feeling rather shaky. But I would like to think I’m not a coward. I’m not denying I get scared crapless on some missions, but it’s how you face up to your fear, isn’t it? I squared my shoulders, thanked for her information and asked for the nuchal scan.
She seemed to be pleased at that and disappeared for a few minutes. I fiddled with my out-of-control hair (it’s got a mind of it’s own at the moment) and tried to read my upside down notes. I was just getting my cell phone out to have a sneaky switch-on when back came Mary Lucy and asked me to come with.
Huh? Oh. She’s performing the scan now. Oh.
I trot behind like a 7th-grader following their Principal to a new imaging suite. When I realize that it’s built with some of the Asgardian technology that I helped to backward-engineer, I sputter out a giggle. Mary Lucy looks at me. I guess she’s wondering if it’s just pregnancy hysteria or if I should be in the psych. wing with those nice white jackets that do up at the back.
I’m asked to drink 62 gallons of water. Well, not quite, it just felt like it.
They do the scan. This time I get a fantastic image of Baby. Jack, I saw the facial features, the little hands (just two, you’ll be glad to know), and two legs with two feet and two heads. Ha. Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Just the one head, with what looks like your petulant chin. Doc tells me the kiddo is fully formed with all the essential organs, and that some of them are beginning to function for themselves. Isn’t that amazing? When I acknowledge that I had briefly considered abortion, it was very hard to squash down the emotions to avoid being a sobbing wreck. Again.
She analyses some measurements taken from the nuchal scan and it’s quiet for a bit while she taps the figures into a laptop.
Prof Lucy informs me that with the information that she has, there is a 1 in 15 chance that the baby may have Down’s Syndrome. I was actually quite calm; I was expecting this. She states that the only way to know for sure is to perform an invasive test; an amniocentesis or a Chorionic Villus Test (a CVT - like we could do with more three-letter acronyms). And yes, there is a risk of miscarriage.
More options.
Option #1 - I don’t have the invasive tests. I carry on with the pregnancy. Later scans might show up the physiological markers associated with certain genetic syndromes and disorders and if that happens, more informed decisions can be made.
Option #2 - I wait three more weeks for a standard amniocentesis. That test seems to carry less of a risk of spontaneous miscarriage than a CVT, but the results take a further two weeks to come through.
Option #3 - The CVT. It could be done the next day. Although it’s risky, the results could be ready in days, but this is not as comprehensive as an amniocentesis and won’t show up neural tube defects (like Spina Bifida).
There is a 4th. Prof Mary Lucy has performed hundreds of amniocentesis procedures. She herself is confident that she could obtain viable results at 13 weeks - I’d only have to wait less than two weeks to have the test and another two to get the results. She would also check the heart function. I trust her. And everyone says pregnancy is a waiting game, don’t they? I say yes to #4.
Then of course, I need to have decided what I’m going to do about the baby if it is shown to have a problem. I can’t have the tests and not have thought about what I’d do with the information. But then, if I decided that I would carry on anyway, why would I opt for a procedure that may kill the baby? To be informed, that’s why. Intel.
I thanked the Professor, made it along the interstate without barfing and spent most of the night researching on the Internet.
Wrung out much? Oh, yeah.
Determined? Yes.
Decided if I will keep the baby if it has a birth defect? Please forgive me, no.
By the way, I got told the sex. Would you want to know?
Sam
xxxxxx
Dowload the mp3 podcast for this chapter by clicking (right click to save) here
Please note that the podfic has swearing... right at the beginning and then no more.
If you would like a version without the naughties, please feel free to email me audrich08 @ aol.com
May 24th 2007
I read over what I’ve written.
It sorta makes sense. Kinda.
Do you understand?
Do you get it so far?
You fucked me.
You fucked off.
You left me fucked UP.
I hate you, you bastard, filled with the bastard you left me with.
May 25th 2007
Jack, I’m so sorry that I said all that.
My hormones are all over the place.
Please forgive me.
I can’t stop crying.
Sam
xxxxxxxxxx
May 28th 2007
I’ve had a couple of days to pull myself together and I apologize for what I said on the 24th.
I feel as though I owe you a mature and considered explanation, but suffice it to say that I was SO DAMN ANGRY with you for getting yourself captured but I know I have no right when we’ve both spent most of our adult lives putting ourselves in danger for what we believe in. You more than me, I guess.
I did consider deleting the entry... but then I suppose that would defeat the object of getting all this down and out?
I’m now 18 weeks pregnant.
I’m showing (a little, anyway) and I can feel the baby moving.
Alive.
It’s time to acknowledge the past and get on with it.
Your Sam.
May 28th (Later)
Hey, Jack, I thought you might like to know what happened the next day after I confessed to Hank Landry.
First off, the next morning, a slice of dry toast was half way to my mouth in my kitchen when I get a call from him to say that the S&R was a failure - false intel. Dead end. Brick wall. Another bone crushing disappointment.
And then he told me Carolyn Lam was on her way to my house. I guess I’m not getting away with that doctor’s appointment - house calls ‘r’ us.
By the time I'd changed into sweat pants, Carolyn is banging on my door with a non-plussed look on her face. Credit to Hank, he asked her to call, but he didn’t say what was up with me. I could have said you had been up with me, but then that would be a tasteless joke ;-D (Another one of Cassie’s Smileys - tilt your head sideways to get it).
Confessing to a second person was way easier than the first, and, well, Carolyn is my doctor, even if she is Landry’s daughter.
She was completely professional - has been all along, actually. She didn’t judge me over an unplanned pregnancy or condemn (I nearly typed ‘condom’ - how’s that for a Freudian slip?!) me for delaying seeking medical advice, especially with my interesting National Enquirer blood work. She provided Kleenex when the waterworks started again. Honestly, you’d think that I’d have no fluid *left* in my body.
Do you want to know about the exam? There’s not much to tell - I relaxed on my own bed while Carolyn took my pulse and blood pressure and then she felt my tummy and under my armpits (I’m like: I’m not pregnant up *there*). She asked about the pregnancy tests that I had taken and calmly told me that yes, I probably was pregnant. ‘Probably’? When I asked her if she was going to do a test, she said, what’s the point - the drugstore tests were just as good as the ones she used and she hadn’t brought the portable ultrasound. She did however take some blood to check my general health - I admitted that I barfed up almost every day for a month and that I’d lost some weight.
She’d noticed, apparently. Oh well.
We discussed how far along. She asked me about the Lunelle, when my last proper period was, (way back in January!) consulted her diary, and then informed me that I was 11 weeks pregnant. Not nine weeks... eleven weeks. Apparently pregnancy starts from a woman’s last period, not when she actually gets pregnant. Oooo-kay. Eleven weeks already. Verily *whizzing* by.
The baby would be due the last week in October, October 27th to be precise. Then she started to talk about what happens next. She asked if I’d spoken to the father. I said no and nothing else at that point, but I get the feeling she knew who dad was (were we that transparent?) She asked me if I was in anyway unsure about the baby - was I considering termination or adoption? It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I was so busy thinking about being pregnant, I wasn’t sure if I *should* be. I had been waiting for you so that we could make a joint decision. You know, discuss the issue like mature, informed adults and then I would break down sobbing, and beg you to marry me, hehehe.
Seriously, I knew I needed to think about this - taking the decision to go ahead with the pregnancy and face the possibility of raising our child alone. I told Carolyn I hadn’t decided... but you know, as soon as I’d said that, I realized I had - I wanted the child - *our* child so badly, even if you walked through the door now and said you absolutely didn’t want to be a father again, I could NOT have destroyed the little scrap of life that we had (perhaps) carelessly created in a alcohol enhanced, sex-filled evening.
I wish you were here.
How can I think like you? You unique, irascible, dependable, loyal, intelligent, self-effacing, brave, annoying, sexy man. Do you want to be a dad again? Do you want the sleepless nights, the barfing, and all that crying? And that’s just me.
I think that you do.
And after Carolyn left, leaving me to think about things over the weekend, who was I gonna call to sound out? Not Ghostbusters, the next best thing - Daniel Jackson.
May 29th 2007
Me again. Daniel was right, I do feel better getting this down. Clever man is Daniel.
So, keep on trucking...
And speaking of Daniel, yes, I called him. He was still awake after getting Landry’s call about the failed S&R and despite his jet lag, as soon I asked him to come over, I could hear him grabbing his PT Cruiser keys.
I offered him Colombian coffee, cheerfully informed him that he looked like crap, and then told him that not only had you and I had been together for several months, I was also pregnant with your baby. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Not pregnant with Daniel’s baby... *your* baby. But you know that. *headdesk* (Another one of Cassie’s - I know you’ll like that one).
Anyway, he was thrilled. Lots of ‘wows’, hugs and dimpled grinning - he reminded me so much of the happy Danny boy after we killed Apophis. That mission where I bit you? Seems like another life now. It was the first time I’d told anyone who was actually pleased for me/us. Having said that - I’d only told three people including him and only two of those knew who the daddy was. He was genuinely joyful. It kinda rubbed off. It was then that I started to get excited about being a mom.
Oh. And he had guessed some time ago that we were together and so did Teal’c. So much for being discrete. We should have told them. And Cassie.
I did stop him then and explained that I’d asked him to come over because a) I had told Landry and Carolyn out of necessity but I wanted someone I loved to be the next to know (I’d have to try and catch up with Mr.T later) and b) I needed to ask his opinion over whether he thought that you would be happy over me carrying on with the pregnancy without you.
He looked at me shrewdly and stated that I already knew the answer to that.
And as with Carolyn earlier, I realized I did.
You do love me.
You would have been surprised but overjoyed about the baby.
You would want me to carry on without you if that’s what I wanted.
And I did.
Pregnant and proud to be so (and just a little bit terrified).
He took me out to Pizza Hut, ordered the largest deep pan Hawaiian they offered, and got me drunk on sparkling water and motherhood.
June 4th 2007
21 weeks. Took a break for a while. The Hermes project is taking up quite a bit of my energy so I’m taking it easy in my downtime.
I’ll carry on. After the day I described up there /|\, I started to sleep a little better. On Sunday Carolyn called me to say that an appointment had been made for me the following Tuesday with the ob-gyn unit at the Academy hospital and that General Landry had come up with an excuse to keep me around the SGC for a week or two rather than go back to Nevada. Monday morning I reported to Cheyenne and tried to make myself useful and avoid Daniel, because he was practically beaming every time he saw me. He suggested coming with me the next day but I declined his offer - if you couldn’t be there, I wanted to do it on my own - does that make sense?
In retrospect, I wish I had said yes to him.
The ob-gyn turned out to be the Harvard med school head honcho - a pinched faced, rat eyed 50-something with a stunning figure and the loveliest smile. Relax, she’s female. She has the highest civilian security clearance, so I take it she’s treated the President, or rather his wife. She read my file and I didn’t have to kill her.
She laid it out straight.
Option #1 - Termination.
Could be done the next day. All goes down a tube the size of my little finger.
No more baby. A quick end to the little problem. All the debilitating symptoms would disappear within a week and I could regain control of my life and volunteer to work on your S&R. WHEN I found you, perhaps I could bring up a discussion about taking things further.
But you know now I couldn’t have gone through with that - Catholic school and hell and damnation aside. I know that you are lapsed, but I also know that you still pray, even it’s just ‘Give Me Strength’ while Daniel is in ‘explaining’ mode.
There is also the point that if you are *not* found, I would have killed the only remaining connection that I have with you. Could I take that responsibility? No. It’s a no.
Option # 2 - Adoption.
I know so many people who have given a home to unwanted children and totally transformed all of their lives. Childless couples finding joy, sad children finding love.
I respect them and admire them. If I was to go through with the pregnancy, could I give up our child at the end of it?
Selfishly (?), no.
I was already becoming very protective over Baby Carter-O’Neill. Who would have thought? I was very happy being childless. I *like* children. I will admit I prefer older children who can interact with me - I haven’t got a clue about babies. It never bothered me that I was nearly 40 and I still hadn’t had the urge to wear smock tops and keep Gummi Bears in my purse. As Ally McBeal would say: 'There is nothing ticking!' I am totally fulfilled with work and my loved ones and friends. I admitted to you when Pete asked me to marry him - would it be irresponsible of me to have a child when my daily work can be so inherently perilous? Anyway, if I thought about the global population crises, the prospect of bringing yet another mouth to feed onto this planet might be construed as somewhat self-centered. But I had *hoped*.
Rat eyes morphed into insightful. Her name is Professor Mary Lucy, by the way. Totally the wrong name for her. She looked at me, diligently taking in all the info she’s throwing out, and when I look up, I know that she knows that I’ve already decided on:
Option #3 - Have the baby, become a mom, get a Toys’R’Us storecard and buy in a whole stash of Gummi Bears.
::raises hand::
What in Netu am I doing?!
She did the same exams that Carolyn had performed. Tummy, armpits, blood pressure. She asked me to wait while she read more about my blood work - a dead Goa’uld protein marker wasn’t something that she had previously come across, but it didn’t daunt her.
She did want a sonogram though. Straightaway.
She called a nurse, asked me to relax on the exam table in her room, and within five minutes I was looking at what I thought was a very fuzzy black and white blob that was supposed to be our child. I couldn’t see anything beating, moving or waving, although Prof-Doc Lucy confirmed the age of the embryo corresponded with my ‘dates’. I’ve heard that bounded about quite a bit. My ‘dates’. My DATES. Hmmm. She provided a photo of said very fuzzy black and white blob that I gazed at for a couple of minutes until I realized that she was waiting for me to get off her couch and pull my pants up.
Then she started. I was relatively old to be a first time mom. She asked the age of the father and looked serious. My physiology was unusual and excess protein can have damaging effects on a developing embryo. She listed all the common syndromes and disorders associated with older moms. By the time she was finished, I was berating myself for ever even thinking about having sex with anyone, least of all you. But the rabbit had died, no use crying over spilt milk and any other empty clichés you can think of.
She started talking about a screening for abnormalities. I thought she might. She suggested that we start with a nuchal scan (no, I’d never heard of it before either but I’ll explain in a minute). She would have normally performed this in combination with a blood test checking my plasma protein, but of course, Jolinar put paid to that test being viable. Basically, she was going to measure the fluid at the back of the baby’s neck. By combining my age with information from the scan, an individual statistical chance of a chromosome abnormality can be calculated. Sounds so tidy. She also recommended invasive diagnostic tests; an amniocentesis, or a Chorionic Villus Test, but she did warn me that for every 100 women who have these invasive tests from the 11th week in pregnancy, one will miscarry.
Of course, I had the right to refuse all screening and diagnostic tests.
Crap.
I really needed some air at this point.
She then went on to talk about neural tube defects and I’m sorry to say I phased out. Not in as in out of phase like Daniel after his encounter with Quetlezcoatl, but just generally wanted to do the ‘head-in-sand’ thing. By the time she got to the actual birth and all the risks associated with me being over 35 - a greater risk of miscarriage, pre-eclampsia, intervention at the birth, I was feeling rather shaky. But I would like to think I’m not a coward. I’m not denying I get scared crapless on some missions, but it’s how you face up to your fear, isn’t it? I squared my shoulders, thanked for her information and asked for the nuchal scan.
She seemed to be pleased at that and disappeared for a few minutes. I fiddled with my out-of-control hair (it’s got a mind of it’s own at the moment) and tried to read my upside down notes. I was just getting my cell phone out to have a sneaky switch-on when back came Mary Lucy and asked me to comw with.
Huh? Oh. She’s performing the scan now. Oh.
I trot behind like a 7th-grader following their Principal to a new imaging suite. When I realize that it’s built with some of the Asgardian technology that I helped to backward-engineer, I sputter out a giggle. Mary Lucy looks at me. I guess she’s wondering if it’s just pregnancy hysteria or if I should be in the psych. wing with those nice white jackets that do up at the back.
I’m asked to drink 62 gallons of water. Well, not quite, it just felt like it.
They do the scan. This time I get a fantastic image of Baby. Jack, I saw the facial features, the little hands (just two, you’ll be glad to know), and two legs with two feet and two heads. Ha. Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Just the one head, with what looks like your petulant chin. Doc tells me the kiddo is fully formed with all the essential organs, and that some of them are beginning to function for themselves. Isn’t that amazing? When I acknowledge that I had briefly considered abortion, it was very hard to squash down the emotions to avoid being a sobbing wreck. Again.
She analyses some measurements taken from the nuchal scan and it’s quiet for a bit while she taps the figures into a laptop.
Prof Lucy informs me that with the information that she has, there is a 1 in 15 chance that the baby may have Down’s Syndrome. I was actually quite calm; I was expecting this. She states that the only way to know for sure is to perform an invasive test; an amniocentesis or a Chorionic Villus Test (a CVT - like we could do with more three-letter acronyms). And yes, there is a risk of miscarriage.
More options.
Option #1 - I don’t have the invasive tests. I carry on with the pregnancy. Later scans might show up the physiological markers associated with certain genetic syndromes and disorders and if that happens, more informed decisions can be made.
Option #2 - I wait three more weeks for a standard amniocentesis. That test seems to carry less of a risk of spontaneous miscarriage than a CVT, but the results take a further two weeks to come through.
Option #3 - The CVT. It could be done the next day. Although it’s risky, the results could be ready in days, but this is not as comprehensive as an amniocentesis and won’t show up neural tube defects (like Spina Bifida).
There is a 4th. Prof Mary Lucy has performed hundreds of amniocentesis procedures. She herself is confident that she could obtain viable results at 13 weeks - I’d only have to wait less than two weeks to have the test and another two to get the results. She would also check the heart function. I trust her. And everyone says pregnancy is a waiting game, don’t they? I say yes to #4.
Then of course, I need to have decided what I’m going to do about the baby if it is shown to have a problem. I can’t have the tests and not have thought about what I’d do with the information. But then, if I decided that I would carry on anyway, why would I opt for a procedure that may kill the baby? To be informed, that’s why. Intel.
I thanked the Professor, made it along the interstate without barfing and spent most of the night researching on the Internet.
Wrung out much? Oh, yeah.
Determined? Yes.
Decided if I will keep the baby if it has a birth defect? God forgive me, no.
By the way, I got told the sex. Would you want to know?
Sam
xxxxxx
Part Two - Without swearing or blasphemy
May 24th 2007
I read over what I’ve written.
It sorta makes sense. Kinda.
Do you understand?
Do you get it so far?
You left me in such a mess, I hate you.
May 25th 2007
Jack, I’m so sorry that I said all that.
My hormones are all over the place.
Please forgive me.
I can’t stop crying.
Sam
xxxxxxxxxx
May 28th 2007
I’ve had a couple of days to pull myself together and I apologize for what I said on the 24th.
I feel as though I owe you a mature and considered explanation, but suffice it to say that I was SO DAMN ANGRY with you for getting yourself captured but I know I have no right when we’ve both spent most of our adult lives putting ourselves in danger for what we believe in. You more than me, I guess.
I did consider deleting the entry... but then I suppose that would defeat the object of getting all this down and out?
I’m now 18 weeks pregnant.
I’m showing (a little, anyway) and I can feel the baby moving.
Alive.
It’s time to acknowledge the past and get on with it.
Your Sam.
May 28th (Later)
Hey, Jack, I thought you might like to know what happened the next day after I confessed to Hank Landry.
First off, the next morning, a slice of dry toast was half way to my mouth in my kitchen when I get a call from him to say that the S&R was a failure - false intel. Dead end. Brick wall. Another bone crushing disappointment.
And then he told me Carolyn Lam was on her way to my house. I guess I’m not getting away with that doctor’s appointment - house calls ‘r’ us.
By the time I'd changed into sweat pants, Carolyn is banging on my door with a non-plussed look on her face. Credit to Hank, he asked her to call, but he didn’t say what was up with me. I could have said you had been up with me, but then that would be a tasteless joke ;-D (Another one of Cassie’s Smileys - tilt your head sideways to get it).
Confessing to a second person was way easier than the first, and, well, Carolyn is my doctor, even if she is Landry’s daughter.
She was completely professional - has been all along, actually. She didn’t judge me over an unplanned pregnancy or condemn (I nearly typed ‘condom’ - how’s that for a Freudian slip?!) me for delaying seeking medical advice, especially with my interesting National Enquirer blood work. She provided Kleenex when the waterworks started again. Honestly, you’d think that I’d have no fluid *left* in my body.
Do you want to know about the exam? There’s not much to tell - I relaxed on my own bed while Carolyn took my pulse and blood pressure and then she felt my tummy and under my armpits (I’m like: I’m not pregnant up *there*). She asked about the pregnancy tests that I had taken and calmly told me that yes, I probably was pregnant. ‘Probably’? When I asked her if she was going to do a test, she said, what’s the point - the drugstore tests were just as good as the ones she used and she hadn’t brought the portable ultrasound. She did however take some blood to check my general health - I admitted that I barfed up almost every day for a month and that I’d lost some weight.
She’d noticed, apparently. Oh well.
We discussed how far along. She asked me about the Lunelle, when my last proper period was, (way back in January!) consulted her diary, and then informed me that I was 11 weeks pregnant. Not nine weeks... eleven weeks. Apparently pregnancy starts from a woman’s last period, not when she actually gets pregnant. Oooo-kay. Eleven weeks already. Verily *whizzing* by.
The baby would be due the last week in October, October 27th to be precise. Then she started to talk about what happens next. She asked if I’d spoken to the father. I said no and nothing else at that point, but I get the feeling she knew who dad was (were we that transparent?) She asked me if I was in anyway unsure about the baby - was I considering termination or adoption? It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I was so busy thinking about being pregnant, I wasn’t sure if I *should* be. I had been waiting for you so that we could make a joint decision. You know, discuss the issue like mature, informed adults and then I would break down sobbing, and beg you to marry me, hehehe.
Seriously, I knew I needed to think about this - taking the decision to go ahead with the pregnancy and face the possibility of raising our child alone. I told Carolyn I hadn’t decided... but you know, as soon as I’d said that, I realized I had - I wanted the child - *our* child so badly, even if you walked through the door now and said you absolutely didn’t want to be a father again, I could NOT have destroyed the little scrap of life that we had (perhaps) carelessly created in a alcohol enhanced, sex-filled evening.
I wish you were here.
How can I think like you? You unique, irascible, dependable, loyal, intelligent, self-effacing, brave, annoying, sexy man. Do you want to be a dad again? Do you want the sleepless nights, the barfing, and all that crying? And that’s just me.
I think that you do.
And after Carolyn left, leaving me to think about things over the weekend, who was I gonna call to sound out? Not Ghostbusters, the next best thing - Daniel Jackson.
May 29th 2007
Me again. Daniel was right, I do feel better getting this down. Clever man is Daniel.
So, keep on trucking...
And speaking of Daniel, yes, I called him. He was still awake after getting Landry’s call about the failed S&R and despite his jet lag, as soon I asked him to come over, I could hear him grabbing his PT Cruiser keys.
I offered him Colombian coffee, cheerfully informed him that he looked like crap, and then told him that not only had you and I had been together for several months, I was also pregnant with your baby. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Not pregnant with Daniel’s baby... *your* baby. But you know that. *headdesk* (Another one of Cassie’s - I know you’ll like that one).
Anyway, he was thrilled. Lots of ‘wows’, hugs and dimpled grinning - he reminded me so much of the happy Danny boy after we killed Apophis. That mission where I bit you? Seems like another life now. It was the first time I’d told anyone who was actually pleased for me/us. Having said that - I’d only told three people including him and only two of those knew who the daddy was. He was genuinely joyful. It kinda rubbed off. It was then that I started to get excited about being a mom.
Oh. And he had guessed some time ago that we were together and so did Teal’c. So much for being discrete. We should have told them. And Cassie.
I did stop him then and explained that I’d asked him to come over because a) I had told Landry and Carolyn out of necessity but I wanted someone I loved to be the next to know (I’d have to try and catch up with Mr.T later) and b) I needed to ask his opinion over whether he thought that you would be happy over me carrying on with the pregnancy without you.
He looked at me shrewdly and stated that I already knew the answer to that.
And as with Carolyn earlier, I realized I did.
You do love me.
You would have been surprised but overjoyed about the baby.
You would want me to carry on without you if that’s what I wanted.
And I did.
Pregnant and proud to be so (and just a little bit terrified).
He took me out to Pizza Hut, ordered the largest deep pan Hawaiian they offered, and got me drunk on sparkling water and motherhood.
June 4th 2007
21 weeks. Took a break for a while. The Hermes project is taking up quite a bit of my energy so I’m taking it easy in my downtime.
I’ll carry on. After the day I described up there /|\, I started to sleep a little better. On Sunday Carolyn called me to say that an appointment had been made for me the following Tuesday with the ob-gyn unit at the Academy hospital and that General Landry had come up with an excuse to keep me around the SGC for a week or two rather than go back to Nevada. Monday morning I reported to Cheyenne and tried to make myself useful and avoid Daniel, because he was practically beaming every time he saw me. He suggested coming with me the next day but I declined his offer - if you couldn’t be there, I wanted to do it on my own - does that make sense?
In retrospect, I wish I had said yes to him.
The ob-gyn turned out to be the Harvard med school head honcho - a pinched faced, rat eyed 50-something with a stunning figure and the loveliest smile. Relax, she’s female. She has the highest civilian security clearance, so I take it she’s treated the President, or rather his wife. She read my file and I didn’t have to kill her.
She laid it out straight.
Option #1 - Termination.
Could be done the next day. All goes down a tube the size of my little finger.
No more baby. A quick end to the little problem. All the debilitating symptoms would disappear within a week and I could regain control of my life and volunteer to work on your S&R. WHEN I found you, perhaps I could bring up a discussion about taking things further.
But you know now I couldn’t have gone through with that - Catholic school and hell and damnation aside. I know that you are lapsed, but I also know that you still pray, even it’s just ‘Give Me Strength’ while Daniel is in ‘explaining’ mode.
There is also the point that if you are *not* found, I would have killed the only remaining connection that I have with you. Could I take that responsibility? No. It’s a no.
Option # 2 - Adoption.
I know so many people who have given a home to unwanted children and totally transformed all of their lives. Childless couples finding joy, sad children finding love.
I respect them and admire them. If I was to go through with the pregnancy, could I give up our child at the end of it?
Selfishly (?), no.
I was already becoming very protective over Baby Carter-O’Neill. Who would have thought? I was very happy being childless. I *like* children. I will admit I prefer older children who can interact with me - I haven’t got a clue about babies. It never bothered me that I was nearly 40 and I still hadn’t had the urge to wear smock tops and keep Gummi Bears in my purse. As Ally McBeal would say: 'There is nothing ticking!' I am totally fulfilled with work and my loved ones and friends. I admitted to you when Pete asked me to marry him - would it be irresponsible of me to have a child when my daily work can be so inherently perilous? Anyway, if I thought about the global population crises, the prospect of bringing yet another mouth to feed onto this planet might be construed as somewhat self-centered. But I had *hoped*.
Rat eyes morphed into insightful. Her name is Professor Mary Lucy, by the way. Totally the wrong name for her. She looked at me, diligently taking in all the info she’s throwing out, and when I look up, I know that she knows that I’ve already decided on:
Option #3 - Have the baby, become a mom, get a Toys’R’Us storecard and buy in a whole stash of Gummi Bears.
::raises hand::
What in Netu am I doing?!
She did the same exams that Carolyn had performed. Tummy, armpits, blood pressure. She asked me to wait while she read more about my blood work - a dead Goa’uld protein marker wasn’t something that she had previously come across, but it didn’t daunt her.
She did want a sonogram though. Straightaway.
She called a nurse, asked me to relax on the exam table in her room, and within five minutes I was looking at what I thought was a very fuzzy black and white blob that was supposed to be our child. I couldn’t see anything beating, moving or waving, although Prof-Doc Lucy confirmed the age of the embryo corresponded with my ‘dates’. I’ve heard that bounded about quite a bit. My ‘dates’. My DATES. Hmmm. She provided a photo of said very fuzzy black and white blob that I gazed at for a couple of minutes until I realized that she was waiting for me to get off her couch and pull my pants up.
Then she started. I was relatively old to be a first time mom. She asked the age of the father and looked serious. My physiology was unusual and excess protein can have damaging effects on a developing embryo. She listed all the common syndromes and disorders associated with older moms. By the time she was finished, I was berating myself for ever even thinking about having sex with anyone, least of all you. But the rabbit had died, no use crying over spilt milk and any other empty clichés you can think of.
She started talking about a screening for abnormalities. I thought she might. She suggested that we start with a nuchal scan (no, I’d never heard of it before either but I’ll explain in a minute). She would have normally performed this in combination with a blood test checking my plasma protein, but of course, Jolinar put paid to that test being viable. Basically, she was going to measure the fluid at the back of the baby’s neck. By combining my age with information from the scan, an individual statistical chance of a chromosome abnormality can be calculated. Sounds so tidy. She also recommended invasive diagnostic tests; an amniocentesis, or a Chorionic Villus Test, but she did warn me that for every 100 women who have these invasive tests from the 11th week in pregnancy, one will miscarry.
Of course, I had the right to refuse all screening and diagnostic tests.
Crap.
I really needed some air at this point.
She then went on to talk about neural tube defects and I’m sorry to say I phased out. Not in as in out of phase like Daniel after his encounter with Quetlezcoatl, but just generally wanted to do the ‘head-in-sand’ thing. By the time she got to the actual birth and all the risks associated with me being over 35 - a greater risk of miscarriage, pre-eclampsia, intervention at the birth, I was feeling rather shaky. But I would like to think I’m not a coward. I’m not denying I get scared crapless on some missions, but it’s how you face up to your fear, isn’t it? I squared my shoulders, thanked for her information and asked for the nuchal scan.
She seemed to be pleased at that and disappeared for a few minutes. I fiddled with my out-of-control hair (it’s got a mind of it’s own at the moment) and tried to read my upside down notes. I was just getting my cell phone out to have a sneaky switch-on when back came Mary Lucy and asked me to come with.
Huh? Oh. She’s performing the scan now. Oh.
I trot behind like a 7th-grader following their Principal to a new imaging suite. When I realize that it’s built with some of the Asgardian technology that I helped to backward-engineer, I sputter out a giggle. Mary Lucy looks at me. I guess she’s wondering if it’s just pregnancy hysteria or if I should be in the psych. wing with those nice white jackets that do up at the back.
I’m asked to drink 62 gallons of water. Well, not quite, it just felt like it.
They do the scan. This time I get a fantastic image of Baby. Jack, I saw the facial features, the little hands (just two, you’ll be glad to know), and two legs with two feet and two heads. Ha. Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Just the one head, with what looks like your petulant chin. Doc tells me the kiddo is fully formed with all the essential organs, and that some of them are beginning to function for themselves. Isn’t that amazing? When I acknowledge that I had briefly considered abortion, it was very hard to squash down the emotions to avoid being a sobbing wreck. Again.
She analyses some measurements taken from the nuchal scan and it’s quiet for a bit while she taps the figures into a laptop.
Prof Lucy informs me that with the information that she has, there is a 1 in 15 chance that the baby may have Down’s Syndrome. I was actually quite calm; I was expecting this. She states that the only way to know for sure is to perform an invasive test; an amniocentesis or a Chorionic Villus Test (a CVT - like we could do with more three-letter acronyms). And yes, there is a risk of miscarriage.
More options.
Option #1 - I don’t have the invasive tests. I carry on with the pregnancy. Later scans might show up the physiological markers associated with certain genetic syndromes and disorders and if that happens, more informed decisions can be made.
Option #2 - I wait three more weeks for a standard amniocentesis. That test seems to carry less of a risk of spontaneous miscarriage than a CVT, but the results take a further two weeks to come through.
Option #3 - The CVT. It could be done the next day. Although it’s risky, the results could be ready in days, but this is not as comprehensive as an amniocentesis and won’t show up neural tube defects (like Spina Bifida).
There is a 4th. Prof Mary Lucy has performed hundreds of amniocentesis procedures. She herself is confident that she could obtain viable results at 13 weeks - I’d only have to wait less than two weeks to have the test and another two to get the results. She would also check the heart function. I trust her. And everyone says pregnancy is a waiting game, don’t they? I say yes to #4.
Then of course, I need to have decided what I’m going to do about the baby if it is shown to have a problem. I can’t have the tests and not have thought about what I’d do with the information. But then, if I decided that I would carry on anyway, why would I opt for a procedure that may kill the baby? To be informed, that’s why. Intel.
I thanked the Professor, made it along the interstate without barfing and spent most of the night researching on the Internet.
Wrung out much? Oh, yeah.
Determined? Yes.
Decided if I will keep the baby if it has a birth defect? Please forgive me, no.
By the way, I got told the sex. Would you want to know?
Sam
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