Why are ultrasound female examinations not being fused? Why am I not hesitant about my doctor's advice when offering a professional 3D radiology colleague?About a month ago, I participated in a lecture by Bori Hoppl, a body-conscious body called "Live by heart," where an interesting story immediately captured my imagination. Bori talked about a mother with many children (maybe 6?) Whose first couple got pregnant without the technical miracle called ultrasound, and later gave her the opportunity to use this tool to create the inside world. However, the mother was confused when faced with the phenomenon. Formerly, she was expecting her children to be abundantly imaginative, with whom she communicated, talked, and actually only saw them at birth.
Fifty shades of gray
In the midst of listening to the story, at this point, I felt some warmth and a sense of familiarity, and I remembered that ultrasound examination of the cuneiform had given me a strange duplicity so far. On the one hand, of course, I owe it to medical science that, for example, it has come to light immediately that the monitor is not exhausting, and that we have lost everything in our childhood.
The other side of the finger, however, is that, on the dry medical facts above, these ultrasound images have never made me flush. A gray guy who quickly learns how to unbutton it with a little routine. Things look alien. And by the end of week 16, I didn't understand what I had over this strange "control" of the crafted diagnostics.
Indoor cinema instead of baby cinema
During that period of pregnancy, I first felt a little movement, and from there we started to have a steady, steady communication that goes on every day, wherever I am. Despite the fact that in the past I have given up all my yoga-related concerns (I couldn't put my thoughts in a jealousy, even though I was trying to get my best shape in between), do it - right from the start. And some of these other examinations - which, perhaps, medically, are supposed to keep us in contact - blur the importance of one moment at a time.
So even though I've learned the small physical extent of it, I know the frostbite is out, the fruit is out there, nothing else has any meaning to show me on the monitor. After all, we are waking up to the need to pee again, and we are both looking forward to the next change when my stomach is upset. I would suffer if I had a bit harder time getting into my climbing or climbing hills and at the same time relaxing when relaxed music in the lane or dad's hands on my stomach when dawn.
And in such a continuous co-hypothesis, coming up with a big genetic ultrasound at week 20 brings a whole new sensation to a mother: the moment I feel the gel on my stomach, it's not a routine check, but it is. Listen to it, of course I calm down when I hear good news, I like to listen to my voice, but I know that whatever the doctor says, I don't care. Because I was just about to be dropped when we were tuning into one another in continuous indoor cinema? And have I ever had thoughts that if I was sick I wouldn't keep it? I'm not even up there lying on the table, and most of all this is why my eyes are narrow, not least because I almost know myself dipping my butt over the probe when I scrub my foot.
That same day, we have dinner with Dad, who stops by two cubes of soup and asks me what would have happened if the ultrasound showed something wrong. I tell him with ease that he is ours, and I wouldn't give anyone any money. And he says quietly that we never talked about this before, but he does. I reassure myself that I am in the right place, with a good person and carrying my child under my heart.
We continue our lunch in happiness and continue to give him a few days to get a glow from my morning gymnastics on the belly creature across my stomach.
We are in the movie.
You can read the previous part of the article series here.