Weird Pregnancy Symptoms. Is It Possible To Be Pregnant With No Symptoms. Thyroid Malfunction Symptoms.
Weird Pregnancy Symptoms
- Pregnancy is the carrying of one or more offspring, known as a fetus or embryo, inside the womb of a female. In a pregnancy, there can be multiple gestations, as in the case of twins or triplets. Human pregnancy is the most studied of all mammalian pregnancies.
- Refers to the events or changes in a womans body that identify that she is pregnant. Some pregnancy symptoms include: absent menstruation, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, sore or tender breasts etc.
- Very strange; bizarre
- Connected with fate
- strikingly odd or unusual; "some trick of the moonlight; some weird effect of shadow"- Bram Stoker
- Suggesting something supernatural; uncanny
- eldritch: suggesting the operation of supernatural influences; "an eldritch screech"; "the three weird sisters"; "stumpshad uncanny shapes as of monstrous creatures"- John Galsworthy; "an unearthly light"; "he could hear the unearthly scream of some curlew piercing the din"- Henry Kingsley
- Wyrd: fate personified; any one of the three Weird Sisters
weird pregnancy symptoms - WEIRD: Because
WEIRD: Because Normal Isn't Working
Normal people are stressed, overwhelmed, and exhausted. Many of their relationships are, at best, strained and, in most cases, just surviving. Even though we live in one of the most prosperous places on earth, normal is still living paycheck to paycheck and never getting ahead. In our oversexed world, lust, premarital sex, guilt, and shame are far more common than purity, virginity, and a healthy married sex life. And when it comes to God, the majority believe in him, but the teachings of scripture rarely make it into their everyday lives. Simply put, normal isn't working. Groeschel's WEIRD views will help you break free from the norm to lead a radically abnormal (and endlessly more fulfilling) life.78%
World's Weirdest Night
Ridiculously long but I had to get it all down: I've been feeling a bit breathless and have been having a few chest pains for a couple of weeks so I thought whilst Finlay was at preschool I would just go to my GP to get my blood pressure checked. Blood pressure fine... but he was really quite concerned so he sent me for bloods there and then and told me to come in the next morning to discuss the results. At about 5pm that evening I got a rather panicked message from the duty doctor saying the results had come back positive for potential blood clots and could I come and see him right now. Luckily Jonny had just got home from school and we were at our friend's house so they had Finlay whilst we went to the doctors. The doctor said that my blood results had come back Very Positive for clotting and they wanted to rule out pulmonary embolism. He spoke to the hospital and said I had to go up there right away. So, up to the hospital, arrived at the Medical Assessment Unit at about 7pm. Waited. Blood pressure taken. Waited. Nurse sent me down in a wheelchair to have a chest x-ray. Radiographer looked me up and down and said "oh, are you pregnant?" - just a bit; 33 weeks. She said it was probably fine to do an x-ray, she'd just be really careful. Back to the ward. Back to the horrible uncomfortable chairs, surrounded by Very Ill people wheezing and moaning and rattling. Waited more. Finally got given a bed so I could be more comfortable. This was the bed. Waited some more. Eventually at I suppose about 1.30am a doctor came to see me and explained that they were concerned about clotting, PE, but that the breathlessness and chest pains and even the Very Postivie blood result were probably just pregnancy symptoms but they obviously had to rule anything out. He said that they don't like to x-ray women in pregnancy because it can cause malformations. I told him I'd already had an x-ray. He looked very surprised. Great. So not what you want to hear. He said that I would probably need to have a daily injection in my stomach of a blood thinning drug until I give birth. And I would also need to have a CT or VQ scan to check my lungs for any clotting. I was finally able to go home after having an injections at 3am but told to be back to see the consultant at 8am. So, Jonny went to our friend's and slept with Finlay whilst I stayed at home. Went over there at 7am, so lovely to see Finn, left him again to go up to the hospital. Got to the hospital at 8am as requested. Waited. Seen at about 9.30am. I had just been crying when a consultant and 4 other doctors came in and closed the curtain around my little bed. He pretty much said the same as the doctor the night before but said the VQ scan would be on Wednesday so I would need daily injections until then. This might not bother some people but it REALLY bothers me; I am not keen on injections let alone them being into my tummy and let alone the fact that they really really sting for ages after. The thought of it every day for the next 6 weeks terrifies me. We were finally able to go home at about 1pm. It was just the weirdest night. I didn't expect any of it. It went from just wanting to get my blood pressure checked to being in a noisy cold ward at 2 o clock in the morning. So, I have a VQ scan on Wednesday morning and if that is all clear then it's done. But if I show any clotting on my lungs at all then it will be regular monitoring and daily injections. I want to get off now, this isn't fun any more.
May 8th - Knit One, Birth One
Midwives are no longer allowed to bring placentas into classrooms to show students - I have absolutely no idea why. Now they bring felted/knitted versions. They're really fucking weird, like a vascular Tam O'Shanter. The midwife who comes in is quite clearly the best lecturer we've had all course. The vast majority of the other have been proficient and pleasant, though some have slouched in their chairs and exited the building at such a rate it was hard to convince ourselves that they were in anyway interested in actually teaching. This lady, however, was fabulous. Energetic, relaxed, funny, knowledgeable and honest. She was also fiercely pro-green suit, bigging us up at every opportunity - "I'm not going to insult you by telling you how to resuscitate people, you're paramedics". The issue of absent midwives on the road raised its head repeatedly. Our lecturer was passionate about giving us the straight dope on pre-hospital obstetrics. Stingray was concerned, as we all were, and asked if, perhaps, the local GP could be called in to assist? "GP?!" she exploded, "A bloody GP?! Don't even THINK about it! You are BETTER than GPs at delivering babies." Cool. :) She mentions a physiological phenomenon that presents just before birth - I've always known that a symptom of imminenf birth is "anal pouting" - but this lady introduced us to "anal winking" as well. If I'd known that my obstetrics training would involve getting the come-on from a stranger's poopy pipe? I may have reconsidered. The lesson is intensive and fast, we all know how to handle a normal, healthy birth, so this is nothing but pathology, a rapid list of terrifying situations and the skills needed to manage them, her handheld slide advancer clicks like a panicked Geiger counter. Children are born backwards, with trailing limbs, toxic liqour in their lungs. Mothers' organs tear themselves apart, massively increased blood volumes pour into body cavities and down their legs. Our lecturer trips between being a health professional and an expert in the human angle of her skill. "Women will clean themselves up before calling you, they'll wipe their legs down, they'll be embarassed. It won't look as bad as you might expect - there might not be any blood at all. But look at their toes. There isn't a woman on this planet with the mental stability to scrub between her toes when she's scared she's bleeding to death." We're taught to push twisted babies around inside the womb, to understand why handling a cord is a bad thing, to appreciate how the simplest gesture (like wiping shit off a baby's bum as it's born) can have devastating effects. We are interlopers in the most natural procedure on earth, frighteningly necessary, dramatically redundant. She hands us a blank maternal record so we can be familiar with its layout, we now know enough to NEED to know the pregnancy's history. There's a box at the bottom - "If you have any cultural needs (dress, certain people to be present, ceremonies), please let your midwife know and we will accommodate you." See if I was having a baby? I'd be writing in that box - "In my religion, people who are present at births must all be dressed as Imperial Stormtroopers." It's maybe just as well I'm a man...
weird pregnancy symptoms
'I CAPTURE THE CASTLE meets THE VIRGIN SUICIDES. An eccentric and totally irresistible read' Glamour Rosalind. Bianca. Cordelia. The Weird Sisters. Rose always first, Bean never first, Cordy always last. The history of our trinity is fractious -- a constantly shifting dividing line, never equal, never equitable. Two against one, or three opposed, but never all together. Our estrangement is not drama-laden -- we have not betrayed one another's trust, we have not stolen lovers or fought over money or property or any of the things that irreparably break families apart. The answer, for us, is much simpler. See, we love each other. We just don't happen to like each other very much.
Amazon Best Books of the Month, January 2011: The Weird Sisters in Eleanor Brown's delightful debut could have been weirder, considering their upbringing. Their professor father spoke primarily in Shakespearean verse, and while other kids in the bucolic Midwestern college town of Barnwell checked the TV lineup, the Andreas girls lined up their library books. They buried themselves in books so completely that while they loved each other, they never learned to like each other much. And when adulthood arrived and they pursued separate destinies, each felt out of step with the world. When news of their mother's cancer makes a terribly convenient excuse for attention-hog Bean (Bianca) and Cordy (Cordelia), the “baby” who always got off easy, to boomerang back to Barnwell from New York and New Mexico, respectively, they return bearing the guilt (and consequences) of embezzlement and pregnancy-by-random-painter. They're most terrified of admitting these failures to Rose (Rosalind), the responsible eldest, who stayed in Barnwell to teach Math and cling to her caretaker-martyr role. With lively dialogue and witty collective narration, the sisters' untangling of their identities and relationships feels honest and wise, and the questions they raise about how we carry our childhood roles into our adult lives will resonate with all readers, especially those with their own weird sisters. --Mari Malcolm