I hate pregnancy. HATE it.

On Friday night, I noticed that I didn’t feel my usual mild queasiness before bedtime. Yay, right? Then on Saturday, I noticed my breast tenderness wasn’t as bad. Hmm. By Sunday night, with no queasiness and almost no breast tenderness left at all, I was in a panic. Nine and a half weeks seems a bit early for symptoms to go away, even if they were mild to begin with.

I called my doctor’s office this morning and explained that my symptoms had faded over the weekend. The doctor wasn’t in, but the receptionist promised to make my chart a top priority when she arrived. Trying to console me, she added, “Your ultrasound looked good.”

But trying to tell a pregnant woman with a history of two miscarriages not to worry is, while well-intentioned, a total waste of time.

“I had a missed miscarriage last fall,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m sort of freaking out.”

The doctor called me back in the afternoon; she wasn’t concerned, although she understood why I was. She did not think an ultrasound was indicated but would schedule one if I wanted. “The problem is that we’ve already done one early ultrasound, so your insurance may not cover another one.”

They probably won’t, according to the woman I spoke with at our insurance company. Unless it is medically necessary—which it’s not, since (thank God) I’m not experiencing bleeding or pain—this would be coming out of our pocket to the tune of nearly $200.

I thought it over. I called George at work to discuss it (he said he would support whatever decision I made). Then I resigned myself to be brave and wait it out.

My courage lasted about five whole minutes.

I set up an ultrasound for tomorrow afternoon.

I’ve tried to be strong, but God help me, there is only so much one person can take. I just… need to know.

Comments are turned off because I hope that by this time tomorrow, we are all having a good laugh about my silly (and expensive) paranoia.