Readers, I had one of the scariest experiences of my life yesterday morning.
My family and I were heading down to church for our son's Sunday school class. I was driving my minivan (as I always do), Super Man was in the passenger seat and Super Girl was in back with Super Boy. We were about halfway to our church, ON A BRIDGE, when all of a sudden I felt light-headed, hot & sweaty, and definitely NOT well. I turned off the heat in the van, opened my window and tried to see if that would help. My light-headedness was getting worse and my vision was getting blotchy. I had just enough time to say to Super Man, "I don't feel right - I think I'm going to pass out," pull the van as far to the right as possible, throw it into "park" and hit the button to turn my hazards on before I PASSED OUT.
From the time I started feeling not right to the time I passed out was maybe 90 seconds.
Next thing I knew, I felt like I was just waking up and I could hear Super Man saying my name over and over and over. When I opened my eyes, he was holding my face in his hands, looking very concerned. I asked, "What happened?" Honestly, I thought I had just closed my eyes for a minute to rest and cool off once I'd pulled over. Super Man told me I had passed out, and was out for about 45 seconds. I couldn't believe it. In the meantime, the kids were freaking out in the back, and I could hear Super Girl telling 911 that it was a false alarm and I was okay. Can you say, "HOLY CRAP???"
I sat there in disbelief for a few minutes while Super Man made me drink from my ever-present bottle of ice water. My hands were shaking like crazy, my face was a little sweaty and I was sure I was very pale, and I suddenly felt really cold. We sat there, blocking the right lane on the bridge, until I felt well enough to drive to the nearest turn so Super Man could take the wheel. Needless to say, I was - and remain - scared to drive after that happened. I mean, think about it: I had my entire family in my car with me, ON A BRIDGE, and I passed out while driving. THANK GOD a million times over that I had enough time to process what was happening, pull over and park the car before I lost consciousness. I shudder to think of what could've happened if I'd still had the car in "drive" when it happened. I could've killed my family, or someone else's family. NOT a good situation, no matter how you slice it.
When we got the car off the road and switched places, Super Man called my OB's office to ask whether he should take me to the hospital or not. Of course, being a Sunday, we got the answering service and had to wait for the on-call OB to call us back. In the meantime, I drank my ice water, sucked on a mint I had in the car (in case it happened to be hypoglycemia), and made DH and the kids tell me exactly what happened after I parked the car and passed out.
Apparently, I was out for about 45 seconds. In that time, I literally slumped in my seat and the reason Super Man was holding my face was that it sounded like I was having trouble breathing being slumped as I was. My skin got clammy and pale, and Super Man said he was repeating my name the entire time trying to get me to come around. He could tell when I was almost there because my breathing got quieter and more normal, and then it was like I just woke up.
Super Man said he couldn't believe how lucky we ALL were that I was able to stop the car before I passed out. I was thinking the same thing.
He started driving, heading toward the hospital near our house, when the OB on-call called us back. Super Man spoke to him for a few minutes, and then the doctor wanted to speak to me. I told him what happened, and explained that in the middle of the night before, I'd woken up around 2:45am with a stomachache and spent about a half-hour in the bathroom with diarrhea, then had trouble falling back asleep, but I felt okay in the morning. I had eaten a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. The doctor wasn't overly concerned about me passing out, and chalked it up to dehydration from my middle-of-the-night bathroom situation the night before, assuming I hadn't rehydrated enough afterwards. He also said it could've been the position of the baby, maybe resting on a crucial bit of my vascular system and causing the drop in blood pressure. He asked how my appointments have gone so far, and if I've had any issues with diabetes or blood pressure and I said no -- all of my appointments have gone great, and all my vitals and tests have been normal. So, no tests this time, but he said if it happens again, to call and they'll probably want to run a few tests. He told me to go home, drink sports drinks and water and get some rest. So I did.
But now I'm afraid to drive. At least alone, or with Super Boy. What if it happens again? Then again, I know that I can't NOT drive. Super Man works an hour away; he works long hours; he travels for work. I HAVE TO drive. Super Boy has to get to school and to activities, we need groceries and other things, etc. I think I'll feel a lot better once I can get through a few weeks without any more fainting issues.
It was just so bizarre. I never fainted while pregnant with Super Boy. I don't even remember ever feeling dizzy with him, beyond a little light-headedness if I stood up too fast or something. This happened so out-of-the-blue, with so little warning, that it just surprised the heck out of me. I'm just praying it won't happen again.
Have any of you had issues with fainting while pregnant? Anyone ever fainted while DRIVING while pregnant?
Stay safe, friends, and be well!
Your grateful friend SW
Monday, January 24, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
in your shoes
One of the blogs I've checked regularly throughout our struggle to conceive is "999 Reasons to Laugh at Infertility", which I also "like" on Facebook. This morning on Facebook they posted a challenge to infertiles not to glare at pregnant women today. I could SO relate to the sentiment, having lived it for all four and a half years we tried for this baby - particularly in the weeks after my miscarriage last spring, when it seemed like literally every female I encountered EVERY DAMN PLACE I WENT was ripe with child, like the Universe was bent on torturing me.
Of course, I always felt bad for feeling so resentful of the pregnant women who crossed my path, particularly since several of them are friends who just happened to get pregnant (one or more times!) in the time it's taken us to conceive this baby. Yes, there is guilt and remorse in my heart for that, as I am sure there is in the heart of every other woman who has struggled with infertility of any kind who has ever felt hostility and/or resentment towards a pregnant woman. After all, they can't help their condition, whether they were blessed with raging fertility or not. And just because they have what we so desperately want doesn't make them bad people. It makes them just like us -- only luckier.
Having had so much time to think about the issue while we tried, waited and failed to conceive and tried, waited and failed to conceive, I found myself making a very crucial distinction in my head about the pregnant women I encountered. There were those who understood what it was like to be in my shoes, either because they themselves had dealt with infertility at some point or they were close to someone else who had, who were gentle in sharing their news, truly seemed to be grateful for their condition, and never seemed to be flaunting it in my presence. And then there were those who were completely clueless, who knew what we were going through and still felt it was appropriate to talk about how "fortunate" they were to be so fertile, to get pregnant on the first try with all their children (or, better yet, to get pregnant even when they WEREN'T trying), and who had the gall to complain about being pregnant or pregnancy side effects every time they crossed my path, not getting at all that I would've gladly given my left nut if I'd had one to be in their shoes any day, any time. I found I could tolerate being in the presence of the former. But I would do whatever it took to avoid being in the presence of the latter.
So, as I sit here almost 22 weeks pregnant, I want to tell all of those reading this who are still waiting for their miracle that I understand what you're going through. I know every emotion that crosses your mind and your heart when you see my belly, and I know that it's like a knife cutting deep. I know this, and my heart breaks for you because I can remember what that felt like more acutely than you know. I don't think I will ever be able to forget that feeling, having lived with it so deeply and completely for so long. I don't blame you for feeling resentful, for wanting to hate me, for glaring at me, because I know the depth and breadth of your heartache.
Just know this: I am you. Despite my complete and utter joy and excitement over our miracle happening and our dream coming true, I still pray every single day for all of the women and couples who are still suffering, still waiting, still praying, still waiting for their miracle. I don't consider myself removed from where you are; I will never be removed from this experience. I am still with you all, shoulder-to-shoulder, praying for babies for all those who want them with all their hearts. I don't take this pregnancy for granted, I don't feel smug for having achieved it at long last; rather, I am profoundly grateful and humbled and awe-struck beyond words. I thank God every day for finally answering our prayers, and I pray that I will prove myself worthy of my children. I'm still with you, and I will always be with you, belly bump or no.
All I can tell you is this: believe. Believe that it's possible. Believe that the timing just hasn't been right yet. Believe that when it does happen, it's because it was meant to happen then, to give you that specific child. Believe, even if others have given up around you. Just believe in miracles.
With all the love in my heart,
SW
Of course, I always felt bad for feeling so resentful of the pregnant women who crossed my path, particularly since several of them are friends who just happened to get pregnant (one or more times!) in the time it's taken us to conceive this baby. Yes, there is guilt and remorse in my heart for that, as I am sure there is in the heart of every other woman who has struggled with infertility of any kind who has ever felt hostility and/or resentment towards a pregnant woman. After all, they can't help their condition, whether they were blessed with raging fertility or not. And just because they have what we so desperately want doesn't make them bad people. It makes them just like us -- only luckier.
Having had so much time to think about the issue while we tried, waited and failed to conceive and tried, waited and failed to conceive, I found myself making a very crucial distinction in my head about the pregnant women I encountered. There were those who understood what it was like to be in my shoes, either because they themselves had dealt with infertility at some point or they were close to someone else who had, who were gentle in sharing their news, truly seemed to be grateful for their condition, and never seemed to be flaunting it in my presence. And then there were those who were completely clueless, who knew what we were going through and still felt it was appropriate to talk about how "fortunate" they were to be so fertile, to get pregnant on the first try with all their children (or, better yet, to get pregnant even when they WEREN'T trying), and who had the gall to complain about being pregnant or pregnancy side effects every time they crossed my path, not getting at all that I would've gladly given my left nut if I'd had one to be in their shoes any day, any time. I found I could tolerate being in the presence of the former. But I would do whatever it took to avoid being in the presence of the latter.
So, as I sit here almost 22 weeks pregnant, I want to tell all of those reading this who are still waiting for their miracle that I understand what you're going through. I know every emotion that crosses your mind and your heart when you see my belly, and I know that it's like a knife cutting deep. I know this, and my heart breaks for you because I can remember what that felt like more acutely than you know. I don't think I will ever be able to forget that feeling, having lived with it so deeply and completely for so long. I don't blame you for feeling resentful, for wanting to hate me, for glaring at me, because I know the depth and breadth of your heartache.
Just know this: I am you. Despite my complete and utter joy and excitement over our miracle happening and our dream coming true, I still pray every single day for all of the women and couples who are still suffering, still waiting, still praying, still waiting for their miracle. I don't consider myself removed from where you are; I will never be removed from this experience. I am still with you all, shoulder-to-shoulder, praying for babies for all those who want them with all their hearts. I don't take this pregnancy for granted, I don't feel smug for having achieved it at long last; rather, I am profoundly grateful and humbled and awe-struck beyond words. I thank God every day for finally answering our prayers, and I pray that I will prove myself worthy of my children. I'm still with you, and I will always be with you, belly bump or no.
All I can tell you is this: believe. Believe that it's possible. Believe that the timing just hasn't been right yet. Believe that when it does happen, it's because it was meant to happen then, to give you that specific child. Believe, even if others have given up around you. Just believe in miracles.
With all the love in my heart,
SW
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
remembering
Well, the day I had been dreading came and went without much fuss, although it was certainly on my mind from the moment I woke up until the moment I fell asleep. Still, it was hard to feel the crushing sadness and disappointment I might have otherwise felt given where I am right now.
The due date for my April 2010 pregnancy that didn't make it was 01/01/11.
Prior to conceiving the baby girl I'm carrying now, I eyed the end of my calendar with wariness, dreading the year coming to a close and bringing that painful reminder with it, especially because I had looked at that due date as incredibly auspicious and apropos under the circumstances: entering a new year making a fresh start with a brand new baby. After losing that pregnancy, even just allowing my mind to momentarily alight on that thought was painful enough, much less thinking about living through a whole day of thinking about it.
But then I got pregnant again. And this one stayed. And thrived. And we found out we were expecting a daughter. And there was no going back.
And so, on 01/01/11, instead of wallowing in the depths of despair over my earlier loss, I was marveling in the miracle of this pregnancy, feeling my little girl moving in my swollen belly, knowing that things perhaps didn't turn out the way we had thought they were going to, but they are going to turn out the way they were always meant to.
Yes, I thought of the pregnancy that failed; I said a little prayer of thanks for it, because had it not been for achieving it - albeit briefly - I might've given up on continuing to try. The simple fact that I had achieved pregnancy after so many years of trying was a blessing and fortified me to keep going, gave me faith that we were right to keep trying. And here we are.
Another thought pervaded my mind that day. I thought back to when we tried for Super Boy, and how disappointed I was that we didn't conceive the first two months we tried for him (boy, was that short-sighted of me, given what awaited us when we tried for our second child together!). But then after Super Boy was born and I was marveling over him in all his glory, it occurred to me that if I had conceived in either of the other two months we tried, the baby I would've been holding at that moment would not have been HIM. And I wouldn't trade him for anything in the Universe.
I realized then that, yes, I had to "wait" a little longer to get pregnant, but it was so that HE would be the child I ended up with. It all happened the way it was meant to.
And even though losing my April pregnancy was devastating and horrible and not at all what I wanted, it had to happen that way so that my body would be ready to conceive THIS baby, my little girl, in August. I believe that it happened the way it did because that's how it had to happen, that was how it was all meant to be.
Prior to finding out that I was pregnant this time, I posted something on this blog in one of my first few posts, some excerpts from one of my favorite books, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, about joy and sorrow. I realize how completely and utterly true those words are as I sit here reflecting on this issue.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
What that means to me is that, yes, I mourn the loss of my April pregnancy -- but without that loss carving such a deep swath of sorrow through my soul, I could not experience the immense and utter joy I feel now as I await the birth of my daughter. My capacity for sorrow was increased by the loss of that pregnancy because I knew what a joy it was to have Super Boy, but then my capacity for joy was also increased because I had suffered that loss. It's a circle: to have one, you must have the other, too.
So, to my pregnancy lost~ I love you and I am so thankful that you were with me, even though it was only for a short while. I believe that the spirit of you is in the Universe, with us always, and that your presence led us here. I will never forget that I loved you and lost you, and I know that every time I look at my daughter, I will be thinking of you, too. Thank you for existing, for keeping me on my path, for bringing us here. You're always in my heart!
Lovingly,
SW
The due date for my April 2010 pregnancy that didn't make it was 01/01/11.
Prior to conceiving the baby girl I'm carrying now, I eyed the end of my calendar with wariness, dreading the year coming to a close and bringing that painful reminder with it, especially because I had looked at that due date as incredibly auspicious and apropos under the circumstances: entering a new year making a fresh start with a brand new baby. After losing that pregnancy, even just allowing my mind to momentarily alight on that thought was painful enough, much less thinking about living through a whole day of thinking about it.
But then I got pregnant again. And this one stayed. And thrived. And we found out we were expecting a daughter. And there was no going back.
And so, on 01/01/11, instead of wallowing in the depths of despair over my earlier loss, I was marveling in the miracle of this pregnancy, feeling my little girl moving in my swollen belly, knowing that things perhaps didn't turn out the way we had thought they were going to, but they are going to turn out the way they were always meant to.
Yes, I thought of the pregnancy that failed; I said a little prayer of thanks for it, because had it not been for achieving it - albeit briefly - I might've given up on continuing to try. The simple fact that I had achieved pregnancy after so many years of trying was a blessing and fortified me to keep going, gave me faith that we were right to keep trying. And here we are.
Another thought pervaded my mind that day. I thought back to when we tried for Super Boy, and how disappointed I was that we didn't conceive the first two months we tried for him (boy, was that short-sighted of me, given what awaited us when we tried for our second child together!). But then after Super Boy was born and I was marveling over him in all his glory, it occurred to me that if I had conceived in either of the other two months we tried, the baby I would've been holding at that moment would not have been HIM. And I wouldn't trade him for anything in the Universe.
I realized then that, yes, I had to "wait" a little longer to get pregnant, but it was so that HE would be the child I ended up with. It all happened the way it was meant to.
And even though losing my April pregnancy was devastating and horrible and not at all what I wanted, it had to happen that way so that my body would be ready to conceive THIS baby, my little girl, in August. I believe that it happened the way it did because that's how it had to happen, that was how it was all meant to be.
Prior to finding out that I was pregnant this time, I posted something on this blog in one of my first few posts, some excerpts from one of my favorite books, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, about joy and sorrow. I realize how completely and utterly true those words are as I sit here reflecting on this issue.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
What that means to me is that, yes, I mourn the loss of my April pregnancy -- but without that loss carving such a deep swath of sorrow through my soul, I could not experience the immense and utter joy I feel now as I await the birth of my daughter. My capacity for sorrow was increased by the loss of that pregnancy because I knew what a joy it was to have Super Boy, but then my capacity for joy was also increased because I had suffered that loss. It's a circle: to have one, you must have the other, too.
So, to my pregnancy lost~ I love you and I am so thankful that you were with me, even though it was only for a short while. I believe that the spirit of you is in the Universe, with us always, and that your presence led us here. I will never forget that I loved you and lost you, and I know that every time I look at my daughter, I will be thinking of you, too. Thank you for existing, for keeping me on my path, for bringing us here. You're always in my heart!
Lovingly,
SW
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
halfway
So happy to report that I am officially halfway through this pregnancy, having hit the 20-week mark today!
Such a funny mix of feelings comes with hitting this point in the pregnancy.
On the one hand, I am thrilled and feel so relieved and in awe to have gotten to this point unscathed, and to have this pregnancy still healthy and intact after all we've been through to get here. And I am terribly excited that I only have 20 (well, actually, only 19) weeks left until I'm holding my baby girl!
WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
On the other hand, it hit me the other night that I'm staring down the barrel at a C-section in 19 weeks, which is a bit daunting considering I hate surgery and I'm starting to remember how long and unpleasant my recovery was after my C-section with Super Boy nearly 8 years ago.
EEEK!
I'm sure this one will be SOMEWHAT different and - hopefully - better, because I won't be in labor for 30 hours prior to having surgery this time, and I won't be starving, pumped full of fluids and drugs, and going on no sleep for the better part of a day and a half. There is a fair amount of consolation in all of that, believe me. But it's still a surgery, planned or not, and my worry-wart mind can't ignore all the implications of that. I realize that all I can do is prepare myself as best I can and pray that all goes as it's supposed to, and that is what I fully intend to do. Just know that as each week brings me closer to 5.11.11, I will be getting more and more anxious at the impending operation!
On the positive side, I've already decided that instead of having Super Man stay home with me the first week after the baby comes, as he did with Super Boy, I'm having my mom stay with me. There's a VERY GOOD REASON for this, my friends.
With Super Boy, Super Man wanted to be home with me the first week and for my mom to come the second week. I really didn't care at that point as long as SOMEONE was there, because I needed help with literally EVERYTHING -- getting in and out of bed, sitting up, getting the baby, doing laundry, showering, and so on. The nurses warned me ad nauseum about not overdoing it with any activity, only doing the stairs two times a day, not lifting anything heavier than the baby, etc., and I really wanted to be a good patient and heal properly (as I'd known a few people who did NOT take it easy enough and ended up with opened incisions, infections, and I did NOT want to follow in their footsteps!), so I was happy to comply. Super Man was there and heard all the instructions and limitations, and I thought we were on the same page and that he understood that being home with me meant that I needed him to pretty much be at my beck and call for the week, anticipating my and the baby's needs and doing whatever was needed to make it physically easier for me.
Yeah. WRONG!
See, the week BEFORE Super Boy was born, Super Man decided it was finally time to tear off our garage roof and get to work on replacing it. We own a 115-year-old house, and our garage used to house two horses back in the day. It's a big, stucco structure and had a very old and very bad roof on it that had pretty much caved in, rendering our garage unusable for the first two years we lived in our house. Why Super Man felt that RIGHT BEFORE THE BABY CAME was the time to dive into that project, I'll never know, but alas, that was how it went down. Now, to his credit, he got the old roof entirely torn off and the mess cleared out by the time I had Super Boy, but the new roof was not on. Knowing Super Man as I do, I figured that the urge to work on it would be OVERPOWERING to him while home with me that week, so I struck a deal with him: I didn't care if he did work on the garage AS LONG AS he kept his cell phone on him at all times so I could call him from the house phone and tell him when I needed him to come in to help me with something. He agreed to my condition.
He did well with our arrangement. For about three hours.
Next thing I know, I'm trying to call him to help me out of bed so I could pee, only to realize that I could hear his cell phone ringing downstairs on the kitchen table, despite the fact that he was outside in the garage.
Can you say "pissed off"? And even that was an understatement! That was pretty much how our week went. Every time I tried to call him, I could hear his phone ringing on the first floor while he was blissfully working in peace out in the garage.
Needless to say, by the time his week was up and my mom came, I was already more mobile than I had wanted to or planned to be, sheerly out of necessity. My mom was alarmed when she realized how much I was already doing and insisted I take it easy during her week. It was like heaven, having her around that week. She literally did EVERYTHING and let me rest. I didn't want her to go home. Ever.
So, it was clearly an easy choice as to who to have stay with me for Week 1 this time around: MOM, hands down. That said, I'm hoping that with the whole shindig being planned this time around and me not being so physically battered by the time it's done, I will feel a lot better and able to do more sooner, which will be nice for my mom, too, considering that she is also 8 years older this time around than last. And then Super Man can have the "easier" Week 2, and hopefully it won't matter quite so much if he's oblivious to the fact that I need his help because his BlackBerry is indoors while he is outdoors. :)
But hey - I'm 20 weeks! I have been feeling some movements for the past couple of weeks, and they make my heart sing. I find myself eagerly awaiting the day when I feel regular movements all day long. I'd forgotten how much your brain monitors and waits on those movements once you begin to feel them, and how anxiety-inducing it can be when you realize you haven't felt anything in hours. And I really can't wait for the kicks to be tangible from the outside. Super Boy is going to LOVE feeling his little sister kick and tumble around in my belly, and I can't wait to see his face! He is constantly touching my belly, rubbing and patting it, and of course commenting on how enormous it is. I think he's afraid to see how much scarier my belly button is going to get in the NEXT 20 weeks, because it's already freaking us both out pretty good right now!
I have savored this experience, to the max. Even when I'm uncomfortable or constipated or just feeling physically exhausted and whale-like, I am so thankful to be in this moment. This is what I dreamed of and longed for all those years we tried for our second baby together, and to be living it at long last is just miraculous. I'm sure some of you are sick of me saying that by now, but truly, that's how I feel and I can't apologize for it. I know so many people who got pregnant without really having to put any effort into it, and I always wonder if they TRULY realize and appreciate just what a miracle it is when it happens and stays and results in a healthy baby being born at the end. I can't imagine not treating the experience as something sacred after all of this.
I hope everyone had a beautiful holiday season, and my very best wishes to all for a blessed Happy New Year!
With a grateful heart,
SW
Such a funny mix of feelings comes with hitting this point in the pregnancy.
On the one hand, I am thrilled and feel so relieved and in awe to have gotten to this point unscathed, and to have this pregnancy still healthy and intact after all we've been through to get here. And I am terribly excited that I only have 20 (well, actually, only 19) weeks left until I'm holding my baby girl!
WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
On the other hand, it hit me the other night that I'm staring down the barrel at a C-section in 19 weeks, which is a bit daunting considering I hate surgery and I'm starting to remember how long and unpleasant my recovery was after my C-section with Super Boy nearly 8 years ago.
EEEK!
I'm sure this one will be SOMEWHAT different and - hopefully - better, because I won't be in labor for 30 hours prior to having surgery this time, and I won't be starving, pumped full of fluids and drugs, and going on no sleep for the better part of a day and a half. There is a fair amount of consolation in all of that, believe me. But it's still a surgery, planned or not, and my worry-wart mind can't ignore all the implications of that. I realize that all I can do is prepare myself as best I can and pray that all goes as it's supposed to, and that is what I fully intend to do. Just know that as each week brings me closer to 5.11.11, I will be getting more and more anxious at the impending operation!
On the positive side, I've already decided that instead of having Super Man stay home with me the first week after the baby comes, as he did with Super Boy, I'm having my mom stay with me. There's a VERY GOOD REASON for this, my friends.
With Super Boy, Super Man wanted to be home with me the first week and for my mom to come the second week. I really didn't care at that point as long as SOMEONE was there, because I needed help with literally EVERYTHING -- getting in and out of bed, sitting up, getting the baby, doing laundry, showering, and so on. The nurses warned me ad nauseum about not overdoing it with any activity, only doing the stairs two times a day, not lifting anything heavier than the baby, etc., and I really wanted to be a good patient and heal properly (as I'd known a few people who did NOT take it easy enough and ended up with opened incisions, infections, and I did NOT want to follow in their footsteps!), so I was happy to comply. Super Man was there and heard all the instructions and limitations, and I thought we were on the same page and that he understood that being home with me meant that I needed him to pretty much be at my beck and call for the week, anticipating my and the baby's needs and doing whatever was needed to make it physically easier for me.
Yeah. WRONG!
See, the week BEFORE Super Boy was born, Super Man decided it was finally time to tear off our garage roof and get to work on replacing it. We own a 115-year-old house, and our garage used to house two horses back in the day. It's a big, stucco structure and had a very old and very bad roof on it that had pretty much caved in, rendering our garage unusable for the first two years we lived in our house. Why Super Man felt that RIGHT BEFORE THE BABY CAME was the time to dive into that project, I'll never know, but alas, that was how it went down. Now, to his credit, he got the old roof entirely torn off and the mess cleared out by the time I had Super Boy, but the new roof was not on. Knowing Super Man as I do, I figured that the urge to work on it would be OVERPOWERING to him while home with me that week, so I struck a deal with him: I didn't care if he did work on the garage AS LONG AS he kept his cell phone on him at all times so I could call him from the house phone and tell him when I needed him to come in to help me with something. He agreed to my condition.
He did well with our arrangement. For about three hours.
Next thing I know, I'm trying to call him to help me out of bed so I could pee, only to realize that I could hear his cell phone ringing downstairs on the kitchen table, despite the fact that he was outside in the garage.
Can you say "pissed off"? And even that was an understatement! That was pretty much how our week went. Every time I tried to call him, I could hear his phone ringing on the first floor while he was blissfully working in peace out in the garage.
Needless to say, by the time his week was up and my mom came, I was already more mobile than I had wanted to or planned to be, sheerly out of necessity. My mom was alarmed when she realized how much I was already doing and insisted I take it easy during her week. It was like heaven, having her around that week. She literally did EVERYTHING and let me rest. I didn't want her to go home. Ever.
So, it was clearly an easy choice as to who to have stay with me for Week 1 this time around: MOM, hands down. That said, I'm hoping that with the whole shindig being planned this time around and me not being so physically battered by the time it's done, I will feel a lot better and able to do more sooner, which will be nice for my mom, too, considering that she is also 8 years older this time around than last. And then Super Man can have the "easier" Week 2, and hopefully it won't matter quite so much if he's oblivious to the fact that I need his help because his BlackBerry is indoors while he is outdoors. :)
But hey - I'm 20 weeks! I have been feeling some movements for the past couple of weeks, and they make my heart sing. I find myself eagerly awaiting the day when I feel regular movements all day long. I'd forgotten how much your brain monitors and waits on those movements once you begin to feel them, and how anxiety-inducing it can be when you realize you haven't felt anything in hours. And I really can't wait for the kicks to be tangible from the outside. Super Boy is going to LOVE feeling his little sister kick and tumble around in my belly, and I can't wait to see his face! He is constantly touching my belly, rubbing and patting it, and of course commenting on how enormous it is. I think he's afraid to see how much scarier my belly button is going to get in the NEXT 20 weeks, because it's already freaking us both out pretty good right now!
I have savored this experience, to the max. Even when I'm uncomfortable or constipated or just feeling physically exhausted and whale-like, I am so thankful to be in this moment. This is what I dreamed of and longed for all those years we tried for our second baby together, and to be living it at long last is just miraculous. I'm sure some of you are sick of me saying that by now, but truly, that's how I feel and I can't apologize for it. I know so many people who got pregnant without really having to put any effort into it, and I always wonder if they TRULY realize and appreciate just what a miracle it is when it happens and stays and results in a healthy baby being born at the end. I can't imagine not treating the experience as something sacred after all of this.
I hope everyone had a beautiful holiday season, and my very best wishes to all for a blessed Happy New Year!
With a grateful heart,
SW
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
18
Tomorrow I will be 18 weeks. :)
I definitely feel pregnant at this point.
My belly has burgeoned. Really. Super Boy tells me EVERY DAY that he cannot believe how HUGE my belly is. He rubs it, pats it, touches it, pokes it, and tells me how fat it is. :) He's getting a HUGE kick out of this, trust me! He still can't quite believe that he ever fit in there himself. Frankly, neither can I.
Due to the burgeoning belly, I can still wear some of my regular non-maternity shirts, sweatshirts and yoga/sweatpants, but otherwise it's all maternity wear at this point.
I have heartburn. Almost every night. And occasionally during the day, too. TUMS are my friends. And not the little piddly TUMS but the ultra-strength TUMS. Which is great because they have lots of calcium. And even greater because they bring me sweet relief.
And - best part - I can now feel the baby move! It's not a constant thing at this point, but I am starting to feel little rolls and nudges here and there. It is as amazing to me this time as it was with Super Boy all those years ago. I find myself eagerly anticipating the next nudge. And the next. And I can't wait until the rest of the family can feel them on the outside of my belly - I especially can't wait to see Super Boy's face the first time he feels his little sister kick.
Medically, things have been pretty quiet here. I haven't been to a doctor since my appointment with the genetic specialist for the ultrasound and CVS in November. I see my regular OB-GYN tomorrow afternoon for a regular check-up, but I don't think they will be doing anything else at that appointment, like other labs or anything. And then I'll be back to the genetic specialist on 12.30.10 at 20 weeks for the mid-pregnancy ultrasound, which they're doing primarily to check the brain & heart development to make sure things are still on track. That should be the last ultrasound, assuming everything checks out okay and I don't run into any other problems in the next 22 weeks. It will be weird not seeing her on ultrasond anymore after 20 weeks, given that I've seen her three times in just the past 18 weeks!
We're still talking about names. I won't share them here just yet, but I've had my favorite for years that I'm really pulling for, and then Super Boy has his favorite, and Super Man has one that he's partial to. Frankly, since Super Man has already gotten to name a girl once, I feel like this one ought to be my call, although of course I want him to like and agree with the name. He DOES like my favorite, but he's not 100% on it at this point. I really like the name Super Boy wants, too, so that's my #2 choice, and then the one Super Man likes is sort of my #3, although I'm really not as fond of that one as the other two. The middle name is still open, because it's largely dependent upon which first name we choose.
It's funny because I remember feeling like choosing a name for Super Boy was HUGE, and a huge responsibility for us to get right. We went into the hospital knowing his middle name for sure (my paternal grandfather's name), but we had four first names that we liked, and we decided to see what Super Boy looked like and which one seemed to suit his personality best before settling on one. Incidentally, the one we chose wasn't my first choice going in, but it is literally the perfect name for him -- he fits it to a T, and there's no way I could imagine him being anything other than that. I hope that we choose as well for our daughter.
I love being pregnant at the holidays. I loved it with Super Boy, and I love it now. There's something very special about this time of year under any circumstances, but experiencing it while carrying this long awaited child is something particularly magical. Just like the conception of baby Jesus was a miracle, so was our conception of this little girl, at least to us.
Best wishes for safe and blessed holidays to all!
SW
I definitely feel pregnant at this point.
My belly has burgeoned. Really. Super Boy tells me EVERY DAY that he cannot believe how HUGE my belly is. He rubs it, pats it, touches it, pokes it, and tells me how fat it is. :) He's getting a HUGE kick out of this, trust me! He still can't quite believe that he ever fit in there himself. Frankly, neither can I.
Due to the burgeoning belly, I can still wear some of my regular non-maternity shirts, sweatshirts and yoga/sweatpants, but otherwise it's all maternity wear at this point.
I have heartburn. Almost every night. And occasionally during the day, too. TUMS are my friends. And not the little piddly TUMS but the ultra-strength TUMS. Which is great because they have lots of calcium. And even greater because they bring me sweet relief.
And - best part - I can now feel the baby move! It's not a constant thing at this point, but I am starting to feel little rolls and nudges here and there. It is as amazing to me this time as it was with Super Boy all those years ago. I find myself eagerly anticipating the next nudge. And the next. And I can't wait until the rest of the family can feel them on the outside of my belly - I especially can't wait to see Super Boy's face the first time he feels his little sister kick.
Medically, things have been pretty quiet here. I haven't been to a doctor since my appointment with the genetic specialist for the ultrasound and CVS in November. I see my regular OB-GYN tomorrow afternoon for a regular check-up, but I don't think they will be doing anything else at that appointment, like other labs or anything. And then I'll be back to the genetic specialist on 12.30.10 at 20 weeks for the mid-pregnancy ultrasound, which they're doing primarily to check the brain & heart development to make sure things are still on track. That should be the last ultrasound, assuming everything checks out okay and I don't run into any other problems in the next 22 weeks. It will be weird not seeing her on ultrasond anymore after 20 weeks, given that I've seen her three times in just the past 18 weeks!
We're still talking about names. I won't share them here just yet, but I've had my favorite for years that I'm really pulling for, and then Super Boy has his favorite, and Super Man has one that he's partial to. Frankly, since Super Man has already gotten to name a girl once, I feel like this one ought to be my call, although of course I want him to like and agree with the name. He DOES like my favorite, but he's not 100% on it at this point. I really like the name Super Boy wants, too, so that's my #2 choice, and then the one Super Man likes is sort of my #3, although I'm really not as fond of that one as the other two. The middle name is still open, because it's largely dependent upon which first name we choose.
It's funny because I remember feeling like choosing a name for Super Boy was HUGE, and a huge responsibility for us to get right. We went into the hospital knowing his middle name for sure (my paternal grandfather's name), but we had four first names that we liked, and we decided to see what Super Boy looked like and which one seemed to suit his personality best before settling on one. Incidentally, the one we chose wasn't my first choice going in, but it is literally the perfect name for him -- he fits it to a T, and there's no way I could imagine him being anything other than that. I hope that we choose as well for our daughter.
I love being pregnant at the holidays. I loved it with Super Boy, and I love it now. There's something very special about this time of year under any circumstances, but experiencing it while carrying this long awaited child is something particularly magical. Just like the conception of baby Jesus was a miracle, so was our conception of this little girl, at least to us.
Best wishes for safe and blessed holidays to all!
SW
Thursday, December 2, 2010
16
We've made it to 16 weeks, hallelujah!
Can I just tell you how relieved and thrilled I am to be here? It's such a surreal thing, being pregnant again. I'm marveling in every single day of it, because I know this is the last time I'll experience it and I want to relish every single moment. I cherished the experience of being pregnant with Super Boy, too, but knowing this is the last time I will be here, after all we went through to get here, I want to burn every second of it deep into my soul. It is truly surreal.
After all the years of trying and failing to conceive, after the two failed IUI attempts and then the miscarriage, as the clock continued to tick and I continued to get older...
I've mentioned before that the only thing that kept me going through all of it was the gut-level belief that there WAS another child for us, somewhere, waiting. Still, as we went into our fourth IUI, I was forced to think about what I would do if, God forbid, we got to the end of our sixth IUI and I still wasn't pregnant. For the first time in years, I had started picturing our life without that final family member. It was like looking through a very cloudy, blurry window, picturing that outcome, and it hurt my heart to envision it, but I had to at least try to prepare myself for what I dreaded. Which isn't to say that our family as it is was inadequate or somehow unsatisfactory, because it wasn't and isn't. But it was the thought of giving up the family I always envisioned us having that made it hurt. To me, not having that last child join us would always be a loss, a dream that didn't come true.
Knowing that our dream IS coming true, that my last sweet baby is growing and thriving, getting ready to join us in May, makes me smile from the inside out. I am so unbelievably, inconceivably grateful, I can't even properly express it.
And there is nothing sweeter than when Super Boy puts his hands on my belly and rubs it, saying he can't believe his little sister is in there, that "we're" finally getting a baby. I dreamed of this for him as much as for us. He has wanted to be a big brother forever, and knowing that he will get his wish is incredible. My heart feels fuller than ever!
My hope for all who have struggled to have a baby is that your dreams will come true very soon, too. If I could wave a wand and make it happen for you, I would, in a heartbeat. All I can do is encourage you to keep believing it will happen, to envision your life with that baby, to paint a mental picture of it so vividly that it is impossible for it NOT to become reality. I am fervently praying for all of you that your miracle is just around the corner.
Until next time,
SW
Can I just tell you how relieved and thrilled I am to be here? It's such a surreal thing, being pregnant again. I'm marveling in every single day of it, because I know this is the last time I'll experience it and I want to relish every single moment. I cherished the experience of being pregnant with Super Boy, too, but knowing this is the last time I will be here, after all we went through to get here, I want to burn every second of it deep into my soul. It is truly surreal.
After all the years of trying and failing to conceive, after the two failed IUI attempts and then the miscarriage, as the clock continued to tick and I continued to get older...
I've mentioned before that the only thing that kept me going through all of it was the gut-level belief that there WAS another child for us, somewhere, waiting. Still, as we went into our fourth IUI, I was forced to think about what I would do if, God forbid, we got to the end of our sixth IUI and I still wasn't pregnant. For the first time in years, I had started picturing our life without that final family member. It was like looking through a very cloudy, blurry window, picturing that outcome, and it hurt my heart to envision it, but I had to at least try to prepare myself for what I dreaded. Which isn't to say that our family as it is was inadequate or somehow unsatisfactory, because it wasn't and isn't. But it was the thought of giving up the family I always envisioned us having that made it hurt. To me, not having that last child join us would always be a loss, a dream that didn't come true.
Knowing that our dream IS coming true, that my last sweet baby is growing and thriving, getting ready to join us in May, makes me smile from the inside out. I am so unbelievably, inconceivably grateful, I can't even properly express it.
And there is nothing sweeter than when Super Boy puts his hands on my belly and rubs it, saying he can't believe his little sister is in there, that "we're" finally getting a baby. I dreamed of this for him as much as for us. He has wanted to be a big brother forever, and knowing that he will get his wish is incredible. My heart feels fuller than ever!
My hope for all who have struggled to have a baby is that your dreams will come true very soon, too. If I could wave a wand and make it happen for you, I would, in a heartbeat. All I can do is encourage you to keep believing it will happen, to envision your life with that baby, to paint a mental picture of it so vividly that it is impossible for it NOT to become reality. I am fervently praying for all of you that your miracle is just around the corner.
Until next time,
SW
Sunday, November 21, 2010
a crazy week that ended well
We are at 14 weeks and 4 days - amen!
We had a bit of a rollercoaster week, though, and when I say that I'm not exaggerating it ONE BIT.
I wrote last time (at 13 weeks) about how we were anxiously anticipating our nuchal translucency screening ultrasound and blood test on Friday 11/12, which are used to check for obvious genetic/chromosomal problems and identify potential risks for those problems. As I mentioned in my last post, I had never had this particular combined test when I was pregnant with Super Boy. It was available then, but it was never offered to me, probably in part because I was only 28 at the time and my levels of risk were relatively low.
Now, back when I was expecting Super Boy, the only similar screening tests I had were the triple screen (now called the quad screen, as another protein was added for screening) and the alpha feto-protein (AFP) test, which are both used to screen for possible neural tube defects, Down syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. I remember my doctor warning me that the triple screen had a high false-positive rate, and to take whatever results came back with a grain of salt as a result. She assured me that IF there were any indication of a problem on that test result, she would do further testing (likely amniocentesis) to drill down to more solid evidence one way or the other. Fortunately, in that pregnancy, it was never an issue and my results were fine and I ended up giving birth to a healthy baby boy.
Apparently, however, the nuchal translucency ultrasound combined with the special blood test has only a 5% false positive rate, so any red flags raised by those tests are taken a bit more seriously by doctors, as I was soon to find out.
The day of the ultrasound, on 11/12, we were nervous but also excited to get another look at our baby. The ultrasound tech warned us in advance that a nuchal ultrasound tends to take longer because they have to get a really optimal view of the neck folds on the baby, which can take awhile because babies move so much at that point. She was right in our case! Our baby was all over the place, waving its arms & legs, rolling over and turning around. It was WONDERFUL to see, and was awesome for us to get so much time to watch him or her, but frustrating for the tech to say the least! Ultimately, she was able to see everything she needed to see, and according to her, all the measurements of the baby were right on for the gestational age, and she saw nothing of concern. We met with my doctor right afterward and she, too, said things looked great. We made the mistake of prematurely breathing a sigh of relief and assuming all was well, despite the fact that our blood test would not be back for a week.
Big mistake.
We were going about our lives, not thinking too much about the blood test results, thinking in our minds that our baby was just fine, that everything was going beautifully. On Wednesday 11/17, around lunchtime, I was in the midst of talking to my mom on the phone about how we'd had to have an electrician out that morning and were looking at having to do some MAJOR electrical work on our house when, out of the blue, my cell phone started ringing. I told my mom to hold on a second while I checked to see who it was. It was my doctor's office. Only it wasn't just the doctor's office calling -- it was the doctor herself.
As soon as I heard my doctor's voice, my intestines clenched and my heart stopped. I knew it couldn't be a good sign that she herself was calling me to discuss my results. I could hardly breathe as she said that my test results had come back. My risk for Trisomy 13 and 18 were normal, 1 in around 7,000, so that was good. But the test showed an elevated risk of Down syndrome. Normal for my age (36) is around 1 in 375; my results came back putting the risk at 1 in 49, which is only "normal" for a woman of 43-years-old.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I didn't even know what to say. My doctor said it was "probably nothing to be concerned about, but" she wanted me to see a genetic specialist as soon as possible for a genetic ultrasound and possibly amnio or CVS (chorionic villus sampling). I was numb as she gave me the names and phone numbers of the specialists she recommended contacting. I thanked her for calling, somehow still managing to hold my shit together, and then she said, "Super Woman, like I said, it's PROBABLY nothing to worry about, so try to stay calm and relax, and let's just see what the genetic specialist finds. One in 49 means that 48 babies will be just fine - the odds are in your favor."
And, just like that, I started bawling.
My doctor kept talking to me while I calmed down, and then when I had a grip on myself again, she told me to call her back if I had any questions and to let her know who I was going to see for the ultrasound.
Long story short, we thankfully ended up getting in with one of her recommended specialists the very next day. I was beyond relieved -- the thought of facing several days or even a week of waiting for answers was simply intolerable. Still, not knowing what lay ahead of us the following day meant very little sleep that night, for me or Super Man. Thankfully, my mom came to be with us, knowing it would help calm me down and keep me from obsessing over the worst case scenario. And while I can't say it totally worked, I will admit that it helped.
Our appointment was on Thursday 11/18 at 12:30pm. We had been told it would be at least a 1.5 hour appointment, possibly longer, depending on whether we needed to have amnio or CVS. When the time came to drive to the specialist's office, we resolved to just get through it and hope for the best. Still, I was shaking like a leaf. Thankfully the doctor's office was just down the road from our house, 5 minutes away, so I wasn't a danger to myself or others driving over there.
The doctor, an older German man, was phenomenal. Excellent personality for working with someone like me (meaning someone who is a grade-A first-class chronic worrier). He took a thorough history of our family backgrounds, our health, my prior pregnancies and this pregnancy, and then talked to us about what was going to happen that day. He said that he focuses on four things in conducting genetic ultrasounds:
1.) the health of the pregnancy, meaning my uterus; the placenta; the amniotic fluid; my blood flow to the baby and placenta; and so forth;
2.) the health of the baby, meaning the actual baby itself and all of its measurements; the blood flow within the umbilical cord and the baby's body; the health, development and function of the baby's organs; the heart rate of the baby; and so forth;
3.) looking for indicators of birth defects, such as missing or extra digits on hands/feet, malformed body parts, etc.; and
4.) looking for signs of chromosomal disorders, like Down's, by checking the development and function of the heart and other organs, and checking the measurements of the baby for its gestational age.
He said that amnio or CVS may not be necessary if he could reasonably rule out the risk based on the ultrasound alone, but if it looked like one of those additional tests would be warranted, he would only do it if everything with the baby was ideal on ultrasound, because there is a slight risk of miscarriage with either of those more invasive tests. We could refuse them, but if solid answers were what we wanted, we had to be willing to accept the slight risk of miscarriage. We knew we were ready to accept that risk if necessary, because the alternative -- waiting in the dark for 6 months to find out after the baby was born -- was not something we felt we could endure.
The ultrasound took about an hour, but it was far more detailed than any ultrasound I've ever had before. Once again, our baby was moving around like crazy, very active, sucking its thumb and waving its hands and feet at us. Seeing that totally warmed our hearts, and my mom was amazed by how much could be seen given that I was just over 14 weeks pregnant and she'd never had even one ultrasound with me, my brother or my sister!
The doctor checked E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G, from my reproductive organs to the top of the baby's head to the tips of its toes. He showed us where the baby's teensy-tiny kidneys and liver were, and looked closely at the chambers of the heart, the movement of blood in the baby's body, and even pointed out the tiny pearls of the baby's fingers, toes and joints. It was truly amazing.
The icing on the cake of the ultrasound was that the specialist was able to tell the baby's gender, which was something we had planned on having to wait to find out at my 18-week general anatomic ultrasound, which was scheduled for 12/15. I knew the baby's gender in my heart from the very beginning, but Super Man, Super Girl and Super Boy all thought it was the opposite, so I was really happy to hear that my gut instinct was right: this baby is a GIRL!! My mom and I both started crying at the happy news; Super Man's response? "Are you sure? Can you check that again?" :) In case you're wondering, he was sort of hoping for another boy! But he is of course thrilled to have another daughter.
Thankfully, the entire time the doctor was doing the ultrasound, he talked about what he was looking at, and all his comments were good -- everything was where it was supposed to be, doing what it was supposed to be doing, and as developed and appropriately sized as it was supposed to be at that point. Still, somehow, at the end of the ultrasound he told me that he could NOT say for sure that the baby did NOT have Down's. The ultrasound did not reveal any specific markers, but he couldn't confidently say for sure based solely on the ultrasound, so he recommended doing CVS. We asked why he wanted to do that versus amnio, and he said that the accuracy was virtually the same and we'd have the results the very next day, versus a week to wait for amnio results. We consented, and they prepped me and did the test right away.
I, of course, had no idea what to expect, having never been through a CVS before. I understood there would be a big, thin needle involved, the placement of which would be determined and guided by ultrasound, that they would be inserting that needle into the placenta through my abdomen, and that the purpose of the CVS was to take a tissue sample from the placenta, which shares the same genetic material as the baby itself. The doctor felt confident based on the placement of the baby and the placenta that he could do the test very safely without any impact on the baby, which put my mind at ease. He said it would pinch a little during the test, but it was a quick test and I would feel pretty much fine afterward.
He was right. It was a little uncomfortable when the sample was being extricated, but it was over within a few minutes. I had a little tenderness around the point of insertion, and have felt an occasional twinge here and there in the days since, but I have had no bleeding or spotting or fever or anything else (thank God). When we left, 2 hours after we arrived, we were told that we could call in at 4pm the following day, Friday 11/19, to get our results. This doctor handles it that way so that the patients are prepared and he's not calling anyone at a bad time to share potentially bad news. I was glad for that, but wished he'd said we'd have results by 10am instead of 4pm!
Needless to say, Thursday was another near sleepless night. I tried so hard to just focus on the wonderful ultrasound and the news that our baby girl appeared to be healthy and was measuring normal and all indicators were generally good, and focus less on the possibility that our baby might have Down's, but it was hard not to worry. Fortunately, we had Super Boy's parent-teacher conference at school Friday morning, and had a handful of errands to run that morning as well, so it helped to distract me, but the afternoon passed agonizingly slow.
Super Man had to go in to work that day, but planned to get home before 4pm. My mom had stayed with us, and my awesome Super Friend also offered to come and be with us for the call, so I had plenty of love and support around me, just in case. Unfortunately, Super Man ended up getting home a little late, but we were able to make the call by 4:15pm.
I could barely breathe waiting for them to answer. Once they did, they didn't keep us waiting. We were told immediately that the test results came back completely normal, that our baby was just fine, healthy and normal. I started crying with relief, and then the nurse asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. Super Man told her that the doctor had told us during the ultrasound that it was a girl, and she confirmed that the CVS showed that as well, so it was all good news on all fronts.
We were so relieved... honestly, I can't find the words to express the sheer measure of our relief. We had discussed the "what if," obviously, and we were both in agreement about our general feelings should that come to pass, but we just prayed that we wouldn't have anything to worry about when all was said and done. Because this is it -- there will be no more pregnancies for us, regardless of the outcome of this one. After going through my miscarriage in the spring, I knew that if we lost another one, I could not personally go through it all again, given all we had to do just to GET pregnant. So, for sure, the relief we felt hearing that our baby is doing beautifully and is normal and healthy was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
With all we've gone through, I know how lucky we are to be here, now, expecting this baby. I pray every single day for those couples who have struggled to get pregnant, for those who have suffered losses, for those who have reached the end of the road in their efforts to have a baby. It's not easy, any of it. There are no magic words to heal the hurt. I pray for peace for all.
With a grateful heart,
SW
We had a bit of a rollercoaster week, though, and when I say that I'm not exaggerating it ONE BIT.
I wrote last time (at 13 weeks) about how we were anxiously anticipating our nuchal translucency screening ultrasound and blood test on Friday 11/12, which are used to check for obvious genetic/chromosomal problems and identify potential risks for those problems. As I mentioned in my last post, I had never had this particular combined test when I was pregnant with Super Boy. It was available then, but it was never offered to me, probably in part because I was only 28 at the time and my levels of risk were relatively low.
Now, back when I was expecting Super Boy, the only similar screening tests I had were the triple screen (now called the quad screen, as another protein was added for screening) and the alpha feto-protein (AFP) test, which are both used to screen for possible neural tube defects, Down syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. I remember my doctor warning me that the triple screen had a high false-positive rate, and to take whatever results came back with a grain of salt as a result. She assured me that IF there were any indication of a problem on that test result, she would do further testing (likely amniocentesis) to drill down to more solid evidence one way or the other. Fortunately, in that pregnancy, it was never an issue and my results were fine and I ended up giving birth to a healthy baby boy.
Apparently, however, the nuchal translucency ultrasound combined with the special blood test has only a 5% false positive rate, so any red flags raised by those tests are taken a bit more seriously by doctors, as I was soon to find out.
The day of the ultrasound, on 11/12, we were nervous but also excited to get another look at our baby. The ultrasound tech warned us in advance that a nuchal ultrasound tends to take longer because they have to get a really optimal view of the neck folds on the baby, which can take awhile because babies move so much at that point. She was right in our case! Our baby was all over the place, waving its arms & legs, rolling over and turning around. It was WONDERFUL to see, and was awesome for us to get so much time to watch him or her, but frustrating for the tech to say the least! Ultimately, she was able to see everything she needed to see, and according to her, all the measurements of the baby were right on for the gestational age, and she saw nothing of concern. We met with my doctor right afterward and she, too, said things looked great. We made the mistake of prematurely breathing a sigh of relief and assuming all was well, despite the fact that our blood test would not be back for a week.
Big mistake.
We were going about our lives, not thinking too much about the blood test results, thinking in our minds that our baby was just fine, that everything was going beautifully. On Wednesday 11/17, around lunchtime, I was in the midst of talking to my mom on the phone about how we'd had to have an electrician out that morning and were looking at having to do some MAJOR electrical work on our house when, out of the blue, my cell phone started ringing. I told my mom to hold on a second while I checked to see who it was. It was my doctor's office. Only it wasn't just the doctor's office calling -- it was the doctor herself.
As soon as I heard my doctor's voice, my intestines clenched and my heart stopped. I knew it couldn't be a good sign that she herself was calling me to discuss my results. I could hardly breathe as she said that my test results had come back. My risk for Trisomy 13 and 18 were normal, 1 in around 7,000, so that was good. But the test showed an elevated risk of Down syndrome. Normal for my age (36) is around 1 in 375; my results came back putting the risk at 1 in 49, which is only "normal" for a woman of 43-years-old.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I didn't even know what to say. My doctor said it was "probably nothing to be concerned about, but" she wanted me to see a genetic specialist as soon as possible for a genetic ultrasound and possibly amnio or CVS (chorionic villus sampling). I was numb as she gave me the names and phone numbers of the specialists she recommended contacting. I thanked her for calling, somehow still managing to hold my shit together, and then she said, "Super Woman, like I said, it's PROBABLY nothing to worry about, so try to stay calm and relax, and let's just see what the genetic specialist finds. One in 49 means that 48 babies will be just fine - the odds are in your favor."
And, just like that, I started bawling.
My doctor kept talking to me while I calmed down, and then when I had a grip on myself again, she told me to call her back if I had any questions and to let her know who I was going to see for the ultrasound.
Long story short, we thankfully ended up getting in with one of her recommended specialists the very next day. I was beyond relieved -- the thought of facing several days or even a week of waiting for answers was simply intolerable. Still, not knowing what lay ahead of us the following day meant very little sleep that night, for me or Super Man. Thankfully, my mom came to be with us, knowing it would help calm me down and keep me from obsessing over the worst case scenario. And while I can't say it totally worked, I will admit that it helped.
Our appointment was on Thursday 11/18 at 12:30pm. We had been told it would be at least a 1.5 hour appointment, possibly longer, depending on whether we needed to have amnio or CVS. When the time came to drive to the specialist's office, we resolved to just get through it and hope for the best. Still, I was shaking like a leaf. Thankfully the doctor's office was just down the road from our house, 5 minutes away, so I wasn't a danger to myself or others driving over there.
The doctor, an older German man, was phenomenal. Excellent personality for working with someone like me (meaning someone who is a grade-A first-class chronic worrier). He took a thorough history of our family backgrounds, our health, my prior pregnancies and this pregnancy, and then talked to us about what was going to happen that day. He said that he focuses on four things in conducting genetic ultrasounds:
1.) the health of the pregnancy, meaning my uterus; the placenta; the amniotic fluid; my blood flow to the baby and placenta; and so forth;
2.) the health of the baby, meaning the actual baby itself and all of its measurements; the blood flow within the umbilical cord and the baby's body; the health, development and function of the baby's organs; the heart rate of the baby; and so forth;
3.) looking for indicators of birth defects, such as missing or extra digits on hands/feet, malformed body parts, etc.; and
4.) looking for signs of chromosomal disorders, like Down's, by checking the development and function of the heart and other organs, and checking the measurements of the baby for its gestational age.
He said that amnio or CVS may not be necessary if he could reasonably rule out the risk based on the ultrasound alone, but if it looked like one of those additional tests would be warranted, he would only do it if everything with the baby was ideal on ultrasound, because there is a slight risk of miscarriage with either of those more invasive tests. We could refuse them, but if solid answers were what we wanted, we had to be willing to accept the slight risk of miscarriage. We knew we were ready to accept that risk if necessary, because the alternative -- waiting in the dark for 6 months to find out after the baby was born -- was not something we felt we could endure.
The ultrasound took about an hour, but it was far more detailed than any ultrasound I've ever had before. Once again, our baby was moving around like crazy, very active, sucking its thumb and waving its hands and feet at us. Seeing that totally warmed our hearts, and my mom was amazed by how much could be seen given that I was just over 14 weeks pregnant and she'd never had even one ultrasound with me, my brother or my sister!
The doctor checked E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G, from my reproductive organs to the top of the baby's head to the tips of its toes. He showed us where the baby's teensy-tiny kidneys and liver were, and looked closely at the chambers of the heart, the movement of blood in the baby's body, and even pointed out the tiny pearls of the baby's fingers, toes and joints. It was truly amazing.
The icing on the cake of the ultrasound was that the specialist was able to tell the baby's gender, which was something we had planned on having to wait to find out at my 18-week general anatomic ultrasound, which was scheduled for 12/15. I knew the baby's gender in my heart from the very beginning, but Super Man, Super Girl and Super Boy all thought it was the opposite, so I was really happy to hear that my gut instinct was right: this baby is a GIRL!! My mom and I both started crying at the happy news; Super Man's response? "Are you sure? Can you check that again?" :) In case you're wondering, he was sort of hoping for another boy! But he is of course thrilled to have another daughter.
Thankfully, the entire time the doctor was doing the ultrasound, he talked about what he was looking at, and all his comments were good -- everything was where it was supposed to be, doing what it was supposed to be doing, and as developed and appropriately sized as it was supposed to be at that point. Still, somehow, at the end of the ultrasound he told me that he could NOT say for sure that the baby did NOT have Down's. The ultrasound did not reveal any specific markers, but he couldn't confidently say for sure based solely on the ultrasound, so he recommended doing CVS. We asked why he wanted to do that versus amnio, and he said that the accuracy was virtually the same and we'd have the results the very next day, versus a week to wait for amnio results. We consented, and they prepped me and did the test right away.
I, of course, had no idea what to expect, having never been through a CVS before. I understood there would be a big, thin needle involved, the placement of which would be determined and guided by ultrasound, that they would be inserting that needle into the placenta through my abdomen, and that the purpose of the CVS was to take a tissue sample from the placenta, which shares the same genetic material as the baby itself. The doctor felt confident based on the placement of the baby and the placenta that he could do the test very safely without any impact on the baby, which put my mind at ease. He said it would pinch a little during the test, but it was a quick test and I would feel pretty much fine afterward.
He was right. It was a little uncomfortable when the sample was being extricated, but it was over within a few minutes. I had a little tenderness around the point of insertion, and have felt an occasional twinge here and there in the days since, but I have had no bleeding or spotting or fever or anything else (thank God). When we left, 2 hours after we arrived, we were told that we could call in at 4pm the following day, Friday 11/19, to get our results. This doctor handles it that way so that the patients are prepared and he's not calling anyone at a bad time to share potentially bad news. I was glad for that, but wished he'd said we'd have results by 10am instead of 4pm!
Needless to say, Thursday was another near sleepless night. I tried so hard to just focus on the wonderful ultrasound and the news that our baby girl appeared to be healthy and was measuring normal and all indicators were generally good, and focus less on the possibility that our baby might have Down's, but it was hard not to worry. Fortunately, we had Super Boy's parent-teacher conference at school Friday morning, and had a handful of errands to run that morning as well, so it helped to distract me, but the afternoon passed agonizingly slow.
Super Man had to go in to work that day, but planned to get home before 4pm. My mom had stayed with us, and my awesome Super Friend also offered to come and be with us for the call, so I had plenty of love and support around me, just in case. Unfortunately, Super Man ended up getting home a little late, but we were able to make the call by 4:15pm.
I could barely breathe waiting for them to answer. Once they did, they didn't keep us waiting. We were told immediately that the test results came back completely normal, that our baby was just fine, healthy and normal. I started crying with relief, and then the nurse asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. Super Man told her that the doctor had told us during the ultrasound that it was a girl, and she confirmed that the CVS showed that as well, so it was all good news on all fronts.
We were so relieved... honestly, I can't find the words to express the sheer measure of our relief. We had discussed the "what if," obviously, and we were both in agreement about our general feelings should that come to pass, but we just prayed that we wouldn't have anything to worry about when all was said and done. Because this is it -- there will be no more pregnancies for us, regardless of the outcome of this one. After going through my miscarriage in the spring, I knew that if we lost another one, I could not personally go through it all again, given all we had to do just to GET pregnant. So, for sure, the relief we felt hearing that our baby is doing beautifully and is normal and healthy was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
With all we've gone through, I know how lucky we are to be here, now, expecting this baby. I pray every single day for those couples who have struggled to get pregnant, for those who have suffered losses, for those who have reached the end of the road in their efforts to have a baby. It's not easy, any of it. There are no magic words to heal the hurt. I pray for peace for all.
With a grateful heart,
SW
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