Just Me

The Story, Part VI

This baby was going to live.

I knew it; felt it; believed it in the deepest recesses of my soul. I am going to be a momma!!!

Despite the specialist's dire predictions, my pregnancy was continuing. The baby's growth was on target, and the bi-weekly ultrasounds showed a very healthy, active child.  I knew it!  Way to go, God!

Just to add a little sweetness to the pot, I also - finally! - felt fabulous! The bleeding stopped around the six month mark; my belly was growing bigger by the day; I could feel the sweet, precious movements of my little baby growing stronger. God was blessing us daily...hourly...every minute!  I had prayed so hard to reach the top of this mountain, and now I felt invincible in my faith. "Watch what God's gonna do!" I wanted to shout to anyone within hearing. "Watch this miracle!"

Fall was arriving.  My due date was November 29, and as I looked around me, I breathed the crisp air and realized that this was close to how the world would look when my baby arrived. It was a boy; I was absolutely sure. John, of course, claimed that they only came in the girl variety; that, coming from a man whose three older siblings had all had three girls each. I was sure my husband was just trying not to get his hopes up. We'd name him after his father, of course. John meant "God is gracious", and I loved that, especially considering that this baby was coming on the heels of all our miscarriages and infertility.  Just in case, though, I picked a girl name, too. I'd wanted an Abigail since I was in college, but that was so popular now, I didn't want her to be one of twelve Abby's in her class. Gabrielle!  It was sort of close to Abigail, and yet it had a Spanish flair, which I (a former Spanish major) loved. I looked it up in the name book: Gabrielle = God is my strength. That gave me chills. Could it be any more fitting for this baby that we'd come so close to losing so many times already? Yep, that was a no brainer. That was definitely our girl's name.

The 29 week mark found me once again on my way to the ultrasound room. All was proceeding normally; the tech checked the four chambers of the heart, all the major organs, the blood flow through the cord and into the body. The arms, the legs, the head, the belly...it was amazing to see so much detail in a child whose face I didn't yet know. At the end of the exam, the tech slipped out and then a doctor stepped in. He reviewed all the details that the tech had noted, and then added, "There is a possibility that there's a bowel blockage of some sort. We can't really tell yet, but we'll check it again in a few weeks. It's nothing to worry about." His demeanor was very relaxed, and I took my cues from that. I'd seen these doctors in action before, and if it was serious, they'd be flying around, barking orders left and right. He was quiet, gentle, and then quickly gone, so it clearly wasn't a big deal. And besides...how could I forget? God was in control. We were in the midst of a miracle. It's nothing! I didn't think twice about it.

Baby and I had just hit the 7 month mark at our next ultrasound. My belly seemed so huge; people kept commenting how big I was, and telling me I was going to be monstrous by the end of my pregnancy. I just kept grinning. This is a miracle! Don't you know that? I don't care if I'm a walking hot air balloon at the end; I'm living a miracle!!!

So confident in my faith, I didn't even waver when John told me he couldn't make the appointment. "I'm fine!" I reassured him. "Nothing's going to happen; I'll be OK by myself." It was the first ultrasound he'd miss, and it would be strange without him there, but as always, I was excited to get another glance at the baby.

I heaved myself onto the exam table and raised my shirt for the ultrasound wand, wondering if this tech would be chatty today. Sometimes they were sociable; sometimes not. I assumed it came with the job in a specialty practice like this; you didn't want to get friendly with folks and then have to give them bad news.

 After a couple of attempts at small talk, this tech was clearly putting herself in the unsociable category. I quit trying and followed my little man's movements on the screen.  There were all the limbs; there was the head measurement (Please, God, let that stay on the small side! Childbirth is starting to scare me!). There's the profile; Oh, he's sucking his thumb! There's...oh, some organ. Whatever; move on to the fun parts. There's the heart, beating steady! One, two, three, four chambers!  There's...something else. Oh, back to the heart again. Now...wait, is that the side of the heart? She must be taking measurements of the chambers. There's the kidneys, I think, and that is maybe the liver? There's the heart again. Huh. And another view. Why does she keep going back to that? I thought she took all the measurements. And...the same thing again. She just...keeps...looking at the heart. I can see all four chambers; I can see it pumping; what is she looking at? The tech went over and over the heart. This was decidedly different than all my previous scans. I decided to risk her anti-social tendencies and voice my question. She brushed it off with a mumble, but kept saving pictures.  After several more views, I knew something was up. When she slipped out the door to "show the doctor", I also knew it wasn't going to be good news.

She returned shortly with a short, older man in tow. Ignoring my presence, he went straight to the screen, paged through a couple of pictures, and then fired a stream of questions at the nurse. "How long has this been here? Has she had a stress test? Has she been tested for CF?"

Boom...boom...boom...the pounding of my heart was loud enough to ring in my ears. The room shrank to nothing but me and the screen, to which my eyes were suddenly glued. The man was speaking, but my thoughts drowned him out. CF? That's Cystic Fibrosis! Oh, Jesus, what's wrong with my baby?

The man and the tech were still speaking, and still totally ignoring me. I listened, but the conversation was low and technical; I gleaned nothing more. I waited as long as I could, and then finally I'd had enough. "What's going on?" I questioned politely as I could. "What are we looking at?" I hoped the "we" would be a hint, but there was no response. Unbelievable! I asked it again, louder and less politely. Doesn't anyone realize I'm laying RIGHT HERE? This IS my baby! What the heck is going on?

Finally the man spoke, and he minced no words: "There's a problem with your baby. We think it's a bowel blockage, but we're not sure. The fluid around the baby is very low and the baby may be in distress. You need to have a stress test. I want you to go downstairs, get something to eat, then come right back up and we'll do the test." And then he and the tech were gone.

***to be continued***

You can thank my son

...for today's blog post.

After finishing up a grocery run to Walmart at 11:00 last night, I came home, finished a few unfinished household chores, then dropped into bed about midnight. Jace made his first booby call at 3:30 (sorry, I have to call it that, just because it makes laugh instead of cry during those ungodly hours that he calls me), was fed and was back in bed, asleep at 3:44. However, at 5:30, he was not only awake again, but standing in his crib, screaming his fool head off for... well, who knows why?

Note to son: When Mama ain't happy, you ain't gonna be, neither.

And to top it all off, for the millionth time, my return to bed after this rude request was met with the hair-raising, window-rattling, timber-toppling sounds coming from...

the pillow next to mine.

Note to husband: Deprive me of sleep again, and you might want to start hiding the knives. I'm just sayin'.

So here I sit, wide awake and yet quite exhausted. Anyone with me today? Anyone?

I thought so.

I had every intention of posting a lovely note last week to let you all know that my blog would likely be unattended for a few days, but instead I...well, I really don't know how that didn't get done. Something about a to-do list that, when created, extended out the door of my bedroom, down the stairs, out the front door and down the sidewalk for all the world to see. So embarrassing. But that's what happens when you have to get your Entire House packed just so Mama & Daddy can get away, including all special accoutrements for the Little Prince and Little Princess to go to Grandma's (the special milk for Little Prince; The Ducky She Can't Live Without; And the Dolly, And the Blankie; The Certain Nipples He Must Have Or Else He'll Go Hungry; the drugs to save Grandpa's mind if Little Prince gets especially cranky; blah blah blah).  And then, of course, there's all the making reservations/getting driving directions/printing off class schedules and blah blah blah's that I had to do to prepare for our 48 hours away, because we all know Men Don't Do That. Oh - did I mention that our first (only!) vacation without children came in the form of a 48 hour visit 2.5 hours away to a homeschooling conference? Yippeeeee!!! 

Lest you misinterpret my sarcasm, the conference was Quite Good. Yes, really. And I do feel energized and excited to begin this Incredible Journey. And not the least bit intimidated. (Har. "It's only Kindergarten. It's only Kindergarten. It's only Kindergarten." Do I sound believable yet?)

That said, downtown Columbus isn't exactly Honolulu.

I could've done with somewhere a little more tropical for our first vacation alone in roughly seven years.

Ah, well.

Note to all: I'm still working on that to-do list, so you won't see me here for a couple more days. Check back this weekend for chapter 6 of The Story, if you're not too busy eating hot dogs or watching fireworks explode overhead.

Happy 4th!

The Story, Part V

My initial appointment with the Maternal Fetal Specialist was far simpler than I'd imagined.  After waiting a near-eternity in the world's tiniest waiting room, I was escorted to an equally tiny consultation room, and came face to face with the doctor. He was white-haired, with a face like well-oiled leather, and he spoke quickly and without emotion in heavily-accented English that gave away a middle-eastern origin. Dr. S explained that while my tests indicated a potential problem, we needed more tests to determine exactly what the issue might be. We'll meet again when we have the results, he said, and that was that. Not much bedside manner, I decided, but bloodwork's easy. That, I can do. Downstairs to the lab, and then home I went.

It was the follow up appointment that made my husband nervous. Having been to virtually every appointment up till now, he'd had to take a lot of time off from work, and he just couldn't get away again. He gave strict instructions that I should have someone else with me for moral support, so Mom met me at the hospital and we made our way back to the office. Strangely, however, I wasn't too concerned. When you give your child to God, it seems, you don't worry so much. What better hands could he/she be in? Whatever happened, it wasn't my problem anymore; it was His! Life just got a lot easier.

We waited again in the tiny waiting room, but thankfully were called back quickly to the consult room. After a quick introduction to my mother, Dr. S began to verbally analyze my file.

He ticked off the facts quickly: My slightly advanced age, my previous history of miscarriages, my long list of complications thus far, blah blah blah...I was already tuning him out. I hated to hear my life framed in such negative terms. My hand protectively covered my protuding stomach. "Don't listen, baby!" I silently urged. "You'll be just fine!" Then he pulled out another sheet from my file.

"The results of your blood tests show that you have a blood disorder called Methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase, or MTHFR."

Hel-lo! I got lost on about the seventh syllable, and was totally unable to break down what that term might mean. He explained that it meant that my body didn't absorb folic acid properly. My mind immediately drifted to my mother's cabinet full of vitamins; she was a huge fan of vitamins and was always pushing them on me. I glanced her way and smiled. "Great! I know Mom's got some of that; I can just take a vitamin, and we'll be all set!" I thought.

No such luck. Dr. S went on to explain that this also caused my blood to be thick, and was a likely cause of my previous miscarriages. It was also the likely source of problems in this pregnancy, and could continue to create more problems. And he reminded me that a lack of folic acid is, of course, a leading cause of birth defects. Oh, yeah...forgot about that... And then he reviewed all the problems I'd had up till now, and shared his conclusion:

"This pregnancy is in grave danger. The chance of miscarriage remains high. You must..."

That was all I heard.

Thump, thump, thump. My heart pounded so loudly that I could hear nothing else.

"Lord? You're hearing this, right? You're handling this, right? Lord???"

The next thing I knew, Dr. S had pulled out his handheld recorder, and began to dictate a summary of our visit for my OB. He repeated his opinion of my condition, and then he went so far as to say that he did not expect this pregnancy to survive. What?? My eyes bored into him, but he was still consulting my file as he spoke. Did he really just say what I think he said? My baby's not going to make it?  He completed his letter, clicked the stop button, and stared impassively at me. "OK?" He wanted to make sure I understood. I nodded mutely in reply, and then turned to look at Mom. Her jaw was set; I'd seen that look a million times. "You'd better be thankful she's not a violent woman, buddy," I mused, " 'cause she'd like to wring your neck right now."

Oblivious to my thoughts, he ticked off a long list of vitamins that I was to begin taking, and outlined a plan to keep very close tabs on me from here on out. Ultrasounds every two weeks, he said. And then he stood, shook our hands, and left.

I stood slowly, dazed. Whatever I had expected, this wasn't it. The stark gravity of his outlook on my pregnancy stunned me. It was that bad? Really?  But we'd come so far, we'd worked so hard! How could it possibly end like this?

Wait...NO!!!

No, I won't even begin to think like this. He may be a brilliant doctor, but he's not God, and this baby belongs to God!  God is in control, not this doctor! I felt absolutely charged with faith. You have no idea Who you're dealing with, Doc! You're about to get the surprise of your life! Lifting my head, I picked up the pace, and followed Mom through the exit door.

When we reached the elevator, I turned to her. "What do you think?" 

She replied with a single word: "No." Her head shook in emphasis. "I don't believe him."

"I agree," I replied, and we headed for lunch.

*** to be continued ***