“Getting pregnant the first time around seemed to take forever. Every month we were disappointed and by the time we finally DID get pregnant we almost didn’t expect it. So when my son was 10 months old and my husband and I (silently) decided to try again, we most certainly weren’t expecting immediate results. But that’s what we got.
Knowing you’re pregnant four days after conception makes for a looooong pregnancy. But we didn’t let it detract from our excitement or anticipation. At our second ultrasound we were told we were “almost certainly” having a girl. A girl, huh? Well this is going to be different. We were pretty sure we had this boy thing down. But a girl is a whole other story. Immediately I started planning her teenage years…spent overseas…with her grandparents.
The Friday after that ultrasound, I received a call from my midwife. The scan had revealed two choroid plexus cysts on the baby’s brain. I would need to go for a level II ultrasound the following Monday and meet with a genetic counselor as well. While my midwife assured me the cysts themselves were not harmful and that they would eventually clear up on their own, she also informed me they could be soft markers for certain chromosomal abnormalities. She further assured me that the incidents of these abnormalities were very rare. But I had the entire weekend to worry. I did my research, I absorbed the numbers, I worried anyway…because I’m a mom.
The second ultrasound showed that the cysts had already disappeared. Baby’s measurements were good, indicating no obvious signs of trisomy 18. We met with the counselor to go over the results and she felt good about what she saw. We were given the option of amnio or even just further blood tests to tell us if baby girl (one of the perks of this US was the confirmation of her sex) would be born with Down syndrome or even cystic fibrosis. My husband Dominic and I decided to forgo further testing as it would not change our minds about this pregnancy nor would it dictate our love for our baby. We chose faith over science.
Later on in the pregnancy I developed a rash over 3/4 of my stomach. Now I needed to be tested for Cholestasis, another condition dangerous to baby. In the end, the rash was benign and cleared up on its own. More worry for nothing.
Another weekend brought cramping and fluid and a visit to the ER. Again, everything was good.
The pregnancy progressed with considerably more discomfort than the first pregnancy, but void of additional scares. Until Sunday, July 22nd (5 days past my due date). Suddenly my normally overactive baby wasn’t moving. At all. I poked, I prodded, I drank cold water, took a warm shower. Nothing. I told my husband we needed to get to the hospital and I silently prayed that my baby was ok, that this was just more silly pregnancy paranoia. We drove to the hospital in silence. Because, what could we say at a time like this?
Upon arrival at the ER, I jumped from the car and raced through the doors. Only to be stopped for paperwork. I couldn’t believe I was worried about the life of my baby and they were worried about GD paperwork! As I fumbled to fill out the information, my husband walked in and took over. And a nurse called me into the exam room where she quickly put me on the monitor and I heard it. My baby’s heartbeat. Oh, thank God.
After a half hour wait in the hallway, we were given a room where they could monitor the baby for an extended period. They hooked me up and I stared at the muted t.v. showing the first two Batman movies, while my husband played on his iphone. We assumed we’d be there for an hour and be sent home.
And then the baby’s heart rate dipped. And the miscommunications started. The were going to continue to monitor me to make sure the baby was ok. Wait, we’re keeping you overnight. Didn’t they tell you? We’re probably going to schedule you for an early morning c-section. You’re scheduled for a 9:30 c-section. Tonight. It was a chaotic mess intertwined with failed attempts at starting an IV. Six to be exact. Five failed, one success.
My husband looked at me and said “I’m not ready”. I thought “you’re not ready? I’m not ready and this is not how I PLANNED it!”.
I had “planned” a vbac. With a very detailed birth “plan”. No IVs, no unnecessary personnel or interventions. This birth was going to go MY way. And then it didn’t.
They prepped me for the OR, wheeled me into a cold, sterile room with bright lights and a dozen people in masks and gowns. They pumped me full of drugs, hooked me up to machines, and asked if I was ok. I was not okay, not at all. This was not what I wanted. And I cried the whole time. Tears of frustration, and anger, and defeat. Until I heard my daughter cry. And then I cried harder. Happy, joyful, I-don’t-care-how-she-got-here-she’s-here! tears.
Today I don’t look at my daughter and think about my c-section, I look at her and think about how incredibly lucky I am to have two amazing children. And I cannot remember the days before them.”
