You know, you never fully realize all that you take for granted until it's in jeopardy.
Last Thursday was undoubtedly one of the scariest days of my entire life, if not
the most petrifying day ever. It started when I checked my cel phone as I was driving home from work. I'd missed three calls as a result of putting my phone on vibrate during work, and they were all from the same number: my doctor's office. I'd been to Dr. Schorlemer's earlier that week for my monthly checkup and second trimester blood test, and I was expecting my test results to come back on Wednesday or Thursday.
And so here it was: Thursday. I knew immediately that my doctor's office wouldn't call three times to tell me that everything was fine. I dialed Dr. Schorlemer's number and thought about pulling over to brace myself for bad news, but I continued driving down Blanco. Kathy, my nurse, answered and urged me to stay on the line so Dr. Schorlemer could speak with me. Another bad sign. At this point, I started to tear up.
Dr. Schorlemer got on the phone and explained that my blood test had come back with a positive result. Positive for what? I don't know. I don't even remember what he said, just bits and pieces and jumbles of words: Spina bifida...paralysis...neural tube defects...Santa Rosa Hospital...downtown...
NOW.
I called Jeff, bawling, and told him that he needed to meet me downtown at Santa Rosa Hospital, where we had a 4:30 appointment with Dr. Gordon, the same doctor we'd seen for our first trimester screening, who would explain things to us in detail. I arrived at the hospital and must have passed 25 toddlers and babies on my way in--all of them healthy, all of them normal. It was excruciating, having to look at all of these darling, perfect babies without knowing what, if anything, was wrong with mine. I made my way inside and was checking in to Labor & Delivery when Jeff appeared from around the corner. I've never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life.
The nurse assured us that she would be with us in a minute and urged us to have a seat in the waiting room. A large Hispanic family was there, too, smiling and laughing and calling other family members on their cel phones to let them know that "Lupe had the baby. It's a boy!" I've never been so envious of anyone else's happiness. All I could do was put my head on Jeff's shoulder and, in between trying to get a hold of my mother on her cel phone, cry.
Finally, the nurse called our name and led us down the hall to a room, where Dr. Gordon was waiting. You can imagine our relief when he started out the conversation by saying that there had been a mistake, the lab actually did the wrong kind of test, not the kind my doctor had ordered, and basically the abnormal result could be thrown out because the wrong kind of test was performed.
Just to be on the safe side, though, and to give us some reassurance, Dr. Gordon did a Level II sonogram--a really detailed sonogram where they look for specific things that are known to cause problems. I smiled through tears as the doctor scanned various parts of our baby and responded, "Looks great. Nothing wrong there." Jeff held my hand, and I squeezed it when Dr. Gordon told us that, yes, we were indeed having a baby girl.
About ten minutes into the sonogram, however, despite the "looks good"s and "normal"s, I began to notice that the doctor kept returning to my baby's heart. It was beating steadily, this I could tell, so while I was tempted to dismiss my worry, I couldn't ignore the fact that the doctor revisited this particular organ over and over gain. Something was wrong, I knew. I waited patiently for Dr. Gordon to finish the sonogram and felt the tears start to flow when he said he'd be back momentarily and then we'd talk.
As I later found out, the reason Dr. Gordon kept reviewing the baby's heart on the ultrasound is because he noticed an abnormality, called an "EIF," which is basically a calcium deposit on the baby's heart. I believe the correct term is echogenic intracardiac focus, and it's found in 5-to-10% of all normal pregnancies. On an ultrasound, it looks like a bright white dot on the left side of the baby's heart muscle. Thank goodness, it doesn't affect heart function and doesn't have anything to do with heart disease; in fact, the thing itself is harmless. However, it can sometimes be a "soft marker" for babies with Down syndrome. For people in my position--under 35 with no family history of Down syndrome and no other risk factors--it's usually nothing. As Dr. Gordon assured us, we had a 99% chance that everthing was fine. But before discovering the EIF, our odds of developing Down syndrome were 1 in 3,000. After finding it, those odds jumped to 1 in 600.
Because the chances of something being wrong were so minute, Dr. Gordon said that we had two options: (1) throw out the incorrect test result, pretend that he had never done the sonogram--and thus never seen the EIF--and continue along in our pregnancy under the assumption that everything is fine; or (2) schedule an amniocentesis for the next day so we could have a definitive answer.
Jeff & I left the hospital upset and undecided, although the more I thought about it, the more I felt increasingly sure that I needed to know whether something was wrong, no matter the cost. After many tears and much debate among ourselves and my family, I ultimately decided to have the procedure. To me, it was a logical decision with illogical support: My chances of having something wrong with the baby were actually
smaller than my chances for miscarrying as a result of having an amniocentesis, but if technology allowed me the option of knowing, how could I pass up the opportunity to receive a definitive answer?
I woke up the next day and made an appointment with Dr. Gordon's office. And just like that, it was scheduled for 10:40 that morning.
Surprisingly, the amnio itself didn't hurt at all--or at least no more than your average blood test. I was petrified of having it because it sounds so invasive and scary, and the tech people psyched me out even more by saying, "It will feel like a bee sting when the needle goes into the skin and then a really bad menstrual cramp when it enters the uterus." All I can say is that apparently my version of a really bad menstrual cramp is way different than the rest of the world's. So if you ever happen to have one for some reason, take my word for it: It sounds 1,000 times worse than it feels (and I am a huge baby when it comes to pain!).
Besides, any amount of pain is worth the opportunity to see your baby in utero. I felt a slight prick, looked up, and there it was--there
she was. Dr. Gordon said that her lack of response to the needle only proved that she is a girl. (Apparently little boy babies try to grab the needle and use it as if it were some sort of tool or toy. Little girl babies, by contrast, merely shy away from it. And they say the sexes are equal in intelligence! Bah!)
Incidentally, here are a few pictures of our daughter during the amnio:
After the procedure, Dr. Gordon shook our hands and said he would be in touch with us Monday or Tuesday with the preliminary "FISH" test results. The FISH test looks at certain chromosome pairs, the ones typically affected by Down syndrome, and makes sure there is, in fact, a pair of the select chromosomes. (Individuals with Down syndrome and other such disorders have an uneven number of chromosome pairs because there is an extra chromosome somewhere, most often found in the 13th, 18th, or 21st set. The FISH test isolates those three chromosome sets and measures how many chromosomes are included in each.)
I left Dr. Gordon's feeling confident but unsure, hopeful but unable to escape my own doubt. I came home and posted something to the effect of "Taylor needs some prayers tonight" on my Facebook status. The outpouring of support from family and friends was moving to me, and although I spent the next few days in relative seclusion aside from the virtual walls of Facebook, I was unbelievably comforted by all the people out there thinking of and praying for our little family.
In the torture that was the next few days, I also found comfort in my faith. I read
God Calling for December 12--the date of my amniocentesis--and was shocked. It was as though Jesus had written a message just to me:
Love and fear cannot dwell together. By their very natures they cannot exist side by side. Evil is powerful, and fear is one of evil's most potent forces.
Therefore, a weak vacillating love can be soon routed by fear, whereas a perfect Love, a trusting Love, is immediately the Conqueror, and fear, vanquished, flees in confusion.
But I am Love because God is Love, and I and the Father are one. So the only way to obtain this perfect Love, that dispels fear, is to have Me more and more in your lives. You can only banish fear by My Presence and My Name.
Fear of the future--Jesus will be with us.
Fear of poverty--Jesus will provide. (And so to all the temptations of fear.)
You must not allow fear to enter. Talk to Me. Think of Me. Talk of Me. Love Me. And that sense of My Power will so possess you that no fear can possess you mind. Be strong in this My Love.
I had my silver cross in my hand when I stepped outside of my office and called Dr. Gordon's office in search of our FISH test results yesterday. While on hold, I prayed. After what seemed like hours, a nurse returned to tell me that preliminary test results indicated that everything was normal. A flood of emotions swept through me, culminating in tears. It was bitterly cold outside--43 degrees with a 38-degree wind chill--and I literally felt warmth. It was as though God's arms were wrapped around me, telling me everything was going to be all right. It was one of the purest moments of my entire life, on what turned out to be my happiest day. And I realized then, as I do now, that God really is watching us all, even when we think He cannot hear our prayers.
God Calling's entry for yesterday, December 16, only confirmed this:
Lord give us Thy Joy, that Joy that no man, no poverty, no circumstances, no conditions can take from us.
You shall have My Joy. But Life just now for you both is a march--a toilsome march.... The Joy will come, but for the moment do not think of that, think simply of the march. Joy is the reward....
Between My Promise of the Gift of Joy to My disciples and their realization of that Joy came sense of failure, disappointment, denial, desertion, hopelessness, then hope, waiting, and courage in the face of danger.
Joy is the reward of patiently seeing Me in the dull dark days, of trusting when you cannot see.... Joy is as it were your heart's response to My smile of recognition of your faithfulness....
Stop thinking your lives are all wrong if you do not feel it.... Remember you may not yet be joyous, but you are brave, and courage and unselfish thought for others are as sure signs of true discipleship as Joy.
We have a daughter. Can you believe it? We are going to be parents to a beautiful, happy, healthy little girl.
I have never felt so blessed.
