All the gory details...Part 1

As I said in my first post to this blog that I would post all of the gory details of the last few months, I guess that I'm forced to do it.

The past year has had its ups and downs, with Harvey being employed in a job that he hates, my attempting to stay sane while wrangling the world's most active and defiant toddler, and our both dealing with the same everyday struggles as everyone else. This parent/spouse thing is really rough sometimes...

I don't know how my parents did it with four children. Honestly, I think that I would have lost my mind had that been my lot in life. Now, that's not to say that the four of us didn't do an ample amount of damage to the brain cells of both mom and dad, but they do still manage to take care of themselves, remember their own names, although they confuse ours sometimes, and wrangle three grandchildren with amazing skill and dexterity. We tried to make them crazy, and still do, but they are too ornery to give in. Thank goodness.

Anyway, back to our craziness. In April, I started feeling kind of poopy - fluish and generally cranky. I had started a diet a few weeks before and figured that was part of the reason that I was a little tired. A couple of weeks later, I thought that there might be more to this whole thing and took a pregnancy test. Didn't get a line! Whew! That was a close one. Well, after another week had passed and that irritating little friend hadn't stopped by for her monthly pow-wow, I bought another test on the way to work one morning. Stopped in the bathroom at the office, tinkled on the stick, and Voila! A pink line. A very dark pink line. I sat there in stunned silence in the stall and wondered how I was going to manage this - a very active two-year old, a 42 year-old body (and brain!!), and no health insurance. It wasn't the glowing mom-to-be moment that we all dream about, I assure you.

Now, don't get me wrong. I wanted one more child, but I thought that ship had sailed. Obviously not. It had just been dry-docked for a while. Do you know how goofy you feel when you find out you're pregnant, without assistance (okay, Harvey assisted, but you know what I mean!), at 42 and it was an "accident"? Pretty darn goofy, I'll tell you. Pretty darn goofy.

I went home and told Harvey, who stared at me blankly for a moment before composing himself, and he seemed okay with the idea. I know that the no health insurance thing popped into his head immediately, but he should know by now that I usually find a way to work these things out.

With our past history with miscarriages, we didn't get too excited, stressed, or panicked, as we didn't even know if this was going to stick. We had gotten our miracle two years ago and were wary that we were going to be blessed with another. I called the doctor to set up an appointment in early May and we simply waited to see what would happen.

In the meantime, things seemed to go along as usual. No morning sickness, although I did get a little queasy in the afternoons and gagged up a lung when attempting to brush my teeth in the mornings, and I generally felt pretty good. I visited Dr. Geldernick and she confirmed the pregnancy with an ultrasound. Sure enough, there was a little kidney bean that seemed to have implanted pretty well. Things started to seem a little more real at that point, but I was still cautious. She set up an appointment with the perinatologist that I saw when pregnant with Wyatt (because of my "advanced maternal age" ::gag::) and I would see her again a week after that appointment.

I've been very lucky with my OB/GYN, Dr. Geldernick, as she has always been very supportive and very straightforward when dealing with issues related to my pregnancies. She was with me through all three miscarriages, the birth of Wyatt, and was excited to hear that I was pregnant again at 42. She's never made me feel "old" or challenged to be an older mom. I just wanted to say thanks for that...

Anyway, back on track here...At the peri, they performed an NT (nuchal translucency) scan. This scan combines the results of an ultrasound where they measure the skin on the back of the baby's neck (a thick nuchal fold indicates the possibility of Down's Syndrome) with a blood test to determine whether there is a higher than average risk of birth defect. A few days later they called and said that my numbers for Downs were a little lower than average, but that they were better than for someone my age. They gave me the option of having an amnio or just going with the results. I figured that, although it was going to cost out the wazoo, I didn't want to worry for the remainder of the pregnancy and opted to take the amnio a couple of weeks later.

I told Harvey that there was no way that he was going to get out of going to that next appointment. If I was going to have a giant needle plunged into my gut, he was going to be there to witness it. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. The ultrasound tech came in and did an ultrasound and all looked good, except it seemed to me that she lingered quite a while on the brain. Now, you have to understand that when it comes to pregnancy and the health of the baby, I am the world's absolute worst worrier. Considering I was already a nervous wreck wondering if there was some birth defect monster waiting to pounce, her hesitation on my child's brain did nothing to ease my fears. When the doctor came in, I immediately asked her what the problem was. She said that they had seen two bilateral choroid plexus cysts in the baby's brain. Brain?! Cysts?! PANIC! PANIC! PANIC!

Before I could go into total meltdown, she explained that these cysts are sometimes seen in early ultrasounds and may be a normal stage of development, as they usually disappear by 24 weeks. Not a comfort. She said cysts in brain. Need explanation. She went on to say that the cysts were actually in the choroid plexus, a conduit which carries spinal fluid to the brain, not in the brain itself. While some children with birth defects do exhibit these cysts, she had seen nothing to indicate any problem with the baby, no "soft markers", no clenched fists, nothing. She was completely convinced that these would disappear within the next few weeks and, if they didn't, they would not cause a healthy baby any developmental problems or mental defects that she knew of.

At this point, I'm pretty freaked out because I just hear the bad, not the good. Harvey, luckily, only hears and believes the positive things that she says. They prepped me for the amnio, stuck me like a pig, and I hated every minute of it. It's not a painful procedure, but it is extremely uncomfortable. Like someone just kicked you in the stomach. She drew out the fluid, said it looked good and they would let me know the results as soon as they had them - in 10 days to two weeks. Excuse me? How long do I have to fret, worry, and think of every horrible scenario my twisted little mind can conceive? Two whole weeks! You must be kidding...