November 26, 2012

Having been diagnosed with Symphasis Pubis Dysfunction and in extreme pain when I put any pressure whatsoever on my pelvis (so this means, sitting, walking, standing) I spend some of my time on the sofa with my feet up on an ottoman.  Mostly, though, I spend 80-90% of my  life in bed.  One would think this is is great. I mean, who wouldn't want to be forced to lie around in bed all day watching tv, reading or playing around on the laptop or iPad? Let me tell ya, after a week of this (and maybe even less) you get bored.  Utterly and hopelessly bored.  And your butt gets sore.  You hold your bladder as long as humanly possible (which isn't for long when you're pregnant!) because getting in and our of bed is excruciating.  

I spent a few days working on my baby registries, working on the baby shower guest list, and helping my stepmother (who is giving the shower) with choosing the invitations.  I was extremely appreciative of the distraction, and hey, it was FUN!  It gives me something to look forward to.  

I was worried, but not terribly so, about the Level 2 Ultrasound.  Mostly, I was just excited to see Annabel again. 

The ultrasound was going well and Annabel was very active, being her usual uncooperative self, which always strikes me as funny.  I have a feeling she's going to be a stubborn little soul like her Daddy, but it also means she's a fighter, and our little girl needs all the fight in her she can muster.  

We saw her lungs, leg and arm bones, brain, fingers, toes, organs and so on.  The ultrasound tech, Cecilia again, commented on how great she looked and how she appeared to be right on target with her development.  Annabel happily opened her legs several times to verify that she is, in fact, a girl, a fact we already knew, but now had confirmed.  Cecilia looked for the typical markers for Down syndrome and saw none.  My breath hitched with the possibility that maybe the test had been wrong; maybe Annabel was perfectly fine.  

And then she got to her heart, which was the one thing I was most nervous about.  Annabel turned her back and refused to cooperate.  Cecilia kept trying and was able to see something, but she had grown quiet.  Was she worried about something she saw, or was she merely concentrating?  

She said she wanted to call the doctor from upstairs and have him take a look.  I immediately knew something was wrong and my heart sank.  Just a few minutes later he walked into the room with another young woman in tow to observe.  There were now 5 of us in the small dark room.  

Dr. J. gently moved the wand around my abdomen looking at Annabel's heart.  She had grown tired and had fallen asleep, right on her back, which gave the best view.  It seemed like hours passed before he finally spoke, his soft voice heavy with a Belgian accent.  He rested his hand on my belly in a gesture of comfort, and told us that he had seen a "significant" hole in Annabel's heart.  He felt fairly sure this cemented the Down syndrome diagnosis and said he thought she had a Ventricular Septal Defect.  He said some other things, too, but I couldn't concentrate on his words.  All I heard was "heart defect" and that we would have some "decisions to make".  He kept saying how sorry he was, and all I could think about was that my baby, my precious Annabel, was going to die.  He asked if we had any questions, keeping his eyes on me the entire time.  I could only shake my head no.  I couldn't speak.  I could barely even breathe.  Why was this happening to us?  Why did everything have to be so difficult for our baby? For all of use? Why couldn't she be healthy and perfect like most other babies?  

We left the room so I could go down the hall to have my vitals taken before going into an exam room for my prenatal visit.  I saw Dr. J talking to my OB, Dr. D.  They glanced up at us as we left the room.  That was when I lost it.  Russell and I went into the closest bathroom and he held me as I sobbed.  This was just too much; all of it.  We had been given this wonderful surprise gift, only to feel it slipping out of our hands.  

I gathered myself as best as I could and walked down the hall to the room where the vitals are taken.  I could feel the eyes of the office staff on us as we walked by.  I'm not one of those women who looks pretty when she cries. I look horrible, with red puffy eyes and snot running down my face.  Part of me was embarrassed. but another part didn't care what anyone thought.  I remember the girl taking my weight and blood pressure.  I didn't speak as she did either.  My nurse then came and ushered us quickly back to an exam room to wait for Dr. D.  The wait wasn't long, and Dr. D. gave me a hug as she entered the room.  I apologized for crying every time I saw her, and she joked that she wasn't the least bit offended, and said she knew she wasn't the most beautiful woman in the work (she's wrong; she is absolutely beautiful, inside and out).  In a fog, I barely remember the conversation, and there wasn't much anyway.  She told us she might have to transfer me to Vanderbilt to an OB there depending on what the prognosis for the baby ended up being.  She clearly hated to lose her patients and said that the only ones she's ever lost to another OB were for heart issues.  It felt like another blow.  They couldn't take care of Annabel's needs in our in-network hospital, so we would have to go out of network to Vanderbilt.  It would be a struggle dealing with our insurance company, who had already refused to pay for certain things with my pregnancy, even though I am high-risk due to my age and weight.  

Vanderbilt felt big and scary, but I knew that I would do whatever was necessary to accommodate Annabel's needs.  No matter what, she came first.  

We left the office with an appointment for a Fetal Echo Cardiogram for the following week at Vanderbilt, a lot of fear, and a lost sense of hope.  

My first dress, which my mom kept all these (43) years. 

Annabel's new dachshund shoes, handmade in Spain