I have my weekly fetal echo this afternoon, and I'm hoping all is well. I'm a little nervous because I had a huge uninvited adrenalin jolt this weekend.
We had snow here in CT this weekend. They predicted we'd get a couple inches, tops. Until it started way earlier than predicted, and the storm came packing it's own cold air mass. We got probably 5 or 6 heavy, wet inches of snow. This shouldn't of been a huge problem. Our biggest issue should have been "The shovel is still in the attic - drat!" Instead, it is much much more complicated.
Issue 1: Tree in the Road
A tree fell across our road, right in our front yard. We actually had a small advantage to start, since we were out running errands (yes, we fell into the "It'll be a dusting" category). This put our car on the other side of the tree - allowing us to get out of the street. Had we hunkered down, we'd have been trapped in our house with no power or water.
Issue 2: Tree in the Kitchen
We came around the tree in the road to see branches sticking out over our house. Quickly, Mark realized those branches were attached to a whole tree. Once in the house, we had a huge mess on our hands. One shattered skylight. Broken rafters, holes in ceiling. And much of the storm was still to come. We called insurance, our tree guy, and our construction guy (this has happened before...it wasn't pretty, but at least we knew the drill) before high-tailing it to a hotel for the night. In the middle of this high-risk pregnancy, we weren't about to sit around terrified all night that another tree would drop.
Issue 3: CL&P or the State of CT?
This third issue came later. It's directly related to Issue 1. CL&P was planning on restoring power to our neighborhood, to everyone on the OTHER side of the tree. Then coming back and clearing the tree later, ya know, when they had a few extra minutes. Meanwhile, snow continues to melt and saturate our walls and ceiling - create more and more damage the longer it sits there. Our tree guys can't get to our house to take the tree off our house until CL&P clears the road. Someone hacked a car-sized chunk of the tree away so trapped families could get out. The CL&P crew Mark spoke to said it wasn't them (really, why would it be?), so they can't do anything more. I can't help but be angry at the power company and the state. Clearly CL&P planned on no big storms ever occurring again, so took no lessons learned out of the Irene debacle (we lost power & water for 6 days). And the state just leaves it entirely up to the utilities. Can't we send out the National Guard or DOT workers to assist?
So now we wait.
I can't help but wonder what we've done to get this disaster-on-disaster action. I've never maliciously went after someone purely out of spite. I've never tried to manipulate anyone into doing my bidding. I stand by honesty and hard work. We give to charity regularly. I'm having a hard time just sucking it all up. It's taking a great deal of effort to dust myself off. Hopefully this process moves easier and faster than the last time we had a tree fall on our house (it took 6+ months to fix the entire roof, gut our bedroom and repair and re-insulate everything).
The next move is to sink some cash into tree removal. We've got some really big trees hanging out near our house. Ones that I'm less worrried about breaking, but just falling over from over saturated soil. One of these trees would probably end us if it were to fall. Who can sleep knowing that? Not me!
Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
I am a (Hallo)weenie
This week, I've went from a huge high of getting another week safely under our belts, to a low of feeling like I'm just not as strong as I thought. What brought on my revelation of wussiness? Halloween. Of all things.
Admittedly, I'm not a huge Halloween person. If I dress up, I usually half ass it and have to explain my costume to everyone. Only one year in recent history have I gone as anything of note (couples costume as pilot & stewardess to a party with lots of booze...it was funny to watch Mark slowly become a drunk pilot). We don't do much for decoration outside of maybe a jack-o-latern pump soap from Bath & Body Works and a pumpkin on the porch. In fact, I'm even frustrated that this year has seen the wide acceptance of Halloween Lights. Are we all supposed to spend another weekend of the year putting up orange lights? Who has that kind of time?!
But this year, I was psyched to do a controversial pregnancy costume. Maybe the Bride from Kill Bill (post church shoot-up, but pre-coupe de grace), or a cheerleader, or the mother of all "wrong" preggo costumes - a nun.
Instead, I am hiding from Halloween. I found myself high tailing it out of the office minutes before the kids' party. This is something I typically really enjoy. My company throws a big party for all the office offspring. They even hand out candy to everyone in the office so the kids can trick-or-treat door to door. It's great fun to see little mini-me's of the people you see daily running around like maniacs. This year, I bolted before it started like a coward. I just couldn't help feeling like I would potentially burst into tears. It's not fair that there's a chance I might not get to participate next year. Plus, it's not fair for me to bring that kind of baggage to a joyous event. I'd hate to be the person who makes a proud Mom or Dad feel awkward because I can't separate my situation from their kids fun night - that's not fair either.
So I disappeared. Let's say "I was a ghost for Halloween". Which really means "I took a nap on the couch with my dog."
On the big night, we may end up being one of those houses with a "Please Take One" bowl - which we'll have to sneakily refill a couple times, I can't honestly expect kids jacked up on sugar to abide by the unsupervised sign.
Admittedly, I'm not a huge Halloween person. If I dress up, I usually half ass it and have to explain my costume to everyone. Only one year in recent history have I gone as anything of note (couples costume as pilot & stewardess to a party with lots of booze...it was funny to watch Mark slowly become a drunk pilot). We don't do much for decoration outside of maybe a jack-o-latern pump soap from Bath & Body Works and a pumpkin on the porch. In fact, I'm even frustrated that this year has seen the wide acceptance of Halloween Lights. Are we all supposed to spend another weekend of the year putting up orange lights? Who has that kind of time?!
But this year, I was psyched to do a controversial pregnancy costume. Maybe the Bride from Kill Bill (post church shoot-up, but pre-coupe de grace), or a cheerleader, or the mother of all "wrong" preggo costumes - a nun.
Instead, I am hiding from Halloween. I found myself high tailing it out of the office minutes before the kids' party. This is something I typically really enjoy. My company throws a big party for all the office offspring. They even hand out candy to everyone in the office so the kids can trick-or-treat door to door. It's great fun to see little mini-me's of the people you see daily running around like maniacs. This year, I bolted before it started like a coward. I just couldn't help feeling like I would potentially burst into tears. It's not fair that there's a chance I might not get to participate next year. Plus, it's not fair for me to bring that kind of baggage to a joyous event. I'd hate to be the person who makes a proud Mom or Dad feel awkward because I can't separate my situation from their kids fun night - that's not fair either.
So I disappeared. Let's say "I was a ghost for Halloween". Which really means "I took a nap on the couch with my dog."
On the big night, we may end up being one of those houses with a "Please Take One" bowl - which we'll have to sneakily refill a couple times, I can't honestly expect kids jacked up on sugar to abide by the unsupervised sign.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Scan Result = Same
I had my weekly scan to check for signs of heart failure and other issues. Everything is still looking about the same, which is as good as we can hope for! It feels like a huge victory to get through one more week. It's one week closer to the safety zone. Somewhere between 27 and 30 weeks puts us in the delivery zone, where the baby can survive on with the help of the folks at the NICU. If things start looking bad. Hopefully she can stay in longer, but I'm not planning on it for now.
I am starting to really feel the baby move now though - which is exciting and reassuring. She's a busy girl already! I've been feeling her for about a week, but seeing her move on the ultrasound and feeling it at the same time is a wild sensation. Almost surreal.
We continue to move forward and think positive at home. We're playing the name game nightly, and maybe getting a little overwhelmed by it. But we have some favorites in the works!
I am starting to really feel the baby move now though - which is exciting and reassuring. She's a busy girl already! I've been feeling her for about a week, but seeing her move on the ultrasound and feeling it at the same time is a wild sensation. Almost surreal.
We continue to move forward and think positive at home. We're playing the name game nightly, and maybe getting a little overwhelmed by it. But we have some favorites in the works!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Just a Word Helps
It's amazing how much even a slight acknowledgment of what you're going through bolsters your spirit. I've gotten notes, texts, emails and inquires from a lot of people, and each one makes me a little stronger. Just knowing someone is thinking of you and is on your side helps so much.
Every day our little girl is in our every thought. It's inescapable. It's also hard to remain positive and strong with every move. My parents, friends, and coworkers have been amazingly supportive. It makes a huge difference knowing we have positive thoughts on our side. I never really realized how strong unconditional love can be for the spirit.
Of course, some people are absent, and that's ok. I'm trying hard to make it ok anyway. It's been hard for me to let go of anger or resentment. Yesterday, it was hard for me to get over something and move past. I know I need to. I know wallowing in my own self-pity is not healthy for this little girl.
To help me move past, I'm going to start practicing some meditation. I'd love to be doing yoga as well, but I'm not sure I should. I'm so hesitant with every activity because I think if I keep my heart rate down, I will do better for my girl. The harder my heart works, the harder hers has to pump. I want to make sure to keep it steady as much as I can. This gets hard when I get riled up about stupid things. My blood pressure cranks and my heart rate goes up. Remaining calm is a new piece of the puzzle, and it's a hard one for me to master.
Every day our little girl is in our every thought. It's inescapable. It's also hard to remain positive and strong with every move. My parents, friends, and coworkers have been amazingly supportive. It makes a huge difference knowing we have positive thoughts on our side. I never really realized how strong unconditional love can be for the spirit.
Of course, some people are absent, and that's ok. I'm trying hard to make it ok anyway. It's been hard for me to let go of anger or resentment. Yesterday, it was hard for me to get over something and move past. I know I need to. I know wallowing in my own self-pity is not healthy for this little girl.
To help me move past, I'm going to start practicing some meditation. I'd love to be doing yoga as well, but I'm not sure I should. I'm so hesitant with every activity because I think if I keep my heart rate down, I will do better for my girl. The harder my heart works, the harder hers has to pump. I want to make sure to keep it steady as much as I can. This gets hard when I get riled up about stupid things. My blood pressure cranks and my heart rate goes up. Remaining calm is a new piece of the puzzle, and it's a hard one for me to master.
Tissues Everywhere
I'm finding balled up tissues along every step of my day. In the pocket of my jeans, under my pillow, wedged between couch cushions, jammed into my purse...it goes on. I don't think it needs stating, but yes, I've been crying. A lot.
Not sitting around weeping, mind you. It just hits me suddenly, and just as quickly, I try to make it go away. I give myself 5 minutes to let it out, then I begin to calm. Not knowing what's ahead week by week will do that. In addition to the realization that this baby could be coming very early - in 10 weeks or less. And by coming early, we're looking at a long stay in the NICU. With or without surgery.
We took a trip to Babies r Us this weekend to scout things. Not to buy yet (still to nervous), but to get our hands on these items I've been researching and scouring reviews about. Our plan is to get the bare minimum as close to her arrival as possible. It's nice to think of a positive future, and move forward with our family plans. It was exciting to look around, but massively bittersweet.
Selfishly, I couldn't help but feel disappointment as I looked at all the little cute items I've previously pawed through while trying to match a sku on a baby registry. It hit me that I won't be having a shower of my own. I didn't plan on it for many reasons once we've been diagnosed, but it really hit me standing in front of a display of cuddly car seat covers and stylishly patterned changing pads. All those little things that invade your home to get you ready for baby's arrival will not be making an appearance at our place. Not until after the baby arrives anyway.
Of course, it's something I am over. It was my choice anyway. I'd rather have my baby girl join our family, than have a party (an event which many people dread and go to out of obligation anyway). I try to remain positive - it will be a much more joyous event to celebrate the safe arrival of this baby. Plus it gives me the opportunity to have a less traditional (and hopefully less dreadfully boring) baby-related party.
I made it through the store just fine. By the end, I started to feel a little numb. I was trying so hard not to look at the babies around me. Not to be angered by the distracted people who nearly mowed us down with their baby-occupied strollers. Not to be infuriated after overhearing someone say "I wish he was a girl, believe me." I kept trying to shove the frustration of these Saturday shoppers taking their amazing luck in having a healthy, normal babe for granted.
We left the store, where I promptly lost it in the parking lot on our way back to the car. It was a small victory that I didn't get upset in the store. Mark put his arm around me and let me quietly cry into his shoulder as we walked. He told me to stay positive, and we'll make a good plan for her arrival. We'll have plenty of time once she's here to get prepared. By the time we made it to the car, I was calmer. We talked about our confusion over what we really need (travel system? does our stroller have to be as big as a shopping cart?). I blotted my eyes with yet another tissue, which I'll probably find jammed in between my passenger seat and the armrest later this week.
Not sitting around weeping, mind you. It just hits me suddenly, and just as quickly, I try to make it go away. I give myself 5 minutes to let it out, then I begin to calm. Not knowing what's ahead week by week will do that. In addition to the realization that this baby could be coming very early - in 10 weeks or less. And by coming early, we're looking at a long stay in the NICU. With or without surgery.
We took a trip to Babies r Us this weekend to scout things. Not to buy yet (still to nervous), but to get our hands on these items I've been researching and scouring reviews about. Our plan is to get the bare minimum as close to her arrival as possible. It's nice to think of a positive future, and move forward with our family plans. It was exciting to look around, but massively bittersweet.
Selfishly, I couldn't help but feel disappointment as I looked at all the little cute items I've previously pawed through while trying to match a sku on a baby registry. It hit me that I won't be having a shower of my own. I didn't plan on it for many reasons once we've been diagnosed, but it really hit me standing in front of a display of cuddly car seat covers and stylishly patterned changing pads. All those little things that invade your home to get you ready for baby's arrival will not be making an appearance at our place. Not until after the baby arrives anyway.
Of course, it's something I am over. It was my choice anyway. I'd rather have my baby girl join our family, than have a party (an event which many people dread and go to out of obligation anyway). I try to remain positive - it will be a much more joyous event to celebrate the safe arrival of this baby. Plus it gives me the opportunity to have a less traditional (and hopefully less dreadfully boring) baby-related party.
I made it through the store just fine. By the end, I started to feel a little numb. I was trying so hard not to look at the babies around me. Not to be angered by the distracted people who nearly mowed us down with their baby-occupied strollers. Not to be infuriated after overhearing someone say "I wish he was a girl, believe me." I kept trying to shove the frustration of these Saturday shoppers taking their amazing luck in having a healthy, normal babe for granted.
We left the store, where I promptly lost it in the parking lot on our way back to the car. It was a small victory that I didn't get upset in the store. Mark put his arm around me and let me quietly cry into his shoulder as we walked. He told me to stay positive, and we'll make a good plan for her arrival. We'll have plenty of time once she's here to get prepared. By the time we made it to the car, I was calmer. We talked about our confusion over what we really need (travel system? does our stroller have to be as big as a shopping cart?). I blotted my eyes with yet another tissue, which I'll probably find jammed in between my passenger seat and the armrest later this week.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Week 20: Visit to Columbia
We visited a highly regarded pediatric cardiologist this week at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York. It was a short drive from home, and I think future visits will be well worth the hour in the car.
We got a confirmation on the diagnosis: Persistent Right Umbilical Vein with missing Ductus (I'm missing a word in there somewhere, but it was an emotional day to say the least. I didn't catch everything). It's a prenatal issue primarily, that will effect the development of the heart. What's happening now is that our sweet girl is getting extra blood draining into her heart from this Right Umbilical vein. This can cause an overload, and may lead to heart failure before we can meet her.
Our mission now - get through the next 10 weeks or so with a strong heart.
Once we can deliver, we're into more comfortable territory. Not that we're guaranteed smooth sailing, but at least we (and by "we" I mean "our doctors") can better control what happens once she's out in the world.
So now we try to stay positive, and hope this little lady has the stubborn, driven spirit of her mom and dad in there.
We got a confirmation on the diagnosis: Persistent Right Umbilical Vein with missing Ductus (I'm missing a word in there somewhere, but it was an emotional day to say the least. I didn't catch everything). It's a prenatal issue primarily, that will effect the development of the heart. What's happening now is that our sweet girl is getting extra blood draining into her heart from this Right Umbilical vein. This can cause an overload, and may lead to heart failure before we can meet her.
Our mission now - get through the next 10 weeks or so with a strong heart.
Once we can deliver, we're into more comfortable territory. Not that we're guaranteed smooth sailing, but at least we (and by "we" I mean "our doctors") can better control what happens once she's out in the world.
So now we try to stay positive, and hope this little lady has the stubborn, driven spirit of her mom and dad in there.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
An Introduction of Sorts
It all started with a trip to Key West. A short trip to spend some quality time together eating conch fritters and guzzling rum drinks while we crossed another "always wanted to go" trip off our list. It was a trip we were hoping was our last hurrah before starting a family.
Luckily, it looks like that was the case. A few short weeks later I told Mark we were having pickles and ice cream for dessert. We were beyond excited. After having a few health run-ins over the years, I was feeling extremely confident about the pregnancy. In fact, I've never been so sure of something going smoothly in my whole life. Now I know that I should fear that rare feeling of absolute assurance.
Fast forward about 18 weeks to our level 2 ultrasound. The big day where we find out a little more about who will be changing our lives. My gut said girl...my gut was right. Everything was looking good. The sonographer laughed as she had to chase my little one around my belly to get shots of our active little girl. When it came down to getting the big pictures - like the heart, my sonographer said she was having trouble seeing things clearly. Another technician was brought in. She told me she was seeing something with the structure of the heart. I was told to get some lunch, and hopefully the doctor would be back from surgery in the afternoon.
He wasn't, but I had another hour's worth of scans with yet another sonographer - a specialist in fetal cardiology. She explained things as best as she could to me, and admitted that she could point out the issues, but didn't know what anything means for my baby. She told me the veins weren't hooked up to the right spots, and there was something that she was having trouble locating. I could feel her frustration, and it scared me. Nothing was really sinking in yet until she asked if anyone could come and pick me up. When I explained that no one was really near by, she recommended I stay there until the doctor came back from surgery at the hospital. I opted to stay.
They put me in a little room with an adjustable chair and a blanket. A small TV hung on the wall. I flipped it on to distract myself. HGTV was the only channel I could get - perfect, really. It's like broadcast novacaine - no emotional content, so you feel nothing. No highs or lows, just a steady stream of paint colors, outdoor kitchens, and crown molding. It's right up there with the Food and QVC for mind-numbing sound and colors.
I made phone calls to Mark, who scrambled to get out of work and get on a train asap. Then I panicked. My parents were in California enjoying a couple extra days after my brother's wedding. Was this big enough to interrupt their trip? I called my Aunt instead, who gave me hope by telling me this little girl comes from a long line of tough ladies, and she'll hang in. She also insisted I call my Mom. We cried together, she reluctantly asked if I knew what we were having - knowing it would hurt either way.
At this point I was worn out. Someone from the office came and mercifully gave me snacks and water. They let me know the doctor was finally out of surgery, and would talk to me soon. Mark was on his way, so they took care of some other business. I was so happy Mark could make it. I wasn't sure if I'd really understand or be able to regurgitate the specifics. When he arrived, I had moved from laying listlessly to pacing, thanks to the calories in my snack. He kissed me and held me tight. All I could do was apologize - I didn't want to put him through it. I felt responsible because I was the one carrying our baby, so someone had to be at fault.
Luckily, when we met with the doctor, he told us in no uncertain terms that this was pure bad luck. Nothing we had done, ate, or drank would have caused this. Unluckily, he also explained he didn't know what this defect meant for our future. He walked us through the findings, and honestly told us he had no idea what the outcome could be. I was glad that he didn't sugarcoat anything. We got set up to meet a Pediatric Cardiologist who just happened to be affiliated with Columbia and just happened to have hours at Stamford hospital the next day.
My parents cut their trip short and headed back East on a red eye flight. It was a huge comfort. This way I got to see them first thing in the morning, and my Mom could come to the Pediatric Cardiologist with me.
It was an inappropriately beautiful day to be visiting a cardiologist. I thought rain or at least an overcast sky would have been more fitting. Even though the sun burned my teary, puffy eyes, the sunshine gave me a little hope. We checked in with the receptionist, and sat to wait. I tried to keep my mind focused on the mundane while we waited for what felt like an eternity in the open area outside the Maternal Fetal Care hallway.
When we got inside, I situated myself on the table, while my mom sat next to me. I asked for a preemptive tissue, and told Mom that she'd need one too. This would be her first time seeing the baby, and I knew it would be emotional - regardless of the circumstances. As the doctor chased the baby around my belly for about an hour, I quietly cried on and off, trying to stay calm. I hoped that if I was calm, the baby would stay still.
As I watched her move around the screen, I silently made a pact with our little girl. "We're going to make it. We have to fight this, baby girl. We're in it together, and we'll be with you every step."
Finally, the kind doctor was able to get the pictures he needed, despite my active little lady twisting and turning all over the place. As he began to talk, my mom's cell phone rang. Mark had gotten to us just in time to talk to the doctor. He walked in, looking concerned and pale. He had trouble finding the office, and I think he thought he'd miss everything. I tried to give him a smile, but he just looked scared. He held my hand as the doctor began explaining everything.
The cardiologist had promising news. Hopeful news anyway. He said it didn't look devastating, and he thinks it the defect should be repairable. We'd have to deliver at Columbia to be close to the surgical team. Even though I fully adore my OB/GYN, we would be on board with whatever they make us do. I would work with my doctors here to monitor the baby's progress, and we'd take it week by week. He prepared us for the fact that we may need to deliver prematurely. A scary thought on it's own for a multitude of reasons.
We were instructed to set up an appointment with another Pediatric Cardiologist at Columbia for further diagnosis. As soon as we walked through the doors, we all hugged each other. It wasn't great news, but it certainly was hopeful. The sun seemed to great us warmly now, rather than the half-mocking it was doing before the appointment. Our appetites came back, and we headed home for food and a well-deserved nap on the couch.
Luckily, it looks like that was the case. A few short weeks later I told Mark we were having pickles and ice cream for dessert. We were beyond excited. After having a few health run-ins over the years, I was feeling extremely confident about the pregnancy. In fact, I've never been so sure of something going smoothly in my whole life. Now I know that I should fear that rare feeling of absolute assurance.
Fast forward about 18 weeks to our level 2 ultrasound. The big day where we find out a little more about who will be changing our lives. My gut said girl...my gut was right. Everything was looking good. The sonographer laughed as she had to chase my little one around my belly to get shots of our active little girl. When it came down to getting the big pictures - like the heart, my sonographer said she was having trouble seeing things clearly. Another technician was brought in. She told me she was seeing something with the structure of the heart. I was told to get some lunch, and hopefully the doctor would be back from surgery in the afternoon.
He wasn't, but I had another hour's worth of scans with yet another sonographer - a specialist in fetal cardiology. She explained things as best as she could to me, and admitted that she could point out the issues, but didn't know what anything means for my baby. She told me the veins weren't hooked up to the right spots, and there was something that she was having trouble locating. I could feel her frustration, and it scared me. Nothing was really sinking in yet until she asked if anyone could come and pick me up. When I explained that no one was really near by, she recommended I stay there until the doctor came back from surgery at the hospital. I opted to stay.
They put me in a little room with an adjustable chair and a blanket. A small TV hung on the wall. I flipped it on to distract myself. HGTV was the only channel I could get - perfect, really. It's like broadcast novacaine - no emotional content, so you feel nothing. No highs or lows, just a steady stream of paint colors, outdoor kitchens, and crown molding. It's right up there with the Food and QVC for mind-numbing sound and colors.
I made phone calls to Mark, who scrambled to get out of work and get on a train asap. Then I panicked. My parents were in California enjoying a couple extra days after my brother's wedding. Was this big enough to interrupt their trip? I called my Aunt instead, who gave me hope by telling me this little girl comes from a long line of tough ladies, and she'll hang in. She also insisted I call my Mom. We cried together, she reluctantly asked if I knew what we were having - knowing it would hurt either way.
At this point I was worn out. Someone from the office came and mercifully gave me snacks and water. They let me know the doctor was finally out of surgery, and would talk to me soon. Mark was on his way, so they took care of some other business. I was so happy Mark could make it. I wasn't sure if I'd really understand or be able to regurgitate the specifics. When he arrived, I had moved from laying listlessly to pacing, thanks to the calories in my snack. He kissed me and held me tight. All I could do was apologize - I didn't want to put him through it. I felt responsible because I was the one carrying our baby, so someone had to be at fault.
Luckily, when we met with the doctor, he told us in no uncertain terms that this was pure bad luck. Nothing we had done, ate, or drank would have caused this. Unluckily, he also explained he didn't know what this defect meant for our future. He walked us through the findings, and honestly told us he had no idea what the outcome could be. I was glad that he didn't sugarcoat anything. We got set up to meet a Pediatric Cardiologist who just happened to be affiliated with Columbia and just happened to have hours at Stamford hospital the next day.
My parents cut their trip short and headed back East on a red eye flight. It was a huge comfort. This way I got to see them first thing in the morning, and my Mom could come to the Pediatric Cardiologist with me.
It was an inappropriately beautiful day to be visiting a cardiologist. I thought rain or at least an overcast sky would have been more fitting. Even though the sun burned my teary, puffy eyes, the sunshine gave me a little hope. We checked in with the receptionist, and sat to wait. I tried to keep my mind focused on the mundane while we waited for what felt like an eternity in the open area outside the Maternal Fetal Care hallway.
When we got inside, I situated myself on the table, while my mom sat next to me. I asked for a preemptive tissue, and told Mom that she'd need one too. This would be her first time seeing the baby, and I knew it would be emotional - regardless of the circumstances. As the doctor chased the baby around my belly for about an hour, I quietly cried on and off, trying to stay calm. I hoped that if I was calm, the baby would stay still.
As I watched her move around the screen, I silently made a pact with our little girl. "We're going to make it. We have to fight this, baby girl. We're in it together, and we'll be with you every step."
Finally, the kind doctor was able to get the pictures he needed, despite my active little lady twisting and turning all over the place. As he began to talk, my mom's cell phone rang. Mark had gotten to us just in time to talk to the doctor. He walked in, looking concerned and pale. He had trouble finding the office, and I think he thought he'd miss everything. I tried to give him a smile, but he just looked scared. He held my hand as the doctor began explaining everything.
The cardiologist had promising news. Hopeful news anyway. He said it didn't look devastating, and he thinks it the defect should be repairable. We'd have to deliver at Columbia to be close to the surgical team. Even though I fully adore my OB/GYN, we would be on board with whatever they make us do. I would work with my doctors here to monitor the baby's progress, and we'd take it week by week. He prepared us for the fact that we may need to deliver prematurely. A scary thought on it's own for a multitude of reasons.
We were instructed to set up an appointment with another Pediatric Cardiologist at Columbia for further diagnosis. As soon as we walked through the doors, we all hugged each other. It wasn't great news, but it certainly was hopeful. The sun seemed to great us warmly now, rather than the half-mocking it was doing before the appointment. Our appetites came back, and we headed home for food and a well-deserved nap on the couch.
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