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.
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