Wednesday, November 9th started like any other morning before an ultrasound. Get up super early ‘cause a baby is pressing on my bladder and I gotta pee. Forget that I am supposed to be peeing in a sample cup for the Dr. and curse because I do this EVERY time. Guess I’ll have to do it later. Oh well. I’m too tired to really care. Go back to bed and wait for my alarm to wake me up so I can get Alli off to school on time. Hit the snooze button a good three to four times before I actually get up and get moving. Today I’m motivated enough to get in the shower, shave my legs AND blow dry my hair. It’s a big day – I’m going out in public!
It’s my turn to chauffer the carpool to school and Alli and I talk on the way about how we hope it’s going to be a girl. She crosses her fingers saying “I hope... I hope... I hope”. Looking back, it’s pretty much the most heart breaking thing ever. My appointment isn’t until 10 am so I am able to finish styling my hair, during which I down the recommended 32 ounces of water so that my bladder gets nice and full for the ultrasound.
Hubby Josh is able to meet us there, thank goodness. At 9:40 am, with a painfully full bladder, I load the boys into the van and head over to the doctor’s office. Blake is excited because he thinks that getting to “see the baby” means it’s coming out today and I spend the drive explaining that the baby isn’t done cooking yet. We’re just going to see if it’s a HE or a SHE and if it’s healthy. My nerves start acting up on the drive over. For some reason, I keep praying to Heavenly Father that I’ll be at peace. I never told Josh this, but about two weeks before the ultrasound I started having a feeling that something wasn’t right with the baby. Things just didn’t seem the same as the others. Not wanting to bring my worries to fruition, I kept my mouth shut and hoped to high heaven that I was just being a worry wart for nothing.
We get to the office at exactly 10 am, which means that we don’t get in to see the doctor until almost 11 am. Ladies that came after me were going in and leaving before I even got called back. Oh man was I getting mad. “Just a few more minutes” “Just a few more minutes” blah blah blah. Don’t they know my bladder was about to burst any second?! Jiminy Christmas! Not to mention I should have been in and out, so all my family and friends are wondering why the heck I haven’t told them anything yet.
Finally, it’s my turn. I hand the nurse my pee sample – I pat myself on the back because I finally remembered to bring it this time. Everything looks good there, so it’s time for the main event. Blake has to use the facilities, which are attached to the ultrasound room by a sliding door, so Josh runs him in while I get ready. As I lay back on the table my nerves really start to go crazy. There is this poster on the ceiling of an infant’s hand wrapped around it’s mother’s finger and as I’m staring at it I’m hit with this overwhelming need to say another prayer of support because I’m about to be land blasted. I pray for comfort, peace, understanding and the strength to handle whatever we are given. I have no idea where the urge to pray came from, but I’m glad I did. My tears start before the Dr. even comes into the room. I know what’s about to happen isn’t going to be pretty, but I put on a happy face for Josh and the boys. Five minutes of faking happy later... knock, knock, it’s the doctor! He turns out the light, squirts the warm jelly on my belly (my doc is super nice and keeps the jelly on a warmer) and I take a deep breath. Here we go.
First shot on the screen is the baby’s head. The Doctor says that while its up, he’s just gonna take a few measurements. Ok, makes sense. He moves the Doppler thing in and out, in and out. Changes positions. In and out, in and out. Again, he changes positions. All the while not saying a word. Unlike last time with Tay, he doesn’t move the screen out of my vision, but I hear him take in a tiny breath. That’s when I know. I know it isn’t good. I ask him what’s wrong and he says that there is a little more fluid on the baby’s brain that he’d like to see. I know what that is. I had a brother born with it. Hydrocephaly. I’m devastated. The tears start to pour, again. My doctor continues to take measurements, and explains that it looks like the baby is Hydrocephalic and although it isn’t the worst he’s seen it’s enough that he is concerned about it. I know my doctor. He’s delivered my four children. I know he’s more than concerned. I can see it on his face. It isn’t good.
He stops the Ultrasound and helps me wipe off my belly, all the while telling us he’s sorry, especially because we’ve already had a baby that was born with a defect. He practically runs from the room telling us that he is going to get us an appointment with a specialist at the hospital, STAT (like how I did that?). The specialist comes up from Salt Lake City twice a week (Mondays and Tuesdays), and we’ve already missed so the earliest they can squeeze us in is at 2 pm the following Tuesday. Apparently they are into torturing expectant mothers by driving them crazy with worry. An entire week! I had to wait a whole flippin’ 6 days to get an answer – it might as well have been a month for all the worrying I did. Who does that to people!? “Your baby may have a birth defect. We are going to send you home to freak out for a week. You can come in after that time for more horrible news and maybe a few answers.” How about you just send me to a padded cell instead because I’m sure I’m going to need it soon. Oh yeah. Not only did we leave the office in a teary, snotty mess but the doctor was so worried about the diagnosis that he never even told us if the baby was a boy or a girl! Seriously, I was so mad. Not even a smidgeon of good news to pass on to our waiting family and friends. I don’t even really remember the walk out to our cars. Josh didn't want to tell everyone until we have more answers, but I can’t not tell my mom and sisters. I spend the drive home crying to my mom. We spend the afternoon and evening making calls to our families. Everyone has questions that we don't have the answers to. It's more than frustrating. It’s a whole week of waiting before we get even more crippling news.