That Old Infertility Magic

These past few months, I have been neglecting my inner infertile.  I admit it.  I’ve been paying way more attention to the pregnant lady because frankly, she just demands so much time.  I need more maternity pants! Get me to the bathroom, again!  Get me this crazy exotic food that doesn’t exist anywhere within a 50 mile radius!  She has been rather vocal and consuming. But, my inner infertile is always there, waiting patiently to remind me of where I have been and ready to insert a nice reality check when required.  Apparently, today was the appointed reality check day.

Mr. X and I were walking G in the neighborhood this afternoon on a lovely fall day.  It was still light out and so inquiring eyes could probably see the bump.  I’ve only recently begun to not actively hide the belly.  I can if I need to, but I just didn’t feel like it today and I’m trying to get more used to putting it all out there, so to speak.

We run into a neighbor who we haven’t talked to in a while.  She has eagle eye vision and homes in on my stomach.  Eyebrows raised, she asked, “is there news?”

I respond, “I’ve grown a beer gut?” Not satisfying her.

Second try, “I’m dressed as a pregnant woman for Halloween?” Still no. She would not accept anything short of outright victory.

Ok, I said. “I’m pregnant.” Much squealing (her) ensued and then, came the total buzz kill: “Oh, our next door neighbors are expecting too! She’s 18 weeks and they just found out that they’re having a girl. They are SO EXCITED!”

I felt like I’d been socked in the gut. Again. And it wasn’t because my announcement was met with another one.  No, my supreme discomfort was because I was reminded of how much it took me to get to this point when I strongly suspected that my doppleganger had done nothing more exotic than have a few mai tais too many.  The usual and customary feelings hit me like a wave:  I felt like a lesser person again, an inferior and an infertile, perpetually incapable of bearing fruit.

My inner infertile took this opportunity to perch on my shoulder and whisper into my ear, “you know she got pregnant without drama and that she hasn’t had any of the issues you’ve had.  She’s actually excited! She can be excited, unlike you.  And, of course, she’s due in March, too.   So, don’t get comfortable there prego!”

Meanwhile, Inner Prego Lady immediately climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and declared that she wanted to hibernate for the next four months.  She’s a dramatic thing.

We left soon thereafter and went about the rest of our walk.  Inner Infertile and Inner Prego were still in their various throes when the Ref stepped in to bring some clear thinking to the proceedings.  “First”, she said, “we have no idea how this lady got knocked up and frankly, it doesn’t really matter.   She’s also perfectly entitled to be excited.  We are doing just fine taking it one day at a time and anything more would induce anxiety attacks.  Besides, there are far too few measured, content but not overly excited pregnant ladies in this world.  And, finally, her pregnancy has nothing to do with ours.  It doesn’t change a thing nor should we let it have the power to. We can only be responsible for our sphere and she is not part of it.” Amen, sister.

Inner Prego peeked out of the covers and saw that the world had in fact not changed in the slightest. Little Bugger kicked her just for reinforcement. Inner Infertile went back to her retreate on the beach to her book and fruity alcoholic beverage to contemplate the concept that it really doesn’t matter how someone else got knocked up.

As for me, I was relieved to be reminded that I was solely responsible for worrying about me, and not someone else and their pregnancy.  Besides, Inner Prego has to go to the bathroom. Again.

image: FAB O LENS

95, 99, 100!

Less than two weeks ago, we were told that our baby had a 1 in 20 chance of having Down Syndrome.   It also meant that we had a 95% chance of having a chromosomally normal baby.  A week ago, we were told that our chances of having a chromosomally normal baby went up to 99%.  Today, our chances went to:

100%.

The amnio results were normal.

Statistics have not been my friend these past four years.  So it was hard to take comfort in 95% or even 99% because we know what it is like to be in that 1%.  I can relax with 100%.

Go Fish

My cell phone rang yesterday afternoon as I was on my work line with Mr. X. I had just been talking with him about hard it was to wait for the FISH results from our amnio. Like a predictable novel, it was of course the MFM’s office.

This time, it was the nurse who gave us the results of the FISH analysis: Normal, blessedly normal.  She of course immediately harshed on my mellow by warning me that these were preliminary.  I did remember, however, from our conversation with the MFM at Monday’s amnio that FISH is pretty darn accurate and the false rate is very low.  I later found literature that put the false negative rate at 1%. 

We still wait for the final amnio results, but we are grateful for this encouraging news.

ps – yes, we did find out the gender. And, sorry, I’m not ready to divulge. I’m enjoying having that little secret amongst us and the parentals for now.

One Stop Shopping

Today found me once again on my back, slathered in jelly. Oh, how I wish I could say I was in some exotic jello wrestling contest, instead of at the staid, sterile offices of the maternal fetal medicine specialist.  At least with the jello wrestling, I would be able to have a definitive result in almost no time (most likely I would not be the victor).  Alas, I was slathered in jelly on a very uncomfortable bed at the staid, sterile offices of the MFM for our enhanced ultrasound. This was not the same MFM who made the call – this is the MFM that I like.

While we still don’t have a Final Answer, we do have some more information: no soft markers for Downs.  So, our chances have not gotten worse, but they also haven’t gotten better.  In fact, the baby was measuring ahead of schedule: 18 weeks on the nose, and I am 17w5d.

The thing is, this information is still not enough.  We need to no kidding KNOW one way or the other and the only way to do that in utero is amnio.  Initially, I would give an involuntary head shake of absolutely not when posed with the option of an amnio.  I had read too many horror stories about miscarriages due to amnios of otherwise normal healthy babies.  But, upon learning of our 1:20 ratio and the fact that even the most conservative estimates of miscarriage rates for amnio was 1:100, I knew that I was in a losing head shake battle.

Even though we focused on our vacation, I did devote some private time to thinking about amnio and realized that I would need to know now rather than later one way or the other and that I would not be able to live with a maybe.  So, after the ultrasound, I asked when they could do the amnio and was told, “right now!”

No time like the present, so ten minutes later I had my eyes squeezed shut while my abdomen was rubbed with iodine and I got the bee sting in the belly.   I’ve been through a shitload of procedures these past four years, but this was a first for me and boy was it uncomfortable.  The doc tried to make me feel better by explaining that they didn’t have to put the needle in very far, but frankly, it still hurt like a dickens.  Later Mr. X told me that he was surprised that I didn’t start swearing like a sailor.  I know enough to know that you do not under any circumstances make sudden moves or noises when a man has a needle in your stomach.  It was over pretty quickly and I was sent on my way home with strict orders not to lift anything – does that include fingers? – and to take it easy.  I have had no problem following doctors orders.

As for the results, we are doing FISH which should hopefully give us some answers relatively quickly, as well as the usual amnio culture which takes longer.  Just like the past week, though, we are taking it one day at a time.

Between Heaven and Hell

When we went for our nuchal translucency test a few weeks ago, the maternal fetal medicine specialist gave us several options for the blood test portion of the screening. We chose the sequential integrated test which would require blood work a few weeks after the initial scan to be able to get a more accurate result.  I went for that bloodwork on a Monday when I was 15w4d and was advised that we would have results by the end of that week.  The next day, we left for our long-planned vacation in the northeast.

I wasn’t particularly concerned about the screening results.  The nuchal measurement was above the median, but still well below the 95th percentile and the initial bloodwork came back ‘normal’, although they didn’t give me a discussion of what normal meant.  I wasn’t going to press for it either since it was normal.

So, we enjoyed a few days in the Big Apple, seeing the sights, doing Broadway, and just being on vacation.  That Friday, we headed to the next portion of our trip – a cruise through New England.  We were giddy as newlyweds to get on the boat and enjoy the cruise.  First, of course, was the life boat drill that involved lovely dayglo orange life preservers and a demonstration of how to jump into the water if required.  We got back to our cabin and my cell phone was ringing.  It was the MFM with the results of our screening.  That’s where the nightmare began.

Our screening for Down Syndrome, aka Trisomy 21 was 1:20, meaning that there was a 5% chance of Downs, with all other results normal.  Unfortunately, it took several tries for me to understand what he was saying as the cell reception on a ship with tons of steel is not exactly ideal.  What was worse was that I had to go on the balcony to get any reception at all and so I was attempting to disguise the topic of conversation while also taking in what he was telling me.  Mr. X began to swear which frightened me more than what the doctor was telling me since he rarely ever swears out of anger.  He rarely gets angry period.

I was surprisingly calm as the doctor was doing his spiel.   I understood that it was not a final answer and I felt pretty certain that it would turn out just fine.  It was until he started throwing out the terms ‘terminate’ and ‘special needs’ that I began to really get worried.  It’s one thing to be told that you have a 5% chance that your unborn child has a chromosomal abnormality that could mean profound disability and quite another to be told that you can terminate the pregnancy you have worked for four years to bring to fruition or have a child who is labeled from birth as ‘special needs’.  In hindsight, I would have preferred him to simply leave it to what our options were for further testing rather than bringing up what to do in the event that the 5% chance came true.  That particular bell, however, could not be unrung.

So, there we are at the beginning of the cruise that we had been looking forward to as the ultimate escape and we are brought back to reality with one five minute phone call.  The first thing to do was to decide what further testing we wanted.  We both agreed at the time that we were not willing to undergo an amnio because the ultimate worst case scenario has always been having a perfectly normal baby that is miscarried due to a botched amnio.  The other options were an enhanced scan or do nothing.  We chose the enhanced scan which I called for and scheduled for a few days after our return.

Unfortunately, that was all that we could do at that point.  It was either stew or put it aside and go on with our cruise.  I am a stewer by nature and I was in fine stewing form after this.  Dinner was a blur as was conversation with our table mates. I could barely eat and wanted nothing more than to go back to our cabin and stare at a wall or Google.  I did neither, and had a terrible night’s sleep.  Everytime I fell asleep, I would wake up in terror at the thought of terminating if it came to that.

It wasn’t until the next night that matters came to a head and I was finally able to process all of the feelings that I had regarding the information we had not twenty-four hours earlier.  Mr. X and I were on our bed as we sailed away from our first port and I just started bawling.  I let it all out – my fears, my anxieties – and we talked it through.  We came to the conclusion that we needed to know and that there would be an end to this particular nightmare, even if it was not meant to be at that particular moment.  We talked about all of our options and what we would do if we had to make a decision.  Most of all, we talked about the 95% chance that everything was fine and that we would not let this ruin our vacation.  From that moment on, it did not.

We had a lovely trip and I was able to really enjoy myself.  For that, I am so proud and thankful and that is enough for me for now.

image: Mira (on the wall)