20 weeks... and trying to keep my nerves in check

I am officially 20 weeks pregnant. 

And, yes, I am sure there is only one baby in there!  :-)

With the exception of a scary episode of dehydration following a nasty allergy/asthma/hive attack (ironically on the evening we went "public" with our baby news), things have been going swimmingly.   I was in constant contact with my doctor (who was so great and even about to drive over to our house when I couldn't reach John at work) the night it happened and continued to be through the weekend until I saw her again.  She took a good look at me and the baby and determined that things still look great.  We even saw our little Tiebreaker wave at us on the screen and my doctor printed it a picture and wrote, "Hi, I'm good!"

Up until the last five days, I had been pretty easy going... not too hormonal (aka emotional or irrational) and not in too much discomfort.  In fact, I'm too busy day-to-day to really remember that I'm pregnant (other than running to the bathroom a lot, needing to eat more often and not being able to bend over quite as easily), that is, until the end of the day when I am absolutely zonked from going non-stop for 18 hours straight!  Easy going... until Monday. 

I was a tightly wound on Monday.  (My heartburn also kicked in with a vengeance... even water is bothering me... but that's really not the point here.)  I was like a ticking time-bomb... looking at me wrong could have been the end of you!  Going through the busy day helped keep me in check a bit, but by late afternoon, I couldn't even have the radio on in the car on the way home from Gracie's therapy.  Too many chances to hear a song that would set off the waterworks.   Then, as if the universe knew I needed an intervention of sorts, we came home to find a very special piece of mail with a gift and note from a dear friend who, as usual, has the perfect timing, the perfect heart, and the perfect piece of wisdom to give me some perspective.  It took until Tuesday night for the perspective to fully sink in... it wasn't so much my raging hormones causing the emotional and (perhaps, irrational!) behavior, as it was my nerves.

John and I are both incredibly nervous for "the big ultrasound" next week... and the fetal echo cardiogram two weeks later.  And it's justified.  It's not just about Gracie's history... because we know that CHARGE Syndrome recurrences are rare - - about 1-2%.  It's about the 2-3% chance that anything can go wrong.  It's the knowledge that Congenital Heart Defects are so much more prevalent than the general public realizes.  It's about knowing way more than parents should have to about genetics, fetal development and statistics. 

It's also because Preston's "big ultrasound" was a disaster.  Over an hour on the table with the tech going back and forth over the baby's anatomy and trying to pretend she wasn't focused on the heart.  John finally told her, "Look, we can clearly see where you're focused, will you please tell us what's going on."  She said she was being thorough and would show everything to the perinatologist, who would then come in, too.  A few minutes later, the doctor came in and started scanning, again focusing on the baby's heart.  It was then that our world temporarily shifted.  She said she was 93% certain (yes... she used that specific of a number... so entirely unprofessional) the baby had a major heart defect.  (Our fetal echo wasn't scheduled for two more weeks.)  With a colorless face, John took my hand and assured me he wasn't leaving me, but that he needed to leave the room for a moment and get some air.  The doctor looked at me, wondering if he really was coming back.  I reminded her that, just the day before, we had brought our daughter home from the hospital following her third open heart surgery.   Of course my husband needed a moment.  He came back... with a bit more color in his cheeks... wearing a grim-trying-to-pretend-to-be-calm expression.  

Because of her certainty, we chose to do an amnio right on the spot... it had not been our intention to take that risk unless justified.  Because we wanted to focus on something other than what might be wrong, we also chose to immediately find out the baby's gender.  (I had wanted to wait this time.)  We didn't need the amnio for that... our little man was proudly spreading his legs and showing off his parts.   As I laid on the table while watching them do the amnio, John and I were reeling.  We had only brought Gracie home from her third open heart surgery yesterday.  How could this be happening?

Thankfully, our cardiology group didn't want us to wait the two weeks until our appointment.  But, being that it was only a few days before Christmas, there wasn't anything on the schedule and some of the docs were on vacation.  The next day, our wonderful cardiologist called us and asked if we could meet him in the office at 8am before he left for the airport... otherwise, we'd have to wait until after the New Year.  It was, obviously, a no-brainer.  His kindness and compassion during a terrifying time will never be forgotten.  He was still in town, but his vacation had already started the day before.  He didn't have to see us... but he did. 

Needless to say, neither of us had slept much since the ultrasound.  Waiting for 8am felt like an eternity and it was the longest appointment ever.  He was so thorough and agonizingly quiet.  Finally, he explained what he saw... he explained what he think the tech and perinatologist saw... and he explained that they were, in fact, wrong.  There were a couple of things he wanted to monitor over the next couple of months, but he also very pointedly said that our baby boy's heart looked normal for the current stage of development.  (John wanted to rip apart the perinatologist for her lack of professionalism... as did my OB, as did our cardiologist, as did everyone... even my new OB.  The perinatologist never should have put a number on her suspicion.  She never should have gone that far... rather, she should have told us her concerns and contacted our cardiologist.  Then we could have decided how to proceed.)   Needless to say, the news was a huge relief.  But, I never fully exhaled for the rest of my pregnancy.  Until Preston was in my arms and his first echo was complete, I never truly felt sure that he was okay. 

So... our nerves are justified.   All of that stewing in the back of my mind is how I got so tightly wound.  But, we (okay, more me than John... but, still, we)  need to pull it together and focus on all of the positive things instead of the what-ifs.   If there is one thing that we know, it's how many positives there are - - even in the smallest of things - - regardless of the "what-ifs" and what actually "is."  Our daughter, and all she teaches us, is a constant reminder of that.

Still, I will be glad when October 11th and October 28th are behind us.