34 weeks already?! We're in the home stretch now! Today is an exciting day! We get to see Emma again! It's our first ultrasound appointment since early July. Jenn's parents have come with us for this appointment.
The ultrasound technician starts the "tour" and we watch the screen as our baby magically appears. She looks as beautiful as ever. Everything is perfect. Our little girl is growing and we are merely 6 weeks away from the due date!
Then we meet the doctor for the first time.
He introduces himself to us, we exchange pleasantries, then...
he blindsides us.
"You're baby is measuring very small...."
"How small?"
"She is in the first percentile..."
Whoa, wait, what?! As in....99% of babies at this point are bigger than she is?!
He confirms that to be the case. They have diagnosed Emma with "fetal growth restriction". Something is keeping her from attaining her natural growth potential. Also, he said that they have found a high level of amniotic fluid in Jenn. The two symptoms in tandem are potentially troubling.
He started tossing out some VERY scary scenarios...
Basically, the top three reasons why this could be happening:
1. The placenta isn't giving enough nutrients to the baby and it's causing her to grow at a slower rate.
2. The umbilical cord isn't providing consistent blood flow to the baby, which is potentially starving the baby of blood/oxygen.
3. A chromosomal syndrome, such as Downs syndrome.
The way he explained things, he gave the impression that Emma was in serious danger of having mental/physical problems or not even surviving to term or making it through the delivery.
I felt numb. My entire body started to shiver uncontrollably. All the worst-case scenarios started flooding into my mind. It scared me to the core.
How could this be happening? Why would God let this happen to Emma? Or to us? We've been through so much already with this pregnancy. All we're asking for is one healthy, happy little girl.
He told us that Jenn was to go onto bedrest (she was also suffering from very bad swelling in her feet/ankles). Also, they wanted to monitor things closely, so they scheduled us to come back in two days and from this point forward to come twice a week.
We left the hospital feeling very depressed. Jenn cried the entire way home. Neither of us slept very well that night.
As hard as I tried, I couldn't block out the horrible thoughts. What if she is severely mentally handicapped? Would she be able to take care of herself or would she have to rely on us and others for her entire life? What kind of quality of life could she have? Would she be stuck with the mentality of a child?
I felt guilty, I felt ashamed. I did some soul-searching. Would I still love her as much no matter what? I want to love my daughter unconditionally, I want to be a good father to her. And, it chilled me to the core to think that it's possible we may never be able to connect mentally. That she would never "grow up" and become her own woman. Become a wife, a mother, and share the joy of her own children as much as we expect to share with her.
Was I looking ahead a bit? Obviously! But, just the way the doctor explained it, the apologetic look in his eyes as if he was fearing the worst. It really threw off my natural optimistic personality and opened the floodgates of negativity.
I knew above all though, I had to be strong for Jenn. She already was extremely emotional with the situation. I didn't want to make things worse. Besides, what could we do about it? I asked the doctor if altering her diet would help and he said no. We pretty much just had to wait and watch how things developed. Since the last ultrasound we had was in early July, they couldn't tell if Emma was just growing at a slow rate or if she had recently stopped growing altogether. It would be two weeks until they could accurately do another growth measurement. In the meantime, they were going to monitor Emma's heart-rate, movements, breathing (the motion of breathing, not actual breathing), etc...
Earlier on in the pregnancy, we were asked if we wanted to have an amniocentesis done. Basically, they stick a long needle into the fetus and withdrawal amniotic fluid, which they test for chromosomal anomalies. We declined, as there is a bit of risk to the fetus, and it really didn't matter. We weren't going to have an abortion, regardless of the outcome. Still, at the time, the percentage chance of there actually being an issue was extremely small. But now, I wasn't nearly as confident.
I felt helpless. What could I do about it? I realized there was one thing I could do. Pray. And pray I did. I prayed harder than I ever have before. I begged God to give her the opportunity to have a full, happy life. I put my life in His hands. I didn't care what he did to me, as long as he gave my girl a chance. A chance to grow up, fall in love, to be happy.
This appointment shook me harder than I've ever felt. I guess I got my first real taste of parenthood...worrying about my baby, wanting to help her, and in this case, feeling helpless to do so. All I could do was research the subject (fetal growth restriction and polyhydramnios...excess amniotic fluid) and come back in two days, armed with a barrage of questions for the doctor. And that's exactly what I did...
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