As of tomorrow, I am officially halfway through this pregnancy with baby #2. I’ll be honest, it’s been a rough one this time around and, lately, it’s taken all I have to stay positive and grateful that we’ve made it this far. As many of you know, we suffered a miscarriage before Chase and were positive we were miscarrying again with this baby early on.
I bled off and on through the first trimester and some of the second until, finally, blessedly, it stopped one day. Then came a period of relative calm, though that waiting for the other shoe to drop mentality was always there, never far from the forefront of my mind.
Last week, we went to the anatomy scan and found out we were having another little boy. We’re both over the moon about the news, despite the fact that I was convinced this one was a girl (my mother’s intuition must’ve been misfiring.) I’ve always dreamt of being a mom to all boys and I was ecstatic to hear that dream was coming true, so far.
Then, last Friday, I got a call from our doctor at 5:00 PM. Already in weekend mode, I wasn’t expecting bad news; Adam was on his way home from work and we were looking forward to a weekend of zero obligations. “Everything looks great,” the doctor said, but I heard the unmistakable pause in her voice. “The only thing is, we found two cysts near the baby’s brain that could be a marker for a chromosomal abnormality. I’m not concerned, but we’ll need to do a special ultrasound to see what’s going on.”
I sort of nodded mutely, not registering that she couldn’t hear my body language through the phone. “Uh, OK, thanks,” I said, once I was able to find my voice. I could tell she was eager to get off the phone with me and I was too blindsided to think of the right questions to ask.
I spent many long days this week fighting tooth and nail to get an appointment with the specialist–arguing with the receptionist at the doctor’s office, trying to get someone to just pick up the damn phone and make me the appointment we needed. By nature, I’m not a big worrier (I’ve called Chase’s pediatrician exactly once since he was born 13 months ago) and I tend not to get too caught up in things I can’t change. But waiting for someone else to do something so simple that alters my life so drastically? That, I have little patience for.
It’s been a long week of dealing with insensitive nurses who won’t return my phone calls, waiting on hold with the insurance company, worrying about our baby and then kicking myself for not having enough faith to let it all play out the way it will anyway.
I’m scared. Maybe even terrified. I know this happens to other women all the time in the course of their pregnancies and everything turns out 100% fine. Their stories have brought me immense comfort as I try to wait patiently. But, I can’t help but worry and wonder as I wait for that all-clear of my own.
Our appointment is scheduled for next week and I hope we will leave it with good news to share. For now though, if you’re the praying type, I’d love it if you shot one up to the Big Guy Upstairs for us. We would appreciate it so much.