I was on a break

I haven’t posted much this year. I was afraid to post. But up until 16 days ago, I spent every day of the year pregnant. Surprise! I had a second baby. And again, I didn’t want to post because of how my past is.

We never thought we’d have one child, let alone two. We were grateful to have the perfect son that we were somehow able to have. We never wanted to only have one. However, we wished and almost hoped. When I went for annual exams, my doctor would ask if we wanted another. I said if it was a guarantee that it would be a successful first attempt, I’d be okay with it. But with my history, that seemed impossible. We always said if one would happen, we wouldn’t be mad. We assumed it would never happen and settled into acceptance that we would have an only child.

And then, the week in January where it “snowed,” I realized that maybe something was up. I’d had a digital test leftover from before. It was still good. And it came up positive. And I cried. I didn’t know how to feel. I assumed my body would slip into its old habits. I didn’t let myself feel anything. And I said nothing to anyone. Not even Mark.

Right after his birthday, I broke the news to him. And much like before, we didn’t talk about it or hope or anything. It’s such a weird place to be in. Here you are, with incredible news. You don’t share it. You don’t allow yourself to think about it. You just go about your business like your world isn’t about to change.

I mean. I thought about it. Every time I went to the restroom and braced myself. Every time I could barely hold my eyes open after work. Every time I picked up my increasingly heavy toddler. Once I hit six weeks and got much stronger nausea than I did for any other pregnancy. Every time I pretended to drink alcohol because it was Mardi Gras or school Gala or St. Patrick’s Day or a wedding.

Oh that nausea. Lasted from before lunch until I fell asleep at night. I lived on ginger candy and Coke icees. I barely ate. And I developed a peanut butter aversion, which was devastating. Two and a half weeks postpartum, I still haven’t eaten any. I have to work up the nerve.

I didn’t call my doctor until 9 weeks. I couldn’t get an appointment until 11 weeks. They were as shocked as we were. The first visit confirmed a single baby in the uterus with a heartbeat. And I still didn’t tell anyone. But I did get closer to accepting that this was probably a viable pregnancy and I almost let myself get excited.

The next week, I saw the scary but excellent maternal-fetal medicine specialist. Everything seemed okay, but at 12 weeks, you can’t really see much to be sure.

After that appointment, we finally told our immediate families. But that was it. Just parents and siblings.

I had the quad screening done because I would deliver at 39. And the test showed that there was a higher risk for the baby to have Down’s syndrome. It wasn’t a “yes, you have a child with it,” it was a “hey, there’s actually a fairly large risk that your baby may have it.”

The MFM asked me at my next visit to get a second test run to see more conclusively if this was real. Why? Because the umbilical cord has two vessels instead of three. A healthy cord has two arteries and one vein. Mine had one of each. And a 2-vessel cord means something could be very wrong. What I was facing: a Down’s syndrome diagnosis, a baby with heart problems, restricted growth, or a non viable pregnancy. I wasn’t given a printout of the ultrasound that day but was given paperwork for an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist and the second blood test, Materni-T 21, to check chromosomal abnormalities. I also barely held it together until I got in my car. I sat in the garage and sobbed hysterically. I finally calmed enough to drive. I had to go to my parents’ house because they were babysitting and Mom knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in.

I’d told my head of school about my pregnancy and then shared it with my teaching cohort. They were the only work people who knew. And once I got this scary news, I didn’t want to share with anyone else.

Somewhere along the way I had my class’ major presentations and got through then without vomiting on anyone and not losing my cool on anyone. When that quarter-long project ended, we went to Miramar Beach for Caroline and Gordon’s wedding. I’d come clean to our friends because I knew it would be impossible to hide.

We also had to tell extended family because we were going to mg cousin Kate’s wedding the following week. I had my class overnight on the north shore the day before that. I couldn’t help carry much and I had to take it easy. Once again, I had placenta previa. Also, while I had a weird section of the placenta that wasn’t working when I was pregnant the last time, it didn’t prove any harm. This time, in addition to previa and the bad cord, the cord had a marginal insertion. My fears increased with all of this.

My cousin Alicia, as my son’s godmother, wanted to get him a big brother T-shirt. I asked her to please hold onto it because my already high-risk pregnancy (advanced maternal age, MTHFR, and chronic hypertension, in addition to 5 first trimester miscarriages) was now very high risk. I didn’t want to have the shirt and have my worst fears come true and then to be stuck looking at the shirt.

I had to wait until June 7 to see the pediatric cardiologist. I had to wait a few weeks to hear the chromosome test results. Such a relief to learn that the test came back normal. But because I didn’t know what the cardiologist would find, I was afraid to share my news with other coworkers and my students. I eventually told my coworkers, about two weeks before school let out. It was graduation night, we went out for drinks, and I had to tell them why I was just having tea and not a margarita like the rest of them. Come to find out, the two male teachers who came with us on the overnight knew, because my partner teacher had to tell them I wasn’t being lazy or too good for things... I was a high risk pregnancy. And they kept the secret and did so very well.

School ended and I finally was able to see the pediatric cardiologist. After a lengthy and intense ultrasound session, they concluded that the baby’s heart looked fine. There was the caveat that since the baby is small, something could be missed. But in all subsequent ultrasounds with my MFM doctor, things appeared fine. I had to continue seeing the MFM doctor, though, to monitor growth. If growth slowed or stopped, the baby would have to come by c-section as soon as they discovered the growth issue. Thankfully, the baby l, though never in the top percentiles, continued to grow and stay relatively on target.