Do you ever feel like you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop?
I feel like infertility and loss (my own and others) have robbed me of a comfort during pregnancy that I'll never know. I mentioned in my last post that some days, I forget that I'm pregnant. When I realize it, I am plagued with guilt that already, I'm taking this pregnancy for granted, that this second baby is not getting the same attention that Liam did, that I'm somehow messing up with this baby, before it's even born.
Yesterday was a very cruel day for some women who were ready to become mamas. Several losses, including one mom who lost her second set of twins, are just haunting me today. Add that to my dear SIL's recent loss and I'm really struggling to believe that this pregnancy will result in a healthy baby in my arms in November.
I haven't been feeling this way the whole time... I was actually pretty carefree the first few months of this pregnancy, but I've felt it sneaking in over the last month or so. I so desperately want to support women who are grieving, but I realize that hearing about these tragedies makes me somewhat neurotic. Some recent thoughts:
- Some days, I forget to take my prenatal vitamin. What problems is this going to cause my baby?
- This baby wasn't planned. Does the universe read that as "unwanted"?
- My blood pressure has been high. Will I develop preeclampsia?
- I already have one healthy baby. Am I tempting fate by attempting to have two?
- The tech wrote on my ultrasound report at our NT Scan that she didn't detect a nasal bone. What does that mean?
The last thing, I didn't even mention in my post about the NT Scan because at the time, I really wasn't concerned about it. The Scan went well and the fluid at the back of the baby's neck measured at the low end of normal (perfect). When my doctor went over the report with me she mentioned that the tech wrote in the paper work that she did not detect the presence of a nasal bone (which I know is a soft marker for Down Syndrome). My doc kind of breezed through it until I stopped her and questioned it. She said that it was more important that the fluid measured in the normal range and that it could be that the baby either hadn't developed it yet or that the baby was just turned at an angle that made it difficult to see-- In other words, the tech didn't write that the baby didn't have one, just that she couldn't see it.
The doc told me not to worry about it, but you know how we are...we worry about EVERYTHING. Doctors say that everything will be ok...and then sometimes it isn't.
Soft markers mean virtually nothing, especially when there are no other indicators of a problem. I keep reminding myself that our odds are very good that we have a healthy baby (girl?) growing inside me. Sometimes I wonder if all of these "advancements" in technology are really doing us more harm than good. Years ago, the NT Scan didn't exist-- and while I'm certainly thankful that these tests help families of babies with issues prepare for what is to come, I also know that they can provide a tremendous amount of worry for women with perfectly healthy babies.
I've taken some comfort reading this article: Obstetrical Sonography: The Best Way to Terrify a Pregnant Woman which says:
“What are we trying to accomplish with the sonographic observation of “Down syndrome markers” in low risk women? Think about it! For the tiny residual number of Down syndrome fetuses that may potentially come to light by chasing down every last “marker” we intend to put at least 10% of all pregnant women with perfectly normal fetuses through a great deal of worry.”
Our anatomy scan is 12 days away & in the meantime, I'm trying to separate my reality from others' heartache. I'm hoping I can be supportive, but not torture myself with all of the what-ifs. I'm hoping that the next scan will calm my fears and assure me that all is healthy and well.
Today, I'm just trying to force myself to believe that it is.