Part Four

So, we had an appointment for our routine, 18-week sonogram. It was early May at this point, and my birthday's on the 10th, so my mother and grandmother made a trip out to Kansas for it. Or so they said. Really, I think they wanted to witness me in a pregnant state. Just knowing I was pregnant wasn't enough, they had to see it with their own eyes, even though I was hardly showing. Of course, there was the ritual laying-on-of-hands. My grandmother, who cries at absolutely everything even mildly sad or happy, or even slightly amusing, was a complete waterworks the whole time. She was 85 at the time, and she has tons of great-grandkids (my cousins are prolific), but that in no way diminished the Most Special status of my pregnancy. Aaah, Gram. What can I say, she's awesome!

The tension between my mother and I ramped up quite a bit with her visit. She really wanted to go out shopping for baby things, but I was completely resistant. She finally became too frustrated and snapped, "You are just going to have to accept the fact that you're having this baby!", like I was in denial. She just couldn't understand why I was so reluctant. I couldn't really explain it to her either.

Our sonogram appointment was on the last day of their trip. They didn't ask, but I could tell they were just dying to go. I wasn't psyched about the idea, but I thought it might make up a bit for my party-pooper attitude towards baby shopping, so we invited them along. So, we all piled into the tiny sonogram room; me, Or, my mother, my grandmother (in a wheelchair), and the sonogram lady. There was The Peanut, kicking and wiggling, heart beating away like crazy. Lots of Ooooh-ing and Aaah-ing and dewy-eyed significant looks. The sonogram lady took measurements and printed out about 10 pictures for us. She said she couldn't really tell the sex (wrong position), but she would hazard a guess, if we wanted. I didn't want any guessing, so we finished up. My mother and grandmother went back out to the waiting room, while Or and I went into an exam room to meet with the OB and go over the results.

This is the part where everything started going to hell.

In truth, I had an inkling something was wrong during the sonogram. It seemed to me that the lady was taking lots and lots of measurements, especially of The Peanut's head. This angle and that angle, this measurement and that measurement. What could they possibly need with all those measurements? I think that's why I didn't want her guessing at the sex. Does that make sense?

The OB came in and said, "We have some concerns over the sonogram results." Hot, prickly feeling up the back of my neck. Something akin to panic starting to come over me. The only way to deal with that is to sit very, very still.

"'Some concerns'? What does that mean?", I asked very calmly.

"We had some difficulty visualizing all four chambers of the heart. We want you to go in for a level 2 sonogram."

"That sounds very bad"

"Well, it's not a good result, but we can't really know anything until you have the level 2 sonogram"

She then goes on to explain that there is no level 2 sonogram in Lawrence, so we'll have to go to a perinatologist in Kansas City. She'd had her nurse call and make an appointment for us. They were putting together a copy of our records to take with us. I kept asking her questions about what she thought, what it meant, what was her opinion? Tell us more! Be more definite! But, she kept deflecting me saying that they just couldn't tell and we had to wait for the results of the next sonogram.

We left the exam room and stopped at the desk to get our appointment information and a manila envelope with our records. I sort of gestured to my mother and grandmother to head out to the car. I didn't want to start crying in the waiting room, in front of all those other pregnant women. I was barely holding it together at this point. I asked Orion to go out and tell my mother what we'd heard while I waited for the records, because I just couldn't. He came back in after a bit, and we left together. As soon as we stepped outside the door, I turned to him and started crying against his chest. A young, obviously pregnant couple passed us on their way in. Her smile of greeting faded when she saw my face, turned to a look of concern mixed with a bit of fear, I think. I'm sure that on some visceral level, seeing a crying woman outside of the OB's office has to be considered a sign of bad luck. Apparently, Orion had only told my mother and not my grandmother, because my grandmother looked up with alarm from where my mother was helping her into the car and asked, "What's wrong?" I could hear my mother quietly tell her that something's wrong with the babies heart. "Oh no! Oh, that's awful!" She started crying. No one said anything on the ride back to our house.