It was the Friday before Thanksgiving, the day we were supposed to go home to visit family. The suitcases were packed and ready to go, provided that I'd be able to make the trip.
"I can easily stay here and the kids and you can still go."
"No. We're not going to leave you alone on Thanksgiving," Tom said, the subject apparently closed for debate.
We walked into the high-risk specialist's office and I filled out paperwork while Tom entertained Timmy. The paperwork had several pages to it and wanted to know the medical histories of everyone in our family all the way back to Adam. Okay, not that bad, but they were looking for hereditary diseases, and definitely my history. Mostly that family history comes down to cancer, heart disease, and diabetes.
After handing in the paperwork, I was called back to the nurse's station. The nurse showed me where the bathroom was and told me to write my name on the cup and leave the sample in the window. I knew the routine. Of course this bathroom wasn't the most accommodating. The sink wasn't very close to the toilet and there was no table or stand within arm's reach to place the cup on after it had been filled. The window was clear across the bathroom. If I wasn't able to reach the sink, I was probably out of luck unless I could set it on the floor. If it spilled, there was no way I'd be able to leave another sample. I was too dehydrated. Fortunately, my arms were able to reach the sink.
I walked out and the nurse took my vitals. I was down four pounds. She didn't know that, though. This was my first time at this office. My blood pressure was great, but usually it's low enough that I could almost classify as a dead person.
The nurse showed me to the ultrasound room and called Tom and Timmy to join me.
The ultrasound that I was having today is called a Nuchal translucency ultrasound, or the nookalooka, as I like to call it. Sorry. I'm not technologically savvy. Be impressed that I looked up the actual name for it. But I can tell you what they're doing without having to look that one up.
This particular ultrasound is one in which they are checking for Down's syndrome. They're measuring the amount of fluid that is under the skin at the back of baby's neck. Babies with Down's syndrome tend to have more fluid.
When I was pregnant with Timmy, I'd had a test called the Triple test. It was a blood test and it came back as an increased chance for Down's syndrome. (Yeah, this is probably why I had the massive freakout at being pregnant three years later). Because of the increased risk, I had the nookalooka ultrasound with Timmy. It turned out okay. What we did find out at that time was that Timmy was probably going to be a big baby. Yes, I knew at about twelve weeks of pregnancy that he was going to be huge. And it was because of this ultrasound.
The ultrasound technician began the ultrasound and baby was looking more like a baby, rather than a bean. The baby had a strong heartbeat (154) and was measuring only a day ahead of schedule. The fluid behind the neck looked great.
We weren't out of the woods yet as far as Down's is concerned, but the likelihood that baby had it decreased.
Tom and I both sighed with relief at the news. It was now time to meet with the doctor.
The doctor was absolutely beautiful. And young. Obviously, she can't be that much younger than me since she's a specialist, but she doesn't look a day over twenty-five.
She went over my history, did the genetic counseling and recommended an amniocentesis since it would answer definitively the Down's question. Before she could explain the risks of having an amnio, I interrupted her.
"I'm not going to have one. I don't want to risk anything happening to the baby. Yes, I'd like to know if the baby has Down's or whatever so I can prepare for it, but we will love this baby regardless. It isn't going to matter to us if the baby has Down's."
