A Big Story for a Lil Bitty Man

Stitchin' is not the only thing I do without a clue.

I am sure I have mentioned a time or two that I am married (to a fabulous man who I cannot imagine living life without) and am Mother to four of the most amazingly awesome children ever born to this Earth. This is a small miracle, as I was told 21 years ago that I have polycystic ovarian syndrome and would likely have difficulty conceiving. I am thankful each and everyday that I am clearly not your typical polycystic, I am truly blessed. So blessed, in fact, that we are now expecting our 5th (and final) familial addition! 

Mommy's Lil Monkeys

I am not inexperienced in the art of being pregnant. Current gestation not included, I have spent 158 months of my life incubating unborns, so when I say "Not my first day," I really mean it. I truly know what to expect when I'm expecting. So when I took that positive home pregnancy test on December 5th, 2014 I am so pro that I did not feel it was necessary to run right out and see a doctor. It was the busiest time of the year at the USPS and I was working close to 60 hours a week, taking time off for an appointment could wait a few weeks. I knew what to watch for and am aware of the closest ER should anything go awry, so.. for real, no worries!

As I mentioned in a previous post, when I finally got around to seeing a doctor my work schedule kept complicating things. I was not worried about the health of my little one, the typical tests they do in the first trimester to check for neurological defects I have always waived in the past. Knowing that my child may have any sort of health condition at that stage in my pregnancy I always believed would be more harmful than helpful, as my stress level directly affects the health of the baby, so why make things worse? I was more upset that after all of the priority shifting I had done for my job they refused to see fit to make an exception in this one instance and give me a freaking day off. So like I said, I quit that job, and I don't feel badly about it at all.

(I did manage to get into a free women's clinic and have an ultrasound done to insure that baby was safe and sound and placement was solid for my own peace of mind).

Belly bean!

After leaving my job, insurance became a small issue. My choices in OB/GYN were limited, and I may have drug my feet just a little in making a decision because, let's be honest, every woman has the right to be choosey about who messes around in their most girly of girly parts. I don't feel bad for that, either. It actually worked out better in the end that I did not select a doctor. I was home with the kids and not breaking my back sorting the mail anymore, I was eating better than I usually do, getting plenty of sleep, taking my vitamins (when I remembered) and was still more than aware of the things to watch for, so it was really no big deal anyway.

We finally got insurance squared away and to my delight I was able to return to the OB who had delivered my 2nd and 4th baby girls. She is truly an amazing woman and the doctor of choice for all the ladies in my family. I made my appointment and was actually looking forward to catching up with my good ol Doc. On the day of my first visit, I was 26 weeks and 4 days along and knew without a doubt that I would be coming home knowing the sex of our new baby and could start all the beautiful crafty things I was eager to make in gender specific colors, finally! It was going to be a good day!

I found out so much more than that, and it didn't end up being such a good day, no lie.

I will save you some of the boring details of a prenatal visit. In the beginning, it's all the same. I danced my way through the routine, so excited to see my belly bean that I could barely focus on my crochet as I sat in the lobby and waited to be called back for my ultrasound. I expected to be sitting awhile, this eager lady showed up for her appointment 45 minutes early, so I was very surprised when I was called back after 5 minutes of stitchin' (I couldn't have gotten more than 20 dc's done, it was so fast). I scooped up all of my crafty mess and tossed it in my bag and flew through the door to the ultrasound room. Luck on my side, the appointment before me was running late and the sweetheart of an ultrasound tech I had been blessed with saw no need to make me wait.

So much has changed in the miracle of ultrasound in the 14 years since my first pregnancy. Not only are the images incredibly clear (you can even tell what you're looking at most of the time!) they were displayed on an enormous flat screen in front of me so that I didn't have to strain my neck looking at the tiny monitor of yesteryear. I watched teary eyed as the tech began pointing out all the lil parts of our new baby BOY, definitely a boy, no mistake! After a few minutes of playing around it was time to start taking measurements, which normally don't interest me much, but when I noticed that the display was not only showing the measurements in mm's but estimated gestation as well, it got my attention.

I birth small babies as a general rule. I am not quite a dink, but I am smaller than your average chick my age for sure, so this has never concerned me much. All of my little ones were born under 7 lb, but healthy and thriving so nothing to worry about. At 10 years old, my oldest daughter is so petite she can wear some of her 5 year old sister's clothes, and my youngest at 2 and a half years old still fits in 9 month onesies. So when I saw that my son's femur was measuring at 24 weeks, instead of closer to the 26 weeks I knew that I was, I chalked it up to that. Tiny infants are easier to birth, right?

My tech took measurements of each femur several times, and then moved on to the humerus bones. When estimated gestation popped up at 21 weeks, I actually giggled. I couldn't help myself, I like my dinky doodles! I did say something about it though, because dink or no dink, that's a pretty big difference from my actual gestation, coupled with the length of the femurs, something began to feel.. OFF. When she measured the babies head, it measured at 27 weeks. What on earth? Faulty equipment, right? First day on the job, maybe? Something, just something! SOMETHING!

My sweet tech lady finished up her measurements and sent me out to a second lobby to wait for an exam room to open up. I knew from passing conversation that my doctor had been out on an emergency earlier that morning and was running behind so it could be awhile. I called my husband to let him know we were having a boy, and I mentioned the oddness in the measurements, and we both agreed we were just having another small baby. Yes, small baby. No worries!!

After about 25 minutes, I was taken back to have my blood drawn (I don't hate needles, I am actually a tattoo addict and would gladly sit under the gun for days on end - I do not like giving up my blood as it is essential to my existence so this was not my favorite part of the day). Vital check. Weight? Um.. okay. Blood pressure? Excellent, to my surprise! I was then shown to my exam room and directed to strip down for the dreaded PAP. Ew. So there I am, sitting on paper sticking to my bottom, covered in a sheet to small to cover my tiniest of tiny children and in walks my doctor's nurse. My doctor was being called out on a delivery, so I could go ahead and get dressed. I won't lie, I was relieved. I don't like being poked and prodded, and this would buy me some time before I had to deal with it. As I was reaching over to grab my jeans, the nurse looked over her shoulder and said, "She's in a hurry, but she really wants to discuss your ultrasound results with you before she goes", and walked out of the room.

Que?

My ultrasound results?

What was there to talk about really? He had two arms, two legs, plenty of fingers and toes. Plenty of amniotic fluid, she checked the umbilical cord and placenta, both were fine! We took a good look at his heart, brain, stomach, spine... What was there to discuss??

When my doctor breezed in a moment later, my head was still trying to wrap itself around any and all possible reasons she would delay leaving for a delivery to talk to me. I've known this woman for more than 10 years. She saved the life of my oldest daughter and performed my mother's hysterectomy, it goes without saying that I trust her implicitly. The look on her face when she sat down across from me made my heart sink.

There was something wrong.

When she started talking words like genetic defect, abnormality, thick nuchal fold, and amniocentesis fell on my ears. I was going to see a specialist to have another ultrasound done. Depending on the results of that ultrasound, she recommended the amniocentesis. I know I asked questions, but I can't remember what they were, I remember only the look on her face. So much compassion and concern. She kept saying how glad she was that I was there and wished that things weren't what they were. I remember nodding, asking them to make the appointment for me, and thanking her. I know she spent more time with me than she intended to, and from the bottom of my heart I appreciate it. She's just awesome like that.

I called my husband again while I was getting my things together to let him know he was going to have to make arrangements to go with me to see the specialist. I started trying to explain all the things that I didn't understand and before I knew it I was crying so hard I couldn't see what I was doing. Apparently, I wasn't quiet about it either, a nurse came in to check on me. I did my best to compose myself, grabbed up my bag of crochet and headed out the door.

I don't know how I got home safely. I cried the entire way to pick up my girls. Cried while talking to my father in law. Cried all the way to our house. I made the kids lunch and curled up on the couch and cried some more. I'd begin to get it together and my 5 year old would come over and rub my back or touch my cheek, and I would lose it all over again. It was not my best day.

I began to do a little research about short fetal long bones and thick nuchal folds (thank you Google for being my best friend AND worst enemy) and started reading about Down's Syndrome, Turner's Syndrome, Russell-Silvers, Dwarfism, and all the other different variations of Trisomy. I am not a complete stranger to Trisomy. I had made a memory quilt for an extended family member a couple years ago who lost a daughter to Trisomy 18. It is to this day, the quilt I am most proud of having made, and will likely always be the most difficult for me to make. I cried so much for her loss when I was working on it, I could not even begin to imagine what that would be like, carrying a child to full term and not being able to bring him/her home with you. There could be nothing worse in the world, in my opinion. 

And now.. it could be my reality.

I was so ecstatic when I found out we were having a boy. My husband would have his son to carry on our family name. A son to play catch with, teach to fish, hunt and take hiking. Do not misunderstand, I know that my girls can do all of those things, but maybe in my silly lil female head, I believe the bond built between father and son is different. It's special. Primal even. To have those hopes for my husband raised and destroyed all in one afternoon was heart-breaking. I cried as much for him as I did for myself, I knew he wouldn't.

We saw the specialist the next day, not the warmest man, but I suppose in his line of work you have to have pretty thick skin. Our lil man's measurements were still inconsistent, not as varying as the day before, but enough that it was still a concern. We chose to do the amniocentesis, knowing at that point in my pregnancy I was not likely to go into labor and if I did, the baby had a more than decent chance for survival. The amnio was not as awful as I thought it would be. It was not painful, only a little uncomfortable and STRANGE feeling, and it only lasted a moment. The hard part was over, all we could do was wait.

We were told we could have the results from the amnio back as early as Friday, but knowing my luck I knew they wouldn't be back until Monday. It was an extremely long weekend. I think I asked my husband if he was okay about a trillion times. We discussed all of the possibilities, made peace with the truth that maybe things weren't going to be perfect, but our son was going to be okay, and we would deal with whatever obstacles we may have to face as they came, together. I talked to each of my children, gave them an opportunity to ask questions and prepared them as best I could.

By Monday, I was pretty much cried out, but feeling positive that no matter what the news was, we would make the best of it.

When the phone finally rang, it was a nurse from our specialist's office. She was calling to give me the preliminary results so that I would have the opportunity to prepare any questions I might have for the doctor when he called later that afternoon. Our son was diagnosed with Trisomy 21, more commonly known as Down's Syndrome. I won't lie. I cried. I did not cry because our son has Down's. I cried so many tears of ABSOLUTE relief. Our son was going to come home! With all of the other potential outcomes of that amnio, I welcome Down's into our life!

It's going to be a long and rough road. I am not always the best at keeping a routine, I do not possess that thing others refer to as patience, and I positively suck at asking for help. But, I see it like this, I was certain that I would be a terrible parent when they placed my firstborn in my arms and he's still breathing! With the love and support of my husband, family and friends, I will not fail my son.

While there is a little confusion over my actual due date because of the differences in measurements, I am told somewhere around the 31st of July to expect the arrival of Cooper Edward Thomas Jackson. 

Cooper Edward Thomas

Cooper will be special because he is my son, and as do all of my children, he will have his own particular needs. Whatever challenges lie ahead of us, we will meet them head on, with perfect love in our hearts and hope for his health and well-being.

I may not have a clue, but I have no doubt that I will figure it out!