Our First Scare

I was 10 weeks along when I had my first OB-GYN visit.  I had made the appointment weeks earlier, soon after I had taken the life-changing home pregnancy tests.  The next few weeks were some of the longest in my life.  Every ache and pain would send me to the bathroom in fear, just to check.  I don’t know what I expected really, I just knew that I was nervous and I looked forward to the day that the doctor would assure me that all was going well.

That day arrived and the CPA and I found ourselves in a blue waiting room with hundreds of pictures of smiling babies on the wall.  The doctor’s office had seen better days, but it was clean and busy.  Our doctor had come highly recommended and seemed to have quite the loyal following.  When we finally made our way back to the exam room, we were smiling with anticipation.  Our doctor looked me over, asked how I was feeling, and then told me to schedule a nuchal translucency test for the following week before sending me on my way.

I admit that I was disappointed.  I wanted to at least hear the baby’s heartbeat to make sure he/she was really in there.  Other than my daily sickness and change in appetite, I had little tangible proof that I was pregnant.  I had had my HCG levels tested of course, and I knew that they were normal, but I wanted to hear the baby.  But I resigned myself to waiting another week and my husband and I left.

The next day I went to the lab for the standard prenatal blood work up.  I didn’t think too much about it really.  I was curious to see what my HCG levels were simply because I had been monitoring them and knew what they should be.  So it was with surprise and a great deal of concern that I received a phone call from my doctor a few days later.

“We received your HCG levels and they’ve gone down,” he said.

“What does that mean?  Is that bad?”  I asked.  I knew that around 10 weeks it was possible for them to decline, but I wasn’t sure if it was normal.

“It could be fine because the numbers themselves are good.  But it could also mean that you’re miscarrying.  We’ll be able to check when you go in for your test next week.”

Miscarrying.  Four syllables that no pregnant women wants to hear.  My heart started racing and my hands were sweaty as I gripped the phone.

“I can’t wait a week to find out!  Can’t I go in sooner?”

Perhaps he heard the desperation in my voice.  Or perhaps he had simply dealt with many first-time mothers and knew that they could be scary.  Either way, he said I could go in for an ultrasound on Monday.

“Monday?  But that’s four days away.  Why can’t I go in tomorrow, Friday?”  I practically shrieked.

I knew myself well enough to know that there was no way I could make it through the weekend without losing it.  No way, no how.  The doctor relented.

“That’s fine.  Call them in the morning and I’ll send over the paperwork.”

I phoned the CPA at work and gave him the news.  I told him that we were warned to prepare ourselves in the event that the pregnancy was lost.  He came home early and we had a small dinner and tried to watch some TV to distract ourselves.  We didn’t talk much, but sat lost in thought.  It wasn’t until later, as we were lying in bed in the dark, that I started to cry.  My husband didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to.  He simply wrapped his arms around me until we fell asleep.  It was a very long night.

The next day we made it to our appointment by 1:30 and we waited in the reception area as patiently as we could.  They didn’t make us wait long; the technician brought us back and got me ready.  The CPA took his place beside the bed and he held my hand.  A few minutes later, an image appeared on the screen.  There it was, there was our baby.  We could make out the head and the stomach and the little legs.  The technician pointed to each of these areas and told us what we were seeing but I couldn’t hear her.  All I could think of was that it didn’t matter what we were looking at if our baby wasn’t alive.  The image was not moving.  Another 90 seconds passed as we held our breath.

Then I saw it.  A tiny movement on the screen.  I hadn’t noticed it at first but as the image grew larger, I realized I was staring at a heart.  A heart that was beating.

The CPA saw it too and he tightened his grip on my hand.

“Is that the heart?  Is the baby alive?”  I asked in wonder.

“Yes, of course it is,” answered the technician, who didn’t seem at all surprised.

I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my face and I didn’t care.  It didn’t matter that I was crying like an overly emotional pregnant woman who had had only three hours of sleep the previous night.  It didn’t matter that we had spent the past 18 hours preparing to hear the worst.  The only thing that mattered was that our baby was alive.   Alive and waving to us as he/she moved around and stretched its tiny hands.  The technician turned on the audio and the sound of 170 beats per minute filled the room.

It’s hard for me to describe the feelings that we felt that day.  To know that something so tiny and precious was alive and well and moving inside me was almost incomprehensible.  But there it was, in black and white.  It was a scary experience to go through but one that ended up being so rewarding.  And somehow, I have a feeling that it won’t be our last.