34 Weeks, NST & Dr Skeevy

This will be a long post. As I write this I am closing out my 34th week. And I've had yet another trip to the hopspittle. I went for my NST on Tuesday and it all went very much as usual. I waited. I peed in a cup. I got my BP checked, weight checked, pee checked. No new news. BP was still high. My blood sugar was fine. My weight was holding at 55 pounds. Shudder! Roughly 20 more pounds and I'd be back to my heaviest weight ever. My pee continued to show a very mild protein spill, no sugar spill. Then I went out to wait my turn in the big comfy recliner with the pink and blue straps wrapped around Jack and I.

Finally they call me in and as I waddle down the hall to the chair, I see a sight that sends chills through me. It was Dr SF. When I'd first found out that this pig was one of the doctors who practiced at the PHC, I'd asked specifically that I not be seen by him. I'd said at the time, all those weeks ago, that I'd sooner stick my hand into a running garbage disposal rather than be seen by him. I actually said that. I'd been assured that Dr ER and then later Dr RF would be my only physicians. But he was here this particular day. Dr RF has the day off, so Dr SF was filling in.

Back up to when I was 5-6 weeks pregnant with Hannah. I'd gone to see Dr SF for a one time visit because he could take me that very day. At 11:00 am. And his office didn't open until 11:45 when someone finally showed up to let us all in. His waiting room was filthy, and actually had mismatched office furniture stacked along one wall. The remaining walls were lined with big sagging couches that I'm sure had all been found on the side of the road or by someones garbage cans. Or were rejects from a crack house. The carpet was badly stained but none of the teenage girls with their bellies under their chins and their cell phones to their ears seemed to notice. My friend Bits and I were the only adults! We waited until 12:45 when the gal behind the desk said the good doctor was finally on his way in. Then we waited for another hour. It went down hill from there.

Bits and I were shown into a hot bathroom with two folding chairs and a TV set up on the sink vanity and a VCR sitting precariously on the toilet. The faucet behind the TV was dripping and Bits kindly offered to let me sit closest to the door, "Just in case that thing shorts out and catches fire." Really? Yes, really. We exchanged glances and sat in the chairs, shuffling for space in the tiny room with the gal who was not going to wait for us to either move or sit down to shove a cassette into the VCR. She pressed play and then stomped on both of our feet making her exit without saying a word. What followed was a grainy image of the pig that I have forever renamed Dr Skeevy. The recording was Dr Skeevy's way of introducing himself to new patients. It went on for an hour while this hubric ass described his talents and expertise. Who does this? Who? He even had a portion dedicated to describing in detail how discreetly everything would be handled for those opting to abort. I don't know why we didn't leave right then. It must have been like when you come upon a scene of a horrible accident. You know there's going to be blood and gore, but you look anyway. We kept watching. And yes, I know the word is hubris, but that would require sentence restructuring, so I am making up my own words again. I can. It's my blog! Eventually Bits did have to leave but I promised I'd call her as soon as I got out.

I was shown to a tiny exam room where I was told to undress completely and was given a sheet. Not a gown. A sheet. I asked why I had to disrobe completely and I was told that Dr Skeevy would do a complete exam. I said I'd specifically told the gal who gave me my appointment that I was only here for a one time visit to determine if the baby had a heart beat; there was no need for a full exam. She said, "Your choice" and walked out without pulling the curtain across the doorless entry. I guess this is what you get for $350.00 cash and being in too big a hurry to wait for the doctor your insurance will cover to have an appointment sometime after next summer. Then I waited some more. I woke up to see Dr Skeevy smiling down at me. Make that leering. He was pissy but said that he understood I was just there for a trans-vag ultra sound and not interested in the full exam. And he got right to it. He found Hannah's heart beating. He said there had been a twin and that it had died. He showed me a large bubble with nothing in it. And he said Hannah would die. Her heart rate was in the 70's. Too low. Probably today or tomorrow. Certainly by the end of the week. And he sat there smiling up at me saying that I should schedule a D&C with the gal at the desk. For tomorrow.

I went down to the van and called my beloved Dr S. I hadn't seen him since my pregnancy with The Middle. I told him what Dr Skeevy had said and done. Including suggesting that I schedule an abortion. His first words were, "My dear. I am so sorry you even considered going to Dr F. We have had many, many disagreements about his practices. Come here tomorrow and I will see you." Okay now, I have been an ICU nurse for my entire career. To date I can count on maybe 3 fingers the times that a doctor has even hinted at maligning another doctor. It's a boys club of the highest order. It's just not done. At my appointment with the Beloved Dr S the next day, he also did a trans-vag ultra sound. "Tell me what you see," he said. I described the little bubble with the baby's heart beat and said I'd judge it to be about 150. "161" he said, letting me hear her. "What else do you see?" he pressed. I described a yolk sac and a broken bubble that I thought might be the corpus something or other that is left behind when the ball of cells that will become the baby burrows into the endometrium. "Correct," he said. "Exactly correct. You can come to work for me if you decide to become a tech," he joked. He patted my leg and said that the broken bubble was likely Dr Skeevy's dead twin, either that or he was unable to recognize a yolk sac. He also said that Dr Skeevy's low heart rate of 72 was my own uterine thrill. "Do not go back to see him my dear. Come back to me in four weeks and I will follow you again." My beloved Dr S!

Okay, so fast forward to now. The tech was checking Jack's reactivity and as always said it looked just fine. At the end of 30 minutes, she tore of the strip and took it to the doctor to check. She came back and slipped it into a brown envelope and slid it into the back of my chart, just like always. Then she said the NST was fine, but the doctor wanted to adjust my BP meds. And in walked Dr Skeevy. He sat on a stool and started looking through my chart. Without even looking at me he stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Dr F." I didn't shake his hand. He said my BP was still high and that he wanted to add another agent. Then he asked my age and allergies. "You are too old to have a baby" he said, "This is no good. Lets add another agent. That's a med-i-cine to bring down your blood pressure" he said, finally looking at me. Really? And here I'd confused it with a med-i-ca-tion. Stupid me. So he writes out a script and reviews what meds I'm already taking. Then he gets to the lab section. Reviews those. Notes out loud that none of my slightly abnormal labs have become any more abnormal over the course of my pregnancy. "This is amazing. You are really old and yet you are doing relatively well." He's a charming man. But it's about to get really good! He handed me the script, stood up and turned to walk away, but then he turned back and asked if I'd had prenatal testing. "You know, tests to see if the baby's genes are okay?" Oh, I'd thought it was to check the baby's jeans for proper fit. I felt almost smug when I said "Yes. I had an am-ni-o-cen-te-sis at 16 weeks which shows trisomy 21." I wasn't prepared for what followed next.

This giant incredible filthy no good ass of an excuse for a human being actually slapped his hands to his face, pulling his cheeks down enough to distort his face and said, "Oh. My. God." Damn him to hell, he does not worship my God. "This is no good!" he said, taking the script out of my hand and sitting down. "You need to go over to the hospital right away! You need to be delivered! Your blood pressure is dangerous! You need to be delivered by tonight if not this afternoon!" I took a deep sigh. I said that I was only 34 weeks, my blood pressure and labs had not changed, and asked quite frankly, "Why is this an emergency now?" He said I was "e-clamptic" and that I had to be delivered "to-day." I said that the labs I'd had drawn two days ago didn't indicate pre-eclampsia, much less had I had any seizures, spots, hyper-reflexia, protein spills or headaches to indicate that I was suddenly eclamptic now that he knew my baby has Down syndrome. "How do you know this terminology?" he asks. I tell him I've been an ICU nurse for 15 years and that I've done my fair share of high risk pregnancies. "Well all the same, you could still have a stroke. You are going to the hospital to get that out," pointing at Jack. Bastard. I looked Dr Skeevy in the face, something he was incapable of doing for me. I said I was not going to deliver my baby at 34 weeks, that I was going home to take a nap and then meet my children's buses and spend the evening with them. But the guy wouldn't give up. "Call someone to get your kids. Ask a neighbor or something." This went on for another 15 minutes, while he dictated orders for my admission to the nurse.

I went out to the van to call Dr S. I explained the situation with Dr Skeevy. I explained what I remembered of my labs, that the baby's reactivity on the NST was just fine, That Dr Skeevy had already signed off on it, and that he'd been perfectly content to send me home with a script until he found out the baby has Down syndrome. "I believe you my dear." Then Dr S excused himself and put me on hold. When he came back on the line he said Dr Skeevy had just called him and that he'd said my labs were all severely abnormal and that the NST was grossly non-reactive. "Do not worry my dear. I would believe anything you said before I would believe him that the sky is blue. I have more faith in your knowledge than his. But I want you to go over to the hospital overnight to get your blood pressure better controlled. I disagree that you should deliver this early, but please, my dear, go get your blood pressure a little better controlled. Will you promise me that?" Okay, so I promised that I'd go as soon as I could arrange care for the Kidlets, as The Beloved was working out of town, and he promised me he'd see me at the hospital tonight. Eeesh.

I made a zillion phone calls on the way home and checked into the hopspittle by noon. I had orders in hand for IV solution, lab draws and another 24 hour pee test. That was it. The admitting nurse called Dr Skeevy four times but he never called back to give further orders. I'd had no lunch and it was past dinner time by the time Dr RF was on call, so he gave orders for the night nurse. Dr S arrived just before 8 pm. Good thing too! Dr RF, having listened to what Dr Skeevy said, ordered a Magnesium Sulfate drip and the nurse was explaining all the side effects I was likely to have. Dr S said not to start the drip. The nurse was a little peeved now that she had conflicting orders. "Well she's set to deliver either tonight or tomorrow, are you planning to do an amnio to see if the lungs are good?" Dr S said that he'd spoken to Dr RF, and that he'd been given inaccurate information. He said that he'd reviewed my current labs and that I would not be delivering any time soon, that I was just here for my blood pressure. He wrote orders for several other agents to try before starting a Mag drip. He also said that she should remove the fetal monitor and just check every 4 hours. He took my hand and said that he was deeply sorry for what I'd been put through and assured me that my labs had not changed, they were just as I'd reported to him, and that Jack would be staying put!

I went home the next day, once the 24 hour pee test was completed, with a script for Labetolol 300 mg three times daily. It was increased the next day to four times daily. And Dr RF said that when I return on Tuesday, we will look at the dates and decide when to schedule my delivery!

Sausage Toes and Ham Hocks

Notice the unopened enticingly salty, crunchy and delicious Tostitos bag at my feet. My Middle brought them to me to open for him as I was snapping the picture. He will have to eat them in his room, far, far away from me, or I will dive into that bag of heavenly sodium face first!

Saw the doc today...results of my 24 hour urine are still bad but really no more so...still hovering around renal insufficiency, but not failure. A1C (Measure of glucose stuck to hemoglobin) is just fine! I'd been down for 18 hours before I went to the doc, so my legs were closer to normal, but the nurse was super grossed out by the "bowl" of water sitting under the "Snake-bump!" It's not pretty. There will NOT be a photo of that! She kept staring at it and poking it! Its okay though...she was Dr S's tech during The Middle's pregnancy and we actually had a lot of fun and giggles over it! And it was all laid out bare for an hour long NST - Snake was very busy and kept moving his heartbeat away so it took FOREVER!

Costco

We went to Costco today...one stop shopping. I'm not supposed to be out, but someone has to buy groceries and the kids do all the fetching and lifting. A cart boy loads the van and the kids unload at home. It's good to have indentured servants! We were just about to leave when I spotted a woman with a stroller and a lot of extra stuff attached to a sleeping baby. A little girl. Who clearly had Down syndrome. I approached her and asked her if I could show my kids the sleeping baby. She said yes,
so I pointed out the pink feeding tube taped to her little cheek and entering her nose. I said "Jack may well have one of these," and I patted my tummy. The woman smiled. Next I pointed out the nasal cannula in her bitsy little nose, and the
portable O2 condenser. Again, I said, "Jack may have one of these too." I thanked the woman profusely and as she moved on I explained to the kids more thoroughly what those tubes were for. I didn't want to hold the woman up from her shopping, but I could have kicked myself for not asking if I could contact her. Is this nuts? Am I losing my marbles? Maybe she didn't want to be in touch with me. She was very gracious, but after all, I did practically assault her and her child! (I didn't touch her or the baby, and I told the kids not to wake up the sleeping baby, but now that I'm home I think it was extremely bad behavior on my part!) Have I lost my humanity for the chance to prepare my kids for something Jack may not even need? I didn't even ask the woman the baby's name or age or anything remotely sensitive to the baby! I'm feeling like an animal right about now.

A Sad, Sad Loss

Last week I received an email from the only other pregnant woman at the DSALA New Families Barbecue. She delivered their tiny son stillborn at 28 weeks. They tried for days to stop her labor to no avail. When it was clear that the baby had indeed died in utero, the doctor was dedicated to getting him born whole and intact so that they could hold him and say goodbye.

I was stunned for days. And I was afraid it would happen to Jack. And every time I started to really worry about it, Jack would start doing flips. It's like he knows when I worry about him. Then again, he is right under my heart.

When I was talking with The Beloved about this family I was tearful and sad, but he knew there was something else too. "What is it? What's bothering you besides their baby dying?" I very quietly said that as bad as I felt having the thought, at least they had another chance now. To have another baby without Down syndrome. I felt like crap on a cracker for admitting it. But My Love said, slowly and gently, "They might be thinking that way too. I'm sure they're really sad. You know what it did to us. But they might be thinking the same way." And he folded me in his arms and said, "And don't be thinking that our baby is going to die because you had that thought." He knows me too well. I don't want Jack to die. I don't. It would kill me. Just like I'm sure it's killing them. But like them, I still wish Jack wasn't going to have Down syndrome. It just hurts so much still, but the idea we could lose him hurts too much to even think about.

More Weirdness

A few nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night with a wicked compulsion to pack my bag and the baby's bag. So I did. So far, it turns out to have meant nothing.

Last night I dreamed that I was anxiously waiting for some big event at a very elaborate theater with a huge stage all draped in burgundy velvet curtains. The inside of the building was extremely ornate with tons of carved rich wood. The curtain went and something very special began. I have no idea what, but the feeling was there. The orchestra was set up on the stage and some youngish people with Ds were performing a beautiful wind and string ensemble. They were there to honor members of the audience, all of them children with Ds, but my "group" of youngsters had not yet arrived. Finally, midway through the first performance, a few women were leading a large group of well behaved, Sunday-best dressed, spit shined, sparkling toddlers to their seats. To their parents! And one woman was carrying an infant carrier. He was finally here in he building with me! I ran to see him. And yes, I SAW HIS FACE! He was beautiful. He was also about 6 months old! I had a million questions, but his guardian up until this point had suddenly disappeared. Where was she? I had questions! He was olive skinned like My Girlie, not peaches and cream like The Middle. He had chubby pink cheeks and an oval face, with some wispy soft brown baby hair. His eyes were olive green like The Oldest's were at birth. He was my baby. My son. Finally here. So what does it mean? I'm chalking it up to the unknown on the as yet mystery date of his arrival and the anticipation of waiting. Of course, the elaborate setting would be the birth event. And along side my lust for head banging rock music, I have a passion for classical as well, especially winds and strings. As I saw him finally, everything else faded away...just the music and my beautiful boy remained. In this dream the musicians on stage were others who came before, to herald this new little life into being. Angels? Maybe. A celebration?
Certainly! The happy ending...

Misery

I've tried not to complain too much, but I have been MISERABLE! For about the last month, my misery has steadily worsened. I'm sure I could feel worse, but I'm miserable all the same. The Beloved sees it. And the other day I blubbered all over him about it. He said, "It's never been like this before. You weren't like this with The Littles." And it's true. My feet and legs no longer even come close to even remembering their normal size when I lay down. It feels like a bruise from my toes to my hips. My undies leave deep grooves all the way around my body from the fluid. My toes feel like they're squished into a size 5 shoe even when I'm barefoot. They feel like fat sausages and I think they will rupture if they get any bigger. I am constantly nauseated now. Not a day goes by that I don't spend at least half of the day gagging. Last week I felt something trickle down the outside of my right calf. As I realized it was fluid leaking from my skin, the left inside calf started Leaking too. My abdomen is so big that the only tolerable position is propped up semi-recumbent on one side or the other with a pillow to support my girth. And don't even get me started on the joint tingling and numbness. Between the cervical stitch and a large fibroid where Snake's head usually is, every movement takes my breath away. It's good to feel him move, and I mentally encourage him to keep it up, but it's gotten rather painful! And again with the damned hemorrhoids! I've been DILIGENT about the stool softeners and I am not constipated...it's all the danged fluid. I dread going pee because there's no support while sitting on the toity and unless I keep my legs and butt muscles flexed and tensed, the 'rhoids just push right out. How the hell do you relax enough to pee that way? The Beloved finally insisted that I explain my weird contortions every time I rise from any position. It's a little embarrassing telling the one you are intimate with that you have New Jersey hanging out of your ass. It hurts to adjust any position and when I have to stand up from any position it feels like a cheese grater scraping against my hiney. I've had fantasies about holding a pop sickle between my buttocks! Gross, huh? And I broke a fingernail! Although, gratefully, not while I was tending to my rear end! Suffice to say, I am ready for him to be born. Every day that he stays in there is good. But I can't wait for mid-November to get here. And while I was pouring all of my physical complaints out to him in a blubbering mess, I actually said words that make me feel like crap on a cracker. I sobbed into his chest, "And after all of this, after all this pain and misery and suffering, we won't even have a happy ending!" And I wailed louder and harder so he held me and rocked me.

I don't know how people who are chronically ill cope. I have relief in site and they do not. And yet, I've seen people who remain pleasant and chipper in the face of it all. I think they must be saints.

Decorating the Nursery, 32 Weeks, and a Blank Little Boy

Today The Littles and I decorated the nursery. We hung the Cow Jumping Over the Moon and some sweet stars that were hand painted by the Incredible Miss S for The Middle's nursery. He was happy to donate it to Jack's nursery. I'd also saved some small shelves and knick knack cubes from The Middle's nursery.



Decorating Jack's nursery took me back to when I'd decorated nurseries in our first home. First for My Girlie, and then the new Big Girl Room across the hall for her while I redecorated the nursery for The Middle. I never in a million years thought I'd be decorating another nursery.


This is a picture of my Mother's rocking chair. It was in each of The Little's nurseries, and it is draped with a blanket I'd cross stitched years before we were expecting The Girlie. That blanket has also been in each of their nurseries.

The beautiful loaner crib from Auntie Bits!

While we measured and marked and hammered I described for The Littles how much fun it had been decorating each of their nurseries.


Note the teddy bears The Girlie has placed in the bouncer and the car seat!

When we were finished they each brought some of the treasures from their babyhood to share with Jack. Beloved books, dog eared bunnies and bears, and even a few baby toys I had no idea they'd pilfered from the donation pile. It was a fun time and when we were finished, the shelves and cubes were filled with treasures from The Littles to their New Little Brother.


This particular view is of Jack's mirrored closet doors and in it's reflection is the changing table and a picture of "Fireworks Tonight" that I won at the NRA banquet when The Middle was just tiny.

I am 32 weeks along today. So I started actually packing the diaper bag and putting things I'd need into a small suitcase loaned to us by Grandma Emmie. The invitations for our baby shower will go out tomorrow. The Incredible Miss S will be out of town and Grandma Emmie will have to work that day, so that has me sad.

At my NST this past Friday I saw a little boy with his mother, also pregnant and waiting to be seen. The little boy was in his stroller looking very dull and uninterested in any thing. He looked to be about two years old. He had no toys. He didn't look around. He showed no interest in the television on a cartoon channel. He didn't wiggle or squirm to get out in all the time I'd sat there watching him. Occasionally he looked at his mother. Once he made a loud grunting cry and the mother produced a small bag of cheerios. He cried louder and the mother produced a bottle, and popped it into his mouth. So she sat there holding a bottle in his mouth while he sat in his stroller. He stared off at nothing in the empty air and sucked his bottle, never once attempting to hold it for himself. I'd seen him move when he cried, putting his fists to his eyes, and kicking his feet, so clearly he could move. But he had no interest in holding his bottle. His face was dirty, as were his hands. And his facial features were quite clearly those of a child with Down syndrome. Except for the time he cried for his bottle, his mother gave him no notice. None. Even a mother who's holding a sleeping child will look down at her little one now and then, maybe stroke a brow or swipe away a wayward lock of hair. Not this mother.

I've spent hours thinking about this. I'd first noticed the little boy when his mother was in line in front of me waiting to check in, then saw them again minutes later in the waiting room. Same dull blank look. I recalled that every medical site I'd gone to said that all children with Down syndrome have mental retardation. Every site said it ranged from severe to mild/moderate. Very few sites even suggested that it could be, upon very rare occasions, if you closed one eye and squinted with the other one, when the moon is 3/4s full, minimal. Nope. No hope there. After worrying about this for hours I finally decided that this little boy was dull because he'd had no stimulation. I'd already looked into the Regional Center for Our Baby. Maybe that mother had not. Maybe that mother expected nothing from him. Maybe that mother had not been offered services for him. Or maybe he was severely retarded. Or maybe she was too deflated to engage him. Or maybe there was something else besides Down syndrome. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I'd never know. I did know that no matter how mentally retarded Our Baby may be, I would still cuddle him, still look at him while he sits in his stroller, still touch his cheek, still wash his face, and still give him some baby toys in case he wanted to at least look at them. I don't know the circumstances of that little boys life, but I know that I can't shake this deep sadness for his blank stare life.

Progress

For the last 2 weeks I've been having an NST every Tuesday and Friday. Baby Boy's heart looks good. I had to do yet another 24 hour pee test too. My butt hurts, my legs are like tree stumps and I have zero energy. My tailbone hurts so bad that I've taken to hoisting myself to standing with my arms and have made the dread mistake of sitting in the the armless chairs at the dining room table. To sit I reverse the process, much like a harbor crane gently settling a 40 ton cargo container onto a barge at the docks. I don't know if I'm the cargo container or the barge.

I have completely given up The Battles of the Underwear War and have settled yet again for the next larger size of panties. They still leave dents in my belly from all the fluid, and they still cut off circulation to my legs, especially the right leg, but they are at least tolerable. For now. I picked up some last minute things for the diaper bag and bought a small fridge for our bedroom. I'll ask Miss Susie to move our spare microwave in there tomorrow. When I was nursing The Middle I was starving all the time. And since The Middle ate every two hours, The Beloved took to sleeping in the living room until I'd stopped nursing The Middle.

The purpose of his sojourn to the living room was supposed to be getting some sleep without getting disturbed by The Middle every two hours. The real result was that he'd still gotten disturbed by his wailing. Not only was our first home poorly insulated, but it was small. Sound travelled. You would have to leave our house and enter the neighbors house across the street in order to not hear everything in our house. The Middle always awoke just knowing he was in the process of starving and always issued a suitably shrill and loud wail of alarm with his first waking breath. Waaaa-aaa-aa! The Beloved was just about getting back to sleep when The Middle expressed his displeasure at being burped, along with more shrill wailing and sounding of alarms. And then sleep at last...only to be once again awakened by The Milk Cow trying to quietly sneak past his not sleeping form to get into to the kitchen to forage for something to eat. Anything. I was starving all the time while I nursed The Middle. I clearly remember watching the microwave count down so I could shut it off before it dinged. I also remember eating less than hot whatever just so I didn't have to take the chance on the microwave dinging again. And I'd still have to sneak back through the living room before The Middle made any noise. So...this time I will have my own neatly contained survival chamber in our bedroom...TV, fridge, microwave, food, telephone, bathroom...down the hall, across the living room, and down the long hall away from The Beloved who will be sleeping soundly in the front room. We hope!

And speaking of the front room, it only needs to have a table moved out of the way and it will finally be finished. Ready for a Christmas tree. All the clutter cleared away and a space once again large enough to hold a fully decorated tree and the two Littles in a mad frenzy of torn wrapping! The only thing in there now are several bags of The Littles outgrown clothes. I finally shopped for the kids winter clothes and got all of their too small clothes out of their closets and drawers this past week. I'll call the donation center tomorrow to have them picked up. I'd thought about saving The Middles clothes for The Newest, but then I reconsidered. There was the 7 year gap for one, and the now entirely depleted storage space in the garage for another. No, I'll just buy new.

So all of our big tasks are completed. All we have to do now is stay pregnant a little longer until The Ducky can be born safely.

Dr S 30 1/2 Weeks

Today The Girlie and I went for our visit to the Beloved Dr S. Today My Little Snooks weighs 3 pounds and 12 ounces! Dr S says his growth is right on track. There is some shortening of his arm bones, but not the leg bones. His brain and kidneys are still the same with no worsening of the dilation. Dr S says that the mitral valve regurgitation has resolved, but there is some evidence of slight tricuspid valve regurgitation. Slight. And we have new pictures of Baby Face!

My baby shower is set for November 14th! The invitations will go out shortly. I've been frantically searching for the dress I wore for both of The Little's baby showers but so far, no good. I cannot imagine I would have thrown it away, even with the weight loss, but I cannot find it!

The Beloved and I have been discussing names. So far we have Benjamin, Theodore and some variation of William Wallace. We also like Amadeus of the awesome composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. I'm still liking Jack. And there's a favorite game of mine that I never thought I'd ever get to play again! I make up names and deliver them to the curious strangers who are brave enough to ask, "Do you have a name yet?" This weeks winner is Eggbert Wyborn Ethelwulf! I deliver that zinger with a straight face and suitably proud glow, watch the person's face crumple and try to recover with a lopsided smile, and then walk away stifling giggles! It is truly evil, but it is so much fun!

The Tour & Monsters

Tonight I toured the birthing center at the local hopspittle where the Jackster will be born. It was quite an awe inspiring moment to walk into the birthing room and see the warming table all decked out and waiting to receive a fresh baby. I won't be delivering in one of those rooms because I'm having another cesarean, but the table will be the same exact thing waiting to receive our pink, wet, wiggly Baby Boy. If all goes well and he isn't whisked off the the NICU right away. Yes, that's what I thought as I approached the warming table. This worry is killing me. Next the nurse giving the tour walked all of The Waddles down the hall to see a room we'd be in after delivery. While we walked, another older mom sidled up to me to ask if this my my first or last. She mentioned that she thought it was her last because she was 43. I said I was 44 and we engaged in a little joking commiseration about how much harder it was on our bodies at our ages. She seemed open and friendly so I asked if she'd had any prenatal testing. She got a look on her face like maybe I'd farted and said "Oh noooo! We would never do that!" Clearly, the only people who test are monsters. "We're Christians," she now said with a pinched face, "We don't do that!" I let the space increase between us and moved to the side and as others came between us I muttered "Oh." And for the remainder of the tour I stayed as far away from her as possible. The way she said those few words made me feel dirty. Her words made me feel unworthy. Unclean. Why I felt this way is beyond me. We are Christian. We opted to test. We braved The Hard News. I started researching right away to find out how to care for My Baby with Down syndrome. And I've stumbled upon stories that sometimes battered my soul. Some families who do prenatal testing are given devastating news. Their babies will not live. The few that do survive pregnancy will survive birth by a few hours at most. If you can stand having your heart broken, you can read about Sweet Little Eliot. Just seeing his picture while trying to create a link has me crying and feeling deep soul wrenching pain once again, and I didn't even read through the story this time. That family did indeed get devastating news. And they still chose to give their Dear Little Eliot a chance at life. Stories like theirs have made me come to know that Down syndrome is so totally doable. People who choose to test are not monsters. I don't know why that woman's words made me feel like filth, but in the end it just made me even more protective of My Sweet Spud.

DSALA Barbecue

This was a big day. I took The Girlie with me to the DSALA New Families Barbecue. I left The Middle at home. I didn't want to have to explain 552 times why this person looked that way or why that person spoke funny or have to field a million other questions. He's just 7 years old on September 14th, and very inquisitive. He doesn't really have any idea what Down syndrome means. Showing him what Down syndrome looks like would not be helpful for him. He would think nothing of asking someone "Why do you talk like that?" Or, "How come your baby looks funny?" He is autistic, and while he is extremely verbal and social, he very frequently lacks the the ability to determine what should not be said out loud. I am quite certain that he would stare. Anything he sees that is new and different will often be described in great detail, with adjectives most adults don't possess in their vocabulary, in a loud excited voice. And he loves an audience! I can easily imagine we might have been invited to leave NOW after one inappropriate comment drew attention and an audience formed. The boy loves to entertain and while he often displays insight and compassion beyond his years, he is just 7 and just as frequently can be as thoughtless and outspoken as only little kids can be. I didn't want to have to police him that day and I didn't want him to have a miserable time being under constant surveillance.

I took My Girlie because she has had an immense interest in the blogs I've looked at, especially of the pictures of the babies with Down syndrome. She was frequently my little sidekick those long summer months while I trolled the Internet looking for information. If there is anyone as worried about bringing Jackie Boy home, it is my sensitive Little Girlie. She turned 10 just days after we discovered our pregnancy, but she is the child who worries and frets over concerns in their minutia. I thought it would be a good environment to expose her to the facial features and the odd speech syntaxes of children who have Down syndrome. She is also on the autism spectrum but she is the quiet and introspective kind. She is the gal who hangs back from the crowd until she is comfortable joining in, and I knew for certain that when she had questions she would take me aside and whisper them. And I knew there would be questions. I'd already been telling her that The Dumpling may well have a feeding tube in his nose. He might eventually get one in his tummy. He might need to have a clear plastic tube under his nose to give him oxygen. He might be really soft and floppy. He would likely have a flat nose and the almond shaped eyes that tilt that she'd seen in so many of the pictures we'd found online of babies with Down syndrome. This would be a safe environment to expose her to all of this and more, and she did indeed get to see that some of these babies and toddlers had this equipment, and that it was okay. We'd spent the hour long trip to the valley discussing what to expect.

What I didn't expect was that she would find an instant friend within minutes of arrival, but that is exactly what happened. These two pre-teens hooked up and were together constantly until it was time for us to leave. When My Girlie admitted that she had trouble understanding her new friend, she just patiently started over and repeated things until she was understood, sometimes just saying them in a different way.

I also didn't expect that the little girls Mom would embrace me with such love and compassion. I was one of two pregnant women expected to be in attendance, but I was the first to arrive, hours before the other woman. So my new friend and I sat at a cozy table under a shady tree sipping water and getting to know each other. While I told her about my pregnancy and concerns for My Baby, she told me about her experiences with her own sweet girlie and the Down syndrome community in general. At least twice while I was speaking, her eyes welled up with tears and spilled over. It was like she was feeling my pain and fear in her heart. And she didn't try to placate me with empty promises. She told me what to expect and that it was going to be much different than anything I could imagine so far. She said that no matter what problems arose at his birth and after, there would be a support network to help us. She said I would find the strength I needed and that the DSALA would always be there with answers, support, personal visits if needed, and all the encouragement I could want. She said that Jack would be more like my other two babies than different. And she insisted that Jack would emote more love and devotion than I could fathom, even more than either of The Littles had. She was so wise. She was also honest and compassionate with me. She never minimized my concerns and she embraced me from the moment we met. When I finally said good bye to her at the end of the evening, amidst hugs and well wishes, I told her that she'd been a true blessing being the first person that I met. And she was!

Now we didn't sit under that tree the whole evening. She invited a woman she knew with a 5 month old baby girl over to join our group and after a few well placed questions designed to make me feel comfortable asking my own questions, she wandered off and allowed us to get to know each other a little and for her to let me hold her baby! This was my first ever experience with a little one with Down syndrome. And she was so very, very much like any other baby! Sweet, soft, wide eyed, and beautiful as only a baby can be! And then another newer mom joined our group and she also let me hold her almost 6 month old little girl. Again, she was just like any other baby. She was a little softer and had less muscle tone, but she was a sweet bundle of babiness and goodness, just like any other baby! Between the two of them, they shared their pregnancy stories and birth stories and answered a million questions from me. They explained what had been difficult and scary about their babies' health at birth and now, what was helpful, what wasn't, how to deal with families who were scared and friends who didn't know what to say, and just made me feel better about everything. They made me feel that just maybe it was going to be alright after all.

Then I wandered around meeting other families while My Girlie and her new friend sat together in a hammock swing sharing girl talk. The people I met were encouraging and helpful and embracing. Most allowed me to hold their babies. I don't think anyone said no, but I didn't ask everyone either. Some babies were eating, some were sleeping, but all of their parents shared information and encouragement. When dinner was served I loaded up My Girlie with plate and a soda and she quickly joined her new friend at a table to eat. I took my plate and found a space at a table and sat listening to the conversation, joining in at times, but mostly just sat watching these people who had managed to go on with their lives, mothers who continued to keep track of their active typical children while bouncing a baby with Down syndrome on the hip, men who continued to be loving husbands and attentive fathers, couples who remained a strong unit, people who were still living their lives. Their good lives. I was encouraged. Mostly I was relieved. We would be alright. Looking at these families, I thought we might just be better than alright!

Lazy and Large

I've gotten really lazy about keeping my journal, but I just can't seem to whip up enthusiasm for much these days. I'm not sad or depressed, I am just really tired all the time. At the moment there is very little that feels as good as laying down in my feather bed, bunching up my goose down comforter and snuggling into my eight goose down pillows. With the fan and the air conditioner on!

Today I am 28 weeks along. If The Baby Dear is born now he will have a good chance of survival. I spend a lot of time researching still and reading blogs of other families with a baby who has Down syndrome. It's encouraging to see their pictures and read their stories. I'm getting a better idea of what to expect when Baby Dear comes home. The Beloved and I were talking about it this evening. He expressed more of his concerns. Will he get picked on? Will it be worse or more hurtful than for the average child who gets picked on? Will he even know he's being ridiculed? Will he be able to have a job a little more meaningful than the Wal-Mart greeter or a bag boy? I have to admit that I've wondered this very thing myself. Then he voiced the concern that nearly broke my heart. "Will he ever know the love of a woman?" I have read several accounts of people with Down syndrome getting married so I pulled up a few from the net so he could read them. Of one of the couples, the young man is actually an accomplished concert pianist, but he also plays several other instruments quite well. He and his wife live independently. After The Beloved read the info on the net he sat back and said, "We'll just have to work hard to make sure he gets all the therapies you've been telling me about and help him to live as normally as possible."

I'm still seeing the doctor every week and having NSTs every Tuesday and Friday. And I've had to do another 24 hour pee test. It's cumbersome to haul those two giant bottles into the lab, but the worst part is having to remember to pee in the cup in the middle of the night, and then have to transfer it to the container instead of just jumping lumbering back into my squishy bed.

And I do mean lumbering. I have had to resort to a step stool on my side of the bed. Okay, so the bed is a full 38" off the ground, but before I got pregnant and gained 50 gallons of fluid, I could take a running jump from the doorway and still land in safety. And yes, I have actually done that running jump thing. On occasion. Now I can't climb into my own bed without the step stool and if I attempt getting in on The Beloved's side of the bed, that quite gracefully involves his hands on either side of my broad expanse of butt to hoist me up. Really makes a gal feel pretty! Especially when The Beloved takes a few steps back after I land just in case that tremor and rumbling sound is a precursor to the bed falling down. Yeah, I feel pretty!

Lions, Tigers & Bears

The Girlie has lovingly ensconced her stuffed animals into each set of equipment. There's a doll in the swing, a bear in the bouncer, a puppy in the stroller, and another bear in the car seat. I'm surprised she hasn't yet wrapped up a dolly to put in the crib! And the cradle too! She's really having fun with this business of preparing for her New Little Brother. Sweet girl. The Boy-O often brings me a book that he says he wants The Baby to have. So, I send him down the hall to find a good spot for it on the book shelves. He's preparing too!

Bad Dreams

With so much tumbling around in my head, I don't know where to begin! Keep reading and you may contact the local authorities in my area to send over the men in the little white suits! I had a nasty dream a few days ago. I'm used to the very odd and bizarre dreams of pregnancy, but this was over the top, and I think it was rather telling. The kids and I were at a BBQ somewhere. All three kids. Jack was a platinum blonde toddler - no I did NOT get to see his face! There was a little blonde girl about six years old, and an old man, and they were yelling at Jack. The old man was a morph between one friend's dad and another friend's dad. They were yelling "Sit!" to Jack and pointing to the dirt ground like you'd do to an errant dog you hated. Everyone turned to stare. There was such hatred and venom in the little girl and the old man. I reared up into my mother bear and stormed the man, backing him into a wall. I demanded to know was he going to play nice and treat ALL of my children like human beings, not animals. I was acutely aware of the fear rolling off of Jack and a scared mewing sound coming from him. The Girlie and My Boy-O surrounded him in their arms. The old man was scared and backing away from me but I stayed with him, towering over him. In what can only be the wonderful magic of dream graphics, his thin wispy hair was flowing over his balding head and his jowly cheeks were flapping in the wind caused by the force of my words! Neither of my friends dads are bald, but there it is. I woke up after demanding "Answer me old man!" Quite a nasty dream, straight out of the "Pit of Fears." I think the old man was a morph between my friends dad's because in real life, if you make eye contact with either of them, you are filled with loathing and horror and go take a long hot shower in a hopeless attempt to feel clean again. Okay, so that's dramatic, but they both have still, cold, dead, reptilian eyes. Shudder. I was glad to wake from that nightmare.

27 Weeks, Closets, Baby Gear

Tomorrow starts my 27th week. This is officially the last day of my second trimester and I'll start the third tomorrow! I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that I'm pregnant and now I realize that Baby Dear will be here before I know it. In my arms at last. It's also my Dearly Missed Mother's birthday. She would would have been, should have been, 77 years old. I miss her terribly, but I'd like to think she'd be happy with the life I have, with my career, with My Beloved, with the Littles, and I know she'd be supportive with The Newest. Dang, we need to name this kid! We have discussed the name Kenneth. The Girlie hates it - vetoed it immediately. The Middle is still pushing for a name one letter away from his. I vetoed that for obvious reasons! I already get their names confused as it is, and I often have to resort to "You! The one I'm yelling at!" And while The Beloved and I liked the name Kenneth in the evening, by morning he wasn't so sure anymore, and I have to admit that after kicking the name around a bit, I am not so keen on it anymore either.

Miss Susie helped me hang the brackets in the nursery closet. And then we installed the closet bar. That turned out to be another hammer-whacked-knuckle, freshly-applied-paint scraping event laced with much cussing. Again, on my part. But I did manage to avoid injuring Miss Susie with anything this time. The girl knows how to duck and she learns fast! Then we removed the closet bar when I realized it would have to come out in order to install the shelf above the closet bar. And that was accomplished with more knuckle whacking, paint scraping and requisite cussing. And then we re-installed the closet bar. And we put in a shelf about 3' from the closet floor to eventually hold bins of toys on top and below. We'd already figured out how to best install the shelf based on the aforementioned shelf. But this time it was only three feet off the floor and the shelf had to be clipped into the brackets from underneath. There is no comfortable position to either bend or squat when your midsection is the size of Jupiter and your butt is the size of - well, let's not go there. My girth prevented being able to hold the shelf because both the shelf and I would not fit in that closet, even with the doors removed and still be able to hold the shelf flat. So, Susie held from above while I crab-crawled on my side, absolutely unable to lay on my back and still be able to breath, to clip the shelf into the bracket. When we were finally finished we stood back to admire our handy work. I'm pretty sure I heard Miss Susie mutter an expletive under her breath. Okay, so she said it out loud. I've been a bad influence on her.

While The Middle napped, we left Miss Susie in charge and My Girlie and I went out to buy baby gear. I thought it would be a good to celebrate my Mother's birthday by doing something fun with My Own Girlie because I know she would have loved her so much. We had to go to several different stores, but we found the Winnie the Pooh swing at one store and the matching car seat/stroller combo at another. Then we went to yet another to buy a matching bouncy seat with a gift card we'd received from neighbors! It was tiring driving all over town, but it was a fun trip and it was nice to spend some time with just The Girlie and I. She was especially delighted when I headed toward the baby clothing section. I have the oddest feeling that I just can't get over. I keep thinking we will miss our baby shower. So...we'd better have some clothing! Between the two of us we picked out 9 sleepers and outfits and another pack of tiny white socks! My Little Girlie was thrilled to be part of the baby clothes selection process!

PHC, NST and Curtains!

So yesterday I went to the PNC for my regular check up. Again with the BP and the rechecks. Eeesh. Saw the doctor. No new orders, except that now I will be seen every week until I deliver, in addition to the twice weekly NSTs.

I spent the late morning sewing curtains for the Jackster's room. When The Littles got home from school we took another stroll along the dresser under the window to measure, mark and drill and hang the curtain rods. The Kidlets were a little grumpy that I had to iron all three panels before I hung them, but they were really tickled when they got to hold the ends while I threaded the curtains onto the rods. And of course, The Girlie maintained her position glued to my butt in case I might fall, while The Middle kept the look of distress pasted to his face in anticipation of me falling! News Alert: Woman safely disembarks from 2' dresser without injury. Film at 11!

And today I took my forth trip to the PNC for our twice weekly NST. All was well! Baby Boy wiggled away, the tech adjusted our straps, Baby Boy wiggled away, the tech adjusted our straps, Baby Boy wiggled away...

Cradle Linens

I started my day bright and early at the PHC for my Tuesday NST. Everything looked good and I actually fell asleep sitting there listening to Jacks little heart thumping away.

I went back to see the endocrinologist in the afternoon to review my labs and get another insulin adjustment. This time he says I don't need to come back for a month unless I see my blood sugars trending up. He said to call if they trend up and that I can increase both types of insulin by one unit until I can be seen. He said he wouldn't be so liberal with anyone else, but since I'd already indicated on my graphs which days I'd adjusted my dose independently, with good results, he was confidant that I'd keep my numbers in a tight range. He only wanted to see me sooner if I couldn't keep them under certain levels and needed help. I wasn't sure if I should be flattered by his confidence in me or neglected!

Once home I took a nap and then spent the evening measuring and cutting and pinning and sewing while I waited for The Dear Daddy to get home. The fabric I'd found while cleaning out the garage was big enough to make 6" bumpers, two sheets and a quilt for the cradle! I was pretty happy when I got it all in the cradle and stood back to admire it! Now our Little Bunny Boy will have a place to sleep in our room!

Declarations of Love

The last time My Love comforted me through a painful discussion, he said he knew I would be able to love this child. Tonight, quite unsolicited, he said he would love the baby too. He has refused to watch or read any of the information I've gathered, but he is accepting of The Littles learning to sign. Later he was holding me and rocking me back and forth and said he'd never be able to convince me of how deep his love was for me. He asked again, "How are we going to get through this?" I said simply, "Together."

Earlier today: Every time My Girlie catches me weepy she says the same thing, "Mommy (she never calls me Mommy except for these times, and only since Jack) I'm sorry Jack's going to have Down syndrome, but we'll all be okay. Jack will be loved. He already is!" She doesn't understand the hormones of pregnancy, that I might be weepy because I'm hungry and nauseated, or worried, or that it might be because it's Tuesday! She's always so quick to throw her arms around me and Jack, ready to comfort!

Endo & Our First NST

Yesterday I went to see the endocrinologist, and as always, I sat there from 1:15 until 4:45. Once again, I was the last appointment. He reviewed my labs, stuck my finger, reviewed my blood sugars and increased both of my insulins. And of course he ordered more labs! I've never felt like such a pincushion!

Today was a little more fun. We had our first Non-Stress Test, Jack and I. I am 25 weeks and 4 days along today. Basically I check in, go pee in a cup and then sit there and wait. Then they call me in, check my blood pressure, tell me it's too high, poke little dents into my feet, legs and thighs, weigh me, check my blood pressure again, tell me it's still too high, check my pee, check my blood pressure again and tell me it's still too high, then check my blood sugar and tell me that that is just fine. They review my meds and send me back out to wait. So I wait, and then they call me back and Jack and I get pink and blue straps wrapped around us with some gel. We sit in a comfy chair with 'our' feet up, the NST tech pokes little dents into my feet, legs and thighs, then she checks my blood pressure and clucks her tongue. Guess why? My blood pressure is too high! So I sit there for 30 minutes with my feet up listening to the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk of Jack's heart until he moves away and the tech repositions the straps. Fifteen minutes in she asks, "Is he always this active?" as she repositions the straps for the sixth time! The tech checks to see that Jack's heart beat is increasing when I push the button to indicate that I've felt movement and then after 30 minutes she pulls the whole strip off and goes to show the doctor. He checks it and signs it and the tech comes back to tell me I can go. Then we struggle for 20 minutes trying to lever my bloated semi reclining body out of the comfy chair. Eventually they call the fire department, walls get ripped out, heavy equipment gets called in, the channel 4 News van arrives, a flatbed truck pulls into the lot...

What Have We Gotten Ourselves Into?

The Beloved and I were sitting on the couch relaxing when it seemed to him to be a good time for some discussion. Not so much for me, but I have to take it when I can. He's still of the view that I decided to "do this" without any say so from him, so he just has to deal with it. "I know you and the kids are all excited about this so I just have to go along with it," he said calmly. I said "Yes, the kids are excited, but me - not so much." It had already been a long full day of beating myself up about this Ds diagnosis, and I just wasn't feeling up to the task of another baby with challenges. I'd spent the entire day playing the "What If" game where you question everything you ever did, said, thought, or thought of doing right up until the diagnosis.

But since he was willing to listen, and I had his attention by saying that I wasn't all that excited, I decided to make it count. I told him I was terrified of this baby. I said that since our other two already had special needs, it seemed monumental to me to have another one with special needs. I said I didn't feel up to it. That even if the other two were normal (starting to hate that word) I just didn't think I could rise to the challenge. I admitted that I am already too tired to take on the whole medical arena as it is, and there is a trend to brush aside babies with Down syndrome because they are viewed as worth less effort than typical babies. I said I was afraid that Our Baby would be brushed aside when he needed something. And would I even know what he needed?

And I admitted that I had come to detest seeing babies out in public. Normal babies. Because Ours would not be. And it hurt. And there was nothing I could do about it. And for all of my pleas to God, he'd decided Our baby was good as is. He said, "Well, the decision has already been made. You'll just have to do what you have to to make sure he has everything he needs." By now I was sobbing into my hands in a pool of snot. True to his normal self, he came over and folded me up in his strong arms and held me against his broad chest. "I'm getting snot all over you" I sniffled. He said he didn't care and went on to say all manner of kind and comforting things. He would not have comforted me just because decorum required it, and he has never been one to say things he doesn't mean. "I told you before that you are the strong one," he says into my hair. He has said that to me before, right after my stroke just 9 months ago, but it's simply not true!

I am NOT the strong one. He's always been the stronger one, the sensible one, the one I go to when I don't know what to do, the one who always has the right answer, and if not the answer, at least a good plan. So, after much rocking and swaying and comforting, all seemed well. Or at least better.

25 Weeks, Shopping & Missouri Barbecue

Today My Girlie and I went to meet My Big Sis at Babies R Us! It was so much fun! I finally felt free to buy a few things that we'll need. The nagging whispers are still there somewhere, but they are getting quieter and less upsetting. And it was really good to get to spend some time with My Big Sis! The Girlie, The Big Sis and I wandered over every inch of the store. It was really fun to watch My Girlie marvel over how tiny the baby clothes are. Of course she wanted to buy two of everything and had it been up to her we would have needed a moving van to transport the loot!

As it was, I'd already been going over my selections to make sure that I wasn't buying anything frivolous, that it was all stuff Jack would genuinely need. It really kinda sucks trying to outfit a new nursery while not earning my share of our usual household income and I'd had to tell The Girlie too many times that we couldn't get this or that yet because we couldn't quite afford it right now. Maybe later, I'd say. The solution was to let her choose between a selection of things I'd picked out. She made the final selection of bath towels and wash cloths, receiving blankets, crib sheets, this baby wash or that one? The tiny blue hair brush or the white one with bunnies on it? She even made a very deliberate decision of which water proof crib pads to buy: embossed stripes with a soft flannel top or embossed sheep which turned out to feel softer than the flannel? Sheep of course! Soft sheep! When we got to the register, My Big Sis emptied half of my loot onto the counter and while I was gobsmacked by a pyramid giant boxes of diapers, she paid for it before I even realized what she was doing! What a wonderful blessing! Soooo...we added two of the huge boxes of diapers to my loot. And I mean huge! These puppies have 264 diapers each!

A big THANK YOU to My Big Sis! Even more than the generosity of her incredible gift, it was an affirmation for me that Our New Little Baby is anticipated, will be celebrated, will be welcomed into loving arms just like any other baby. He has Down syndrome. And he is already as loved as he can be! I love you Sis!

After Babies R Us we hit a clothing shop to buy a few outfits for the Wee One. And then we went to my favorite barbecue place for a relaxing sit, happy chit chat, and the most awesome Missouri barbecued ham and beef sandwiches to be served on famous garlic toast ever! They are that good. Very little can compare to the sheer bliss that can be had when a pregnant woman gets to eat what she craves! A collective happy sigh went out at our table as we wrapped up a wonderful morning and afternoon with My Big Sis and My Girlie!

We arrived home from the valley just in time to welcome The Dear Daddy from his day at work. I surprised him with a yummy meal brought home from the restaurant - it's his favorite too! We had a relaxing evening and The Littles were happy and getting ready to settle into their beds with good night kisses and hugs and movies. The Dear Daddy always spends some time with each of them before they get their final tuck-in for the night. He was coming out of spending time with them when for some reason I fell apart.

We'd passed in the hall and I was fine, but when he reached for me I fell into his arms sobbing. Maybe I was over tired from our long day. I was certainly hormonal. Maybe it was the renewed tenderness between us. Maybe it was that my body just felt so awful all the time. Maybe it was simply that I was worn out from worrying and feeling constant dread. Maybe it was all of that. But we sat, we held each other, I sobbed and he listened. He stroked my back while I spilled my fears. He retrieved Kleenex for me when snot threatened to take over. He got a basin for me when I nearly brought up my lunch. He got me water. He'd heard me before, but I think he really understood exactly what I'd meant when I'd said that I also felt that I'd had no choice but to keep the baby. I also said that it was wearing me down to feel torn between the two of them. He held me and rocked me while I described the tormented feelings I'd been having, the fear that I wouldn't bond with the baby, the absolute terror that he would have birth defects requiring surgery. That we might still lose him yet. He listened to all of it.

Later when we were cleaning up the dinner mess he put his arms around me and swayed with me with his face in my hair. "How are we going to get through all of this?" I said we'd have to take it as it came. We stood that way for a long time. He said "we."

Window Treatments

Since when did hanging a curtain, drape, shade or louvers in a window become a "treatment?" Had the treated window been ill? Was it well now? Would it relapse if said treatment were removed? And what if the treatment gets dusty? Will the window get allergies? These are tough questions. I don't have the answers. I'm going to be awake all night worrying about this. Crap!

I've always done double duty window treatments for our children's rooms. Louvers provide an extra layer of a noise barrier. One of the first things I noticed when we moved into our new home is that everyone here has a gardener. Everyone. And there appears to be a city ordinance that no two lawns on a single street may be mowed at the same time, or on the same day. My neighbor on the right is on Tuesdays. My neighbor on the left, Thursdays. My neighbors across the street are Monday, and the two story house across the street is Wednesday. Every Wednesday. The two story behind me is Thursday, but late in the afternoon. The two story to the right of them, and closest to our bedroom also has the gardener every week on Saturdays...first for the front, then for the back. And the two story two over to the right, well I don't know when theirs comes because their yappy little dog never shuts up! Never. I know all of this because I am a night nurse and therefore a day sleeper. It was wasn't long before I'd invested heavily in 38 decibel earplugs and white noise. We only see our gardener when ever he feels like showing up!

Double window coverings also provide a filter for bright sunlight for little people who need to nap during the day. And they are a blessing to those same little peoples' Moms who get very crabby when the little people don't nap! So, I took Our Littles to Lowes again to buy louvers. Say that three times fast! And The Littles and I walked along the low dresser under the window to be treated and measured and marked and drilled. This was really quite an accomplishment when you consider the fact that every step I took was accompanied by The Oldest maintaining a death grip on my hiney should I fall, and The Youngest looking like I might at any minute actually fall. Good grief! But we got them hung and The Youngest was really happy because he'd finally gotten to help with something in the Baby's room! Now all I have to do to finish treating the window is to find a suitably cute fabric the match the paint, carpet and furniture! Then the window will feel much better!

Oh the Vomit

Last week, day 6 of the new school year, The Monster got suspended. That was last Tuesday. So, he was home all day Wednesday. The Young Miss had to be picked up Monday for nausea and then she missed the next day for nausea and the next day for a sore throat. The bus picked up The Monster on Thursday, but I found out that he also had a one day bus suspension for his behavior Tuesday, effective on Friday. Eeeek! He's off to a great start. At least this past week has gone well. He's brought home little green notes all week that say "Excellent!"

This morning after I waved goodbye to the kids' buses, I hopped into the shower to get ready for my PHC visit. Thirty minutes later I was vomiting into the sink so hard that I peed down my legs and had to get back into the shower. Not only was I pukey sick, and feeling miserable from that, but I was also so upset that I'd wet myself that I sat down on the floor and had a good cry. In my own pee. A pee puddle. Okay so it wasn't a puddle, but my cute new white belly shorts were ruined for the day, so I might as well take off the cute blue and white floral top that I felt pretty in. It's not bad enough that I was pukey!

24.5 Week Ultra Sound

I saw Dr S for our newest ultra sound. He says Jack is 1 pound and 9 ounces. Dr S started by reminding me that I can no longer abort, but that since he knew I was firm in my decision, we wouldn't discuss it. Then why did he bring it up? He said Jack does not have an echogenic bowel, so more than likely, his bowel is patent and does not have a blockage. The brain ventricles are not worsening in their dilation. Jack does have a mild mitral valve regurgitation, but not so much as to cause a murmur, and it may correct itself during the pregnancy. The great news is that there seems to be no ventricular-septal defect. Jack very clearly has a nasal bone as well, and there is no evidence of hyperhydramnios. Jack was once again very active for the ultra-sound, even bouncing the probe off my belly! Dr S said again that this may well be an indicator that Jack will be high functioning. All good news! The doc gave me several pictures, and even two of the nasal bone and two of his wiener!

24 Weeks

Well time flies. I have not felt much like keeping track of my journal. I was amazed at how fast the 20th week came around because it seemed to me that I had just logged the 19th week on the calendar and suddenly there was another one down! I'm really struggling hard with the DS diagnosis. I keep reading these bloggers who say they wouldn't change a thing about their DS babies, but I sure as heck would. I want Jack to be healthy and normal. What parent doesn't? Maybe I've moved on to the anger stage.

This coming week I'll see Dr S again and have another look at Jack. I'm sure he's going to remind me that this is my last week to terminate. I don't even want to hear it. My goal now is to keep Jack in there as long as possible so he won't have more health problems. I love little Jack. I just wish the DS was a mistake. It's really put a cloud over the joy of pregnancy.

Since I journaled last I've been back to the endocrinologist. Again I arrived at 1:15 at my appointment time, only to find that I was once again the last patient of the day and I was called in at 4:45. He increased both of my insulins and gave me lee-way to increase another unit of Lispro if need be, which I have. I've also been to the PNC and will continue every two weeks until I deliver. My fundus is above my navel now, and the heartbeat sounded good. Last week I could actually see the baby kicking!

I'm at a stand still on the nursery until we get some extra money. I did buy a Winnie the Pooh crib set, but it's still in the package in case I find something I like better. I bought one water proof mattress pad, and found a suitable color towel to cover the changing pad with. I'll buy more as time goes by. Those changing pad covers get dirty fast. I don't think I will sew them this time though. I think I'll just use safety pins. The elastic was hard to get just right last time, and the folded up product was ungainly and lumpy and took up way too much space. Flat towels will fit much better and will be easier all the way around. I'm seriously considering using pillow cases for the cradle sheets. I'll still have to sew the bumper pads for the cradle, but that should be a small easy project. I even have some spotted fabric and matching ruffled trim that will work nicely with our bedroom decor, is quite baby-ish enough, and isn't overwhelmed by pink. I might even be able to squeeze out enough to make cradle sheets. If not, I'm sure I can find some minty green pillow cases that will match well.

I've been slowly decluttering the front room. That's a huge project. I can't really leave it though, because Jack will come and then we'll need to put up a Christmas tree in that room just two weeks later. I think The Dear Daddy is going to have to do the majority of the the tree buying and set up this year. It would be a good outing for him and the kids. Depending on what date my scheduled C-section is, we might well be celebrating Thanksgiving a week early! If Jack is born the day after Thanksgiving, I can look forward to yummy left overs when we come home from the hopspittle!

The kids have been in school for a week now. The Girlie was accidentally put into a 6th grade class until I discovered the error on Wednesday morning. That was also the first day they'd gotten the bus to school, so she was stressed already about getting on the wrong bus to come home. Poor kid. Then I wound up going to the school at 3:30 to pick them up because the danged bus broke down! I like her new teacher though, and she did not like the other teacher, so it's win-win. And the bus picks them up and drops them off right here at the house! That's going to be extremely convenient. They will be off school for three weeks at Christmas, but only one week and the weekend at Thanksgiving. November is going to be crazy busy. I'll have to get both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner bought, and all their gifts and Jack's bought and wrapped before I leave for the hopspittle.

The Dear Daddy and I talked a little about names. He doesn't like Jack or Liam or Wyatt. He doesn't have any suggestions of his own yet, but at least he's been behaving like he always has before all of this started. I'm glad he's back. I've missed him. I think that until he processd all of this, he had come to see me as the enemy, but really, I was still his partner all along. I'm glad he's back and ready to resume being My Beloved.

Signs

I started doing some simple sign language with The Girlie when she was little...and then it fell by the wayside. I tried to start again when The Boy-O was little, again it fell by the wayside. I've been reading like a fiend anything I can find about how to help The Newest, and signing figures prominently in every article about communication and Ds. I do not believe that children speak less or slower when they are started with signing early. I think it helps them communicate and when they discover that there are spoken words to communicate the same need, their speech often explodes!

So, The Littles and I have spent the day practicing simple signs. The Girlie is picking them up very quickly. Boy-O is only tolerating my instruction because I have insisted! And I do believe The Girlie has a greater memory capacity than I do...I still have to look at a cheat sheet but she calls out the name of the sign before I've finished doing it!

I plan to keep this up this time. The Newest is being born to a grand matron for crying out loud - I have to ingrain those few remaining memory cells before they die off completely, and better that The Baby is the only one learning at that point rather than everyone around him who is supposed to know what he needs! Yes, I'd better get started now...

While I run The Kidlets through five minutes of signing several times each day, I sometimes feel myself step back and ask myself how we got to this place. What are we doing here? My heart is heavy. But hopeful. And it's something I can do for The Newest, rather than just sit back and cry. I would not in a million years have desired to have a genetically 'enhanced' baby. But since The Newest will have extra chromosomes, I am going to do whatever is in my power to make sure he's the best extra-chromosomed person he can be. If spending a little time each day learning signs helps stave off the insanity I feel like I'm precariously dancing around, so much the better. It's at night when I'm laying in bed that I get really fearful.

Does She or Doesn't She?

No it's not an old Clairol commercial. I know I've never said to a stranger that Jack has Ds when they have commented on my pregnancy. There was another lady, right behind us in the check out at Costco today. It's still so briefly that I've known about Jack having Ds, I can't believe I was even considering my next move. Her daughter looked to be a teenager, and I kept wondering, does she? And then she smiled at me! And she does! I smiled back and when her mother came closer to me I asked her discreetly if her daughter had Ds. She said yes and I patted my baby bump and said that we were having a baby in November with Ds. A boy. She brightened and said, "It's never dull - it's always an adventure and you're going to be amazed!" She was old enough to be my mother, and the smile she gave me was nothing short of stunningly beautiful. She was happy. Her daughter was happy. And they made me happy!

22 Weeks and Baby Clothes

Here I am at 22 weeks. The Girlie and I sorted through the baby clothes again and started the fun task of washing, folding and putting them away. It was a fun task, but also a heart tugger. I could easily remember The Girlie when she was tiny wearing some of these things. Since her gender was a surprise, there were plenty of unisex baby items when she arrived. And of course, these same little pieces of baby magic were worn by The-Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle and I could easily remember his soft little squishy plump baby body nestled in them as well. Again I wonder will Jack be dark haired and olive eyed like My Girlie or blonde and blue like My Fireball? A combination of the two? Or will his Down syndrome make him look completely different than any of us. From any of us. Only time will tell.

I love him dearly already, but at the same time I am terrified of meeting him. Will I know him? Will he look so foreign to me that I won't be able to bond with him? Will he feel in his first moments of life completely abandoned by the one sacred love every newborn should be guaranteed? Or worse, will he be born with problems that send him to the NICU for weeks or even months of being too fragile for me to stroke his skin and hold him so he can feel my love? Between my fear of him and my fear for him, I am a wreck. I have no delusions that we will all have a challenging time when he arrives. I can easily envision endless doctors appointments, therapy appointments, days on end of constant stimulation of every kind. I feel up to those tasks, the things I have researched, the things I have learned will be crucial for him, the things other parents have described as the most beneficial for babies with Down syndrome. It's the unknown that is tearing me up. Will he need heart surgery within months of birth? Will he need bowel surgery within hours of birth? Will he require life support during his first hours or days...or months. And that awful nagging fear, the worst fear of all...will I know him? I think we will all be fine, but as any mother trying to envision the baby growing within, it is a huge unknown.

Grandma Emmie visited today! The Littles had barely let her get inside the door before dragging her down the hall to the nursery! She was suitably amazed! "Where did you find all this baby furniture? I thought you weren't going to buy anything!" She knew that Bits had loaned us the crib but she hadn't expected it to look so new! And then I pointed out how we'd put other pieces together from my tea room from our first home. She was the voice of enthusiasm as we recalled where those pieces had been located and how perfectly they all went together now for a new purpose. "It really looks like it all goes together! I thought maybe you'd hit a really good bargain sale or something!" My good friend is always a balm to my soul. She never visits without leaving me feeling refreshed, revitalized and renewed. She makes me feel capable. And right now, that simple thing, capable, is vital to my well being.

A 'Gift' from Auntie Bits

The Dear Daddy has another out of town job with a film crew, so The Littles and I went to visit Auntie Bits tonight to play with her big bunch of kidlets and to pick up the final item for the nursery! She is loaning me her crib! It's a light oak finish and it's fifteen years old, and therefore has also aged to a beautiful light golden patina, like all of the other furniture in our new nursery!

Auntie Bits loaded it into the van for us, and once home, The Girlie made trip after happy trip out to the van to bring in all the parts and pieces! And then she started pestering me to put it together! So we did! The Dear Son, Dear Daughter and I were all armed with wet cloths and spray cleaner and wiped it all down and figured out where all the peices went. We even got it finished and in place by midnight! The Dear Daddy will have to take a few peices apart, because I can see now that they are in the wrong places, but for all our hard work, the nursery furniture is pretty much complete!

Oh the Endo & New Uses for Old Treasures

Yesterday I had my first appointment with the endocrinologist. I liked him. He was real and practical, not dogmatic. He reviewed my previous pregnancies with The Littles and went over the boat load of lab work I've had so far. He agreed with me that there's no reason to put me through the gut wrenching torment of a 3 hour GTT. Lets get right to it. I was his last appointment of the day because I'd been added on last minute. That meant I was there forever. When I finally got to leave, I drove straight over to the pharmacy to drop off a bunch of scripts. When I went back to pick them up today, the bag they shoved through the window was ridiculously huge - NPH, Lispro, syringes, alcohol wipes, lancets, strips and a glucose meter.

I'd been sitting at the computer trying in vain to find a crib to match the furniture in the baby's room. The finish I wanted was everywhere when we'd been hunting for our first ever crib and I'd had a really hard time finding white. That's why we'd ended up with the inexpensive Jenny Lind crib - it came in white! Now however I could find dark oak, mahogany, cherry, combinations of cherry and oak, slate blue and oak, and white. And a scary number of makers who are finishing cribs in black. Yes black. In a baby's room. Yuck! I finally did find a beautiful wooden crib in light oak - for $899.00! Dang, for $899.00 bucks that crib had better be able to breastfeed, burp and change the baby! And eventually help it with it's homework! So I spun around in frustration and my eyes landed once again on my old tea cart from a previous lifestyle before the Dear Darlings arrived. It looked to me, from this angle at least, to be the perfect height for a changing table. And it was standing in the as yet disaster that was our front room in a jumble of misplaced and shoved together furniture right next to the media tower, also a remnant from said previous life style. Standing there together like that, these two pieces looked exactly like the white combination changing table and diaper tower that we'd first purchased for The Oldest and recycled for The Youngest and was now ensconced in The Youngest's room as dresser. So I sent The Girlie to go fetch a dolly for me. And I took said dolly and pretended to change a diaper on the tea cart! And it was perfect!

When Miss Susie arrived, we - okay she - rearranged the furniture in the nursery once again, and then she hauled in my 'finds' and suddenly the nursery had a changing table and matching diaper tower! And since everything thus far had come from my tea room, it all matched and went perfectly together! And it was free! And it put an end to my requests for Miss Susie to "Let's just try this piece over here and move that piece over there!" Poor Miss Susie!

The Soon-To-Be-Middle is still kissing my tummy and saying "I love you baby." Yesterday he said, "Mom, you better call Heaven because an angel's gone missing!" Then he kissed me. He's been such a little fart lately, and then he does something sweet like that! The Girlie is still saying how surprised she is that I'm pregnant. She's taken to calling Jack her "little brother's new little brother." And I'm liking the name Jack more and more every day! Jack is having hiccups many, many times during the day, every day. It took me a while to figure it out. He's lying low and transverse, so the sensation is different than with either of The Littles. Stay healthy Jack!

21 Weeks

Wow! 21 weeks today. That simply amazes me. The baby is moving at regular times during the day, and almost always low in my abdomen. I think he must be transverse. I'm up and down for how I'm feeling. Some days I feel great, and some days I just feel lousy and tired and crabby. I have been struggling with the DS diagnosis. Some days I am hopeful and some days I cry all day. I suppose I'm getting better. The nausea still comes and goes. Everything from my hips down creases if there's anything touching it and is 3 sizes bigger than everything from the waste up. I think I'm getting a glimpse of what old age will be like. Everything hurts. My pelvis. My tailbone. My hips. My skin.

I know this will be my last pregnancy ever, and I am trying to enjoy it, but I feel so physically lousy and so emotionally blue. I haven't been able to wear shoes for a while now. I finally forced my feet into sandals and went out to buy some house slippers. I wear a size 8 1/2 shoe. The only slippers that would accommodate my Fred Flintstone feet were size 11-12, and when I took them off even those giant loose boats had left grooves in the tops of my feet! And I'd even gone first thing in the morning before my feet could reach their mid-morning size. I was even too sad and blue to work on the nursery for the last few days. Sleep has become my escape.

Nursery Progress

I didn't call The Buttface all day. I'm still burnt up about the malicious joke and, to a lesser degree, the crabbiness on the phone.

Today I installed the floor boards in the main area of the nursery. Then Susie and I moved in the furniture! The Beloved Buttface has always had a grand time picking on me for having a penchant for too much furniture. But it has come in very handy! At our old home I had a tea room with matching pine shelves and dressers and a buffet, along with a tea cart (it was really a fancy decorative microwave cart) and a media stand. And it has aged over the years to a lovely golden patina. Perfect for sage green walls and toffee colored carpet! Yippee-skippee! So Miss Susie and I - okay Miss Susie - moved the dresser and two tall bookcases into the nursery, and my Mother's rocking chair that I'd used for both of The Littles. I pretty much stood there in the way saying helpful things like, "Watch your fingers! Don't smash your toes! Watch the paint! Okay, you're going to have to stand that on end to get it through there!" I'm sure Miss Susie found my help invaluable invalid.

Once Miss Susie had everything where I suggested, she moved it a few more times to other places that I suggested. And then a few more times again. Miss Susie deserves a raise! Once I stopped tormenting Miss Susie - I mean once I was finally happy with the placement of the bookshelves, the Lovely Daughter started filling the shelves with her old favorite books and three volumes of nursery rhymes. Apparently that pinkie-swear was magic because she said she was going to sit in the rocker to read to baby Jack. So it's only a long dresser and two bookshelves, but it's looking like a baby's room! I cannot wait to get the crib. I kept the crib we'd used for both of The Littles, but it was white. In the grand scheme of things it will be cheaper by far to buy a new Jenny Lind crib for $100.00 to match, than to buy all new furniture to match the crib.

I didn't call Buttface and he didn't call me, so when 5:00 rolled around and he hadn't shown up, I started thinking that maybe he wasn't coming home tonight; it's always good news when these jobs last longer because it usually means premium pay. Then 5:30 came and went. At 6:00 we walked down to the mailboxes and came back. Dinner was in the oven and there wasn't much else to do. By 6:30 I was sure he wasn't coming back tonight. Then at 6:45, I heard the key in the lock. I was about to serve dinner to the kids, and in he strolls. He asked what we'd done today and I said not much. He asked if I'd tried to call and I said no, to which he asked why I hadn't. I said between him being crabby on the phone when I did call him and the cruel joke he played on me Wednesday, I didn't feel like talking to him, and I continued serving dinner, setting a plate for him.

I went to take a bath instead of eating. I'm not supposed to sit in water, and I'm only supposed to be showering, but tonight I indulged in a bubble bath. That danged stitch has been infected since it was placed, so really, what harm can be done with one bubble bath? I think the kids must have taken him to the nursery to see our progress because that's where I found the three of them. He jumped right in and went to work on the door, and I showed him the moulding. He thinks we should get an awning for outside of the nursery window so it won't be so hot in summer. Then I served dinner for the two of us, noting that his plate was still spotless. It was a rather pleasant meal. Hmmm. What's up here? So after dinner he went right back to work on the nursery, cutting the moulding for the remaining floor boards and the door frame, and he cut the door to fit. We installed the door together. I'd already said thank you, but when he asked if I was happy with the work he'd gotten done I said yes, very, and thanked him again. I'll be really glad when he finally gets back to normal and stops with the Dr Jekyll/Mr Hyde thing.

Once he'd stopped working for the evening he was pleasant and funny with me and the kids. He had the kids in fits of laughter and he was affectionate and joking with me. Just like normal. Once the kids were in bed he sat behind me on the couch to massage my neck, head and back. He made an attempt to massage my feet and legs but they are so swollen and puffy that it hurts too much to touch them. Once we finally went to bed, he was even cuddly and talkative. Then he dropped like a rock and was snoring.

PHC, Carpet, Floor Boards & The Girlie

Today I was off to the PHC bright and early. I was unhappy that I had to leave Miss Susie to supervise the carpet installation, but there was nothing else to be done. And today I saw yet another practitioner, Dee - my fourth! But I liked her. Since I hadn't seen her before, she asked if I'd planned to have an amnio. I said the results were on the chart and that The Baby had trisomy 21. And then the inevitable, "Oh, I'm sooo sorry." And then the equally inevitable, "Down syndrome kids are sooo sweet and loving." But I still liked her. She had nothing to do with the amnio results and I felt like I might have blind-sided her just a little bit. I said that I didn't really think they were automatically sweet and loving, that I thought they just lacked the capacity for hatred and contempt that comes so easily to most people. She agreed. Then she increased my Methyldopa to 750 mg four times daily and ordered a boat load of labs. And another 24 hour pee test. Crap!

Another change today is that I have an appointment with the endocrinologist for next Tuesday, and Dee is moving my appointments up to every two weeks. "You are a kettle we need to keep from boiling over!" So with appointments cards and prescriptions and lab orders in hand, I rushed home to see the carpet!

I was happy with it and now the room looks so much better! The Dear Daddy has already cut the floor boards so I can start on those when it's cool this evening. In the Meantime, Grandma Emmie stopped over for a nice visit with me and The Littles. Grandma Emmie rocks and she always brings a bag full of books and goodies for the kidlets!

Then Miss Susie and I packed the brats into the van to go to Lowe's. Trust me when I say they were being brats! It all went downhill from there. The Dear Daddy took a job out of town but I needed to ask him something about the door moulding. He was crabby. Unless he changes his ways, he will be known from here on out as The Buttface. Or maybe just plain Buttface! Then we shopped and in general tried to keep The Brats from killing each other right there in the store with items pilfered from the hand tool section. And then we came home to work on the nursery. First I discovered that the floor board paint was streaky and needed to be redone. Again. The I found a whole long piece that I had entirely forgotten to even paint. Then I decided to put the floor boards in the closet, since it didn't really matter what those looked like. Anyone getting that close to those floor boards deserves to see streaks! But...the danged nails bent when I tried to nail them up! Consequently it took a lot longer to do that small little task. So then I decided to rehang the door. And now that the carpet and padding are in, the door with the previously 2" gap no longer fits! I could have forced it in, but it would have brushed the carpet with every swipe and ruined it.

And again with The Girlie. She's still worried that I will abort Jack-Jack. She was supposed to be sleeping but she called out to me when I walked past her bedroom. She was crying. I sat down on her bed and asked her why she had tears. She said she was afraid that I'd kill the baby with an abortion. I don't know what to tell the girl to convince her! While I wished fat thighs on who ever told my darling daughter that word, I gathered her into my lap. Or what was left of it. First I tried reason. I explained that Mommy wasn't working just so I could keep The Baby safe, that I went to the doctor's and never missed a single visit so I could keep The Baby safe, that now I would be going to the doctors every two weeks and then some so I could keep The Baby safe, that the handfuls of medicine she saw me take a million times a day was so that I could keep The Baby safe. And that I had that special test so that I would know how to take care of The Baby to keep him safe. She wouldn't be comforted. So I tried guilt. "Honey," I made her look at me, "Do you really think Mommy would lie to you?" Apparently so because she thought about it for a good ten seconds and then made me pinkie-swear. Finally she climbed out of my lap and fell asleep while I laid beside her stroking her hair. Poor Sweet Girlie. As I ease myself out of her bed I send a silent plea to God for her. If we lose this baby now she will be devastated. Please God, comfort her heart.

Dr Tzeng

The phone call with Dr Tzeng was very enlightening. His child was born 36 years ago to himself and his young wife. There were no indications they would have a DS child and no family history. I'm finding more and more women in their 20's, like Dr Tzeng and his wife, who are having babies with DS. To make a long story short, he and his wife pushed for early nutritional intervention, stimulation and education. He fought hard to keep his son in the mainstream classroom. His IQ is about 85. He graduated from high school when he was 21 and went to two years of community college. When he got out of college he went to work for the Daily News. He works on computers. Not at computers. On them. He makes them work. He lives in an apartment of his own, not community or assisted living. He takes the bus to and from work and goes on outings with his friends. He does his own laundry, pays his own bills, and prepares simple meals. I thanked Dr Tzeng profusely. He said to remember early nutrition, stimulation and education, and to fight until I win for my child's right to be in a typical classroom with contact with as many typical children as possible. He avoided using the words "normal" or "special." He also said to keep his phone number, that I could call him whenever I wanted during my pregnancy and afterward. It gives me hope!

20 Week Ultra Sound

I called The Beloved Buttface at work today, as we'd gotten back into our 'happy place' and it was once again more common than not for me to call him by mid-morning. We'd chat for a few minutes, review our days ahead and then hang up with "I love yous." Well today he decided to pull a cruel and malicious joke on me. He thought it was a funny way to illustrate a point of contention that we'd had now for years, and didn't see any thing at all contemptible or callous about doing this while I'm pregnant and already so easily upset. I haven't really been frank with him about how terrified I am, on a daily basis, how stressed and anxious I've been about The Baby since before we even knew about the diagnosis, mainly because his coping abilities have been pretty thin as well and I didn't want to add to it. Besides, I really didn't want to have to watch as his head exploded. I was floored by this very odd bit of utter stupidity and I just couldn't believe he'd pull this crap when he has to know, at least on some level, that I'm already being tormented enough with my own grief and sorrow. It's been just two weeks for me too. I hung up the phone and had a good sob. Then I put it out of my mind. I had better things to think about.

Today My Girlie accompanied me to my ultra sound with the beloved Dr S. The tech said he'd given her permission to answer all of my questions! She explained every thing she was seeing and measuring and confirming the body parts and telling me what they really were when I guessed wrong a million times. She really is much more at ease now that we all know Jack's little secret. The the beloved Dr S came in looking all doom and gloom. I asked right away, "Do you have more bad news for me?" He smiled and said, "No my dear. The amnio result was the only troubling news I had for you." And it was all pretty good news from there.

Dr S is just far too tired. I've asked before and I asked again today, was I his last appointment for the day? "No, I am sorry to say, you are not. But that will change. No, after you leave, I have two more and then I have to go to the hospital to dictate and see patients and then I will be lucky if I get home by eleven o'clock tonight." Then he said that from now on, he wanted me to be his last patient of the day so he could spend extra time on my ultra sounds, and that I should tell the appointment girl that he wants me in the 4-D room, always.

And then he started repeating my scan. He said that the brain ventricles remain slightly enlarged, not alarmingly so, and the same for both kidneys. He said that this is a common finding with Ds pregnancies due to the concomitant finding of hyperhydramnios; however, I had no evidence of too much amniotic fluid - mine was just right. Then he started really looking at the heart, and there was more good news. He said that the 'abnormal focus' in the heart, another common finding in Ds pregnancies, was now "so small it is insignificant." Then he said to hop up and go into the 4-D room, with the big LCD screen over the table, that he'd be right there.

Once there, he reminded me that I still had about four weeks to change my mind. I reminded him that I'd already made my firm decision. He took both of my hands into his and said, "Tracy. Promise me, promise me, that you will think about this. I am not speaking with you as a patient, I am speaking with you as my friend. You are very, very dear to me, and I know that if you are not absolutely sure, absolutely positive, with no doubts in your mind, that if this baby is born with major health problems, if you then second guess this decision, it is going to tear you apart. You will not be able to live with yourself unless you are completely sure right now that this is the proper thing to do." I looked him straight in his kind, concerned face and promised him that I'd already thought long and hard and I knew for certain that this was the only proper thing to do. "Okay my dear," thumping my knee like a grandfather might do, "I believe you. Only promise me that you will never look back, and I promise you that I will do what ever I can to see that you make it as close to your due date as possible." And then the fun began!

After printing several pictures of the baby, he switched to 4-D and let the Girlie and I watch little mini clips of The Baby in motion! It was so incredible! We got to watch him moving his arms and legs and touch his face and turning his head! It was the most amazing experience! Dr S said Jack's vigorous and strong activity may well indicate that he could be very high functioning! And then he printed three 4-D pictures that are so clear I can see Jack's little ears! I fell in love with My Baby all over again! The Girlie had been surprisingly quiet during the mini-clips, and as soon as Dr S left so I could dress, I found out why.

I still don't know where or when she heard the word abortion, and she does not have the memory capacity to tell me. I am beginning to regret that I was so honest about why some people choose to abort. But she knew that Dr S had been talking about termination. All I could do was hold her tightly while I stood there half dressed and assure her again that I would do everything in my power to make sure her Baby Brother would be born safely. She cried. She was still scared. She stopped sniffling when I reminded her of Dr S's pledge to do everything he could to keep Jack safe until he was ready to be born. My Girlie. She is such a sensitive soul.

Once the Dear Daughter was calmed, I dressed and we collected our awesome new pictures and were just about to walk out of the office into the hallway. Then Dr S came rushing out, holding a finger up to detain me while he held a cell phone to his ear. When he hung up he said, "Oh, my dear. I am so glad you did not get away!" He handed me a piece of paper with a name and phone number written on it. "This man is like an uncle to me. He was my mentor through medical school. He has a child with Down syndrome and I called him to see if he would speak with you. He is a good man. He said he would wait in his office for your call, but he needs to leave in about 30 minutes. Go right home and call him. Please." I thanked him profusely and ran right downstairs to call him from the van. Okay, so we took the elevator down, but you get the picture!