"This Is When You Can Breathe a Sigh of Relief..."

...the ultrasound technician said to me yesterday morning, as I lay in a darkened room, watching grainy black-and-white images float past on the screen as my heart pounded anxiously within me.

Because of the circumstances of this pregnancy, particularly the way it occurred so soon after a miscarriage, there was extra concern about whether everything was going as it should or whether I might have a problem such as a molar pregnancy.  A few weeks ago, as we watched my HCG levels climb and realized that I was with child, the midwives' office offered me an ultrasound if I wanted it; but I declined at the time, thinking that I would save a penny or two (or 10,000).  But Tuesday evening, my dad told me that he was genuinely concerned about me and urged me to get an ultrasound.  I'm glad he did.  :)

Wednesday morning, I dialed the familiar number and spoke with a nurse about the situation.  "Let me talk to a midwife, and I'll call you back," she said.  When the phone rang, I heard her voice saying, "Can you be here at 9:30 for an ultrasound?"  I glanced at the clock:  already 9:00.  "Sure!" I replied.  :)

As I drove into town, my anxiety level began to rise.  I hadn't really been worried before this, but now that I was thinking about all the "what if's," I had to fight hard to find peace.  It was odd to be heading towards the midwives' office thinking things like "Do I have tissues in my purse in case the news is bad?" instead of the normal thoughts such as "I wonder how much I'll weigh today."  ;-)

Eventually I found myself flat on my back, lights dimmed, TV screen on, gel (thoughtfully pre-heated) applied to my abdomen, ready for my "First Viability Ultrasound" (which is a nice way of saying, "We'll check to see if your baby is dead").  The technician started looking and almost instantly saw this:

A BEAUTIFUL sight indeed.

Even better was the sound a moment later, as she turned on the audio and let me hear the precious gallop of my little one's heart.  163 strong beats per minute.  Perfect.

As a matter of fact, everything was perfect, she said.  Measurements were right on, confirming my due date of April 7; and everything about the baby looked great!  The only concern--which is minor, at this point in time--is the placement of the placenta:  low and in the back.  It should move up, she reassured me.  She looked at my ovaries (and by this time, I was completely lost...I've seen enough ultrasounds to recognize a tiny baby, bean-shaped though it may be...but ovaries? placenta? a spot of implantation bleeding?...it's all Greek black-and-white fuzziness to me!) and told me my right one was the one that had ovulated.  Way to go, righty!

Along with the sigh of relief she told me I could have, came the tears--just a few, trickling down my face.  I tried to wipe them away and go on talking to her as if everything was normal.  Just another day at SWHC, right?  But I'm sure the tightness and catch in my voice belied the nonchalance I was trying to portray.  Why I was trying to be nonchalant, I'm not really sure.  Because if you can't show a little emotion the first time you see your very own, real, living baby on the ultrasound screen, when can you?

Oddly enough, on the way to my appointment, I was thinking how very difficult the job of an ultrasound tech must be when the news is bad.  When a Viability Ultrasound shows no viability, the ultrasound tech has to assume the role, not only of medical personnel, but to some extent, counselor and comforter.  What a challenge!  Without me even mentioning any of this, the tech yesterday said, "When I do an ultrasound like this and find the baby and the heartbeat, the happiest person in the room is the mother.  But the second happiest is me!!"  I can see her point!

And I can also see the pictures she gave me:  proof that yes indeedy, I have a sweetie, and he (improbably she) is growing safely inside me.  I think I'll breathe another sigh of relief right now, just for fun.  ;-)

With it, I'll breathe a prayer of thanksgiving.  Thank You, God, for this unexpected, indescribably sweet gift from Your hands and heart.