Good News

The doctor’s appointment we had on Thursday went really well. I had gotten a letter the day before from the genetic specialist that had laid out all the things wrong with the pregnancy before I had done the amnio. One of the things listed was that I had an abnormal amount of amniotic fluid. I asked the doc about it and he said it’s not uncommon, and it’s something they just keep an eye on.
He was also the first doctor in the practice that has reassured us. He acknowledged how frightened we must have been and told us not to worry. He said the only thing wrong with our baby is he has a little clubbed foot which is common, and some casts and a boot and he’ll live a normal life. I mentioned something about going to the Shiner’s Hospital, and he said we wouldn’t even have to go that route. He said we’d be spending a lot of time at Children’s Hospital for the first few months. He also referred us to a pediatrician that has experience with kids with clubbed feet.
I actually left the appointment eager to buy baby things. I always dread doing baby shopping because it depressed me, especially since his future was so uncertain for so long. He now has a playpen and travel system, swing, bunches of outfits that accommodate his special feet, a vibrating seat, a few toys, and a giant plush Yoda (his daddy is a nerd). I’ve bought the kid a lot of onsies, because I know that’s something he can wear all the time. I’ve bought a couple of outfits, making sure they had pants and tops, so he can at least wear half of the outfit at a time. I’ve been also looking at things with snaps down the sides. Luckily the little guy will be in braces for the summer, so he can wear onsies or shorts all the time.
We went to get my husband a new pair of shoes today, and I looked at the clearance shoes rack. There were a bunch of super cute, tiny, New Balance sneakers on it. It made me a little sad. I really looked forward to buying the baby bunches of cute little shoes. When we were checking out, I was surprised to see the cashier look at both shoes in the box to make sure they were the same size. I have read that sometimes people who have had clubbed feet wear different sized shoes. Maybe the huge population of people with clubbed feet are scamming Shoe Carnival.

First Post

I've had the perfect pregnancy- Well except for the bout of morning sickness and the insane urge to devour animals after being vegetarian for ten years. I haven't had to struggle with constant nausea, nor raging hormones, or any of the typical pregnancy complaints. The fetus is a little genius, and has done all the cool fetus stuff when he was supposed to, like kicking, and is absolutely defiant when anyone messes with his territory (he threw a fit during every ultra sound and after the amnio).
The downside of being pregnant is that it is absolutely terrifying. I am 29 weeks pregnant with our first child. Months and months ago, we decided to get this little blood test done to early screen him for horrible chromosome disorders (basically we did it because they did an ultrasound along with the test and we wanted to see him 9 weeks early). One of the tests showed a tiny increased risk, which quickly in “doctor land” made us high risk, for Trisomy 13 and 18. We weren't really concerned because our chances of having a baby with Trisomy was 1 in 147, which the normal cut-off is 150. We fretted over it for a few days, and then quickly forgot about it, until a few months later.
We got out 20 or so week ultra sound done, and our little fetus, much to my dismay, was in fact a boy and not the little princess I swore I was having. We also found out HE was looking great. I went to the doctor a week or so later, and was told again how fantastic he looked. I went back to the doctor the next month and another doctor in the practice seemed very concerned that the baby has what appeared to be a clubbed foot and demanded another ultra sound as quickly as possible because it could mean he has Trisomy. I of course lost it as soon as we made it out of the doctor's office, because at this point I was so sick of the Trisomy stuff and in my pregnant state, an emotional train wreck. So we went on a Saturday less than a week later (and the day after Christmas) to get another ultra sound done, where we saw the clubbed foot and were informed he may have a rocker bottom foot, plus short femurs.
I quickly researched rocker bottom foot when I got home and realized it meant imminent doom for our little guy. There isn't much information online about it, but it all looks very ugly and points to Trisomy. On Monday I called the doctor's office to get a follow up about the ultra sound, and hopefully better news, and was scheduled for the next day. The doctor was pretty much useless to us that day, and said he didn't know anything either way (to give us hope of condemn us), and referred us to a peritoneal (sp) specialist.
We went to the specialist the next day, (this, by the way, made our 4th trip to the same hospital within five days), and it was probably the most awkward conversation my husband and I ever had with another human being. The specialist explained our risk of having a baby with Trisomy was now increased significantly, and she recommended an anmnio. But she also asked us about our feelings and left long pauses after everything she asked. Exactly what do you say to someone who tells you your baby is going to die because they most likely have this horrible condition? She also managed to make my husband mad by explaining to us how chromosomes worked. When she left the room for a second, he said to me, "I learned that in high school." I didn't say to him that I knew exactly how mentally retarded our child would be, ("Not like Down's Syndrome mentally retarded," she said), because of the mass of special education classes I have taken in my bajillion years of college. I reminded him that the majority of people in the world are dumb, and she has to dumb her speech down. We tried to bargain with her for an ounce of hope, and told her how the ultra sound tech said everything besides his legs looked really good. She told us instead, that things would just start going downhill if he had it (awesome).
Nonetheless we decided to do an amnio. About me: I have an unrealistic fear of needles being injected into me. I don't care once they are in, but I get very anxious when I see a needle coming anywhere near me. I have somehow managed to get tattoos and donate blood, all by closing my eyes and not looking at the needle at all. Anyhow, she somehow managed to get us in for a few hours later, so we went home and ate lunch as I prepared myself by being bitter about having a defective baby.
So we came back to the hospital (5th trip in five days. We had started naming the ducks at the lake near the hospital), and had to wait an hour because they were testing some new equipment in the room we were to be in. At least this gave me time to create a small rage in me because we were in a room full of pregnant women who looked like they would sell their babies for drugs first chance they got, and chances are, their babies would be completely normal, despite having parents who would rather get high than care about them (yes, I'm still slightly bitter and stereotyping). We were finally lead back where I got an ultra sound first. The technician confirmed his other foot was clubbed too, which was a mild relief because if it was clubbed instead of rocker bottom, then he could be ok. We were told that he measured small, but only by a few days.
The doctor came in and confirmed clubbed feet, but said she couldn't tell if his feet were rocker bottomed or not. She also asked how tall I was, which I'm assuming is relating to his short femurs. I'm not very tall, nor is my husband, which we had been told previously could be why he has little legs. I then was prepped for the amnio. I closed my eyes and held my husband's hand. They made me state my name and why I was at the office that day, I guess to make sure I wasn't crazy for getting a giant needle stuck into my womb. The needle going in wasn't too bad- I didn't feel it going into my belly, and it cramped for just a second when the needle went through the uterus. It only lasted a minute, and gasped a little when the needle came out because it surprised me and hurt slightly. I later asked my husband if he looked at the needle. He said he didn't look at it in person, but saw needle and the baby "run" from it on the screen. We were told we would know something within to 7-10 days, and the genetic counselor would call us when the results were in.
This quickly became the longest week and a half of our lives. We were in zombie mode for a few days. Our friends and co-workers quickly assumed something was wrong, so we had to tell everyone. I hated the looks I got when anyone who knew saw me. I'm sure I looked awful. It was hard to tell anyone I ran into who didn't know that I was pregnant that I was expecting, because I had no idea if I would have a baby to bring home in the end. My husband I and created our little emotional haven at home, and waited out the week.
Then there was no call on Wednesday, which was one week after the test. Nothing on Thursday. Friday I called them after no call in the morning. I luckily got a call back about an hour later. No Trisomy. I hung up the phone and cried out, enough to convince my husband for a split second that our baby was going to die. I realized that and quickly muttered out that he was okay.
Our chanced of having a baby with Trisomy 13 or 18 was 1 in 147 originally. We never did ask what our chances were after finding out he had clubbed feet, mostly out of fear. I take comfort in numbers and statistics and honestly didn't want to know because I thought it would be out of my safe zone. From what I've read, our chances of having a baby with a clubbed foot is 1 in 1000. We're very lucky. We're lucky I got pregnant after previously trying for a year, and we're lucky to have a baby who other than his feet should be healthy. He's not a 100% out of the dark, and I'm sure next doctor visit we'll get something else to worry about, but for right now he's my little boy who just is going to have some crazy feet for a little while.