A Healthy Review

After that last post, I can't help but feel some relief. There is something very cathartic in rehashing emotions, as if every time you feel the symphony of sensation it becomes a little duller and more tolerable. Plus, I've had a few friends--now readers--that have really responded to my openness. It has began an engaging conversation about later-in-life pregnancies. So, in the same spirit as my first post, here is my personal review of my trip to see our family doctor--Dr. John Dobbs--to confirm my First Response results.

From my personal journal entry on September 24, 2010:

I went to see Dr. Dobbs yesterday. It's never my favorite place to be, sitting in his waiting room with it's frank smell of sterility and DumDum pops. Normally, I avoid it at all costs with turning to more natural or holistic remedies for any illness that comes my way. But, Jeff and I needed an official "you're pregnant" so I made the appointment. And, a day after I had, I found myself sitting in the sterile waiting room three seats away from a coughing man and one seat away from an ancient edition of Fit Pregnancy magazine. I was numb.


When Nurse Nancy called my name, using my full "Lydia" instead of "Dia", I almost didn't hear her. My focus had been on the Fit Pregnancy magazine cover. The cover model, bump poking out from under a wrap dress, hardly looked to be 23 years old. Despite the fact that I had been younger than that with my first two pregnancies, I couldn't help but look at her with a disgust to her youth. It took the nurse three times before I finally recognized that it was my turn.


By the time Dr. Dobbs made it to the room, I was really missing Jeff's support. Back at work, despite taking a sick day earlier in the week, I couldn't help but be thankful for his emotional support. I wish he had been there to see the look on Dr. Dobbs' face after I had explained myself and shown him the First Response tests: He couldn't decide if he could maintain professionalism with a straight face or break out into a giggle. His expression landed somewhere between a smirk on his lips with an intense seriousness in his eyes before he sat down on his wheeled stool to have a heart-to-heart.


He explained the horrors that come along with past-35 pregnancy: Chromosomal defects, like Down Syndrome, had higher chances for this baby because of the age of my ovum and Jeff's aging genitalia. Before he went any further to test me for an official "yes", he made it clear that this was going to be a risky pregnancy that I might want to reconsider.

He couldn't even finish his sentence without me busting out with, "I'm keeping it!" With that, he began to swab my arm with alcohol to prep me for a quantitative blood test. 


One sore arm and $20 lighter, I just went for a drive. My mind was racing on his warnings. What would Jeff and I do to care for a Down Syndrome baby? How would it be different then a healthy pregnancy? Would Jeff have to stay employed beyond his retirement at UCA to keep the health insurance?


I also couldn't help but wonder if maybe Dr. Dobbs' test would come back negative. Even thinking that made my heart sting, though: Despite all of the changes, the drama, and the feelings, I had already become attached to the idea of being a mother reborn.


Somehow, before I knew it, the roads had led me out of Conway and into Little Rock. I found myself turning into the BabiesRUs parking lot. 


ToysRUs and BabiesRUs had been such a foreign place with my first two kids: It was the store we'd go to for big treats like Christmas presents or, rarely, a birthday gift. We couldn't really afford to go to Little Rock to shop there, back then, let alone afford the prices. With Hyde and Jasper, Wal-Mart was pretty much our only in-Conway option for kids' stuff that we could afford on Jeff's gallery assistant income. But, this new baby lived in a different time.


Jeff, now the chair of the Art Department at UCA, had worked his way up to a nice salary. Between his income and my sales of my paintings, we now fell into the 6-figure income category. This is a far cry from what we had with Hyde and Jasper. So, maybe I could finally get to shop in nicer places for this baby, at least some of the time.


I wandered through the store with an awe for how much everything had changed: The packaging was brighter, the toys could practically educate a toddler to anything, and the baby clothes were no longer frilly or screamed "BABY" in the fabric designs. The cribs could become toddler beds and the mattresses were mini name-brands. 


It was like I had walked into the latest Mattell version of Candyland after living in the Gum Drop Forest of my 1990's edition of the game for so many years. I drooled over the changes, and couldn't wait to treat this baby to everything I had so wished I could have provided for Jasper and Hyde. Knowing that we were intent on using that $12,000 vacation savings, and only that much, on the baby's first year, I couldn't help but start eyeballing nice furniture pieces and cute bedding sets. I had to keep reminding myself that we didn't even have the doctor's official "yes" yet.


But, I knew. I knew in my heart already.


So, I walked out of that store with a newborn-sized, neutral gender sleep gown. Here's the receipt, just for the sake of memory lane:

 

I made my way home with a renewed vigor: No matter what, defects or not, this baby was something that I felt was meant to be. For the odds to be so far against it, I couldn't help but already be it's biggest fan. It was a big change from being numb that morning, but it just felt right.


And, by the way, this morning Dr. Dobbs' office called. We are officially confirmed as pregnant.