2 Weeks at a Time

My bi-weekly appointment with the Maternal Fetal Specialist is tomorrow in Atlanta. I’ve been going to them for over 8 weeks now and I’ve noticed a pattern. My mental state is OK in the days leading up to the appointment, but the day before I start researching online. I start hunting for stories of other babies prenatally diagnosed with duplicated ureters, ureteroceles and kidney issues. I hunt for stories and statistics, desperately wanting to know what the chances are that I’ll go full time. What the percentage of cases are that require intervention in utero. There’s not much out there, but it doesn’t stop me from continuing to look.

Slowly my anxiety creeps back in. I start worrying that this will be the appointment where my amniotic fluid level is suddenly low. This will be the ultrasound that reveals her right kidney is starting to have issues. This will be the appointment where things get serious, fast. I mean, they’re already serious but we’re in a “wait and see” pattern hoping to make it to full term. Then the hope is that she has a normal output of wet diapers. And then the hope is that the tests at 2 weeks will come back as positive as possible and we can hold off on surgery until she’s at least 6 months old. But the wait and see nature is put on hold every other Wednesday when the doctor actually looks at Bridget and sees where we stand. The day leading up to this is hard for me. All the what-ifs roll around in my head.

The appointment itself is pleasant. The staff and doctor are wonderful and they know how to make a high-stress situation as calming as possible. Plus, I get to see my girl and am reassured that she’s still growing and holding strong. I love seeing her sweet nose – Julian’s nose – and watching her acrobatics in motion. It is comforting to hear she’s growing ahead of schedule and that she looks great aside from the kidney issues at hand. And it is even comforting to get to see the kidney and try to wrap my head around what I’m looking at on the ultrasound screen. I have yet to really lose it in the midst of the MFM appointment. I think it takes time for the new information to sink in.

But the evening after the appointment and much of the next day is when the sadness, anxiety and fear set in. This is the time when I’ll cry. This is when my husband looks at me and asks what is wrong. We handle these appointments differently. He hears the positive things the doctor is saying (or taking the good from the things the doctor’s AREN’T saying). Yet I don’t feel reassured by the appointments. My worry and the reality of the situation smacks me in the face each time. I crumble. I am so fearful of what could go wrong. And I cathartically need that day to wallow.

And then a day or two later the fog lifts and the cycle starts again. My anxiety lessens. My acute fear of the unknown lessens and I’m able to enjoy being pregnant again.

As hard as this all is, I hope the crushing depression sets in tomorrow night after an uneventful appointment. I can handle a day of sadness, because it means a 2 week reprieve is coming until the anxiety and fear starts again. I’m not really sure how I’d handle things if one of these appointments were to actually go bad. As Bridget flips around inside me as I write this, I pray with all my being that I don’t find out what happens if things go sour.

10 weeks and 2 days. That’s 5 more cycles to make it through. Please let me have those 5 more depressing days.

Sweet baby B, stay put. We’re not quite ready to meet you.