So considering the run of crapluck we seem to have been in the middle of we were a bit anxious about the results of the testing. Which you would be anyway, really, but when rendered borderline paranoid by circumstances, the edginess gets a little booster shot.
For those unfamiliar with this testing deal (which is probably most folks, parental or not, since they just came up with this routine a few years ago), it's a 2 parter. First they do an ultrasound and measure.... well, something in the neck area. I was fuzzy about exactly what, but what I'm sure about, through the process, is that it can only be measured when the baby-to-be is in a certain position. A position, I might add, that OUR baby-to-be determinedly refused to take up. And I'm not talking like, down dog or eagle pose here - the kidlet just needed to lay on its back. But would it? OOooooh no. Of course not. Thus the 10 minute ultrasound turned into a hour and 15 minutes worth of comedy fodder.
The tech, God love her, was a sweet and patient woman, and at no point did she begin thumping my belly like a bongo, though I'm sure the desire was strongly there... What she did do was, at first, grease me up and scan a little this way, and a little that way. No luck. Baby gave back - clearly presenting the rear from every angle - which I guess is the fetus equivalent of giving someone the hand. Kidlet was having none of it.
So sweettech goes to Plan B - a sort of gentle jiggling of the ultrasound wand (mercifully an external) to try to encourage relocation. Yeah - no. Nothing. So she goes to slightly more vigorous jiggling. This triggered arm or antennae waving, it's hard to tell what anything is on those screens. But nothing else. The angle was still a no go. After 15 minutes of poke and jiggle the tech yields. OK Plan C - lie on your side for a few minutes, that will usually make the kidlet relocate. So I obediently flop over and lie. And lie. And lie.
10 minutes of lying and the tech comes back. "Let's see if that worked!" Well, yes and no. The kidlet DID move, so yay! The angle still sucks, so boo. So she goes to Plan D, try new directions. So she comes at the belly from the left, from the right, from the top, from the bottom, from the top left, the bottom right - you get the idea. and every angle is close, oh so close, and yet...no. I offer to do a little down dog myself. The tech seems to consider it briefly but passes. She's convinced that the mid bottom rightish angle can work....the kidlet is soooooo close. So she reverts to a more vigorous application of poke and jiggle technique. Poke...JIIIIIIIGGGGGGLLLLE! Poke.... JIIIIIIGGGGGGLLLE!!!! And finally! Success! The kidlet moves to its back, and she begins snapping ultrasound shots like she's the paparazzi with an angle on Britney's bare yaya.
Now the purpose of the poke and jiggle is the bug the baby-to-be enough that he/she relocates. Which worked, but the side effect is that you are left with a seriously bugged baby-to-be. And apparently when our baby-to-be is seriously bugged, it turns into a total spaz. This little thing was FREAKING OUT in there. Limblets a-flailing. Noggin a-turnin. And mid-photo shoot, he/she began what I can only refer to as 'Sproinging'. It wasn't so much a bounce or a hop, as a full body jump. In fact, there was brief discussion about whether fetuses could get hiccups at this stage of development. But after 'Sproing!!!' #15 it was clear that this was very purposeful protest spazzing, not involuntary twitches. This was one P.O.ed kidlet. And, God help me, while I'm sure my soon-to-be-maternal heart should have swelled with sympathy for the agitated little guy/gal, but all I could do was point and laugh. In my defense - it was *hilarious* - seriously. "Sproing!!! SPROING!! sproingsproingsproing!!!" And of course every time I laughed, it wound the critter up more, and the tech kept losing the picture, cause the kidlet was bouncing around so much. The tech finally just gave up - she got enough from the first few photos and it was pretty clear we weren't going to get much more today from the mexican jumping bean. As she packed up she said, well, we know your child has strong legs, that's for sure...
We had an appointment scheduled to review the official results of the testing with our OB for Tuesday. Remember that 'same day' grandmother bad news confluence I mentioned earlier? Yeah - THAT would be the same Tuesday. So by the time we get in there, my brain is a little baked. Because this is a multi-doc practice and my regular OB was on vacation this week, we has started the 'meet all the people who could possibly end up birthing your baby' rotations early. Whee. Major stressful test results from a stranger.
When new doc trots in, she seems quite personable, albeit without a clear sense of humor, and she begins chitchatting, 'so how are you feeling...?' um...good....
'great! And how are you with the symptoms?' um... good...
'Great! And do you have any questions for me today?' um... yeah... What were the test results?! 'oh! hmm.... is that why you are in today? I don't seem to have those....'
'Let me see what we can find out!' um.... please....
She siccs a nurse on the testing office, then comes back in. 'While she's getting those results, do you have any questions about the tests?' Yes, actually...
The deal is that they give you a ratio for odds of having a down's syndrome baby, based on the combination of the ultrasound measurements of the...well whatever they measure... and various blood chemicals. So I ask what the ratio means. The doctor and my husband look at me like I'm nuts. My husband kindly explains using that tone one uses with a 6 year old. "well, if the ratio is 1 in 100 you have a 1 percent chance of having a down's syndrome baby, so 1 in 1000 is a .1% chance. Do you understand?". Um.... yeah...
OK, yes, I was out sick in elementary school when we did fractions, but I've played the lottery and blackjack so I GET the odds thing. Please. Although the fact that I've played the lottery could be an argument AGAINST me getting the odds thing....At any rate, what I DON'T get is what is considered 'good' relative to say, the planet. What I need is a CONTEXT. While I didn't use those words exactly to clarify - I think there was more frothing pregnant hormonal attitude in my response - but I did get my point across. After backing slowly away from me, the doc pulled out "The Wheel" - which I thought was just for calculating due dates, but is apparently the Rosetta Stone for all things preggers, and told me that based solely on my age my odds are 1 in 167ish. Great! Exactly what I needed - anything better than that, is good. THANK you. You may all stop looking at me like I'm insane now...
This is about the point where the nurse pokes her head in the room to inform us that, while the ultrasound 1/2 of the results are in and look good, the official all things included results are not yet available and they'll have to call us with those. Well, nuts. THAT was worth the office visit...
So we wait. And wait. And wait.... Finally Friday - the call - and the results? "Normal" says the nurse. YAY! Ok, no, WAIT. I spent WAY too much time figuring out this whole odds/ratio thing - I want NUMBERS! Quantify normal for me! The nurse, while probably mildly taken aback at my obsession with math, obliged. According to the official results, my ratio went from 1 in 167 to 1 in 2,741. How they came up with that number exactly is beyond me, but I gotta say... I like those odds... :-)
Tune in next week for my first maternity clothing shopping experience...imagine your last bra or jeans shopping experience - now velcro a pod to your gut....yeah, it was like that...
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