So, yeah, when it rains, it really does seem to pour.
I normally try to stay away from using too many clichés, but this one is fitting for the month I've had.
On the day that I first brought my mom to the hospital, I also had an important pre-natal appointment to attend for myself. In that visit, I found out that my baby's measurements are slightly off, and it appears that his femurs are too short.
I'm told that this apparently could mean one of a few things:
1. He has a bone disease.
2. He has Down's Syndrome.
3. He's going to be short.
Frankly, all of the above will present their own challenges in life, but obviously I have my fingers crossed for option #3.
I had a total of just one ultrasound when I was pregnant with my daughter, but now I'm scheduled for ultrasound # 5 with this little guy next week.
Each time my doctor sends me for more tests, her exact words are always, "It's probably nothing, but we should check this out anyway." And each time we come away with something else new and bizarre to stress over.
We're now running out of time with all these tests, given that my little man is going to make his appearance in 4 weeks, whether we have answers beforehand or not.
From my point of view, I don't really see the necessity of having this fifth ultrasound, because whatever's going to happen will happen regardless. But I suppose that, from a medical standpoint, my doctor needs to be prepared.
All I can do at this point is try to keep things in perspective. I know of more people who have had problems with their pregnancies than those who have gone completely smoothly. (Frankly, I've always thought it a miracle that more things don't ordinarily go wrong, given how much potential there is for this to occur.)
One of my coworkers had to have an ultrasound done every two weeks when she was pregnant with her first daughter, because they discovered a tumour in utero. Once the baby was finally born, she immediately underwent surgery to remove the tumour and, luckily, has lead a relatively healthy life since then.
But I can't begin to comprehend the unimaginable stress and fear felt by her mother in those months leading up to the birth.
I know of so many other stories just like this one, and so I'm doing my best to relax and just appreciate the fact that things could always be worse. Someone out there will always have it worse than me.
And I also have to trust that things will be okay regardless of what these ultrasounds reveal.
What other choice do we have? In four weeks we will have a new little blessing among us who will be loved to the moon and back, even if he grows up too short to ever play on any NBA teams.
Again, there are far worse things in life.