December 10, 2019
At twelve weeks and one day, this morning was the big morning - the scary, but necessary, NT test for our newest pregnancy we nicknamed Rainbow. In order to specifically avoid my oh-so favorite ultrasound physician, we scheduled our test in Hadera (when we could have simply walked to the Maccabi station two blocks from our house). Wishing I could take a valium or xanax before the trip, I practiced my breathing I learned from hypnobirthing (it comes in so handy so many times!) and we made the short drive north. I was very quiet.
It really is a lovely hospital and, that day, finally, the sky was filled with dark gray clouds threatening rain. In Israel, rain is considered a blessing and we pray for it during the winter months. I was so happy for the potential rain; November had been so dry and we were worried about the remainder of the season. I tried to think of it as a blessing for me, but I was still so nervous.
In our appointment, it was clear that this doctor had decent bedside manners. We chose not to tell him about our last time pregnant; it seemed easier. He asked all the necessary questions and I was very quiet, but I answered everything and hubby helped when I didn't catch something.
It's probably good he didn't have to take my blood pressure because I would have been immediately taken to the ER. Anyway, I lay down quietly and he began. I took a look at the images and they all looked pretty good to me. I saw a nose bone, not much fluid behind baby's neck, baby's tummy, etc. But who really knows? I'm no expert.
But he saw what I believed I saw - a healthy baby with an NT measurement of 1.7mm. A much smaller number than the last pregnancy, which was in the dangerous 9mm range.
He kept speaking quietly, calmly, telling my husband and I what was on the screen. Hands, legs, tummy, brain, lungs, heart, all looking good. A healthy little potential baby holding a balloon.
You know that feeling when you finally exhale and only then realize you were holding your breath? Yea, totally there.
We exited the ultrasound and I started crying from relief. Hubby put his arm around me and asked me gently if I wanted a coffee. Yes, please, I said. And we walked outside to discover that it was pouring rain and it was beautiful. Rivulets of water streamed down the sidewalks and cleansed the streets, everyone ran from place to place with their umbrellas or rushing with hoods or newspapers hastily thrown over their heads. The wind whipped and I pulled my jacket around me closer. We peered around, saw a random little coffee shop next door, and ran inside to what we discovered was Cafe Alice (which meant a lot personally since I have someone very close to me with that name).
By no means were we the only ones with the same idea, but Israelis are friendly. We ordered our two hot chocolates and shared a tiny table with another woman. Eventually, we moved to an open table at the back of the cafe where I could just breathe quietly, tear up, hold Ariel's hand, and wait for the rain to pass.
Did I know that I had been holding my breath? Praying for this result? Sure. But knowing it... feeling it... internalizing it are all different things.
As we walked up the hill to return to the car, we spotted it. A rainbow off in the distance.
We held hands the rest of the way to the car.
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