Flutters of a Rainbow

January 30, 2020

Yesterday, we went in for our amniocentesis. I've been nervous about this for a while since there is a chance, though very small, of a miscarriage or injury to myself and the baby as a result of the procedure. I also run small in my pregnancies and, again, I have an anterior placenta (in the front) so that also adds challenge to the procedure.

Why was going through with this at all? I think mainly due to my age (I'm 41.9) and the heavy shadow of the last pregnancy. During the course of this pregnancy, we've had some scares. One of my blood tests, in this pregnancy, came back showing parvovirus - but then we learned that there are two results for that virus, one that shows its former presence (i.e. you had it in the past) and another that shows its present status of being in your blood (i.e. you have it right now). After some intense research, we discovered that I had had it in the past, though not currently. But in the time it took to comprehend my test results, my anxiety was through the roof and I was practically in tears on the train (always the train).

For those who don't know, parvovirus is a nasty virus for pregnancy and for all living things. Humans get the human strain (B19) of the tiny disease; it causes 5th disease (erythema infectiosum) in kids and, in 10% (or more) of the cases when pregnant women catch it, it causes hydrops fetalis, mainly due to severe fetal anemia, sometimes leading to miscarriage or stillbirth. Currently, there is no treatment or vaccine, though not for lack of trying.

I have no way of knowing when I actually contracted the virus or if it was one of the contributing factors to my loss. Also, my baby's umbilical cord was attached in the wrong place as well, so parvovirus might not have played any role at all in the loss. In the end, it doesn't really matter, does it?

But I digress. Another reason I was okay with doing the amnio is because my doctor would be the one doing it and after being in Israel for four and a half years, I finally found one I really trusted. He'd do it himself with the team in Assuta in Haifa.

I got especially nervous the week before the procedure but late last week (or early this week), I started feeling tiny little flutters inside my uterus. They are a little hard to describe and the only reason I even recognized them is because this is my fifth pregnancy (so weird to say).

See, some of the hardest times during the whole journey to a baby are: (1) the two week wait to see if you got lucky enough to get pregnant; and (2) the first half of the pregnancy until you actually feel what's growing inside you (medievally named "the quickening").

On our hour-long drive up north, I was kinda quiet. Telling myself that my mom had gone through amnios back in the '70s and '80s and everything turned out fine... that it's statistically more likely that something was wrong with the baby than the baby being hurt by the procedure... that Dr. Feldman knew what he was doing... and suddenly, my husband interrupted and told me to look out his window. And there, shining far out over the Mediterranean Sea, emerging from deep greenish gray clouds, was a beautiful Rainbow, saturated in color (though the picture below really doesn't do it justice).

The whole appointment, including the procedure, took about twenty minutes. That's it. A lot of hospital paper to localize the area and three wipe-downs with a LOT of sanitizing alcohol (so cold!). It probably would have taken even shorter had Rainbow not mooned the doctor.

Seriously.

Baby was facing tushy up when the doctor started using the ultrasound wand to figure out where to stick the needle and showed him a cute, tiny tush. It was quite the comic relief when my good-natured doctor said, with a smile, we don't behave like that!

He continued, pushed the baby around a bit to make room, pushed it around a bit more since it didn't like to cooperate (this kid is going to fit smoothly into my family), and finally found a space to insert the needle and withdraw the yellowish fluid (so much!). After he finished, I felt woozy, like when I donate blood, but worse. I sat there and drank water until the worst of it passed and then I became sickly ravenous.

Afterwards, we immediately went for food. Because I felt so sick, I ate verrrry slowly and we finally left the mall and headed for the car. We got back to Netanya just in time to get the boys, come home, and for me to pass out. Essentially, I slept on and off for the entire next two to two and a half days; I was wiped out.

I finally felt like myself again after the weekend but had a lovely bruise in the area of the procedure - especially wonderful since I have to give myself blood thinning shots every night in the same area. Then I waited, again, for the results which were to take 2-4 weeks.

Seriously.

Perfect Soul, Imperfect Baby: The Absurdity

Part III: Sunday, August 11.

The Absurdity. 

Today is Tisha B'Av - a national mourning (and fasting) day for Jews. As usual, we took our 18mo old clever, gorgeous little girl to Gan for the day and left the boys with a babysitter and my husband's sister, who came out special to help us. 

We headed north and arrived in Haifa just before 10am so they could squeeze us into their schedule. I was 13w+5d and though we arrived on time, it didn't matter one whit since Maccabi hadn't yet sent us the mandatory Tofes 17.

I had been fasting since midnight in preparation for the surgery this morning but nothing doing. We found the proper floor, signed in and my husband and I sat in the waiting area while we waited for this document that, apparently, was never going to arrive. The nurses, with kindness in their eyes, were ready to take me back in an instant, knowing what I was going to undergo.

We (that is, my Israeli husband) called Maccabi every hour upon arrival and, right away they told us that, oh, we’ll mark it urgent for us (never mind that they had already said that on Thursday afternoon – remember that?) and it would arrive within the hour (but remember, we're already at the hospital waiting).

We wait and call in another hour, oh, they exclaimed, we'll mark it extra urgent and you'll get it in an hour! I put my head on the table. 

Still, nothing but disappointment. At this point, I'm still fasting, but now I'm lightheaded and it's noon. At one point, the nurses rush me back to squeeze me in but as we approach the back, they realize the document had not, in fact, come in, and apologized profusely as they brought me back to the waiting area. I got nothing but sympathetic faces.

It's now after noon and the hospital can no longer fit us into their schedule. I’m emotionally and physically empty but for my uterus.

After giving us an appointment for the very next morning (Monday) at 7:30am, Rambam Hospital sent us home, provided, of course, we got the Tofes 17 in time. My husband continued to call Maccabi every hour, including when they were closed to the public from 12-4p (cushy job), and they kept promising that we'd get it. In response, my husband kept telling them he didn’t believe a word they said. He kept calling and calling and told them, NO, we already missed our appointment this morning, we have a new appointment tomorrow at 7:30am, and we can't go if we don't have this document. Despite all their promises, despite all our pleading, their office closed with no Tofes.

So what do we do, my husband asks me. I shrug. I am emotionally spent. It's enough that I'm still growing a baby who won't live. It's enough that I (we) must make this choice at all. It's enough that I have to go through this “procedure.” Now we have to fight with my kupa about getting it done, in time, so I don't have to be induced and give birth.

But big surprise…. Maccabi hadn't come through and I have no energy whatsoever to go to Haifa again, much less at 6:30am without a Tofes or any guarantee that the hospital can do the procedure. Not to mention figuring out how to get the little one to Gan... so we cancel my husband's brother for the next day and say we'll wait. I guess we’ll just wait for the Tofes and I'll go to work.

I still don’t really feel like telling anyone or talking to very many people, but I finally tell my good friend in Netanya what's going on and, just like my other friends and family, she hurts for me. She asks what she can do. Nothing, I said. There’s nothing you can do. But she doesn't listen. Instead, she sets up a meal train for me starting on Tuesday. People will bring over food for my family and me so I don't have to worry so much about recovering and moving around. She surprises me with a bottle of wine and my favorite snack: salty pretzels and Duncan Hines cream cheese frosting. I actually smile, hug her tight, hurry inside to put my kids to bed, break the fast, and eat my beloved pretzels and frosting in the living room.

It's now evening on the day this was supposed to happen and it’s finally quiet in our apartment. My husband and I sit next to each other in quiet. He watches a show on Netflix. I watch a different show. I think, "I still have a baby."

We turn off our shows and study for my law exams that are scheduled for next week.

We go to sleep.

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