Day 33

It was a little sad for this to be my last weekly checkup. We met with one of the 3 OBs at this practice, Dr. W, who we’ve seen on a regular basis now. He’s the one we saw when we had our list of questions, and he also delivered both Evan and June when they were born. I’ve appreciated his bedside manner, and he told us he’d be thinking of us next week and would keep us in his prayers. I know the OBs have a weekly meeting where they discuss patients of particular concern and Dr. W said they’re all sorry that things have turned out the way they have.

I need to call on Monday to confirm that everything is scheduled, and then I’ll go in to the hospital Tuesday night to start the induction. It wasn’t clear whether or not we’ll be staying overnight; either way, it still looks like Wednesday will be the Big (Awful) Day. I am glad we know that Tiny Baby is a boy – and yes, we picked out a name several weeks ago just in case. We didn’t want to spend any of our time in the hospital trying to agree on the name. Evan says he doesn’t like the name and suggests “Lickalick” instead, which has been vetoed. Sorry, Evan.

Day 32

This afternoon was my followup ultrasound with the perinatologist. Jarom had been at a lawyer-ish thing for the first half of the day, so he was able to come with me to the appointment this time. We were supposed to meet with the same doctor as before, but apparently he and another doctor switched schedules today.

I wasn’t a big fan of the new guy. I think he was Dr. B. He didn’t do anything wrong, he just seemed like he lacked the appropriate solemnity for the occasion. He showed us that yes, the baby has a stomach and a bladder, but they’re both empty. He also pointed out the adrenal artery, which normally makes a hat shape over the kidney – but in this case was virtually flat. He said he was sorry that the prognosis is so definite; in an effort to comfort us, he said the baby isn’t suffering now and won’t suffer after birth, since Tiny Baby will slip into a coma-like state almost immediately. Somehow the idea of my baby being in a coma wasn’t comforting.

Dr. B recommended that we talk to the nurses in the NICU so that everyone is on the same page, in case the baby needs medication or whatever else. I did my best to say I didn’t have any interest in going to a newborn unit or talking to nurses who can’t do anything for me. If I have only minutes, maybe an hour at most, to spend with Tiny Baby alive, I don’t want any of it to be used for medical procedures that will add nothing to Tiny Baby’s life. There’s no treatment that will prolong the baby’s life, so I want all of that life to be with me and Jarom.

After I cried a lot, and the doctor was still asking us what we planned to do and giving recommendations, he asked if we’re having a boy or girl. I told him through tears that we didn’t know. “Would you like to know?” he asked. “I can tell you.”

At every other ultrasound – except the one last week, when I’d finally given up – I’ve asked the sonographer or doctor if they could try to see if the baby is a boy or a girl. They all tried, but because there’s no amniotic fluid, no room for the baby to move around, and no way to see between the baby’s crossed legs, no one could tell. It’s been hard for me not knowing, because things feel a lot more abstract when I can’t call the baby by name or make many definite plans. So I didn’t have a lot of hope that Dr. B would be able to give us a clear answer.

But he did. Tiny Baby is a boy.