Just a Little Bit Pregnant

Wednesday, November the 18th will be burned into my memory forever.  I found out in the morning that I was pregnant, and within fourteen hours, I was no longer.

Back up four days when, after a lovely afternoon in the park, I began to have spotting and recurring lower abdominal pain, the severity of which reminded me of being in labour with X.  When I realized that my condition was truly abnormal and concerning enough, I got an emergency appointment with my somewhat new family doctor, who immediately asked me if I could be pregnant.  No, I laughed, and briefly explained our fertility history.  Well, she said, I always perform a pregnancy test because it quickly rules one thing out.  So, I peed in a cup, handed it to her, she dipped in a strip and said softly, “You are pregnant.”  I saw the dark solid line, clear as day, but had no time to process because a big But was looming.  She told me what I already knew, that this was not a normal pregnancy, that I was likely experiencing a miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy.  I knew that I was not going to be having a baby, that something was painfully wrong, that I would be requiring medical intervention and that I would have very little time to think or feel.  I requested the test strip, but my only proof was already in the trash.

Hours later, G drove me to a lab for ultrasounds, and the familiar technician told me that my doctor would be waiting with results.  She wished us a kind and ominous good luck.  The ten minute drive from the lab to the doctor’s office was probably the worst part of the day because we knew we would be hearing some degree of upsetting news.  And of course, it was not a miscarriage, but an ectopic pregnancy lodged in my left fallopian tube that would probably need to be surgically removed.  The hope for a chemical resolution was ruled out a few hours later by my surgeon who informed me that my both my hormone levels and a growing clot around the embryo made surgery the only option.  I surprised myself and faced it bravely (after a very brief tantrum).

Interesting comic relief: When I woke up in the recovery room, I tried to communicate with the nurse by signing.  I was so groggy and my throat was so dry that I couldn’t speak.  I remember signing “thirsty,” “water,” “more drugs,” and perhaps “hurt.”  I wanted to ask for G, but I couldn’t remember the sign for “husband” and I didn’t have the energy to finger spell his name.  She asked me in a very irritated tone if there was some reason that I could not use my voice.  I realized quickly that my nurse was not understanding me, and probably thought my gesturing was the random flailing of a drug induced patient, so I gave up.  After I was well enough to be wheeled up to my room, I explained to the nurse verbally that I had been signing to her and she had a good chuckle.

Blood work showed that conception had occurred three weeks earlier.  Looking back, I can’t say that I sensed it.  What I do know is, that my feelings towards the pain in my belly changed when I found out that it was a pregnancy.  From the time I heard the words from my doctor until the time I was lying on the OR table, I held my belly and talked sweetly to the little cluster of cells growing in the wrong place.  Despite the pain and the worry and the fear, I made peace with the situation, which was highly improbable, unexpected and ironic.  I was exhausted by sadness, but full of love.  I still can’t think of the embryo as a baby because it could have never grown into a baby, nor can I use it as a representation of hope because nothing has changed.  G and I still have a very slim chance of conceiving a biological child without invasive procedures, and this pregnancy does not prove anything to the contrary.  Several years ago, part of me gave up believing that wishing and dreaming and hoping and praying can bring a child into being;  it’s all about statistics, science and biology.

All this being said, I would like to clarify that G and I are not trying to get pregnant, nor are we likely to try at any point in the future.  If it happens, it happens, but we let go of the idea of a sibling for X a very long time ago and we are at peace with our decision.  It saddens me to know that at least eight people reading this may not believe us, but we are truly happy with our little family.

Hallowe’en

a dog as big as me

The evening started off with some apprehension, given that X was nap-less that day and that it had taken two more or less competent adults to wrangle him into his costume. There were tears and general complaining. I thought that perhaps we’d do half a block and then it would be time to put bug to bed.

At house number one, X had to be coaxed up to the door, encouraged to knock, hold the bag out, endure “Oh, look at the cute teddy bear” (he was dressed as a dog), etc.

House number two required only me pointing at the porch and, zoom! he was off. Banging on the door, holding open the bag, then waving bye.

Candy is a powerful behavioural modification tool.

House numbers three through forty involved me prying X off the door handles he was trying to wrench open or pressed up against after the occupants took more than 10 seconds to answer, and moving him back to the side-walk while taking more than two steps at a time in between turning around and waving bye-bye. We also started to get more and more candy per house as the evening went on and people realized they would be stuck with extras if they didn’t unload it quickly.

After almost an hour, I decided that we should call an end to the door-to-door cuteness onslaught, and staggering under the combined weight of candy + toddler, returned home, where Mummy immediately began to enjoy the sugary haul.

Celebrations

healthy lungs

G and I spent our sixth wedding anniversary hosting a lunch time gathering for X’s second birthday.  Celebrating our beautiful son with some of the people who have supported us through our difficult beginning seemed like the most appropriate thing to do, considering how much strength and joy X has brought into our marriage and our family over two short years.

Time and memory are such odd notions to measure against one another.  The old adage that Time Flies When You’re Having Fun is true for us.  Despite numerous and seemingly endless terrifying moments involving resuscitation, we have been able to stay focused on good times, which aren’t just all the obvious events surrounding birthdays, holidays and vacations, but the sweet stuff of daily life: waking up in the morning to the sound of X’s beautiful voice chirping away to his pack of toy dogs, playing in his uke and drums band, learning his choreography for Jamiroquai (X’s choice, not mine), playing in the bathtub, practicing new words and signs, snacking on cheese and carrot mango smoothies, wheeling uptown to visit Post Office Paul and his various rubber chickens, and anticipating Daddy’s return from work.  X absolutely adores his daddy, and I always tell G that he is a much better mother than I am.

I knew when I met G that we could have a happy, stable life together, knew that we could build a solid marriage, home and family.  It all seemed too good to be true, with the pieces falling into place one after another.  I had an inkling that we would face obstacles in our life together because I was still working hard to resolve complex personal issues involving my own adoption.  Little did I know that I would come face to face with them in such a profound way, not from the perspective of an adopted child, but of an prospective adoptive mother.  I now really understand why I stood up with G that gorgeous August afternoon six years ago and committed myself to him.  He is kind, generous and patient, more so than anyone else I know.  He offers me a better version of My Perfect Life than the one I dreamed of before I knew him, especially the time and space I need to heal and grow.

The difficult dragging years we spent trying to obtain a child through various means were an unnatural but necessary uphill struggle.  Every conception and adoption path we followed resulted in a dead end, leaving my heart raw and finally numb.  Everything felt wrong.  Frustrated and desperate, we began discussing the idea of sperm donation, which had been offered up as an option months earlier by a good friend who had known it to work for another couple.  Granted, most couples would never consider this as a realistic option for family building, but then again, they have not trekked in the hopeless, ragged shoes of infertility.  Incredible to contemplate the distance your heart will travel to find the love you need.  Our unorthodox choice was our last hope, but it felt like more than the right thing to do.  It reignited our enthusiasm and love for each other and our future.  The negotiations ran smoothly, conception occurred quickly, my pregnancy was inspiring, the birth was beautiful and X himself is the most incredible human being we know.  Who wants to question us now?  For those of you still attempting to discuss our decisions, your judgment veiled as concern is wearing thin.  After two years, you can start keeping your opinions to yourself.  We not only made it to X’s second birthday, another milestone, but we’re stronger, happier and more focused than ever.

Memorable Day

Two events brought tears to my eyes today, both at bath time.  X and I gave Daddy a short break this evening by having a splash in the tub together.  When I strip X of his clothing and diapers, his immediate response is to look down at his bits and parts, then back up at me and sign ‘potty.’  I always make an excited production of X sitting on his new potty.  (He sits because Mummy sits . . . )  He never pees in it, although he tries, but he understands its purpose and is accustomed to the routine.  Tonight, he sat like usual and again, nothing happened.  He pointed to the toilet paper, received a few squares, wiped himself, threw the tissue in the big boy toilet and flushed.  And as usual, as soon as he turns his attention to the bath tub, full of warm water, toys and Mummy waiting, he starts peeing on the bath mat.  This time, the potty was just within my reach, I shoved it toward him and cried, “Put it in, put it in!”  X took a small step forward and PUT IT IN THE POTTY!!!  Daddy came running and we both praised X, who had suddenly moved on, like it was no big deal.

faking it

After ten minutes of splashing around in the tub, X decided that it was soap time.  I grabbed the container of Burt’s Bees Citrus and Ginger liquid soap, which X thinks is tasty and his face lit up – yum!  He simultaneously said, “Uh-uh” (open) and signed ‘open.’  Reflexively, I asked him to say please, and without his aids and never having been taught the sign, he said, “Eease,” and signed ‘please!’  Now I know what you’re thinking: My son is two years old (barely) and he doesn’t use ‘please?!!’  Yep, it’s true, we’re terrible parents.  He uses ‘thank you’ several times a day, and ‘please’ is at the top of our list of New Signs to Teach.  We haven’t gotten around to it because we decided several months ago to pull back on ASL for a while to see how he progresses vocally – more on this later.  My point is, that One: He heard and understood my request in a somewhat noisy environment (water splashing, radio playing) without his hearing aids or reading my lips, and Two: He signed a word we’ve never taught him in appropriate context, and Three: He vocalized the word while signing.  ‘Please’ without the ‘pl’ is close enough for me because he pronounced a clear ‘S’ sound!  Now you’re left wondering how he knew the sign for ‘please.’  It’s thanks to the amazing Rachel Coleman and the miracle that is Signing Time.

DNA Test Results . . . Finally

It recently occurred to us that we had never heard back from the Genetics department regarding X’s hearing loss panel. Because none of the primary causes of infant hearing loss had been factors during my pregnancy or X’s hospitalization, there was a possibility that we could find a genetic link through this DNA testing. Although any answer would be of seemingly little consequence to the dual therapy path we are pursuing for X, we didn’t want to have forced him to endure last winter’s horrible blood taking episode for nothing.

I left a message with Dr. N’s office and waited for a few weeks – no response. I called again and was offered a great apology, as they had had the results for an undisclosed amount of time but forgot to call us. Good thing X has a full time secretary to resolve these clerical oversights.

For the science geeks out there, the analysis reads: Patient was tested by direct sequencing of exons 1 and 2 of the GJB2 [NCBI reference sequence NC_000013.9] gene and deletion analysis using MLPA of the GJB6 [NCBI reference sequence NC_000013.9] gene based on current knowledge of the molecular genetics of non-syndromic hearing loss. For everyone, the results indicate that no disease causing mutation or abnormality was detected by the team at Hospital for Sick Children.

Although I was careful to Do Everything Right during my pregnancy, there was a seed of doubt that I had unknowingly done something to cause this challenge in my child’s life. It was planted shortly after X’s diagnosis, when a family member insisted that I must have done something wrong, offering an absurd medically unfounded explanation. It then germinated when yet another family member pronounced with certain disdain that it was “too bad he’s deaf,” blurting it out at a large gathering as if he were spitting hot nails. These reactions were shocking in the face of the immeasurable support G and I were receiving from so many others, and insensitive to the delicate balance we were maintaining in dealing with X’s medical issues; we were simply grateful that he was alive and progressing. Thankfully, both of these Negative Nellys have disappeared from X’s life. Regardless, to alleviate the crazy mother guilt brought on by chronic sleep deprivation and trauma, I talked to doctors, audiologists, therapists, and researched reputable websites, but could not find a single explanation. The DNA testing was our final option.

In hindsight, I would have chosen not to search for an answer. X is what he is. He is our happy, determined, inquisitive, energetic, humourous, intelligent, expressive, beautiful son who happens to be deaf. I have told him hundreds of times since he was born that I love him just the way he is, that he is perfect to me.