TFMR: Anatomy Scan From Hell
I looked out the car window, attempting to distract myself from the anxious thoughts swirling through my mind. We know he has two legs - we’ve seen them during previous ultrasounds. We just need to see ten little toes, two arms and ten little fingers, I thought. Oh, and a heartbeat. Please God let there be a heartbeat… One of my favorite bloggers had recently posted on her Instagram stories before and after her anatomy scan. She made the process seem so simple. She spoke to her followers from her car prior to the appointment, and then reported back that everything looked great shortly after. Please let ours be that simple, God. Vinnie held my hand as we walked into the building housing our doctor’s office. As we road up the elevator to the third floor, I made one more silent plea - Please God let everything go well in here.
As we had for each of our previous visits, we checked in, chose a seat and waited to hear my name. “Danielle.” We were escorted back to the ultrasound room by the tech who had performed our first ultrasound weeks before. Vinnie held my hand as she squirted the warm liquid onto my stomach. And, there he was. My sweet little Archie. I loved seeing him on the screen. It always gave me such peace of mind to see him wiggling around on the tv monitor. A HEARTBEAT! THANK GOD! It was the first time we had ever heard his heartbeat. I would have expected the tech to point this out, like they do on TV. Then Vinnie and I would have shared a tearful smile, as it sank in that we were listening to the beat of OUR baby’s heart. But, that didn’t happen…
“Danielle, I don’t see any fluid…” I could tell by the tone of her voice that this was bad news, but in complete denial, I asked, “Is that bad?” In a statement that was nothing short of infuriating, she responded, “The doctor will come in and talk to you.” Well, then why say anything at all? Don’t tell me something if you can’t also explain what it means. I watched her face through tears collecting in the corners of my eyes, as she continued to study the screen in front of her. I immediately began a desperate, repetitive prayer. Please God! Please! Please let him be okay. The tech handed me a paper towel to wipe off my stomach, sat me up and advised she would go and speak with the doctor. I had no sense of time after that, other than that every moment felt like an excruciating eternity. I looked at Vinnie, who I could tell was trying to stay positive. I moved to the chair beside him and grabbed my phone out of my purse. “What does it mean if there is no fluid around a baby at 18 weeks?”, I typed. My eyes frantically scanned the search results. Okay, okay…this might be okay. I skimmed various articles, none of which used the word “miscarriage”. A knock at the door… THANK GOD. The ultrasound tech poked her head in and advised the doctor would like her to do a vaginal ultrasound to get a closer look. Great…
As she lowered me into an almost completely horizontal position, I gripped Vinnie’s hand. Tears continued to puddle in my eyes as I watched the screen. The tech had advised she was looking for the kidneys and the bladder…two things it hadn’t even occurred to me to stress about. As she asked me to turn from side to side my heart sank…she wasn’t seeing what she was supposed to be seeing. But, wait! With a few clicks, she identified something on the screen and typed the word “kidneys”. Whew! Okay, there they are. Now we need a bladder. She again handed me a paper towel and advised she would go speak with the doctor. No mention of a bladder… As she exited the room for now the second time, the tech said “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry what? Wait…WHAT? What are you sorry about? And, why won’t you tell us any actual information?!
I’m certain no more than a few minutes went by, though I felt as though time was standing still…trapping us in this awful dark room. A knock… her head… “We’re actually going to have you come down to a conference room.” SHIT! Shit! Shit! Shit! Again, denial set in. As we walked down the hall I held on to the tiniest bit of hope. Maybe there is just something wrong, but they can fix it. Maybe they are just going to talk to us about our options to fix whatever the problem is. There were tissues on the desk…my heart sank even lower. A man we had never met entered the room almost immediately. “How are we doing today?” he asked. You cannot be serious right now… “Well, I was doing good, but now not so much,” I replied. “Yea,” he stated, with a less chipper tone than his original (stupid) question.
The next half an hour (or some similar timeframe), is burned into my memory and yet it’s a complete blur, as well. Terminology I didn’t understand flooded the room, as my brain tried to keep up. I tried to silence my sobs as I reached for a tissue, but the doctor kept talking. He kept sitting there, across the desk from us - his words slurring together in my mind. Nothing was good news. I asked what it all meant, trying to give my brain time to catch up. I heard the word “stillborn”, and the phrase “live only a few minutes”. No! No no no! No…this is not happening. This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening to ME… When the doctor finally left the room, Vinnie and I fell into each other arms. We didn’t speak. We just cried.
The doctor had advised we should come back in the following day for a second ultrasound and to discuss our options, including termination. That ugly word…I had no idea the number of times I would hear (and say) that word over the coming weeks. As we exited the conference room, I put on my sunglasses, attempting to conceal my now swollen face. Vinnie made an appointment for the following morning, as I stared at the receptionist who I had checked in with prior to my appointment…before my entire life changed…before they told me my baby was going to die.
