I hear your heart beating everywhere
When we're apart I can close my eyes and hear you there
I hear your heart beating everywhere
Everywhere I go
People say that I must be in love
The way I forget what we're speaking of
The way I stand there smiling straight ahead
And walk away without hearing a word they said
The way I forget what we're speaking of
The way I stand there smiling straight ahead
And walk away without hearing a word they said
~ Jackson Browne ~
Horses galloping on the plains.
A train engine.
Kind of life a muffled French siren.
An underwater video from the Discovery Channel.
No, this isn't some obscure puzzle. I'm trying to put into words the sound that is constantly and consistently in my ears and on my mind: the beat of my son's heart.
My son.
If there is another sentence in the English language that has the ability to floor me like that one, I haven't found it yet.
Naturally, when my own words fail me, I tend to look to those who can speak a little more eloquently than I, hence the song lyrics above.
Looking back at this post I am flooded with memories. I started this post when I was about four or five months pregnant, right around the time we had our anatomy scan. It was the first ultrasound where you could look at the screen and think, oh, that's actually a HUMAN! Before that, hybrid balloon/gummy bear/squishy thing. That's the medical terminology. It was the first time that I saw all four chambers of his heart, watched it open and close, and heard that thumpathumpathumpa in real time.
Jackson became so real to me that day, and in that moment. I had an anterior placenta, so I hadn't felt him move yet. But I got to watch him move that day.
Even almost two years later, I can hear his heartbeat just as clearly in my head today. I have videos, but I don't need them to remember that.
I remember how sticky and cold the ultrasound gel was, and how glad I was that I didn't need to have a full bladder for this one.
I was entranced. The ultrasound tech moved down Jackson's body from head to toe. I watched his lips move. We watched his heart beat, his fingers wiggle, and he proudly spread his legs and showed off that yes, he was indeed a boy.
It was then that the tech started to slow down what she was doing a little bit. She pointed out his kidneys, and seemed to take a lot longer measuring them. She stopped talking quite so much. To us, anyway. There was a medical resident in the room with us, and they were talking about things that really didn't make any sense to me.
... renal dilation.
...potential calyx block
My doctor came into the room at that point and looked over the ultrasound and discussed things with the resident and the tech. She didn't bring up anything specific with me but I do remember her saying she would make a report later that day. I don't recall being concerned, just flying high on that amazing little being I was carrying under my heart.
Steve and I went next door to Glazed and Confused Donuts (a tradition after every OB appointment, I'm so disappointed that they closed down), bought lattes and donuts, and each of us went on our respective ways to work.
It was around 4 that afternoon, and I was elbow deep in discovery for a pending case (and into a creme brulee donut) when my cell phone buzzed. The caller ID popped up as OB-GYN so I answered.
I'd like to be able to tell you what my doctor said. Truthfully, I can't remember 98% of it.
I can tell you the 2% of it I do remember.
"I'm concerned about the measurements of the baby's kidneys. They are several times larger than they should be."
"We need to refer you to a perinatologist."
I took the referral. I thanked the doctor for her time, and I hung up.
My headed started to spin. I felt my stomach churn, and I felt my mouth and throat fill with cotton-like dryness.
No.
No, not something else. There can't be something else. I already had infertility. I already struggled for 3.5 years.
I got pregnant. Only one of my babies took, but he was hanging on.
I stayed pregnant. I made it to the second trimester.
My son was moving inside me. Hadn't I suffered enough?
My wish came true, so my struggle should be over, and I should have a happy, uneventful pregnancy, with a perfect made by science baby.
And my son - my perfectly formed, beautiful already son, should not have to struggle or suffer or be sick.
No.
This is the reason that this post began in December of 2017. I could not look back at this blog and wonder if I would finish it. I did not want to answer questions. I wanted to disappear, and to take all of my fears and feelings with me. This was the beginning of my descent into a dark, deep hole.
But here I am now.
Next time I'll discuss a little more about my encounters with the perinatologist and my attempts to deal with new anxieties.
But for right now, it's enough that I am here. I came back.
I climbed out of the hole.
Looking back at this post I am flooded with memories. I started this post when I was about four or five months pregnant, right around the time we had our anatomy scan. It was the first ultrasound where you could look at the screen and think, oh, that's actually a HUMAN! Before that, hybrid balloon/gummy bear/squishy thing. That's the medical terminology. It was the first time that I saw all four chambers of his heart, watched it open and close, and heard that thumpathumpathumpa in real time.
Jackson became so real to me that day, and in that moment. I had an anterior placenta, so I hadn't felt him move yet. But I got to watch him move that day.
Even almost two years later, I can hear his heartbeat just as clearly in my head today. I have videos, but I don't need them to remember that.
I remember how sticky and cold the ultrasound gel was, and how glad I was that I didn't need to have a full bladder for this one.
I was entranced. The ultrasound tech moved down Jackson's body from head to toe. I watched his lips move. We watched his heart beat, his fingers wiggle, and he proudly spread his legs and showed off that yes, he was indeed a boy.
It was then that the tech started to slow down what she was doing a little bit. She pointed out his kidneys, and seemed to take a lot longer measuring them. She stopped talking quite so much. To us, anyway. There was a medical resident in the room with us, and they were talking about things that really didn't make any sense to me.
... renal dilation.
...potential calyx block
My doctor came into the room at that point and looked over the ultrasound and discussed things with the resident and the tech. She didn't bring up anything specific with me but I do remember her saying she would make a report later that day. I don't recall being concerned, just flying high on that amazing little being I was carrying under my heart.
Steve and I went next door to Glazed and Confused Donuts (a tradition after every OB appointment, I'm so disappointed that they closed down), bought lattes and donuts, and each of us went on our respective ways to work.
It was around 4 that afternoon, and I was elbow deep in discovery for a pending case (and into a creme brulee donut) when my cell phone buzzed. The caller ID popped up as OB-GYN so I answered.
I'd like to be able to tell you what my doctor said. Truthfully, I can't remember 98% of it.
I can tell you the 2% of it I do remember.
"I'm concerned about the measurements of the baby's kidneys. They are several times larger than they should be."
"We need to refer you to a perinatologist."
I took the referral. I thanked the doctor for her time, and I hung up.
My headed started to spin. I felt my stomach churn, and I felt my mouth and throat fill with cotton-like dryness.
No.
No, not something else. There can't be something else. I already had infertility. I already struggled for 3.5 years.
I got pregnant. Only one of my babies took, but he was hanging on.
I stayed pregnant. I made it to the second trimester.
My son was moving inside me. Hadn't I suffered enough?
My wish came true, so my struggle should be over, and I should have a happy, uneventful pregnancy, with a perfect made by science baby.
And my son - my perfectly formed, beautiful already son, should not have to struggle or suffer or be sick.
No.
This is the reason that this post began in December of 2017. I could not look back at this blog and wonder if I would finish it. I did not want to answer questions. I wanted to disappear, and to take all of my fears and feelings with me. This was the beginning of my descent into a dark, deep hole.
But here I am now.
Next time I'll discuss a little more about my encounters with the perinatologist and my attempts to deal with new anxieties.
But for right now, it's enough that I am here. I came back.
I climbed out of the hole.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are suffering from feelings of inadequacy, failure, or are having trouble bonding with your baby, please know you are not alone.
It is not your fault.
There is help.
Please reach out.
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