Scary Doctor's Visit, Calm Doctor...

I had my 30 week check up yesterday.

Everything looked good. It was as he was leaving that my doctor dropped THE BOMB.

"Oh, by the way," he said, very matter of factly, "In your last ultrasound, I noticed that the gap between the baby's brain and skull was a smidge too big. I'm sure it's nothing, but I want you to meet with a perinatal doctor and have a fetal diagnostic test done."

As everything around me came to a crashing standstill, all I could do was sputter: "Wh-wh-what?"

Seeming to realize that he both stunned and scared the sh#$ out of me, my OB said, "Shannon, truly, it's nothing to be afraid of. I'm not worried. We just want to get a better look. Tanya will call you to set up the appointment."

Several questions flew through my mind, but only one came out. It wasn't, what do you mean, gap? Nor was it, Can I have the medical definition of "smidge"? I didn't ask, what is a perinatal doctor? Nor did I ask, what is a fetal diagnostic? And I certainly didn't give voice to my biggest fear, what is wrong with my baby? Will she have a mental handicap? What does this mean?

Nope, the only question I could ask was, "When will I have the results?"

My doc patted my arm, "That day. Not a big deal. I'm not worried. See you in two weeks."

I somehow made it to my car and wished I could go home and Google perinatal doctor, fetal diagnostic, gap, and smidge. I couldn't. I had to drive to Hacienda Heights to administer the state tests. Great.

So I did the next best thing - I called my mom, who is a nurse. No answer. I called my sister, who is almost a nurse practitioner. No answer. I called my other sister, who is also a nurse. No answer. I called my other sister, who is in nursing school. No answer. (And I'm a teacher - there is one in every family, I guess.)

When I couldn't get a hold of them, I called my husband. No answer.

Finally, I called my dad. He answered.

I wish I could say that he was an OB or a perinatal doctor and was able to set my fears to rest. He isn't. He's an operations manager for a shipping company. It was when I was talking to him that the tears started.

However, having raised 4 daughters, my father speaks fluent, tear-coated emotion.

He listened to everything I said and knew I was done when I finally wailed, "And I did my eyes today!" (Having raised 4 daughters, he knew that meant my make up was a now a mess.)

He told me to pull over, calm down, fix my make up, and he would find my mom.

In the meantime, my husband called back. My panicked text: "Something's wrong with the baby's brain" really freaked him out. When I told him everything, he let out a giant sigh of relief. "They thought something was wrong with my nephew too," he told me. "And he's fine." He offered to drive out and proctor the tests for me (which I couldn't let him do). And he told me that he knew I was scared, but if the doctor wasn't worried, then I should not worry either.

After that, my sister the almost NP called. She managed to calm me down quite a bit by pointing out several things:

1. OBs have the highest malpractice rates -- my doctor is probably just covering his a@#.
2. If my OB was worried about retardation, he would have sent me for an amnio, not a fetal diagnostic.
3. If my OB was really worried about anything, I would be at the hospital, not crying my eyes out in a McDonald's parking lot.

So I felt a bit better - enough to continue driving to work. And then my other sister, the nurse, called. And she pointed out several things:

1. Ultrasound technology basically sucks.
2. The gap could have been a shadow, the baby could have been lying wrong, or the baby could be going through a growth spurt.
3. The ultrasound technician could have been bad.

So I felt a lot better.

Then my mom called. She explained what a fetal diagnostic test was and what a perinatal specialist did. She told me that as scary as it was, I needed to calm down, because all I was doing was stressing out the baby.

And then she pointed out the one thing that I had overlooked: I have all ready had six ultrasounds. (As a high risk patient, I have to have one every 2 weeks until 32 weeks, when I have one every week.) And, as my mom put it, if there was really a problem, they would have seen it before now. "One ultrasound, in the grand scheme of things, is a fluke, Shannon," she told me.

And I know that my sisters and mom are right. I know that my husband is right in his "We can't worry about a chance - everything has a chance" attitude. I know that I have to trust God in this.

But I'm still scared.