If I Were His Daughter

Thursday, I had a routine check-up with my doctor.  Side note about Dr. Schmit: he's a great family doctor and has delivered a lot of babies; he's even got a weekly spot on a radio station.  But he is THE most laid back physician I've ever met.  Until today, he never requested a single ultra sound and didn't even do a blood test to confirm I was pregnant in the beginning. He just told me that if I started my period soon we'd know that I had a false positive on the at-home test.  That's the kind of doctor he is.  And I'm okay with that (too late if I'm not, right?).

Back to Thursday.  We started the check-up as usual.  Bailey situated herself in his two kid chairs and the doc and I chatted about expected hospital stay time.  He checked my weight. It was fine (still holding out at +11 kilos; I assured him I was eating - I've weighed 71 kilos ever since arriving back in Paraguay, all that sweat I guess).  He checked my blood pressure.  Perfect.  Then he went to check the baby's heart rate, thus beginning this weekend’s “adventure.” 

The good doctor has always checked Boston's heart rate (I LOVE being able to type in a name, now!).  And not that I have perfect rhythm (or there is any such gift), but I've gotten used to the beat that usually emanates from his little device.  I thought it sounded slow.

And he was listening for longer than usual.

Then he grabbed my wrist (to check my pulse?). Never done that before.

Doc? What's going on?

"Well, it's a little slow" he says.  Again, for a doctor who doesn't bat an eye at anything, his slight concern sent my mind racing.

He kept listening, checking his watch, counting beats.

"I'm going to write up an order for you to go to the Bautista (the hospital where I'll deliver) to have another test done. A biophysical profile. You can go over there first thing in tomorrow morning and then bring the results back to me."

This from the man who doesn't "believe" in ultra sounds or blood tests.

Trying to keep from full fledge panic mode.

Choking back tears and restraining the concern from my voice, I asked if it was something that I needed to go take care of NOW.  It was only 4 P.M.  I was his first patient of the evening.  In my mind, I could get to the hospital, do the test, and return with the results before he left for the night.

No, no, no, he says.  Tomorrow morning is just fine.  She's been moving normally, right?

"Yes, yes . . . of . . . course . . . " I spit out. But doubts crept it. Had she been? She was awfully still right now.  Boston's usually using my ribs and right hip bone to push her shoulder into my left hip.  But now . . . I nudge my side to coax some movement out of her . . . nothing.

Don't cry, don't cry.

As he wrote up the order for me to take to the hospital, I thought back through the day.  I couldn't remember her moving.  Could I have just been so distracted playing with Bailey and cleaning up around the house?  How do I not know if my baby is moving?

Just then a kick.

And a punch.

"Mom, I'm okay" she seemed to say.

Needless to say, I was tuned into her every movement for the rest of the evening and throughout the night.  When I got up in the night to pee (twice), I didn't let myself fall asleep until I felt her move again.  Those were two very long, anxiety filled moments, let me tell you.

I know what you must be thinking: if it were THAT worrisome, he would have directed me straight to the ER right then and there.  I know that, but just the fact that he showed slight emotion and concern about something piqued my interest (and anxiety). And he mentioned the "induce" word.

Thankfully, Brandon was able to go with Bailey and I Friday morning to the hospital since his first classes don't officially start until 11:15.  We were out of the house a little after 8 and at the hospital by 8:30. 

The first test was a 30 minute monitoring of Boston's heart rate. After having me eat something sugary and drink a juice (also choked full of sugar, thank you very much, Paraguay), they strapped two heart rate monitors across my belly.  They left a button in my hand and instructed me to press it every time I felt the baby move. Brandon took Bailey to a play room they have in the OB department and I spent the next half hour pushing a button, listening to the whirr of the ceiling fan and the beat of little Boston's heart.

It's now 10.  Brandon had to leave to get to school in time for his classes.

Bailey and I spent the next hour and forty-five minutes waiting outside the ultra sound room for our name to be called.  She was quite the trooper, eating her snack, playing with the few toys in the bottom of her stroller, and making friends with anyone who would make eye-contact with her.

At 11:45 we were finally called into the ultrasound room.  The ultra sound doctor was the same doctor that did my previous ultra sounds.  I know I said Dr. Schmit never ordered any, and that's true, but when you go to the ER with spotting/bleeding, you don't need a doctor's order; they take care of you themselves.  Each time, she was super friendly and gushed over how perfect everything looked. I went in hoping for the same.

But she didn't.

Looks like Boston is going to have the same squishy
nose and serious scowl that Bailey had when she was born.

She prodded around, measured Boston's femur and head circumference (both measuring in the 39 week range), then locked in on the heartbeat flickering away on the flat-screen.

She, too, said that the heart rate was slow.

And I believe she suggested getting the baby sooner rather than waiting. I think. But my Spanish isn't all that great, especially with technical doctor talk, so I couldn't be certain. I KNOW she said that she was going right away to call Dr. Schmit and talk to him about it. Now if that's not a red flag, I don't know what is.

It's now after noon and Dr. Schmit's office will be closed for lunch until 4 (his secretary comes back on duty at 3:30).  Bailey is getting crabby, hungry for lunch, and ready for a nap. "Night, night?" she keeps asking me. 

God had it all worked out for me as my mind started to panic over how to balance feeding and getting Bailey to bed with taking the results to Schmit (do I call his cell phone and interrupt his lunch?).  The official ultra sound report wouldn't be ready for me to pick up until 3.  Thank you, Lord.  We picked up empanadas for lunch on the walk home, Bailey ate in her stroller, and went down for a nap once we got home. 

I spent nap time trying not to freak out.  There was no chance of a nap for me; I didn't even try.

Friday was also supposed to be the first day of a Bible study I'm doing with our pastor's wife and a few other English speakers she is discipling.  When I texted her about the drama at the hospital, she called right back and said she would come take me to the hospital and doctor in the afternoon.  I owe her BIG for her help (thank you, Sarah!).

The "plan" was to go to the Bautista, pick up the results, and get them to Dr. Schmit before his first appointment at 4.  I'm not one to interrupt and cause a big fuss. Diaper bag in hand, Bailey and I got in Sarah's car and we headed off to the hospital.  

Trouble is, my results weren't at the counter where they should have been.  Turns out the heart rate test didn't come out well and they wanted me to do it again.  Another sugary snack and thirty minutes on the exam table...you've GOT to be kidding me. 

Fast forward an hour or so and Brandon met us at Doctor Schmit's office to go over the results. And yes, we had to interrupt his schedule and inconvenience a few patients.  Though, at this point, I’m over feeling bad about it.

According to Schmit, the ultra sound doctor was recommending immediate admittance to the hospital and a c-section to get little Boston out.  At the very least, try induction with pitocin.  He threw out a third option: wait and see. 

Oh, Lord, what do we do?

As Schmit walked to the other room to retrieve my chart and his heart beat listening device, Brandon leaned down over me and started to pray.  Praying for wisdom. For peace.  For the safety of our darling little Boston.

So, what do you want to do? Schmit asks.

Good question, doc, good question.

There's obviously something "wrong" that's causing the low heart rate.  More than likely, it has to do with her umbilical cord.  The ultra sound showed that it wasn't wrapped around Boston's neck (or leg or arm), but the doctor couldn't be sure quite where the cord was beyond that.  It could be getting pinched somewhere (which would explain why sometimes her heart rate is fine and others it's not) or tied in a knot.

Clinging to Brandon's hand, I timidly asked (afraid of the answer): What do you recommend?

And from his mouth came the words: If you were my daughter, I'd wait and see what happens.

And that was enough for me. For us.  We're going to wait.  I'm carefully monitoring her movements and we'll go to the hospital if she goes too long without moving.  I have the doctor's cell and home number if I have any questions or concerns.  We have an appointment first thing Monday morning to reassess the situation.

And we have all weekend to pray over little Boston.