Creating Family

Before I became a mom, I was familiar with the phrase, “It takes a village to raise a child.” I sat through many baby dedications; I stood and prayed committing myself to help raise the children being presented to God. Every time, after one of these baby dedications, I would also say a prayer of thankfulness. I grew up close to my mom’s family, and I have countless memories of my grandparents, my aunt, and my uncle, as well as the extended family. It was not only my parents who raised me, but a group of people that loved me dearly and invested in me.

When I became pregnant for the first time, I was saddened by the fact that we did not live close to family. Somewhat I felt like my children would miss growing up surrounded by their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins the way I had. The little phrase “It takes a village to raise a child” seemed to show up unannounced on those hormonal days of pregnancy where I wondered if I would be a good mom or fail miserably. I felt alone living away from my family. I wondered who would help us as we raised our child.

On a Sunday morning, a woman approached me at church and said, “When you have that baby, do not hesitate to call if you need anything. I will be glad to help.” With that offer, this woman challenged me. I had committed to help raise some of the children that were now running around in the church foyer but I was not a part of their lives. I looked at some of the mothers and saw how tired and spent they were. What struck me most, was that there were many willing to help. I had been willing and had offered many times to take some of these kids for a couple of hours. So what was keeping these moms from asking someone to step in and give them a break?

In the weeks to come, and after much prayer, I decided that I needed to create my own “family.” I knew I would need help being a first time mom, and I knew I would sometimes need a break. My husband and I were also committed to keep our weekly date nights and we would definitely need someone to watch our baby.

From the day Ellie was born, I surrounded myself with this new family. I knew that help was a phone call away, and I knew that Ellie was in loving arms while Andy and I went out to eat or spend time at a bookstore. When Nichole was born and we dealt with her diagnosis of Down syndrome, our “created” family was there for us, walking along side. When we adopted Nina and took on her diagnosis of Cerebral Palsy, they were right behind us, supporting us, watching our children, giving us a break.

All three of my girls are blessed by the many people who love them. They have many grandparents, some biological, and some by heart. As I look back at the special people in our lives, at our family, I am thankful that God, who cares deeply about us, brought people into our lives to love and support us.  Family has taken a new meaning, because it does not only encompass the ones that we are related to by blood, but also the ones that are created.

(Thank you Henely's and Heitz's for becoming our family. We love you and miss you tremendously!) 

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Thought Provoking Thursday

Surprised by Fear

By Ellen Stumbo

     Andy described Ellie’s birth as running a marathon with no training. Nichole’s birth, however, was fast and perfect. I understood his sentiment when he whispered those words, “I have been surprised by joy.” His words, like a vapor. A mist that covered the crowded hospital room. If I could breath them in, allowing them to fill my lungs, my mind, my thoughts. I needed those words to be my own. My baby’s naked backside faced me, taunting me, challenging Andy’s statement. Her thick neck and a floppy body making its way into my arms. Down syndrome about to be handed to me. I had been surprised by fear.


     One of the nurses laid my baby on my chest. I stared at a small face with closed eyes.

     “Hello Nichole.” I whispered

     I held her small hand, aware of her short fingers and broad palm. Her feet, pudgy and with a noticeable gap between her big toe and the rest of them. Her face with a button nose. Ears small and bent at the top. Open your eyes please.

     “I will take her now.” A nurse reached to take Nichole.

     “Stay with her,” I said to Andy, “And take some pictures.”

     I watched as Andy crossed the room with the camera in his hands. Excitement in his step in celebration of the birth of his second daughter.

     The Apgar scores were good, nothing unusual, and nothing memorable. She weighed 7 pounds and 9 ounces. Maybe she doesn’t have Down syndrome. Babies with Down’s are very small, and Nichole is bigger than Ellie was at birth. Her weight. Somehow, her weight gave me hope.

     Meanwhile, I had to deliver the placenta and get stitched. During this process, nurses would come and “knead” my stomach, as they worked my uterus back to its small, original size. A painful experience that I welcomed, as it took my thoughts away from my fears.

     Andy came back to my side once I was ready. He leaned close to me, his eyes still full of joy.

     “She is so beautiful!” He said.

     She is so beautiful? Could a baby with Down syndrome be beautiful?

     “Do you think she has Down syndrome?” I asked in a quiet voice. I did not want anyone to hear me.

     My husband looked at me, puzzled for only a second.

     “Let me go check.” He turned around, back to Nichole’s side. I wonder how he could take that question so lightly, much like I had asked if Nichole’s eyes were green, or if she had curly hair.

     He came back, leaned close to me again. “I don’t think so.”

     “How do you know?”

     “I checked her hand. She does not have the one line that people with Down syndrome have, her lines are normal.”

     Maybe she doesn’t have Down syndrome. Babies with Down’s have only one line across their palms.

     “I do think she has a heart issue though” Andy continued, “The pediatrician has been listening to her heart for quite some time.”

     We looked at each other for a while, and then my husband broke the silence with a big smile.

     “Can you believe she is already here? This is incredible!”

     “Yeah, I know! It was so easy; I could do this 10 times.” I bragged, returning the smile.

     “I don’t think so.”

     We heard the pediatrician in the background, asking the nurses to leave the room. His remark made Andy and I stop our conversation and turn to him. The doctor making his way towards the bed.

     “Why don’t you grab a chair on the other side of the bed.” he said to my husband.

     Andy and I looked at each other as he slowly made his way around the bed.

     The doctor grabbed another chair and pulled it close to us. He sat down and was silent for a moment. My heart pounding loudly, I was afraid I would be unable to hear what the doctor had to say. Yet, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say.

     Breathe Ellen, breathe.

     “There are a couple of things that concern me about your baby,” he finally said. “She has a heart murmur, and we will need to check into that with an echo, which is an ultrasound of the heart. She also seems to have low mus…”

     “Do you think she has Down syndrome?” I interrupted him.

     He looked at me in surprise.

     “We knew it was a strong possibility,” I continued. “And I think she has Down syndrome.”

     He hung his shoulders and looked down at the floor. He slowly began to shake his head. He lifted his head and looked intently from Andy to me.

     “Yes” he responded. “Your baby has Down syndrome. I am so sorry.”


Next: We Belong Together

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 3
The Dream
Level 2 Ultrasound
Your Baby Might Have Down Syndrome
Surprised by Joy: Part 1
Surprised by Joy: Part 2
Surprised by Joy: Part 3

Surprised by Joy: Part 3

     Andy and I barely had time to look at each other in incredulity. Was this really happening? We were giggling with excitement and nervousness, much like small children do when they get to ride a roller coaster for the first time. But before we could say anything at all, a swarm of nurses came rushing into the room.


     They wheeled my bed to the delivery room. Andy following the busy workers who handed him a stack of papers and instructed him to sign them now!

     I transferred myself to the delivery bed, while the nurses held their breaths. Once I was lying down, they begged me to breathe and wait for my midwife, who had just parked her car and would be there in just a few minutes. I told them I was fine, I just needed to go to the bathroom.

     “Oh honey” one of the nurses said, “You do not have to go to the bathroom, that is just your baby, and it wants to come out!”

     Kim, my midwife, ran into the room already scrubbed. She washed her hands, slipped her gloves on and got to work. I was ready to push she said. I told her I didn’t think so, but I really needed to go to the bathroom. She smiled. The nurses chuckled. “You don’t have to go to the bathroom” Kim said, just like the nurses had before, “This baby is ready to come out and you want to push!” So we found the most comfortable position for me, Kim broke my water to avoid getting splashed and said, “Whenever you are ready.”

     There were many people in the room; Andy, Kim, nurses, more nurses, and even some students. I guessed Andy had signed a consent to have the students present. And here we were, in a hospital room, with about 15 people, and 13 of them strangers. All of them looking at my open flower in all its glory. I did find it amusing how they were all looking at me between my legs, with smiles on their faces, because they were about to witness the miracle of birth. So I pushed.

     On my third push I felt excruciating pain. My skin ripping apart as my baby’s head was coming out. Kim tried to help, but there was nothing she could do.

     “Oh Lord Jesus please help me!” I screamed.

     I thought I saw a student glance at me and chuckle. But just as soon as I had screamed my desperate prayer, “The head is out!” Kim exclaimed. Nurses gathered with bulb syringes as they sucked on a little nose and mouth. I knew to wait until they checked to make sure the umbilical cord was not wrapped around the head.

     “Can I push again?” I asked,

     “Yes” Kim replied, “Do you want to grab her head and guide her to you?

     “No! That is your job!” Was my quick answer.

     In the next 2 pushes she was out. Just like that. Kim lifted her up and I saw all the faces around me smiling, marveling and awing. It was 8:22 am. I looked at Andy, who held my hand and had tears in his eyes. He gently kissed me and whispered in my ear, “I have been surprised by joy.”

Next: Surprised by Fear

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 3
The Dream
Level 2 Ultrasound
Your Baby Might Have Down Syndrome
Surprised by Joy: Part 1
Surprised by Joy: Part 2

Surprised by Joy: Part 2

     As we drove to drop off our oldest daughter at our friend’s house, I called my midwife to tell her we were on our way. She asked the usual questions, like, “How far apart are your contractions?” and “How are you handling the pain?” She said she was out the door, that she would meet me at the hospital, and to get there as soon as possible. It was 6:30 am. I did my makeup in the car and joked some more. My husband wondered if maybe after all, we should have waited home a little bit longer.


     At 7:15 am we arrived at the hospital parking lot.

     “Do you want me to go get you a wheelchair?” Andy asked.

     “Nah” I responded, “I can walk.”

     We got in the elevator at the same time as an elderly couple. We said hello and made small talk. Soon I was squatting, still looking at them and smiling. “I am having a contraction,” I explained. I wonder if Andy was embarrassed.

     As we walked to the “maternity” desk we saw the morning nurses gathered to get instructions for the day. One of them noticed us and approached me.

     “Can I help you?”

     “Yes!” I said happily, “I am having a baby today!”

     She looked at me questionably, “Wait a second here.” She turned around and was gone.

     I was squatting as a different nurse came along and told us to follow her to a small room where she would check my contractions and see how dilated I was. She handed me the hospital gown and instructed me to lie down and wait for her. Andy helped me change.

     “Hey honey,” I asked, “Would you mind rubbing some peppermint oil in the small of my back? It is pretty sore and I think it might help relax that area.”

     As I lay on the small bed waiting for the nurse, Andy and I were taking guesses at what time the baby would be born. Maybe it would be at noon, maybe early afternoon. The peppermint oil was working wonders and I continued to open up my flower and allow the baby to come “down” and “out.”

     As soon as the nurse came back in I wished I had gone to the bathroom. She hooked me up to a monitor to check my contractions and there was no way getting out.

     “Huh” she observed, “Your contractions are very close together and are really spiking. Are you in pain?”

     “Well, yeah, it is painful, but I am okay.”

     “You know” she continued, “I think I better check and see how dilated you are.”

     I almost said no, that I would wait for my midwife to get there as she was on her way. Really, who wants to have multiple people checking one for dilatation? But she was not asking me or giving me a choice, she was coming at me with a gloved hand.

     She felt around. “Well,” she exclaimed with big eyes, “I would say that you are about a 9!”

     “What!” I squealed, not in delight, but in great surprise. I quickly glanced at Andy who was looking at me with just as much disbelief.

     “Yes,” the nurse continued, “Maybe even a 10, and I can feel the baby’s head.”

     She quickly took her hand out, “We were sure you would be here a long time, being so happy and talkative.” She took her gloves off and looked at me intently, “I will be right back, and whatever you do, do not push!” With that she turned on her heal and ran out the room where we heard her yelling and calling for backup.


Next: Surprised by Joy: Part 3 

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 3
The Dream
Level 2 Ultrasound
Your Baby Might Have Down Syndrome
Surprised by Joy: Part 1

Surprised by Joy: Part 1

By Ellen Stumbo

Photo Credit

     The urgency to use the toilet woke me up once more in the middle of the night. The frequent visits to the bathroom were too common being 38 weeks pregnant. However, this time I felt uncomfortable, actually, it was more like pain. My stomach was tight and my back was hurting. I smiled. I was having contractions. I was two weeks early and I was going to have a baby--- hopefully--- in less than 24 hours.


     I read the Bradley Method of childbirth as suggested by my midwife. I studied it and was determined to have a natural birth with no drugs and no epidural. However, I was willing to change my mind and go for some relief if I had to.

     With my previous pregnancy we rushed to the hospital, only to be there for thirteen hours before I was dilated enough to push. Not this time around. I would stay home for as long as I could and go to the hospital once I was having hard contractions that were 5 minutes apart. With any luck, I would be able to sleep through some of those first contractions.

     A wave of pain came as I lay in bed and it tightened my mid section. I relaxed my body just like the Bradley method suggested. I became a flower and willed myself to open up and let the baby slide down. Not too bad, it was actually kind of fun being a flower. Another contraction came and I relaxed, picturing my petals opening up. Soon there was one more. I should time my contractions.

     My contractions were coming at constant intervals of 5 minutes, so I woke Andy up and announced that we were having a baby and we had to get going. I was thankful that just the night before I had made a list of all the things we needed to take with us to the hospital. Those things that you cannot pack ahead of time and that can be easily forgotten, like your journal or toothbrush.

     While Andy showered, I gathered the items on the list and made the bed. As contractions assaulted me I squatted, just like the Bradley method suggested. My body relaxing, my flower opening up, and my baby coming down and moving out. Oh I could picture it in my head! A tight pink flower-bud slowly relaxing, opening up, and revealing a beautiful baby girl coming out to greet the world! Oh how thankful I was to have been blessed with great imagination.

     I showered too. And even in the shower I squatted and became a flower.

     “Honey, are you okay?” Andy asked, “Almost every time I look you are squatting, we got to go!”

     “I’m okay, this just really helps with the pain.” Then I added with some humor and a sing-song voice, “I am a beautiful flower opening up to the world!”

     “Yeah” Andy responded, “I think we still got time”

     I dried and curled my hair. Births require pictures, and I was determined not to be “ugly mom.” Squatting and curling hair requires talent when you are 38 weeks pregnant, and I got to say, I was pretty good at it. However, even though I was talking and joking, my husband was not liking the amount of time I was spending sitting on my heels. He decided we needed to go, and no, doing my makeup first was not an option!

Next: Surprised by Joy: Part 2

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 3
The Dream
Level 2 Ultraound
Your Baby Might Have Down Syndrome

Your Baby Might Have Down Syndrome

By Ellen Stumbo

         Two weeks after the level 2 ultrasound, I had a regular prenatal checkup. This time, Andy came along and Ellie stayed with a friend.  


I stepped on the scale to get my weight. I knew I had gained at least a couple of pounds. I moved the big weight to the 100 mark. Then I began moving the smaller weight along. To my surprise, it seemed I had gained 10 pounds in 2 weeks…make that 20…30…I stopped at the 90 mark, turned to face Andy with big round eyes and exclaimed.

“This thing is broken! There is no way I weigh 200 pounds!”

Andy had a big smile. Then he chuckled. Finally, he was laughing out loud.

“What is so funny?” I answered a little offended, “I do not weigh 200 pounds! Why would you la…”

His foot. Andy’s foot was on the scale. He had been putting his weight on his leg every time I tried to adjust the measurement. I got down and gave him a playful punch but I had to laugh too.

As we chuckled, Kim, my midwife, came into the room. She asked why we were laughing. After a quick explanation of the faulty scale and a couple extra laughs, we moved on to business. The change in tone from Kim felt eerie; like a premonition of something bad to come.

“How are you guys feeling about the level II ultrasound?” she asked.

“We feel great,” I responded.

She looked confused. “Didn’t they tell you?”

“All they told us is that the fluid around the heart is gone,” Andy replied.

Kim paused, took a deep breath, and looked from Andy to me. The concern in her face threw me into panic. The small, white room, closing in on us. I feared she’d say those words that had only been spoken in the sharing of my dream. It was only a dream. It had to be only a dream.

“Your baby might have Down syndrome,” she finally said.

My heart sank. I swallowed hard and looked at Andy. It struck me that despite this news, his eyes were peaceful. The only thing I knew for sure was that this was our baby girl and we would love her, even if she had an extra chromosome. All I could muster in reply to the midwife was, “It will be okay if she does.”

Just seconds before we had laughed about a silly prank over the scale. I wanted to go back to that moment. I wanted to laugh one more time. Yet, a blanket of fear covered me, warming me up, clinging to my skin.

I was upset the specialist had not mentioned the significant markers they had found for Down syndrome. Nevertheless, there was no need for an amniocentesis, just as he had said. I knew. I knew that my baby had Down syndrome. I had known it ever since that midnight dream.


Next: Surprised by Joy: Part 1

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 3
The Dream
Level 2 Ultrasound

Level 2 Ultrasound

By Ellen Stumbo


The level 2 ultrasound machine looked like all the ultrasound machines I had seen before. White computer thing with a fancy keyboard and wires attached to whatever it is they are attached to.


The technician and specialist welcomed Andy and I into the room. In no time, the doctor was ready to talk business.

“It says in your file that you chose not to have the “triple screen” test.”

I found his tone to be accusing.

“Remind me what that test is for?” I asked

“It looks for birth abnormalities”

“Right” I responded, “It’s the one that is only a screening of blood levels but not an accurate test. The one that has an average rate of 40% inaccuracy.”

He looked up at me and I was not able to read his face. “Is that why you chose not to have the test?”

“You can tell me my baby has no arms or no legs. It makes no difference. This is the baby God is giving us, and we are going to love her no matter what.”

The specialist had nothing more to say, so he proceeded to explain the process. The technician would do a thorough scan. She was a “special” technician because she would be walking us through all her measurements and we could ask her questions. At the end of the scan, she would show the findings and pictures to the doctor who would then interpret those to us.

The ultrasound took some time, as every part of my baby’s body was closely inspected. The fluid around the heart was gone; there were no traces of it ever being there.

The technician asked the doctor to look at certain parts of the body, and they measured those parts again. After some more inspections, the ultrasound was over.

“You have a healthy baby” the specialist announced, “I don’t think an amniocentesis is necessary.”

Andy and I walked out of the examination room and held hands. We had met with a genetic counselor prior to the ultrasound, something that had concerned me at the time. The doctor had mentioned the triple screen test. However, no doctor had told us that our baby had Down syndrome, or that they suspected it. It had been a dream, just a dream.

The fluid around my baby’s heart was gone. There was nothing to worry about anymore. I had a perfectly healthy baby girl growing inside of me.



Next: Your Baby Might Have Down Syndrome

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body is Cooking a Baby: Part 3
The Dream

The Dream

Photo Credit

By Ellen Stumbo

Airplanes have made it easy to travel to faraway places, but when you travel with a toddler, any trip might seem endless. By the time we were picked up at the Florida airport, stopped by to have something to eat, checked in for the conference, checked in at the hotel room, and unpacked our bags, we were exhausted. All three of us were looking forward to a good night sleep. We went to bed, we fell asleep, and we had dreams.

No!!! I bolted up in bed, breathing heavily, feeling cold as I stared into the dark hotel room. I looked over and saw my husband laying next to me, slow and deep breathing. Ellie slept peacefully on the bed next to ours. I could not remember my dream, but there was something I was sure about; our baby was going to have Down syndrome. All of a sudden I felt like I was choking, gasping for breath. This was not real; it was just a dream, nothing more.

I got up and walked to the bathroom. I closed the door and sat on the toilet seat, stroking my protruding belly. My mind was racing and it did not take long before I broke down and began to cry. I was not emotionally capable of having a child with special needs. I did not have the patience, or the strength for such a task, I was not one of “those” special parents. Oh Lord, it is okay for our friends, but not for us, not for us. I could never have a baby with Down syndrome.

It had been two years since our friend's daughter had been born. Andy and I had gone to the hospital to meet their baby girl, and we marveled at how beautiful and perfect she was. Bill and Kristin were as proud as you would expect any first time parents to be. Doctors seemed to be concerned about Jennifer, and she was transferred to a larger hospital, where she stayed for ten days in the NICU. It was in that hospital that they were told that their baby girl had Down syndrome.

As I cried in the bathroom, my thoughts went back to the feelings I had when I first heard that Jennifer had Down syndrome. I had grieved for our friends, as I imagined the horrible tragedy they were facing. I felt sorry for them. I wished with everything in me that I could take it away, that I could make Jennifer "normal." I pictured shame and embarrassment as they faced family and friends when they shared the news. I did not even know how to act around them. I had no words of encouragement. All I could do was comfort myself by saying that there were no better parents for a child with Down syndrome than Bill and Kristin, both of them, full of love and acceptance. What a lousy friend I had turned out to be.

But this could not be us. This could not be our future. We had lived our lives seeking to please the Lord, my husband was a pastor and I faithfully served the church. Surely He would bless us with a healthy child. Another little girl, as perfect and beautiful as Ellie.

The next morning I was still very upset.

          “What if our baby has Down’s?” I asked Andy.

          “Why do you ask that?” he replied, confused.

          “I . . .” My voice broke as I struggled with my emotions. “I had a dream about it,” I finally said, as tears streamed down my face.

Andy was thoughtful for a while, then he reached out and held my hand, “If it comes to be, then we will walk down that road, and you and I know that we will not walk it alone.”

I fell into his arms and cried. He was right. Bill, Kristin, and Jennifer would walk with us every step of the way.

Next: Level 2 Ultrasound

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 3


My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 3

We walked out of the clinic; the sun bright and hot. Ellie attached to Luisa's hip, little arms wrapped around her neck. My sister was talking to me but I could not respond. A flood of emotion was about to wash over me and I was trying to contain it, to keep it all inside, to be able to think clearly. She looked over and instinctively knew I was about to loose it. "Ellen, are you okay?" I shook my head and quiet tears streamed down my face. We reached the car and she got Ellie buckled in her car seat as I sat in the driver's seat, crying. I did not know if I was overreacting, or owning up to my pregnant hormones. Maybe both. What I did know was that there was fluid around my baby's heart, and fluid around the heart was not good. Maybe tomorrow the fluid would be gone, but today, in that moment, fluid around the heart was not good.


After a few minutes I was able to clear my head a little bit and called my husband. As soon as I heard Andy's voice I was overcome by emotion once more. It was not my habit to call him and cry over the phone, so he sensed something was terribly wrong.

"Honey," he asked with a calm but anxious voice, "What is wrong?"

I mumbled through my tears, but was able to communicate the basics: they saw fluid around the heart, we need to go see a specialist, it could be something serious, or nothing at all. Immediately I sensed his relief. His pregnant and tend-to-be-dramatic wife was not delivering devastating news.

"Oh honey!" he said gently, "You scared me, I thought something worse had happened."

It has to be my hormones. Maybe I should be taking some anti-emotional pills. I wonder if they make those.

I sighed, I could see how my delivery was a little bit over the top. I should have waited to call him until I was a decent, level headed woman, once I had been able to think about this clearly. "Sorry honey," I responded, "I am just so worried."

I hung up and shook some of the emotional commotion, I was ready to eat. My baby had fluid around her heart, there was nothing I could do about that, but I could get some food and pass on some good stuff to my baby through my perfectly good Placenta. IHOP sounded delicious.

Once my belly was full, my head clear, and my toddler ready for a nap, we got back on the road and drove 50 miles back home.

Over the next few days it became evident that God was loving us through other people. Our church was praying, and so were our families and their friends. Some of these people I do not even know, but they were faithful, for I was wrapped in peace. They lifted up our baby girl to God asking that He would heal her heart, that the fluid would be gone.


Next: The Dream

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body is Cooking a Baby: Part 2

My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 2

After the ultrasound, we walked back to the small examination room. We looked at the freshly printed pictures of the baby while waiting for my midwife to come back. When she came in the room, she had her own set of photos. Kim said the Placenta Previa was no longer an issue and asked to see our 4D pictures. I proudly showed off my baby portraits. After looking at them, she leaned back against the counter.


"Everything looks great, your baby is growing like she is supposed to..." a pause, "There is just one thing I am concerned about. We found fluid around the baby's heart."

What! Wait a second, I asked the technician about her heart and she did not mention anything about fluid!

"Well, what does that mean?" I asked calmly, my eyes locked on hers.

"It could be nothing, or it could be something more serious."

Oh come on, come on Kim! What kind of answer is that? What does fluid around the heart mean?

"I want you to see a specialist in Iowa City that will do a Level II ultrasound." She continued.

A specialist! If she wants me to go see a specialist this must be serious.

"We will try to get you in Monday or Tuesday."

My mind was spinning. We were flying to Florida for a weeklong conference, I explained this to Kim.

"Is it safe to wait?" I asked, "Do I need to cancel my trip?"

She seemed to consider this only for a few seconds.

"No," she responded, "Whatever this is, it will not make a difference whether we find out next week or the week after."

"What do you think this is?" I asked her.

She entertained the question. I could see in her eyes that she was thinking about what to say, and then she responded, "It could be an infection, something as simple as fighting a virus… or something more serious. I think it is best not to talk about all the different things that it could be until we actually know what this is, it will just make you worried. It is also very possible that the fluid is gone by the time you go to Iowa City, and this will turn out to be nothing."

I ended up spending quite some time in the "referral" office trying to figure out Insurance Coverage and a day that would work for us. I had time to think over my conversation with Kim and wondered why I had not pried for more answers from her. But Kim was someone that I had come to consider a friend, I trusted her. And maybe midwives are trained to look into a mother's heart.


Next:
My Body is Cooking a Baby: Part 3

Don't miss:
Road Marker 321
My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1
My Body Is Cooking a Baby:Part 2

My Body Is Cooking a Baby: Part 1

By Ellen Stumbo

At nineteen weeks gestation, I was having a 4D ultrasound. I was excited to actually see the baby. I was also anxious to hear my midwife confirm that my Placenta Previa was no longer an issue. When I started spotting a few weeks before, an ultrasound confirmed a Partial Placenta Previa, as well as the fact that we were having another baby girl.


My 13 year old sister, Luisa, came along to the appointment to help with my toddler. She made it clear she had no intentions of knowing her oldest sister in any special “pre-natal-test” kind of way. When the nurse gave me a cup, I smiled at her teasingly and said, "Got to go pee in the cup." Her eyes widened in disgust, "That is gross Ellen!"

I came back to the small examination room and stepped on the scale, hoping I had gained weight. Morning sickness, or in my particular case, my all day sickness, was finally easing up. When the nurse checked my baby's heart, Luisa and I exchanged a smiling glance as we listened to the thump-thump. "Listen to your sister's heart beat," Luise said as she continued to turn the pages of the book she read to Ellie, who sat quietly on her lap.

Kim, my midwife, came in and asked if I was still spotting. When I responded I was not, she suggested we waited another week for the 4D ultrasound until Andy, my husband, could be there. My sister offered a dramatic, disappointed face. I had been looking forward to the ultrasound myself and was planning on taping it for him. More important, ultrasound is the only way to officially rule out Placenta Previa and I was eager to put it out of my mind.

We walked into the ultrasound room, Luise and I giddy with anticipation. Me, especially thankful to have my sister help with Ellie. I lied on the bed and uncovered my round belly, sporting the faded stretch marks from my previous pregnancy. The gel felt warm on my skin as the technician started doing the scan. She measured and checked as she explained what body parts we were looking at. She then pushed a key on her computer and in seconds, we were looking at the alien baby. Luise and I looked at each other and commented about how skinny she was, how weird to see her face, and wondered if she looked like Ellie. As the technician snapped pictures for us to take home, she was able to capture one of a smiling baby. It was precious. The baby growing inside of me was happy.

The technician pushed another key and we were back to the black and white screen. She kept checking and measuring, confirming that I no longer had a Placenta Previa. As I lied on the bed I asked, "Is her heart okay?" The technician looked at me puzzled, and it took her a few seconds to respond, "Why do you ask?"

Why did I ask? The question surprised me too. There was an awkward silence.

"Well" she continued, "I can see four chambers here," she pointed at all four of them individually with the cursor, "And that is a good thing."

Somehow, her response was not what I expected. I wanted to hear, "Her heart is great," or, "It looks normal." I dismissed my negative thoughts. After all, I am a self-diagnosed borderline hypochondriac--- if there is such a thing--- and I was letting it affect the thoughts I had about my baby. I suppose some might just call me neurotic.

Photo Credit

If you did not get a chance, read the "Prologue" to my story: Road Marker 321

Next:
My Body is Cooking a Baby: Part 2
My Body is Cooking a Baby: Part 3