9 days ago

Last Tuesday (9 days ago), we went back to the perinatologist--the dreaded dark room where all of our continuous bad news is delivered. We prayed long and hard before going in and simply asked God for no more bad news. For the first time in a long time, God answered our prayers. Surprisingly, there was no additional bad news. In fact, all of David's important organs and systems look fine (except, of course for his heart--which still beats strong and steadily with only 2 chambers). His brain looks fine, his measurements are normal, his internal organs look fine, and he has more than doubled in size since early October and is now 9 ounces. He has none of the other problems that they might expect to detect in a baby that appears to have Trisomy 13. I guess we honestly expected to have additional bad news that would be final supporting evidence for Trisomy 13. So even though nothing has changed, no more problems have emerged. This made the doctor conclude that we definitely needed to have the amniocentesis to confirm the suspected diagnosis of Trisomy 13.


I had tried to avoid having an amniocentesis due to the risks of loss and infection, the scary long needle, and simply because of the pressure my OB had been putting on me to have it. I hate being pressured into anything. But the high risk doctor was not pressuring me; he said that it would be beneficial to know with certainty the prognosis prior to childbirth simply because if David had no chromosomal abnormalities and "simply" had a heart defect independent of Trisomy 13, then I would need to give birth in Seattle by C-section. In Seattle, they would be able to do immediate intervention and care for a tiny heart patient like my baby. However, if the amnio confirms Trisomy 13 as we all suspect, I will give birth to David in Missoula and treasure the minutes and hours we have with him, whether he is stillborn or born fighting for life.

So we wait...probably sometime early next week we'll get the results. In my heart, I am not holding out hope; the signs all point to Trisomy 13. But at least we will know with certainty and can close the door on the "what ifs." Instead of counting days, I am joyfully counting the kicks I can't stop writing about. They are my son's way of letting me know he is still fighting...somehow still living on a tiny two-chambered heart that is miraculously beating.