Clarity
Uncertainty was thick in the air yesterday. I had coached myself inwardly to "keep positive". Arriving at Kentuckiana Perinatology, the office was packed with people. After signing in, we were taken to the private office of Dr. Pietrantoni to await our appointment- a space not filled with "round women" we joked. Tyler and I exchanged silly conversation and the mood was lighter. I took my camera out of my purse and snapped a picture of him on the couch- sitting cock-eyed and tinkering with his phone. We talked, laughed, and admired the doctor's office full of family photos- three beautiful dark-eyed daughters covered an entire wall. How proud he must be.
Dr. P came into his office from checking on a patient at the hospital and right away he seemed a little overwhelmed. He was behind at least an hour and a half on his appointments and was about to rush back out leaving a room full of what I assume to be anxious pregnant women to perform a cesarean section. He racked his brain trying to remember us. You would think that forgetting my case and problems might be upsetting to me but I could see his struggle. Woman after woman, baby after baby. I'm sure it's exhausting to keep things in order in your head. I allowed him the slack he deserved. His eyes lit- he remembered us and the minute he did, my eyes filled with tears. I wasn't sad, it just stung a little. Dr. P handed me a tissue and he pressed on asking me a question I've heard nearly a thousand times in the past six weeks... "How are you?" Thinking back- I don't know that I answered the question directly. After some conversation he told us that another ultrasound would be performed to check out my uterus. With that, he left us promising his return and to await the sonographer.
The jelly was warm and the lady was friendly but the image on the screen was a reminder of the loss we had incurred. Emptiness. But a clean slate. Everything looked as it should be and we were back to waiting. Upon Dr. P's return, we were finally able to ask heavily looming questions. Could this reoccur? What was it exactly? What caused the shortening of his limbs? Outside of the initial diagnosis of Anencephaly which we had come to terms with, he believed our son had another rare condition called Thanatophoric Dwarfism (or TD). It was the cause of the severe shortening of his limbs and small ribcage. TD occurs in one in every 20-50 thousand pregnancies and Thanatophoric comes from the Greek word meaning "death bearing". Although this information was so very disheartening, it was also a reminder as to why our precious baby was better off in heaven. Believe it or not, this gave us a lot of peace. Dr. P was adamant that the chances of these things occurring for us were very, very slim and that he had little concern of further problems for us. He did tell us though upon conceiving that my further pregnancy (ies) would be considered high risk. Then he spoke candidly with us about trying to conceive again.
Tyler and I left his office with a resounding sense of tranquility but with the tiniest tinge of sadness. I let myself shed a few tears on our way home- not for me but for Quilly. We loved and spoiled the girls thoroughly when we got home and the day was done.
Dr. P came into his office from checking on a patient at the hospital and right away he seemed a little overwhelmed. He was behind at least an hour and a half on his appointments and was about to rush back out leaving a room full of what I assume to be anxious pregnant women to perform a cesarean section. He racked his brain trying to remember us. You would think that forgetting my case and problems might be upsetting to me but I could see his struggle. Woman after woman, baby after baby. I'm sure it's exhausting to keep things in order in your head. I allowed him the slack he deserved. His eyes lit- he remembered us and the minute he did, my eyes filled with tears. I wasn't sad, it just stung a little. Dr. P handed me a tissue and he pressed on asking me a question I've heard nearly a thousand times in the past six weeks... "How are you?" Thinking back- I don't know that I answered the question directly. After some conversation he told us that another ultrasound would be performed to check out my uterus. With that, he left us promising his return and to await the sonographer.
The jelly was warm and the lady was friendly but the image on the screen was a reminder of the loss we had incurred. Emptiness. But a clean slate. Everything looked as it should be and we were back to waiting. Upon Dr. P's return, we were finally able to ask heavily looming questions. Could this reoccur? What was it exactly? What caused the shortening of his limbs? Outside of the initial diagnosis of Anencephaly which we had come to terms with, he believed our son had another rare condition called Thanatophoric Dwarfism (or TD). It was the cause of the severe shortening of his limbs and small ribcage. TD occurs in one in every 20-50 thousand pregnancies and Thanatophoric comes from the Greek word meaning "death bearing". Although this information was so very disheartening, it was also a reminder as to why our precious baby was better off in heaven. Believe it or not, this gave us a lot of peace. Dr. P was adamant that the chances of these things occurring for us were very, very slim and that he had little concern of further problems for us. He did tell us though upon conceiving that my further pregnancy (ies) would be considered high risk. Then he spoke candidly with us about trying to conceive again.
Tyler and I left his office with a resounding sense of tranquility but with the tiniest tinge of sadness. I let myself shed a few tears on our way home- not for me but for Quilly. We loved and spoiled the girls thoroughly when we got home and the day was done.
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