I’m beginning (?) to lose my faith in medical science.
I make little babies. Does that surprise you? Do you look at my massive body and monstrously huge husband and think, “That woman must give birth to baby elephants.” I was around four and a half pounds when I was born, my brother just over five. I’m not in any way, shape, or form surprised that I make moderately-sized humans. That being said, my babies haven’t been abnormally small. Marcus was seven pounds even at 42 and a half weeks, and Skyler was six even, induced at 38 weeks. Nice, healthy, well-proportioned babies.
When I was pregnant with Skyler my belly was measuring small, so my midwife sent me for an ultrasound to be sure that everything was rolling along well. There had been some complications at the end of my pregnancy with Marcus, and she wanted to err on the side of caution. The ultrasound results were showing that her abdomen was measuring several weeks smaller than her cranium, so my midwife referred me to an obstetrician. The obstetrician decided that the best course of action was bedrest, effective immediately. I was six months pregnant with a toddler son and had just been sentenced to spend the next three months in bed. His point of view was that although there have been no studies to support the effectiveness of bedrest, it certainly couldn’t hurt and it was better to take precautions than risks. At the time I didn’t really think it to be a big deal to go on bedrest. I would get some time to read some books and relax, take care of myself, and enjoy my pregnancy. Well, that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t be miserable. And for the most part, it worked. I managed to keep my son in daycare, keep myself positive, and made it through the pregnancy with flying colours. When Skyler was born, she was perfectly fine. The placenta pathology showed that there were no problems. I didn’t see the OB after that because my midwife resumed care, so I never got about to asking him if now, in retrospect, he felt the bedrest was medically necessary.
Anyhow, the reason I bring all this up is that I had another ultrasound today. This baby’s abdomen is measuring a few weeks smaller than its cranium. All of my instincts tell me I’m growing another little tiny pie-pie. Maybe it’s a girl. I’ve had so many ultrasounds that I’m no longer impressed with the science. I worry that there may be too much subjectivity involved. Measuring things can be tricky—do you follow the outside of the line, or the inside? Do you count the little fuzzy halo of hair on the head when doing the circumference? What really got me thinking about this was because I had an ultrasound when I was sick with a severe sinus infection and was feeling pretty dehydrated. The ultrasound came back showing I had low levels of amniotic fluid. I remembered that my midwife had mentioned being really well-hydrated was important (of course I remembered AFTER the ultrasound, too late to accomplish the deed), so because my fluid levels were low, I had to go back for another ultrasound. In the next ultrasound the fluids were fine, of course, but now they spotted this “growth restriction”—this disproportional growth that sets off the alarm bells. Had I never had to go back for the second ultrasound because of the “low fluid levels”, they would never have “caught” the IUGR. I would be happily upholding my wild and crazy lifestyle without a shred of guilt or worry. My baby would be “healthy”. Man, I’m putting a lot of things in quotes. If we were talking right now, I’d be gesticulating like crazy. My air quotes would be causing a small windstorm.
So here is the conundrum. First of all, the only reason I know that the abdomen is measuring small is because I watched the screen like a hawk and took note of the numbers. When measuring, it actually says 33wks4days and 30wks6days. They take an average of the readings to include in the report, but from what I saw, those were pretty consistent numbers. Anyway, had I been napping, knitting, or just generally not paying attention, I’d still be in the healthy-baby camp. I wouldn’t have a clue about the ultrasound results until my OB appointment, because the technicians are not supposed to tell you anything. Unfortunately, I’m a snoop, and now I know. I also know that because of this risk of IUGR my former OB would probably recommend bedrest. I’m switching OBs though, and see a new one next Wednesday. I’m torn between wanting to just carry on with life as normal because I KNOW there is nothing wrong with the baby, but also feeling like if, knowing what I know, I continue on with life as normal, there could be a small chance that I could be doing harm to my baby. By swimming laps at the pool on Tuesdays and Thursdays. By doing prenatal yoga. By playing outside with my kids. By being upright. It sounds insane to me that those things could be problematic, especially considering how GOOD I feel right now physically.
I’ve pretty much decided that I’m going to not make any lifestyle changes between now and Wednesday, and hopefully this new OB will believe that bedrest is for sissies. With Skyler I had ultrasounds every week (FOURTEEN ultrasounds total!), and non-stress tests twice a week, for three months. My only forays into the real world were to the hospital and the ultrasound clinic. My main association with other adults was with medical professionals, who tend to not sugar-coat things. Every week I had three appointments to stress about. And of course, what do you do when lying in bed all day but google IUGR over and over until you find the most bone-chilling accounts from people whose babies measured exactly like my baby at first.
Today the ultrasound technician said to me, “Well, I guess we’ll see you in a couple weeks!” I was all, “Oh, yay!” No, I wasn’t. I was pissed off. I couldn’t believe that I was going to be embarking on this emotional roller coaster once again, grappling with these conflicting feelings of scepticism and anxiety. I can’t make up my mind if I believe that it’s all garbage and my baby is fine, or if there’s a chance that there’s an actual problem.
I’d be fine with all these extra appointments, if I could just get them to hold the worry.
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