Birth of my instincts

Natural Health, Nov-Dec, 1998 by Lucia Raatma

My gut said don't this. But the specialist assured me that amniocentesis comes with few risks to the fetus. I now know otherwise.

I don't like what i see" are the last words a woman wants to hear during an ultrasound in her 20th week of pregnancy. But in May 1997, that's exactly what I heard. As the midwife spoke, I knew my world was about to change.

It had all started a few weeks earlier when I'd received unwelcome results from a blood test. My obstetrician had drawn blood to check my alpha-fetoprotein (AFP) levels; abnormal levels of this protein may indicate the baby has serious birth defects. The test results would take about a week. I told the doctor's receptionist I would be out of town on business for 10 days, and she said, "We'll call only if there is a problem."

I had barely checked into my hotel in Phoenix when my husband, Andy, phoned to say he had had news from the obstetrician. My test had come back with a raised level of AFP; there was a chance that our child could be born with spine bifida. Andy attempted to comfort me, but I began to panic.

The next day I tried to reach my doctor, wanting to get the details directly from her. I was in meetings all day and hard to find. I made many calls from pay phones outside the conference room, hoping to catch my doctor at a free moment and dying for the privacy I did not have. By the time we finally spoke, she was irritated. "I explained all this to your husband yesterday," she scolded, after she reminded me that it was Tuesday, and that she sees at least 80 patients on Tuesdays. 'We are going to send you to the county hospital for a level-two ultrasound. They have better equipment there, and they can see if there is a problem or not."

"Should I try to see a doctor in Phoenix?" I asked. "This is urgent, isn't it?"

"No, not really," she answered. "Let's see, you'll be in the 1 8th week when you get back. There is still time for a termination if you opt for that."

I consider myself pro-choice, but I found myself reeling from that casual comment as I hung up.

My business responsibilities ended and my husband joined me in Phoenix. We had planned to add a few days of vacation to the end of my business trip, thinking this was our last holiday before we became parents. We tried to enjoy ourselves, but it was no use. The worry was overwhelming, and all I wanted was to get back and have the ultrasound. I tried to convince myself the test would show the baby was fine, that all this was just a false alarm. I remembered someone saying that AFP tests sometimes come back with false positives. Maybe that was the case here, too.

Stormy Weather Ahead

We flew beck to New York late in the day, into a mid-April snowstorm, and readied ourselves for the ultrasound the next morning. The county hospital was crowded and understaffed. We tried not to let the wait bother us; the receptionist reminded us how fortunate we were that the specialist in high-risk pregnancies was fitting us into her schedule.

Once in the examining room, both the specialist and the technician stared at the ultrasound screen for some time. The baby's spine looked okay, as did the heart and the head. "But we just can't be sure," the specialist said. "I think we should do a quick amniocentesis to be certain."

I asked for details of the procedure, remembering that acquaintances had refused this test.

"A needle goes into the abdomen," she explained. "Into the amniotic sac, so we can draw fluid. This test offers certainty. We will know everything about your baby."

"What are the risks to the baby--there have to be some, right?" I asked her tentatively.

"There is a slight chance of miscarriage. Eight hundred to one. I can't remember the last time there was a problem," the doctor boasted. "I'm getting ready to do an amnio right now. I'll be back in five minutes."

Andy and I talked while the doctor was away, but our heads were spinning. I had been told that an amniocentesis was invasive and dangerous, but this doctor seemed so confident. I longed for certainty, a promise that my baby was okay. I figured if I could just get through this test, the worst would be over. We decided to take the specialist's advice.

The pain from amniocentesis--done without anesthesia--was excruciating. Andy squeezed my hand as I fought back tears and tried not to move. The doctor and the technician chatted about what dentists their kids went to and what a hurry the doctor was in, since her son had an appointment in 30 minutes. I figured their conversation was meant to distract me, but I found it annoying and insensitive. I was hoping it was almost over, when the doctor said, "Well, this needle isn't quite long enough. I'm going to have to use a longer one and go in again."

When the test was finally over, the doctor instructed me to rest that night and the next day. The results would be back in two weeks. As my husband and I left the hospital, I felt drained and exhausted.

A Ray of Hope

For the next two weeks, I jumped every time the phone rang. I longed for the hospital to call, to hear that the baby was okay.