6th February 2017
This is it.
The deciding week.
My mum and I headed to Hamilton. Both of us had a funny feeling about this growth scan, so we packed our bags to stay for a while
AKA we packed as if I was going to have the baby in the same week. It felt so surreal to pack enough clothes for a week when we were supposed to be there for one day. It felt even stranger to pack a bag full of diapers, wipes, creams, and teeny, tiny baby clothes. I had no real guarantee that I was going to have him then, but I just had this feeling.
I remember my mum and I discussing whether this would be the last trip we would be taking to Hamilton while I was pregnant.
I said no, but there was a tiny voice in the back of my mind that said I would be coming back from Hamilton with a baby.
We got to the growth scan just in time. It was a matter of minutes before I was called back to the ultrasound room.
Remember my thirty-five week scan?
The same thing happened.
The sonographer scanned and rescanned, measured and remeasured everything. A lot. Enough for me to told my breath and cross my fingers. This scan was more in-depth as she checked the blood flow to all the organs as well.
Everything looked fine…except the blood flow that was being carried by the umbilical cord itself.
Or so I thought.
I was sent back to the waiting room, and proceeded to wait. For two hours.
Time was getting on when I got escorted to a room full of beds and I had a monitor strapped to me. It was not the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. Apparently they had noticed a weird heartbeat during the scan and wanted to monitor it until the doctors were ready to see me.
Twenty minutes later and I was ushered back into the waiting room then directed to a private room to wait for the proper consult.
It was not good news.
The blood flow to and from the baby didn’t look like it was being oxygenated properly, which meant that the baby was working hard to get the nutrients he needed.
They discovered a strange heartbeat. It proved to be ‘okay’ during the monitoring process, but definitely wasn’t on the normal side of things.
His little head was measuring significantly smaller than what it was supposed to be.
All his measurements were measuring slightly smaller than they were supposed to be.
All signs pointed to intrauterine growth restriction.
Not good news.
It wasn’t long before they were talking about induction.
An induction that was supposed to happen before I hit thirty-eight weeks pregnant.
I remember raising my eyebrow and mentioning (not so casually) that I was already thirty-seven weeks and two days pregnant. That didn’t give them a lot of time to figure it out.
The doctors left the room to find out the earliest induction date. I barely had time to catch my breath before they were back and were talking about Friday. As in, this Friday. Two days away.
Good thing I packed the capsule.