Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Her foot measures 3 centimeters from heel to toe and her upper lip periodically stretches out into the shape of a pterodactyl beak and she spent much of the time with her forearms crossed across her face, casting hexes against the treachery visited upon her twice in one week.
She has a long neck and a beautiful aortic arch and a swimming fish for a heart. She also has a small cyst in her brain; a choriod plexus cyst.
This cyst is a soft indicator of trisomy 18, but is more likely nothing at all.
Everything else looks perfect.
We're not going to get amnio. We think everything will Be Okay. How's that for a New Year's Res?
Part of me feels that after the chaos of miscarriage and IVF, nothing can fuck with my panic button anymore unless there's a damned good reason behind it.
More importantly, I feel like we owe it to ourselves and to Lentil to let go of the pregnancy stress. This shit isn't just stress, it's the angst and worry and ambivalence and heartbreak that has been accumulating since 2005. That accumulation changes our perspective on everything, changes E's experience of pregnancy, and makes the news of the cyst all the more sinister. And that's just not right. It's too much for little pregnant E to bear.
And it's altogether too much weight on one little person with a 3 cm footprint.