bad news bears

So . . . I've had better days. It didn't start off too bad. I woke up at 5:30, tossed until 6:30, and then woke up Brad so he could get in on the fun. He tried to snooze me. I WISH I had a snooze button. I would have pushed it at 5:30.

Work was interesting. Found out yesterday that I will have my first oral argument in November. I've done a decent amount of trial work, but appellate arguments are different. So today I tried to focus on my new case all the while mulling over the ins and outs of the argument. And about how I will be investing in a maternity suit, something I had hoped to avoid. Good times.

Then, around 4:45, I got a phone call. It was Doc G, calling with my blood work results. Trisomy and Spina Bifida numbers are awesome. 1/10,000 and 1/6,000. Down's number is less awesome. Based on my age, my base risk was 1/180. After the first workup (at 12 weeks) my risk dropped to 1/370. 1/220 is the cutoff for invasive procedures, so that was good. But now, after this last round of blood work, we're back at 1/155.

I hadn't even been thinking about the results or worrying about what we would learn. I was feeling pretty confident and comfortable after the last appointment and just assumed that the number would get better. Not worse.

After I got over the shock, I called Brad to bring him into the loop. Then I did what I do best. Fretted, worried, and twisted my mind into a tumbled mess of thoughts/ideas/reactions. I am awesome at that. Gold metal standard. Here's a well-organized synopsis which is not representative of the mental process it took to arrive at this point:

We can get an amniocentesis and find out for sure, but it carries a 1/500 - 1/800 risk of loss. It also takes 3 weeks to get the results. Brad and I aren't comfortable with the risk. Sure, it's small. But we'd be putting the most precious thing in our lives on the table. And it's not something we're okay with wagering. I have a hard time upgrading to the dollar slots in Vegas. Let's be serious.

But the worry bug lives on. I don't want to spend the next five months stressing and fretting and wondering. I have to find a way to focus on the positive. So I switched the numbers around. 1/370 means a 99.729% chance of having a baby with only 46 chromosomes. 1/155 means a 99.355% chance. Fabulous odds! Just focus on that!

Oh, if only it were that easy. Today I really wanted to have the ability to bump bellies with Brad and just transfer Tater for a little while. Let Tater experience his calm, zen body while I get mine in order. Because he is so rational about all of this. He doesn't worry. He says it is because Tater is Tater. Either s/he has Down Syndrome or s/he doesn't. Why worry about something that is already set in stone? So wise. So not how my brain works.

We've decided to meet in the middle. Apparently we can get an ultrasound which will look for soft markers of Down Syndrome. It is non-invasive, so no risk to Tater. And it identifies 60% of fetuses with Down Syndrome. The wise internet also tells me that it can lower our risk, should the markers not appear. Calling Doc G tomorrow morning to learn more about that option.

I'm feeling very calm about the whole thing now. A trip to the gym and dinner with Katie helped a lot. (Tally for today: Gym - 1, Reese's - 3.) It also helped to read a few discussion boards about the testing and results. A number of women posted that they have sworn off the genetics testing after dealing with this situation. I think I agree. The worry is just needless. Tater is coming into a loving, wacky family no matter what. And it's not like we are "normal." (Understatement extraordinaire.)

It's been a rollercoaster. I sound okay now. I did not sound okay when I called my sister from work while sobbing, such that she couldn't understand what I was saying. It's not that I was upset about the possibility of having a baby with Down Syndrome (it's unknown territory, so scary, but not a bad thing). Here's what made me cry cry cry: what I wanted more than anything, the second I hung up with Doc G, was to call my mom. Berta had such a gift for listening and then dispensing sound, rational advice with the perfect amount of sensitivity, understanding, and humor. I wanted to tell her everything, listen to her reason it out, and hear her tell me that she wished she could wrap me in cotton and protect me from the world. I called Caty instead. She has so much of Berta in her. I know I have Berta in me too. I got her worry gene which makes it possible to dispense sane advice but impossible to give it to oneself. The gift that keeps on giving.

Just realized it's almost midnight. Why am I not asleep? I really need that snooze button.