Justin and I first started talking about starting a family around 2009. In 2010 I was officially diagnosed with a condition that was not explained to me, nor were all the drugs I was prescribed. We had no idea what we were doing or why we were doing it, but we were hopeful it would work. It didn’t. Nor did it work with the next doctor a few years down the road, or the many natural/holistic routes we tried in between and along the way. 

Thirteen years later, I am 5 days away from delivering our baby boy. Universe, you really are sneaky.

The last few weeks have been a series of curve balls, and right now I feel like we’re in the bottom of ninth in one hell of a nail-biter. 

Yesterday, I had an appointment with my high risk doctor in the morning and then with my OB in the afternoon. For the first time since losing Jude’s twin, a doctor walked in with “concerns”.  

Let me backup and recap as best I can. The last time I wrote, Jude was 35 weeks, slightly on the smaller side of normal, and breech. We knew if he didn’t flip, a C-section would be his entrance to the world. Curveball #1.

At 36 weeks, my OB did an ultrasound and confirmed that he had flipped head down. He was, however, still very high and therefore could flip again, though the chances were unlikely. He had not begun to drop and I was not dilated at all, so it was just a matter of crossing our fingers that he would stay in the right position. Finally, a base hit. 

In the coming days, I was bombarded with comments from friends and family and colleagues (as pregnant women always are)  about the appearance of my changing body. Many swore it looked like he had dropped, but I knew he hadn’t. More specifically, my ribs knew. 

In the meantime, my non-stress tests were going well except for the fact that Jude hates them. As soon as a monitor is placed on me, he squirms away. Looking back, this should have been my first clue (but more on that later). 

At 37 weeks we got our next curveball, but this time it had nothing to do with me or the baby. The morning of my baby shower, Justin woke up and a spot on his face (that he had already been monitoring) had drastically grown and changed colors. He called the dermatologist first thing Monday morning, and upon him explaining what happened, they squeezed him into the schedule the next day. When the doctor walked in, she took one look and said, “That’s cancer.” 

Excuse me, what? 

She confirmed that she still thought it was cancer after examining it under her little UV light. She removed the cyst portion and sent off a biopsy of the skin to tell us what we were dealing with. She did seem hopeful that it was only basal cell and could be fixed with a simple surgery. 

The next few days crawled by as we waited for the results. Both of our stress levels were through the roof. I didn’t sleep and pretty much functioned as a walking zombie. Friday afternoon the dermatologist called and said it was not cancer at all, but the cyst had gotten infected causing the rapid changes and to return in a month. Dodging this one felt like a homerun. (Maybe we don’t pre-diagnose people, especially those with a high risk 9 ½ month pregnant wife…just a thought.) 

This brings us to yesterday for Curveball #3. We started off our morning at our last high risk ultrasound. These appointments have become so routine, I expected everything to be perfect as I have slipped into that comfort lately. This was not the case. Our little guy is now transverse (laying side to side). As it turns out, I have an amniotic fluid index of 27 – which is way too high this late in pregnancy. (Normal for my current gestational age is closer to 10.)  From what I understand, this much fluid basically means he’s just swimming around, doing whatever he wants (including avoiding monitors) and not able to drop and get in position for birth. Maybe he’ll be able to teach me how to finally go underwater without holding my nose. 

Curveball #4 is that our little guy is not so little anymore. He’s measuring very large which would make it dangerous for both he and I to attempt a regular induced delivery (which was already scheduled to begin Monday night.) My high risk doctor suspects I have developed insulin resistance late in pregnancy well after we did the normal glucose testing resulting in his sudden rapid growth spurt.  

So, it looks like Plan C is going to be the one that sticks. We are officially checking into the hospital on Tuesday morning (March 7th) at 5am for an early morning C-section. I’m sure at (almost) 41, this recovery will be a little tougher than I anticipated. But hell, look at everything I’ve been through just to get to this point. So though not completely ideal, this is the safest way to get our baby here and in our arms. Which after 13 years, is all that matters. Our Grand Slam that we’ve been waiting on. 

three. two. twenty-three.