Baby Jack!

Nine Long Months

August 1999

July 27, 1999: Yesterday morning, we had a scare. At 8 and a half weeks we are very much in the danger zone (cue Kenny Loggins). In fact the most common thing we have heard from people after congratulations was "You shouldn't be telling people yet!" You see, 20% of women will have a spontaneous miscarriage in the first trimester of their pregnancy. The body discovers that something is wrong with the embryo and terminates the pregnancy on its own. It's quite common. So, people don't generally tell others until they are out of the danger zone.

We tried. We kept the secret for a month. And then decided we couldn't do it anymore. We just HAD to tell.

Anyway, yesterday morning while I was at the gym swimming, Ann woke up with a bad cramp and found some blood. When I returned, we called the doctor and they told us to come in. Generally, spotting is not a bad thing. A miscarriage is usually heralded by strong to severe cramps and a lot of bleeding. But, to be safe, you should call the doctor and they generally want to see you. So, we saw the doctor and she checked and said that Ann's uterus is the size it should be and that it was not a tubal pregnancy (which is a relief as Ann's mother had one of those after Ann was born and it almost killed her (1965 medical technology not being what it is today where these things are dealt with much more quickly and safely)). The doctor felt that an ultrasound would be the smart way to go and arranged one with a nearby hospital. So, about an hour and change later Ann was on the table and we were avidly watching the screen with a lot of anxiety. What would we see?

Now, I've seen many ultrasounds on TV. TV shows love to show them. But, truth be told, I've never *seen* the baby in them. They point and say "Look! There he is!" and people ooh and ahh. I look and think "Hmmm, looks like a large storm front is approaching New York" because they look like satellite images.

When I stood on the alter, I was pretty blase about the whole thing. I was getting married. I was excited. I knew I was going to be very happy. But when I saw my bride I was floored and I completely did not expect the sheer wall of emotion that washed over me at all. It took me completely by surprise.

The screen image stabilized and suddenly, right there on the screen was a little baby. Head, arms, feet, umbilical chord, and a beating heart were all there and visible. It wiggled it's legs. Again, I was completely taken by surprise by the sheer emotion I felt. Ann being pregnant was no longer an academic thing. Something I knew but did not really see or feel. Suddenly it was real and we both just melted completely. He, she, whatever it turns out to be, is real. It's incredible to realize that there is a tiny creature there that one day will be a person who will go on to add to the world. They will change lives, make things happen. They will love and hurt. They will laugh and cry. They will experience terrible sadness and overwhelming joy. They will have a life. And we made this happen. All afternoon I quoted the production tag of the X-Files as we looked at the pictures of the ultrasound we took home: "I made this!" (or as my friend Cameron sings to his daughter (to the tune of the Chunukah song 'dradel' "Cutie cutie cutie! I made you out of sperm!")

In the end, the baby is fine. Heart is beating, legs are wiggling, blood is flowing through the umbilical chord and the donut thing is still on its head (it feeds the baby until the placenta is ready to take over). No visible sex organs yet (it's far too soon to tell and even later on it's not 100% certain). Ann has what looks like a small tear in her uterus which is causing the bleeding and the doctor doesn't think that's a cause to really worry, though we'll find out more today at our second major prenatal checkup (which was scheduled all along for today).

So, mother and baby are fine. The father's a bit wobbly (and you know what, come next February that will be an even truer statement!)

What a day... and it was St. Ann's day. St. Ann is the patron saint of broom makers. I have no idea how that fits in to all this. But it seems oddly appropriate.

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