The Day we Left for Edmonton
On April 22 of last year, Brodi drove me to town because I had a doctor’s appointment for a baby checkup.
We were both off of work at the time. I had started maternity leave at 36 weeks pregnant, and Brodi’s physio clinic had been temporarily closed due to new covid measures implemented in the province.
My appointment that day was scheduled with the doctor who would be scheduled to perform my c-section. Our baby was still breech and we needed a plan in place in case the baby didn’t perform some miracle flip before the due date. On the way to the appointment, the doctor’s office called and said she had booked me in for a last minute ultrasound. The receptionist on the phone sounded serious. They explained to me that I would get the ultrasound, and then go straight to the doctors office. The doctor would wait for the results and then I would see her.
The ultrasound itself took an eternity. It was clear that they were looking for very specific things, and trying to find them was hard, but no one explained anything to me. More than one ultrasound tech had a look, and they commented multiple times about how hard it was to get the baby to move. This had been a common problem throughout my pregnancy, often causing me to leave ultrasounds feeling worried and unsure. Multiple times, I had asked for ultrasound pictures, and each time, I was told that the baby wasn’t in a good position. Each time, the appointment took longer than expected. And each time, I came out feeling like I didn’t have enough information. I had tried for months to push my worries aside, as many people, including my original obstetrician, told me, “not to worry.”
My original obstetrician had said that baby was fine because the heart rate was strong, and that if I was feeling 6-10 kicks it was okay. But those 10 kicks usually only happened about once per day. I never got to have other people like my mom or friends feel my belly and feel the kicks. Because it didn’t happen often enough for that. Brodi often waited patiently and when I told him the baby was kicking, we would sit for long periods of time waiting for, and feeling, those tiny movements. I had gone in for non-stress tests, and apparently there were no concerns. I assume that at that point, the movements had gotten stronger. Of course we know now that there was significance behind the time period that baby’s movements began to become more regular. But at that time, we were doing our best to follow the advice of the medical professionals on our team.
After the ultrasound on Wednesday, April 22, we went directly to the doctor’s office. Again, I had to go in without Brodi due to covid protocols. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but it was probably about an hour. When the doctor finally came to see me, she was very quick and to the point. Essentially, in addition to the baby potentially having clubfoot, he/she was also measuring behind schedule, and that the abdomen was quite small for gestational age. She explained to me that those two things in combination could mean something serious. She told me that those two anomalies could mean that the baby had a genetic condition that would lead to complications later on.
The doctor also told me that the baby was footling breech. This meant that our baby was sitting upright, with one foot extended down towards the exit. She expressed the seriousness of this position, and told me that once I left her care, if I were to go into labour, I needed to go to a hospital immediately. At that point, an immediate c-section would have been imperative in order to protect myself and baby from further complications.
The doctor wanted to get some opinions from colleagues in Edmonton, and when I left, she told me that she would be in touch with us soon. I left that appointment feeling completely broken. I was alone in that office, and I had just been told that there were potentially “major concerns” with the baby’s health. I cried as I explained everything to Brodi in the car, and we drove away feeling scared and uncertain.
Not ten minutes later, that same doctor called us. She told me that she had spoken with her colleagues at the Royal Alexandra Hospital in Edmonton, and that she had booked me an appointment for an ultrasound at the Maternal Fetal Medicine clinic at the RAH for the next morning. We would need to drive down to Edmonton that night. She told us to pack a bag as if we were staying for the baby’s birth. It was about 4:30PM at that time, so Brodi and I hurried home and began quickly throwing some clothes and toiletries into a weekender sized suitcase. I grabbed my hospital “go-bag,” and we packed up our dogs to take them to my parents house. As we walked out the door, I didn’t know that I wouldn’t set foot in our house again until 237 days later.
On the way, we stopped at Brodi’s parents’ house. I remember standing on their driveway, explaining the situation to them, and having them wish us well. All of our eyes held fear and uncertainty, and none of us knew what to expect. This was all occurring at the beginning of covid measures, and because none of us knew what we were up against, we had previously been worried to visit or come close to family members. I remember that I didn’t hug my mother-in-law, because we weren’t sure if we were supposed to. I would later regret this decision with my whole heart. In the days, weeks, and months when I missed her guiding presence, I would have given anything for a hug from Cindy.
When we stopped at my parents house, the shock and fear continued. It seemed as if my dad couldn’t fathom what was happening, and it took me saying, “The baby isn’t going to be ‘normal,” for it to really sink in. I wanted so badly to be taking my mom with me. I knew that there was the potential for me to give birth in the next few days, and I so badly wanted my mom with me. My mom has always been my biggest supporter, and my best friend. I couldn’t imagine going through these next steps without her. She cried with me, and we silently shared our fear, but we couldn’t possibly know what would come next. Brodi and I never did have a concrete “birth plan,” but this was far from anything we had envisioned.
I imagined welcoming our sweet babe, and having my mom, dad, and brother visiting us at the hospital. I imagined our baby receiving cuddles from both of his grandmothers and being immediately mooned over by Brodi’s sisters. Covid had already made all of those dreams impossible. Coming to the realization that none of those things would happen was hard enough. On top of that, we were being told that our baby wouldn’t be “typical,” but we didn’t yet know why, or what that would entail.
As Brodi and I drove down to Edmonton, we spent the hours holding hands, cycling between tears and silence. There was nothing to say, and no way to make it better. We didn’t know what to expect the next day, and nothing could have prepared us. We checked into a hotel that night, and did our best to sleep.
To be continued…