On February 27, 2010
Under house arrest, I mean bed rest. At 24 weeks, 2 days, I am pregnant with a son who has a beating heart, kicking legs and a beautiful skull. At 6 weeks, the midwives at UCLA gave me a 50% chance of miscarriage due to a small amniotic sac and daily bleeding, now over. The next sonogram revealed terribly low rates of amniotic fluid; other tests implied chromosomal problems, later ruled out. Doctors counseled that we consider termination due to Oligohydramnios: extremely low amniotic fluid. Likely cause? Potter’s Sequence, meaning various severe kidney anomalies, many 100%% fatal. We held off, not from external moral dictates, but because though I tried to be rational intellectual and pragmatic, I fell in love with the little guy. Dr. Ramen Chmait, who specializes in fetal surgery, reviewed the kidneys and the tiny bladder with visible urine and found Potter’s Sequence unlikely. A test proved the ongoing leakage of amniotic fluid, which feels like weeping every time it happens. He counseled bed rest, to try to collect new amniotic fluid – crucial to the development of functional lungs.
Exercise is holy in L.A., good for everything. From childhood I have been active: horsebackriding, dance, swimming, running, karate, hiking, biking and yoga. Pacing on the phone at work. With my son I did handstands and backbends in yoga when I was 8 days over due with no ill effect. People say “I would do anything for my child.” In our case, what I can do for this child is literally nothing. Doing nothing. I only get up for the lightest cooking and a shower, lying prone, not sitting up. I have a career, a teenager and a toddler. A household to run. And here I lie. Every instinct is to roughhouse with the toddler, pick up the floor, go to urgent work meetings, take my son to see a friend. Being intentionally indolent feels like a betrayal of self-sufficiency, efficacy, parenthood, the environment, my career. But as my other half said when I came to help in the kitchen, after a not restful day with bad results to the fluid, “Do you love this baby? Go lie down.” So I did.
It is humbling to ask for help. Help driving kids. Meetings set up via phone. Looking for a grocery store that can deliver. Pleading with loved ones to take the little one to the park. Everyone is very generous. Only pride makes it hurt. And a yearning for the sky. 19 days into this and I have had panicky attacks where I just wanted out. But one early grocery run made it clear that my gain was the baby’s loss. So I am on my side, typing, with deepened respect for women in Islamic societies, compassion for anyone in jail, honor to anyone living with a disability.
Thank you Randal, Tuolumne and Lucilla, my family, friends, colleagues and kind strangers. Yes, I will do anything for this baby. Even if anything means nothing.
