I always hoped my second pregnancy would be radically different to the first. The first started out in blissful ignorance and with us referring to the 20-week anomaly scan as the “gender scan” – ho ho ho! However, we were rapidly disabused of that ignorance, as the sonographer hung up her scanning device and told us there was a problem. The problem they were sure of was that our first baby was missing her right hand. The problems they weren’t sure of were endless. She’d been unable to scan baby’s head or heart and was seriously concerned that there was something significantly life threatening or life limiting wrong with her.

We were ushered into a family counselling room, where I finally went to pieces. From there we were whisked up to the Fetal Medicine Unit (FMU) where they explained all the myriad of terrible things that could be wrong with Hero. They emphasised the abortion cut off limit of 24 weeks. We had precisely 4 weeks to find out what was wrong and to decide whether we should keep her or not (although there was never any doubt to our mind what we would do).

Four days later we were in a specialist hospital for more scans. I don’t think I’ve ever had four days last longer than those. To not know whether to hope or to mourn, to desperately seek hope and reassurance and yet to fear the very same was exhausting. The uncertainty lasted four weeks in all before we were told they were “fairly sure” that baby would be OK, aside from a missing hand. We never got anything more certain than a ‘fairly sure’ – which was our fault. We’d rejected any invasive tests not wanting to put any more risk on our one in 32,000 babe.

Anyone who’s followed our blog knows how everything turned out. It couldn’t be brighter, it couldn’t be better and we couldn’t be happier with our little girl! Fears for her health out the window, fears for her ability melted away: We’re incredibly lucky and are thankful for it every day.

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Yet an experience like that does leave a mark and there’s nothing quite like a second pregnancy to trigger it off. Only my feelings going into things second time around haven’t always been exactly what I expected. Going along to pregnancy scans were a very different kettle of fish this time around. We approached them with a sense of apprehension we didn’t really have last time.

We weren’t helped at all by having a scare at 9 weeks and another one, far worse, at 14-weeks. We were told to rush to the hospital and were accidentally sent up the Fetal Medicine Unit. The moment I walked through the door I broke down. I know the FMU isn’t meant to be hell on earth, but for me it was a place of huge fear, upset and (mercifully temporary) heartbreak. I couldn’t believe I was back there again and under yet more horrible circumstances. Luckily for us we’d been misdirected, were sent elsewhere for the urgent checks and were free to breath another day after investigations proved baby was looking fine despite everything.

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Baby #2

But aside from all that, and the small incident of my badly broken arm, everything else so far has surprised me, pleasantly for the most part. I’ve been surprised by my reactions, I’ve been surprised by my expectations and my responses and I’ve been surprised how good I can feel now after what’s been a pretty stressful twenty weeks!

 

Surprise: Baby’s got two hands!

At our 12-week scan for Baby #2 the sonographer had read our notes, took my intense anxiety into account and kindly spent a lot of time thoroughly checking all of Baby #2’s limbs. Everything looked good. We even saw both the hands on the screen at which point the sonographer turned to us and beamed. Isn’t that wonderful?!

I wasn’t immediately sure why, but I walked out incredibly relieved that everything looked well but my over riding feeling about having seen both hands wasn’t actually relief – it was almost disappointment.

Why on earth would I be disappointed that my baby looked ‘perfect’? I didn’t voice my feelings right away; I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, crazy or churlish. But as I thought about things more, I realised that Hero is absolutely perfect. I wouldn’t change her for the world and every day I celebrate her difference, her personality, her skills and her talents.

Why on earth would I be relieved that Baby #2 had both hands, when my first child was getting on so spectacularly with just the one? Why would I be relieved when I was so fiercely proud? I know there will be harder times ahead for Hero, there will be insecurities, frustrations and upsets and I would never wish upon her, or anyone. But to me she’s utterly perfect and I’m doing everything in my power to bring her up to see that. It would be hypocritical of me to celebrate Baby #2 having both hands, while at the same time believing that Hero is perfect as she is.

Another little bit of the disappointment came from realising that, as much as I celebrate Hero, I don’t really want her to be the only one. We attend Reach family days throughout the year, I show her videos of awesome limb different celebrities, all in an effort to make sure she never has to feel isolated or alone. There’s no doubt that without Reach or the Internet, she’d be the only one in our circle; she would be alone with her difference. I think a little part of me actually wanted Baby #2 to miss a hand as well so that in being different they could both in some way be the same. A part of me was disappointed, not for me, not for the baby, but for Hero.

I know it doesn’t matter – I suspect Hero won’t even care or notice! And I know that I will love both my children with the same fervour, pride and intensity – for all of their differences and for all of their similarities and I can only hope they’ll feel the same about one another.

 

Anxiety: The dreaded anomaly scan

Despite knowing that Baby #2 had two hands, the awful, dreaded 20-week anomaly scan was staring at from me across the weeks. It kept waving at me and reminding me that we weren’t out of the woods yet. The successful 12-week scan (and the follow up reassurance scan after our 14-week scare) could never have fully reassured us because everything had looked awesome at Hero’s 12-week scan too. But if limbs were all good, and Hero was all healthy, what else could there be to fear?

It took a while to realise that I was just frightened of being afraid again. I was no longer under the illusion that the 20-week scan was meant to be a beautiful experience. I knew now that I could be utterly blindsided by something I’d never even imagined, let alone foreseen. I knew that we could be thrown into a whirlwind of medical appointments, tests and consultations and still not get any nearer to an answer. I knew we could be told we might have to make the heart breaking decision to end our child’s life before it had even begun.

I was terrified of the unknown happening again. It never had anything to do with hands or limbs. Ever since we’ve had Hero I get anxious about other people’s 20-week scans too; I have to hear if it all went well. I’m nervous for them, even if they’re feeling nothing but excitement and joy themselves, because I know now what the possibilities are.

The night before our second 20-week scan I barely slept. The weeks and days before I just wanted time to pass. I wanted to be there, I wanted to have it done and have it over with. Then, eventually, I was lying on the couch (the same one where we’d had Hero’s 20-week scan) and the cold jelly was on my stomach. I’d never cried during any other scan but I could hardly breath during this one and my eyes were watering from the moment we’d stepped into the waiting room.

The sonographer was wonderful. She’d seen our notes and she happily talked us through everything – again, taking extra time to check on those hands! We were silent this time, no excited gibbering. We wanted her to have total space to concentrate on what needed to be done. Every time she checked something off her list I felt I could breath a tiny bit more.

There was an awful moment – it felt like hours – where she frowned and concentrated on the heart for far longer than ideal. We could tell she was worried. We moved positions (not easy with an arm in plaster up to the elbow!) and rolled around trying to find a better shot of Baby. I just burst into tears, convinced it was happening all over again. Here we go! Until at last, after what felt like an age, she let out a massive sigh of relief and told us all looked well.

She showed us Baby #2 dancing about on the screen, clearly incredibly relieved not to have had to be the bearer of bad news, gave us a slip saying all was well and sent us merrily on our way.

 

Surreal: No more appointments!

We stopped outside the scan room looking at our photo. I cried again. I knew I’d been stressed, but I hadn’t realised how much until the axe had been removed from above our heads. We looked around a bit and had a moment of ‘what on earth do we do now?’ Were we meant to just… go home?

Last time we’d been in this position we’d been whisked away to another department within moments of leaving the room. We’d started getting appointment letter after appointment letter through the post and we were poked and prodded and scanned to within an inch of our lives. The rest of the pregnancy went by in a whirlwind, with time passing in little dollops of waiting between each new appointment.

At home, this time around, I turned to Google and it looks like I don’t ‘have’ to see anyone at all for another two months.  It was mind blowing. We were just to be left to our own devices! No scans. No check ups. No specialists. All was well.

We do have one consultant appointment lined up for the interim; following on from the last pregnancy and Hero’s dramatic arrival I totally understand why they want to see us. But I don’t think we’ll be returning to the olden days of our first pregnancy. I think/hope the consultant will see us, confirm everything is ok and send us on our way.

It took a few days of getting used to the idea that this was it and that all was well. It took a while for all the intense stress of the past twenty weeks to work its way out of my system. But here we are. And we are so darn excited it’s unbelievable. I never had a moment last time to just enjoy being pregnant. I never truly relaxed until Hero was in my arms and perhaps not even then right away – thanks to on-going very low weight gain, she was well over a year old before I really felt confident.

But I’m here now, getting steadily fatter, being kicked enthusiastically from within, experiencing the pregnancy I’d assumed we’d have last time and feeling incredibly grateful and blessed for every moment. Without all the hospital visits and appointments of last time we have months ahead of us now to enjoy every moment of ‘Hero and Us’ time before this wonderful new interloper arrives!

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Before 3 become 4!

One thought on “Expecting The Unexpected: Pregnancy after a limb difference

  1. So happy for you!!! Fantastic news!

    We are in pretty similar situation. My son was born with limb difference in September 2016, now we are expecting baby nr.2 and I find myself terrified to be very honest. I was so sure first time that nothing can go wrong to me/my baby. Such things happen to other people. Not me. Now going 2nd time this road, I am scared because I know exactly how things might turn unexpectedly. I think to continue with therapy just to be in a better place for myself, my son and baby on the way.

    Good luck to you!:)

    Like

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