Liver Little
a referral to a friend of hers who works at Mount Sinai in Toronto, specializing in multiples pregnancies, and I couldn’t be more grateful. After the conversation with Dr. Rowe, I expressed my fears and concerns to Dola, and she reassured me she would advocate for the babies and me through this process. She’s attending my ultrasound in Toronto with me today and having the one-on-one time with her has been nice. She’s clearly excited to become a grandma.
When we arrive at the hospital, like the gem she is, Dola lets me out at the front entrance before making her way into the underground parking. I’ve made a lot of progress over the last few years, but there are still some things I’d prefer to avoid if given the choice. Underground parking garages are one of those things. When she exits the elevator into the hospital lobby, she moves with such confidence and poise, I can’t help but stride along behind her.
We make our way to the ultrasound clinic, and my nerves are soaring right along with the elevator. Dola reaches out and grabs my hand in between both of hers, capturing my attention. “Just breathe, Love. This hospital employs some of the best doctors in the world. I have the utmost faith in them. I wouldn’t trust my grandbabies or my daughter to just anyone.”
When she calls me her daughter, a lump forms in my throat. I grew up without a mother, but now I’m lucky enough to have two. I know already how much love I have for the children I am growing, but these women love me just the same as if I were their own. They each showed up in my life when I needed them most, but for my own children, I vow to never leave them in need.
“Thank you, Dola. I believe you.”
After waiting for thirty-five minutes, I’m finally called in for my ultrasound, which will immediately be sent to the doctor I’ll be seeing for the rest of my pregnancy. The fact I don’t have to wait days for results is comforting. Also, having Dola by my side makes me infinitely more confident in understanding whatever the doctors tell me. My area of expertise is drug addiction; medical terminology is not my forte.
I lie on the exam table through another uncomfortable ultrasound. My belly is protruding enough I look pregnant, not just bloated. It’s exciting to see the growth, because to me, that signals healthy baby growth.
The sonographer, Vanessa, explains that at sixteen weeks, a fetus is the size of an avocado. I imagine my three little avocados hanging out, fluttering around, conspiring what they’ll make uncomfortable next. I chuckle at the thought before I glimpse Vanessa’s furrowed brows, and Dola’s hand clamps onto mine.
My mind goes into panic mode, tears well in my eyes, and I’m struggling to take a deep breath. “Wha… What’s wrong?”
“The doctor will discuss the results with you shortly. No need to panic,” Vanessa replies without looking my direction.
No need to panic? I’m sorry, Vanessa, but my mind doesn’t need a reason to panic. It just does. When you’re looking at images of my babies with a face like someone’s force feeding you a fried tarantula, it’s very much a cause for concern.
“Don’t worry, Love. We’ll see what the doctor has to say. Could you show her the babies? That might put her mind at ease.” No one can say no to Dola’s do-it-or-else smile.
Vanessa turns the monitor toward me and presses a key to turn on the sound. She shows me baby A, baby B, and baby C. It takes some time to capture them all, but I hear three heartbeats and confirm they are moving around like little jumping avocados. Holy guacamole.
I feel a modicum of relief, but I can’t ignore the look she had on her face. When she gives me the go-ahead to wipe the gel off of my abdomen and head to the doctor’s office for results, my anxiety comes marching right along with me. I look down at the printed image I purchased so I can take it home for Liam—the best five dollars I’ve ever spent. Looking at my babies, even though they are barely recognizable as babies, has me flooded with emotions. Love being the primary one, fear being a close second.
When we’re called into Dr. Steel’s office a short time after arriving to register with the receptionist, I’m having a hard time determining if that’s because they’re efficient, or because there’s urgent news to tell me.
I’m seated on yet another exam table in an office plastered with pregnancy posters, and Dola is in a chair to my left.
When the door opens, a tall, ivory-skinned gentleman with deep blue eyes and an auburn crew cut issues a smile before speaking. “Dola, lovely to see you. How have you been?”
My mother-in-law stands, skipping a handshake, giving the man a hug. “I’m well Harvey. How are you? How are Phoebe and the kids?”
“Phoebe is feeling a bit out of sorts now as an empty nester. The youngest flew the coup last fall.”
“Wow, that’s hard to believe. I remember when your first was born while we were in med school. Time flies.”
“That it does.” He takes a seat on his wheeled black-leather stool, setting a manila folder down on the desk and opening a file on his computer.
As he spins around to face me, Dola speaks, “this is my daughter-in-law Chelsea, and my grandbabies. I’m trusting you with giving them the best possible care.”
“Nothing but the best for all of my patients.” He winks, and his light-hearted nature sets me at ease. “Now, Chelsea, this is your first pregnancy?”
This old wound keeps being reopened, and I never know what to say. Yes? No? “I had a miscarriage last year at eleven weeks.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know it can add some anxiety with subsequent pregnancies, but even more so when you’re carrying three. The ultrasound looks good. Baby A and Baby C are right on track with size and where we’d expect them to be.”
“Baby B?” I ask, without letting him finish his sentence.
His sympathetic smile has my fear flooding back in an instant. “Baby B looks fine, but the measurements of the liver are slightly higher than we want them. Now, our ultrasounds are good, but they’re not perfect, so that could be the reason for the discrepancy. In order to be sure, we’ll take a full family medical history and send you for a detailed fetal ultrasound to get more information. An enlarged liver can be an issue, but like I said, we don’t know anything for sure until we get more information, so try your best to keep calm.”
Dola is seated on the exam table beside me, right arm around my shoulders and her left hand holding mine. I’m trying to process everything the doctor is telling me, but I don’t know where to start.
“Are we able to get that done today, Harvey? Or do we come back?”
“I tried to shuffle some things around because I know it’s a long drive for you, but they’re at capacity today. I can get you in on Friday at the earliest.”
Three days. That’s three days to try to continue with my life as normal, knowing one of our babies could have something seriously wrong.
“I’m adopted,” I blurt. “I don’t have a medical history. All I know are my parent’s names and that my father is in a penitentiary in Alberta. Is this…” I choke down my words because I am afraid to know the answer. “Is this because I used drugs before? Is that why we lost our first baby?”
Harvey looks at me, a face full of concern. “No, Chelsea. Unfortunately, we won’t know why you miscarried, but this isn’t an issue related to drug use.” He pauses for a beat before continuing, “are you using drugs now?”
“Now? No. I haven’t touched them for years. I went through a rough patch and used cocaine for a few months, but I haven’t even had a drop of alcohol for four years.”
Harvey smiles at me and gives a faint nod. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad you were able to get through that. But to answer your question again, no. You did nothing to cause this, if it’s even an issue. Remember, we know nothing for certain. I’m just telling you this so you understand why more tests are needed. I’m not telling you to make you panic.”
“Dr. Steel, Panic is my soundtrack.”
He chuckles, but I’m serious. In more ways than one.
“Try to keep your stress level down as much as possible, and when you come back Friday, we’ll have some answers.”
I issue a silent nod, but Dola steps in to speak when I can’t. “Thank you, Harvey. We’ll see you on Friday.”
“See the receptionist on your way out and she’ll get you the appointment details. Until then, Chelsea, get plenty of rest and eat well. Those are the best things you can do right now.”
I leave Dr. Steel’s office, determined to follow his advice the best I can. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for my babies. Resting and eating are hardly sacrifices.