Daughters

Daughters…

There are tons of us girls out there, right?  We need to stick together.

This has been on my mind for such a long time now.  I can’t tell you how often dads come in to my ultrasound room and tell me that all they want is a little boy.  I can count on one hand the number of new daddies that said they were hoping for a little girl.  I count myself lucky if they tell me that they would be “ok” with a little girl.

This hit me really hard yesterday.  It upset me to the point of tears a couple times.  Every time I came back to thinking about it, my eyes would mist up again.

I’ll start with the story that brought it up, and where I went from there.

A couple came in yesterday with their lovely, tiny daughter.  She toddled in wearing little blue jean shorts, and a white camisole top.  Her hair was blond, and still short like a baby, but the ends curled just so.  She was so brave, she didn’t need mommy or daddy to hold on to her, she just followed behind me like she was told.  Her dad said that today was her first birthday, and getting to see her little brother was her present!  I chuckled with him, and said that I bet it wasn’t her only present.

When we got into the ultrasound room, I gave them my whole speech about how my job is to get the pictures the doctors need to make sure the baby is developing normally and healthy.  I told them it would take me about ten minutes to get all of those pictures, and then I would be glad to show them the baby, take some pictures for them to take home, and (if they would like to) we would find out if it is a boy or a girl.  I remembered his comment from earlier, and asked him if they already knew what they were having.  He said, “No, but we just want a little boy this time.”

I turned down the lights, and heard this tiny, piping voice say, “Lights on, peese.”  I stopped where I was standing, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim room.  “Lights on, peese.  Too dawk.”

My mouth fell open, I stood there stunned. 12 months old?  Today is her first birthday?  Full sentence?  I couldn’t believe it.  I asked her, “You want the lights back on?”  She said, “Yes peese.  Too dawk in heea.”

I laughed!  I said to her mother, “That is incredible!  She talks like a two year old!”

They started to tell me about all of the amazing things that she can do, what she talks about, how precocious she is.  Dad was fumbling all over himself pointing out how amazing his daughter was.  He demonstrated her ability to say goodbye in French, Spanish, and German when asked.  (Ever seen a 12 month old baby say ‘auf wiedersehen’?  You melt.)  He seemed like such a proud poppa, so in love with his little girl.

I also have to point out here that their first daughter, and indeed this pregnancy as well were conceived with in-vitro fertilization – a procedure that only works around thirty percent of the time.  I had been thinking to myself the whole time how lucky and thankful they should be to be pregnant at all.

When I got to the part where I turned on my ‘big screen’ TV for them to watch, he half-shouted, “Ok!  Lets find that pee-pee!”  My heart sunk right there.  I already knew it was a girl.  I already knew it was a healthy, beautiful girl… and if she was anything like her big sister, she was gorgeous and amazing.  He didn’t care… he just wanted a boy.

This followed me all day, and then home again that night.  Brock and I started talking about it, and he couldn’t see how much it bothered me.  I told him, “I need to call my dad.”  He laughed and asked, “Why?  So you can talk about Stargate SG-1?”

With tears starting to flow down my cheeks, my voice caught in my throat and I replied, “No… so I can ask him if he was disappointed that I was a girl.”

He gave me a big hug, and tried to console me, but Brock didn’t get it – not even a little bit.  His reply was, “Of course he wasn’t disappointed, he already had two boys.”

Which is exactly my point.  If dad hadn’t had two boys first, if I was his girl, if all he had was girls… would he have been disappointed?  Would I have been enough?  What is it about men that limit them to thinking they can only love a child if it has a penis, and not simply because it is their amazing, beautiful, blessing of a child?

John Mayer wrote a song that said, “Fathers, be good to your daughters.  Daughters will live like you do.  Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers, so mothers be good to your daughters too.”

Daddies out there… your daughters love you.  They look up to you, and need you.  You are their strength, and their courage.  They want to make you proud, make you happy, make you smile.  Please, please don’t ever be sad that you’ve been given a tiny human being that will love you first, and above all others.

I can’t tell you how crushed I would be, now and forever, to know that my dad was disappointed when he found out that he had me.

By The Way…

The mommy I wrote about the other day?  The one that lost her baby?

I saw her in Target yesterday.

She looked SO familiar to me.  I kept staring and staring, trying to figure out how I knew her.  It hit me like a bolt of lightening.  I had JUST written about her.  I had JUST thought about her!  And here she was, right in front of me.

She had a BEAUTIFUL baby girl with her, about a year old, and tears filled my eyes.  I was so so so very happy for her.

I wanted to go over and give her a hug.  I wanted to ask her if she remembered me.  I wanted to tell her how much she touched my life, and that she mattered.

But I didn’t have the guts.

Life is so crazy sometimes.

Some Days I Hate It.

I wrote this back when I worked for an OB clinic.  I think it’s one of the most powerful blogs I’ve ever written.  I really wanted to share it.

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There are very few days that I dislike my job.

Today was really one of them.  It wasn’t a hard day, or superbly busy, or even moderately stressful.  No one yelled at me, and I didn’t piss anyone off.  I can’t even say that I didn’t enjoy the most difficult sonohistogram that I’ve ever done.

I can’t really explain the dread feeling in my gut.  It’s hard to describe the way my heart pounds against my chest, and the way my breath catches in my throat.  The tears prickle in my eyes, and my fingers tremble.  Because the worst part is that I can’t look this mother full in the face and tell her that her baby is fine, and that everything is ok.  It hurts me so much.

My patient came in after not feeling her baby move in almost three days.  She had been out of town, visiting relatives, and noticed all of a sudden that she hadn’t been feeling that familiar flutter that reminded her of her baby girl.  She called us immediately upon returning home, and was told to go eat a big meal, drink some juice, and call back if she didn’t feel any more movement.  She was 27 weeks pregnant, into her third trimester, and she was supposed to be beyond the fear of a miscarriage.

About an hour later, she was in the office in a room with the nurses trying to find the heartbeat with a “doppler.”  They couldn’t find one.  We keep hope, thinking maybe the baby is turned upside down, or laying with her arms and legs towards the dop-tone.  We pray that everything is ok, but we feel the dread in the back of our minds.  The nurse came out of the room, and asked me to scan her.  She said, “Please, tell me you can see a heartbeat in there.”

Immediately the fear sets in.  I know there is very little chance of this being a happy ending.  I tell the doctor that I’m taking the patient in to scan, but please don’t go anywhere in case I need you.

The moment I placed the transducer on her belly, I knew all was not well.  There were no sweet legs kicking back against me.  There were no precious arms waving.  Her little heart was still, no flicker of life in her chest.  I could feel the tears stinging my eyes.  I’m not prepared to deal with this.

“Please, tell me… just tell me.  I need to know, please…”  she begs me.

“I need to take some pictures out to the doctor, ok?”  My voice is strong, and unbroken.  It lies about how I feel.  It doesn’t tell of my heart breaking inside, my mourning for her baby already gone.

I walked out the door, leaving her alone, and I couldn’t hold back my tears.  The doctor knew the moment she saw me, and cursed.  This was her second fetal demise today.

Dr. L came back in the room with me, to verify.  She can’t just go on my word, she has to see it with her own eyes.  The mother is nearly hysterical now, crying “Please don’t tell me… please don’t tell me.   Please, don’t tell me!”  The Doctor looks for nearly a full minute, before she is asked, “Please, doctor.  I have to know.  If it’s not ok, I need to know.”

“I’m sorry.  Your baby is gone.”

She cried, and cried.  She blamed herself.  She asked what she did wrong, and she cried again.  Dr. L held her while her body shook with sobs.  I held her hand as she started to catch her breath.  She said to us, “It’s ok.  I’m ok,” and we both told her, “You don’t have to be ok.”

She said, “I just want to go home.”

She called her husband to come and pick her up.  She wanted some privacy while she was on the phone and we gave it to her.  But I swear to you, right now, that the hardest thing I went through today was trying to maintain my composure when her husband walked into the room, and burst into tears himself.

They had lost their little girl.

Sometimes, I really don’t like my job.