So it was not that bad. They didn't get all the pictures they needed because the little squirt was in an odd position, but at this point I'm cheerfully thinking "the more the merrier" with non-invasive tests for Miss Clare Bear.
Here's the ironic part.
I got yelled at.
Yes, the ultra-sound technician was totally freaked out that they didn't catch Tessy's duodenal atresia during her 20 week ultrasound. Now, I did not think that it was totally weird to miss a speck of trouble in a tiny unborn baby's small intestine. But evidently there is some unstated rule that sonograms are 100% reliable in picking up potential birth defects. So the tech was mad and kept commenting on it through out our very long sonogram appointment.
Then she made a big conclusion that clearly I was at fault for the missed diagnosis. Obviously, it was awful that I brought all my distracting young kids into the previous ultrasound and disrupted the prior tech's concentration. That was the only reasonable explanation for why Tessy's condition went undiscovered.
a) Meanwhile, the tech is lecturing me while she and are are ALONE in the room, which is exactly how it went for 28 1/2 minutes during the last ultrasound with Tess. (I only bring my kids and my husband in at the end of a sonogram to see the youngest baby.)
b) Where does someone get off yelling at the Mom? Especially the Mom of a disabled kid?
c) (which I didn't realize until my husband noted it during our car ride home) this was the EXACT same tech who did Tessy's ultrasound!
Ahh! This conversation made me so mad! (Plus the tech's disclosure that there has been a perinatologist in the same building that I could have easily gotten a referral to see on week one of my pregnancy, instead suffering through weeks of nervousness to week 25).
During our ride home I was channeling my buddies St. James and St. John of Zebedee. "Can't Jesus just burn up that whole building with fire from heaven?" I asked my husband only half in jest. "Our HMO has been so mean to me for four straight pregnancies now AND they do abortions there."
My dear, Carmelite husband looks at me and says seriously "Abby, they ARE going to all end up on Fire. It's called Hell. And it lasts forever. If you don't have Jesus, it's impossible to be nice to a pregnant woman. Impossible! That's where our prayers for God's mercy are supposed to come in."
(I'm telling you, if I end up in heaven after all my "hair trigger temper tantrums" it's going to be solely because I've got the cheat sheet to Jesus' heart itself in my spouse!)
So in the end, I'm working on forgiving everyone in advance of this sweet daughter's birth, because chances are that not a lot of doctors, nurses and ultra sound techs are going to be super excited about kid number five entering into the world.
But that's fine. Because her Daddy, me and Jesus are firmly in her fan club. Our love counts more!