No Spida Bifida!

Today is the most nervous I’ve felt in a long time. I can’t help playing over in my mind all the possible scenarios that the doctor might say. As we’re waiting in the clinic, I’m on my laptop playing solitaire to take my mind off my worries. The wife probably thought I didn’t have a care in the world. (Psst! I do care! I just needed a distraction, OK?)

As a typical man, I keep my emotions inside. I hadn’t really talked about how I felt about this whole situation with anyone. I’ve mainly stayed quiet and listened to what my wife had to say instead. I don’t want her to know I’m scared too. Someone needs to be the strong one, even if it’s just an act.

As the doctor looks at the ultrasound, we tell him what the other doctor said. He immediately derides the other doctor and tells us that our baby has no spina bifida and no lemon head. He says this with a resolved look on his face, as if daring us to challenge his verdict.

I begin cranking out facts that I’ve picked up in my research, but he seems unimpressed and unmoved. “No spina bifida! No lemon head!” 

And to top this off, he proceeds to say that he’s 90% certain our baby is a girl, not a boy.

Whelp, I’m officially confused now. Everything this doctor has said is the complete opposite of what the one at the hospital said. I might as well close my eyes and randomly pick who to believe. So much for getting closure on this matter, but at least there’s still a chance our baby is OK.

We decide the best thing to do is to go visit a third doctor and have a tie-breaker. If the other two doctors were complete opposites of each other, this one sat neutrally in the middle. He didn’t confirm whether our baby had any defects or not, just that we needed to wait for the blood tests to be sure. Sigh.

And as if we didn’t have enough worries, he tells us that our baby has some choroid plexus cysts in the brain. For crying out loud! Haven’t we been through enough already?! 

Thankfully, it sounds worse than it really is. A choroid plexus cyst is a fluid-filled space in the choroid plexus, which is the part of the brain that produces fluids essential to the brain and spinal cord. Typically, these disappear by the third trimester. 99% of babies who have choroid plexus cysts are born healthy. 

I decide to have faith in these numbers and not let it affect my sleep. It’s already been a tiring past two nights, and I don’t need another one.

Don't Forget to Take Your Folic Acid

It seems the primary cause of spina bifida is an insufficient intake of folic acid. Doctors recommend that women start taking folic acid at least one month before they try to get pregnant. But according to a survey, while 79% of women know that folic acid plays an important role during pregnancy, only 7% knew to take folic acid before trying to get pregnant. 

And more importantly, exactly how many women have a planned pregnancy? It turns out only about 50%. Which probably means about 50% or more of pregnant women didn’t take folic acid during the month before they knew they were pregnant. 

Research has shown that folic acid can reduce the risks of neural tube defects by up to 73%. That’s a game changer in my book. I’m befuddled why friends who have gone through a pregnancy never thought to tell Jessie and me about this. People are always talking about not drinking alcohol or smoking. Why not talk about taking folic acid?

If most people are like Jessie and me, they probably don’t start looking up information concerning pregnancy until after the fact. If I knew about the dangers of neural tube defects and I knew that taking folic acid could help prevent it, I would be telling every woman I know. It should be ones civil duty to inform the uninformed of such matters.

I hope everyone who reads this post follows my example and says the following important lines to their friends and loved ones.

Me: Hey, when are you planning on having a baby?
Friend: I’m not sure. We’ll see.
Me: Cool! Oh, by the way, DON’T F*CKING FORGET TO TAKE FOLIC ACID AT LEAST ONE MONTH BEFORE YOU TRY!!! AND EVEN IF YOU’RE NOT PLANNING, TAKE IT ANYWAYS, BECAUSE YOU NEVER F*CKING KNOW!!

(Friend leaves grateful and thankful after hearing this message, albeit a bit shaken up.)

We’re going to our usual doctor at the clinic on Thursday to get a second opinion.

Spina Bifida

Today, Jessie went to the doctor’s for her monthly check-up. She’s approximately 16 weeks and 5 days. Instead of going to the baby clinic we normally go to, she goes to the hospital where our baby will be born. We’ve been looking forward to this visit because the doctor could tell with some certainty what sex our baby might be. Since I had to work, I reassured her before I left that regardless of whether we had a boy or girl, I would love him or her equally. 

When she finally called after the visit to the doctor, Jessie said that she was able to see a very clear picture of our baby on the ultrasound. She said the baby was waving to her. I smiled at the thought of this. She went on to say that our baby has 5 fingers on each hand, 5 toes on each foot, and a strong heartbeat. Everything that should be there is there. But I could tell something was wrong. 

After a bit, Jessie said the doctor had stated our baby’s head was shaped like a lemon. This was a likely indication that he or she might have some neural tube defects. I didn’t know what this meant, but it didn’t sound good. Jessie was devastated by this news. The whole bright future I had planned for our child was instantly wiped out. I couldn’t say anything.

Deep down, I always knew there was a chance that something might happen. But no parent ever wants to think about it happening to their own child. It always happens to someone else’s. Jessie then told me that our baby was possibly a boy. But at this point, it didn’t really seem to matter.

I immediately went online and started to find everything I could about neural tube defects and lemon heads. Turns out, if your baby has a head that’s shaped like a lemon, meaning the top is concave on both sides, chances are, he/she might have spina bifida, which is a birth defect caused by the incomplete closure of the embryonic neural tube. I spent all day and night reading up on this, hoping to find some glimmer of hope that possibly the doctor was wrong. 

I ask to see the ultrasound picture, hoping that perhaps the head is OK. Maybe the doctor just overreacted. I look at the picture. The concave shape is clear as day. The only thing I can cling on to is that the doctor said he isn’t certain anything is wrong with our baby. We have to wait for the result of the blood test and need to come back in a month for another check-up. A month is a long time. Especially when there’s a chance for bad news.

I go on forums specifically aimed at parents who have babies with spina bifida. I ask a ton of questions, but most responses, though encouraging, don’t help ease my worries, only increase them. One replier remarks that she hopes to, “NEVER HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN.” I couldn’t agree with her more.

The wife is already starting to worry and cry about the situation. I tell her not to worry and to keep a positive outlook. We’ll get through this together. Her parents echo my feelings and encourage her to remain strong, but I feel those are all empty words. How can one not worry at times like these?

Merry Christmas

For Christmas Eve, I took my pregnant wife to eat at Burger King. That’s right. You read that correctly. Nothing screams romance and love like a nice candlelit dinner with the King. All kidding aside, I want it to be known for the record that it was my wife’s idea to eat there, not mine.

I haven’t forgotten my last trip to the couch, and therefore decided that I wanted to make it up to her with a nice meal on Christmas Eve. We had planned to watch Tron in 3D at the IMAX that night, but coordinating a dinner plan that fit with our movie time was a bit difficult. By the time we drove to the theater, found parking, and got our tickets, there was barely 30 minutes left to eat. 

My wife suggested we just eat at Burger King because that was the quickest thing. I nearly had a heart attack at these words. My mind raced back to our argument a few nights earlier about food. I could picture things in my mind already. I would get in trouble again, and she would indulge herself in telling the story of how I took her to Burger King for Christmas Eve to friends and family.

Jessie: How was your Christmas?
Friend: Oh, it was wonderful! My husband took me to a romantic, Michelin three-star restaurant, and then he gave me this beautiful gold necklace from Louis Vuitton. What about you?
Jessie: Well, I simply had a lovely time at Burger King with my always amazing husband. I was thinking he’d take me to KFC, but when we stopped at Burger King, I nearly fainted! What a treat! I thought I had died and gone to heaven. The way they cooked the burger, I honestly thought I biting into a piece of juicy tenderloin! And my Christmas present was a movie which I really had no interest in seeing, but went to anyway because I love my dear husband so much. It shall be a Christmas to be cherished and remembered for all ages! Merry Christmas! Ho-ho-ho!!

(Friend slowly backs away from my crazed-looking wife)

I tried to convince Jessie that we could go eat at a nicer restaurant, but in truth, I knew there wasn’t much chance of that happening if we were to catch our movie. Therefore, Burger King it was.

However, I made her promise that she was completely OK with it and that this was her idea and not mine. If I had had a piece of paper and a pen with me, I would have made her sign a contract acknowledging all of this and thereby taken the responsibility off my shoulder.

In case you’re wondering, Tron in 3D at the IMAX was amazing! And yes, she did tell her family about Burger King.

Help Wanted

Jessie’s become increasingly frustrated at how I won’t let her do anything in the house anymore. I usually plop her on the couch, hand her the remote, and tell her to stay while I go around doing the housework. You’d think this is the dream of every pregnant and non-pregnant woman in the world. 

She often feels guilty for having me do everything, and truth be told, I do try to make a big scene of things when I’m doing the chores, just to make her feel bad. 

Me: Whelp, I’m off to do the dishes.
Me: If I don’t do them, who will?
Me: Wow! Will you look at all these dirty dishes!
Me: The frying pan is really dirty. I will scrub it until it shines.
Me: Whew! This scrubbing is hard work, but don’t worry about me. You just sit there and relax.
Me: Look at how well I cleaned these glasses! Do you see how they sparkle when I hold them under the light?
Me: Ta-da! I’m all done! It was tough, but I got the job done.
Me: I think I’ll go tackle the dirty laundry now. My work around the house is never done!

I know, I’m a horrible husband. 

I’ve been noticing that I get extremely hostile now whenever she tries to do any of the housework. It’s not because I like doing the work, but because I’ve got a system of doing things now, and she’s ruining the system. Get with the system, woman! 

Yesterday night, she happily tells me that she’s finally found a chore for herself that she can do without getting in the way. You see, I always leave the string at the sink after I floss and forget to throw it away after I shower. And since she usually showers after me, she’s the one that has to pick it up. I suppose out of the kindness of my heart, I could let her have this most important task. Anything to keep the wife happy!

Christmas Comes in January

My parents are coming to visit us on Jan. 21 for a month. While they get along well with Jessie, it’s still stressful on us because our apartment is small enough as it is with only the two of us. We won’t really have privacy anymore or the ability to do whatever we want. Everything has to be planned around them. I’m sure most people can relate to this.

But this time, I’m actually looking forward to them coming. Mainly because I know they’ll help out with buying baby clothes and other baby related products. My dad has even offered to buy us a new camcorder so we can record the big moment. I feel a bit sleazy to be using them like this, but hey, who am I to deprive them of pampering their future grandkid. I redeemed myself later when he asked if I wanted an iPad for Christmas, but politely refused.

I’ve been keeping a close eye on all our money transactions, and it disappears frightenly fast. After paying rent and bills, we’re lucky if we even have a few bucks left over. If we weren’t at her mother’s house for dinner so often, we’d probably be down at the soup kitchen trying to score a free meal. 

I can see why Jessie’s constantly worried about money and why she refuses to quit her job. I don’t even want to think about the money we’re going to have to fork over for this kid. Therefore, whenever my parents offer to buy something, I shall gladly thank them and accept. 

I’m thinking of writing out a wish list, but that might be pushing their goodwill a bit too far.

Good Cop/Bad Cop

Jessie’s friend and her two year old daughter came over Sunday afternoon to hang out. I had been out earlier, and when I came home, her daughter, who was sitting with them at the table, comes rushing over to play with me. I’ve never really seen this kid before, but I’m liking her already. She’s got good taste in play pals.

My wife seems a bit envious because apparently, her friend’s daughter had no interest in playing with her earlier. I don’t blame the kid. Jessie’s idea of fun is giving a lecture every time I do something to her disliking.

If there was any doubt of me being a good father, the evidence is right there in front of the wife’s eyes. I might not be great at holding my own during an adult-related conversation, but I’ll run circles around her any day of the week when it comes to playing with kids. This is a great example of how a weakness (my immaturity) can be turned into a strength.

I’ve often joked around with Jessie that our kid will like me better than her. She says that it’s not a competition. Ok, fine, it’s not a competition, but our kid will still like me better than you. That's just something that can't be helped. You wouldn't want me to be a bad parent on purpose just so our kid likes you more, would you? There’s nothing like a little healthy competition to bring out the best in every parent. Equality is overrated.

She’s worried things will turn out like good cop/bad cop, where I’m obviously the cool parent and she’s the one that nags at and disciplines our child. No worries. I’m prepared to play bad cop/bad cop, just like Will Ferrell in the movie, The Other Guys. We’ll have our kids so confused they won’t know what hit them. Pow!