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Testing time

By Lisa Morris

The early months of pregnancy can involve a seemingly endless round of screening tests – especially if you are an “older” mom. Lisa Morris talks to one first-time mother who faced her biggest fear – then guides you through the screening tests.


Discovering a defect


After a traumatic ectopic pregnancy and IVF, it was almost unreal when we found out we were having a baby. Despite my fertility battles with polycystic ovarian syndrome and endometriosis, I was only 31 and anticipated an easy and healthy pregnancy. And apart from morning sickness, I sailed through my first trimester.

Then we had the 22-week scan. For half an hour, my doctor methodically checked my baby's head, her spine and organs, nodding reassuringly as she explained what she was measuring. And then she got to the feet and said, “Oh, that's not good.” We saw her feet. Her tiny little deformed feet. Her tiny little clubbed feet. And my world fell apart. She explained that club feet can be formed by the way the baby is lying or can be linked to a congenital condition. "Sometimes the brain just forgets to turn the feet out," she said calmly.

After a second scan confirmed the diagnosis, our doctor explained what we were up against. She told us that there was a 10 per cent chance that clubfeet had something more sinister linked to it. They can be linked to chromosomal abnormalities, specifically chromosome 18 abnormalities. A lethal defect, our baby would die shortly after birth. Or it could be nothing – just nature’s cruel way of providing me with a child who is special. And, in time, her feet would be fine and she’d walk and run just like any other kid.

Before we fell pregnant, we had agreed that we would terminate if our child was mentally handicapped or had Down’s syndrome. But we never thought we would have to face that in reality. The legal termination date in South Africa is 24 weeks and, at 22 weeks already, our options were limited. Amnio results would take a couple of weeks and by then it would be too late to terminate. Or we could leave it and take our chances. Our only other choice was cordiocentesis – a test that would give us rapid results, but carried a worrying risk of miscarriage. How do you make a decision that could potentially kill your unborn child, especially one you can feel wiggle and tickle you from the inside out?

Armed with case studies and information, we went home to weigh up our options. We took turns crying as we hashed it out, but we both knew we couldn’t endure the rest of the pregnancy not knowing if our baby would survive into childhood. If there was something wrong, we wanted to know what it was. Knowing that you might lose a perfectly healthy baby because you have had a test is terrifying, but having a mentally handicapped baby scared me more.

Two days later we returned to the clinic. I thought I had got used to needles and being prodded and poked from the IVF but I was terrified. You need to be very still when you have cordiocentesis. I was anxious, tearful and jittery. Our doctor put on two pairs of gloves, cleaned my stomach and asked me to look at the screen so I could see what she was doing. If I had moved as the needle went in, it could have caused problems.

She put the ultrasound on my tummy to locate my placenta. I was looking at my baby wiggling and I just couldn’t bare to lose her. I mentally urged her to keep still. A needle was inserted just above my belly button. It took about five attempts to get the needle into the umbilical cord to draw some of baby’s blood. The only way I can describe it is that it hurt like hell; almost like when you have a blood test by an inexperienced nurse who has to dig around to find a vein. With each attempt, my fears that I would lose my baby increased. Finally they retrieved enough blood from the umbilical cord.

The next 48 hours were crucial, but the risk of miscarriage only really passed after two weeks. I had to keep as still as possible for the next two days. I watched the entire first season of Lost and got up only to go to the toilet. Each time I sneezed, I cringed.

A week later we got the results. Her tiny feet would be a stumbling block at her birth, but otherwise she was healthy. Then came the “what can we do about it”? Months of casts, surgery, physiotherapy. My poor little girl. How would I breastfeed when both her legs were in casts? How would we bond? How much pain would she be in while they contort her feet to the correct angles? The next two months were a waiting game. We painted the baby room, chose a cot and names and got excited.

It’s going to be hard to have a new baby. It’s going to especially hard to have a baby that needs extra care. Our baby's is being watched closely, just to make sure that she continues to grow and develop. I lie on the couch at night feeling her wiggle and squirm and kick. And having clubfeet does not stop her kicking with all her might.


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