While our surrogate’s pregnancy has been uneventful and very healthy, we haven’t been quite as lucky with my pregnancy. Mr. Starfish and I opted to do CVS testing at 12 weeks on my pregnancy. We received a call back the same day informing us that the preliminary markers for the most common chromosomal abnormalities were clear, and we also received the beautiful news that we were expecting a girl. We were thrilled and relieved, and we also thought that was the end of that story. The genetics counselor had told us before the procedure that the odds of uncovering other chromosomal abnormalities in the more detailed analysis were very low, and that if we got the “all clear” signal with same-day results, that we were unlikely to be called back again with further news.

So imagine our surprise when two weeks later I received a call from the genetics counselor. She told me that the more detailed analysis of my CVS showed three copies of chromosome 7. This was called “trisomy 7,” indicating that there were three copies of the chromosome when there should have been two. She said that this particular trisomy is “incompatible with life” and so I needed to have an amniocentesis immediately to determine if the trisomy was restricted only to the placental cells (which is what the CVS tested) or if it was also in the amniotic fluid (which would indicate that the baby also had the abnormality).

I was terrified to receive this news. Although in hindsight I probably overreacted, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that I could miscarry at any single second. The genetics counselor had explained that a baby who had this abnormality could not survive and that the pregnancy would naturally terminate, and that if the baby did have this abnormality, it was surprising that a miscarriage hadn’t already happened.

I went home that night and totally lost it. I retreated to the couch and curled up in a little ball and sobbed so hard that our cats became scared and stared at me with huge wide eyes. Meanwhile, Mr. Starfish retreated to a quiet corner in our condo to do research on trisomy 7. After 90 minutes of my hysterical sobbing, Mr. Starfish came to the rescue and showed me several research papers that indicated that the odds were basically zero that the baby had trisomy 7; the fact that the baby was still alive was nearly enough proof that the trisomy 7 was restricted only to the placenta because babies had never been observed alive this far along in a pregnancy and also have trisomy 7.

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Thankfully, this research proved to be correct when we went in for the amniocentesis. The baby’s cells did not have trisomy 7. We breathed a huge, and I mean HUGE, sigh of relief. We also finally found the humor in the situation when the doctors and nurses and genetics counselors said repeatedly that “this almost never happens.” We heard that phrase so much during our infertility battles that we practically considered it our motto. So of course we were not surprised to hear it again!

While we were relieved, we also had to come to terms with the fact that the placenta remained abnormal. It had too many chromosomes, and there was a risk that the baby could be endangered if the placenta didn’t do a good job because of that abnormality. In particular, we were warned of “Intrauterine Growth Restriction” (IUGR) where the baby would not grow normally. This would only become apparent later in the pregnancy.

Because of these risks, I was immediately deemed a high risk pregnancy. This was obviously scary, but Mr. Starfish and I consoled ourselves with studies that showed many babies with trisomy 7 present in the placenta were born perfectly healthy. As my pregnancy progressed, and we got further away from all of the drama of the CVS and amniocentesis, and everything appeared normal in my measurements, we got comfortable. We felt safe with the pregnancy.

This changed a little bit this week when I went in for a 28 week ultrasound and we heard that our little girl is measuring quite small. While her overall measurements place her in the 30th percentile, her head is measuring only in the 4th percentile, and her abdomen and femur measurements are only in the teen digits. With Mr. Starfish and I both above-average in height, we can’t attribute her small size to genetics. The most reasonable conclusion in our minds is that the abnormal placenta is already restricting our dear baby girl’s growth.

While our doctors and nurses assure us that there is nothing to worry about at this time, Mr. Starfish and I are natural worriers. I have to admit that I am struggling right now with a good amount of anxiety and fear. I particularly hate the internet this week because I’ve turned to it to understand our baby’s measurements and I’ve found the scary mention of microcephaly and other serious disorders. I’ve vowed to myself to try to stay off the internet right now and trust in my doctors and nurses instead.

I also have to put trust in our baby girl. This is the miracle baby who found a way to attach to my uterus when countless other embryos failed. This is the strong baby who kicks me daily to remind me that she is a fighter. This is the active baby who is always putting on a show in ultrasound exams, bouncing around and being described as “wild” by more than one ultrasound technician. My heart tells me that this baby girl is going to once again take us by surprise, put on some extra weight and inches, and get out of these small growth percentiles. And when she does, and the doctor says “this almost never happens,” I will smile. Because that’s our girl, and that’s her motto.