Safe and Ultrasound

We went in for an ultrasound yesterday. This was our first “real” ultrasound for this pregnancy. We visited an office dedicated to the art with giant ultrasound machines capable of peering through space and possibly time, as opposed to the tiny portable machines in her OB’s office with crayon-like lettering on the side saying “My First Ultrasound Machine.”

Here’s the important information: We’re having two boys, and they both look normal so far. Now you can continue reading, or quit here and return to your routine of scouring for Lindsay Lohan pics.

I see ultrasounds as a nerve-wracking procedure. Since the only notable thing they can tell you, besides gender, is that something is developing abnormally, they can only give bad news. Even if everything is developing normally, they can’t eliminate the possibility that something is seriously wrong, leaving me to walk out feeling at least vaguely concerned. They can verify that neither fetus appears to have Down Syndrome, but that just means the odds fall from 1 in 1100 before the ultrasound to 1 in 2300 after the good ultrasound, or 1 in 1150 that one of the twins will have Down Syndrome as the doctor helpfully pointed out. They can verify that the heart is present, divided into four chambers, and beating properly, but that doesn’t eliminate the possibility of a serious heart defect, like holes in the heart. They can verify the presence and proper appearance of all extremities, but they can’t remove the possibility that multiple sclerosis will render the appendages near useless. I never hear unambiguous good news. The technician never says, “Here’s the brain. This part here means he will grow up to be president. Congratulations. And this part here means that he will be another James Buchanan, if you catch my drift.”

For Ellie the best good news/confirmation that nothing bad is happening yet is that everything is still sealed tight and thick. Twins obviously have a greater mass than single fetuses, which puts greater pressure on the plumbing. When the pressure builds too high for the anatomy to handle, look out below because here comes the kids. Dams operate under the same principal. If things start looking weak, the remedy is perpetual bed rest (for the mother, not the dam). If Ellie were to be attached to the bed from now until the twins come in December, we’d be in trouble without her income. In an act of cruel irony, we would have to cancel the cable to save money right about the time she would finally have the time to enjoy it. Fortunately Ellie’s cervix is holding up nicely and strong enough to contain a Frenchman’s hatred for Lance Armstrong.

Not that we didn’t have some excitement. Discovering that we were going to have two boys instead of one of each was exhilarating, especially when I tried to hide my feelings about having to buy two completely new wardrobes instead of being able to recycle Abbie’s old clothes. The part where we had to leave the building for 20 minutes because something activated the fire alarm was pretty exciting too, though I was calmed when Ellie informed me that doctors, unlike lawyers, charge by the visit instead of the hour. Otherwise the experience was pretty banal, staring at grainy images comprised of dark blotches and not-as-dark blotches while the technician explains what we’re looking at. It certainly wasn’t exciting as searching for Lindsay Lohan pics, or insert the applicable celebrity here if you’re another James Buchanan.