It occurred to me just yesterday that I neglected to put up the photos we recieved from our “big sonogram”. They had a machine there that not only took high resolution, 4D video of our baby, but it also had a photo printer and CD burner. They very kindly offered us a complimentary CD-ROM containing images of Casey from the womb. Won’t it be weird when an entire generation of children can see what they looked like at varying stages of development, clearly?
Right now we have a picture of Casey on our mantle. We’re considering superimposing her in a picture and giving that out as our Christmas card. Ew.
Today was “the big sonogram”, as they call it. Apparently this is some sort of milestone… that we magically had to discover by virtue of the fact that Lesli’s cousin, Taji, is also pregnant (and has the exact same due date as us - believe me that fact is more than a bit unsettling). Perhaps the fact that I was unaware of this indicates that I should be reading more baby books, but I also have to say, Lesli was unawares as well.
Nevertheless, we had the sonogram scheduled at almost random for us, for today at 1:50pm (which is somewhat of an odd time). They let us in fairly quickly - a technician named Jane directed us into the room where she started the sonogram process.
That’s the Caramel Cub, Casey. The part at the very end of the video is stunning to me - how crisp and clear you can make her out. She’s beautiful, a perfect little sweetheart.
We were lucky that Jane allowed us to take video in the room. The sound has been edited out of the video, but I assure you it is absolutely fantastic - Jane’s thick southern accent litters the video with exclamations of what a beautiful, cooperative baby she is, and how much Casey moves and wiggles. She even went so far as to proclaim that Casey was “the best baby [she's] seen all day.” Of course, it’s my girl. What would anyone expect?
Nonetheless, the biggest part of taking this video is, of course, not known to everyone. My mother is currently in the NSICU at John Muir Medical Center in Walnut Creek, with a mass in her right frontal lobe (as far as I can tell from my sister’s description - I really wish I would have been able to speak to the neurosurgeon as I actually studied neuropsychology in college). She was admitted on Tuesday evening, late, with headaches, etc., and the MRI showed that she has a large mass pressing against her cortex. She’s set to have surgery tomorrow, on Friday - a 5 hour operation that should help them determine the nature of the body and how to treat it. Without treatment, we could lose her within a month.
I went to visit my mother on Wednesday, and she said to me, behind a choked sob and her beeping vitals, that she needed to see Casey, to hold her, and after that God can do what he needed to. At this point I hatched my scheme to bring in the video camera to the sonogram and then bring it back to the NSICU so she could view it.
Jane was kind enough to give us some extra print outs of the particularly cute pictures of Casey, one of which is with my mother, on her bed.
I sometimes rail against technology - about its ubiquitousness in our lives and how much it manages to drive us apart by being too accessible. In this situation, I can’t help but thank… whatever… for the technology that we have. My mother, regardless of what happens tomorrow, has seen my baby girl - she’s seen videos of her smiling and waving her arms and wiggling… she’s got a picture of her to watch over her while she sleeps tonight. Technology has allowed me to share my daughter with her grandmother, and while I know it was painful for both my mother and I to contemplate the notion of not being there to see her grandchild born, it was more special for her to experience her grandchild, ten fold.
Casey, you may not know it yet, but your abuela loves you very much, and thinks you’re the most beautiful little angel in the world.
So, I don’t believe any of us really believed it wouldn’t turn out well, but precautions have to be taken.
Lesli just recently underwent what’s called a “CVS” test - or a Chorionic Villus Sampling test. What that means, for those of you who are not in the know, is that Lesli is pregnant, and got a test that would determine if our child had Down Syndrome.
Turns out, of course, that everything is normal, which is basically what we both expected (though of course, one’s general fears at night can keep them straying towards worry). The test also told us the gender of the child - turns out that we’re having a little girl.
So before you ask, there’s a quick run-down to be had:
1 - No, this was not planned.
2 - We’ve known for ~9 or so weeks. End of the day, we didn’t say anything because precautions had to be made in regards to the viability of our little cub
3 - Yes, it is incredibly scary
4 - No, I’m pretty sure neither of us are truly ready. If you find someone who was ready to have their first kid at any time before the kid graduates high school who isn’t insane, please direct me to that person so that I may nominate them for a Nobel prize.
5 - Yes, we’ve thought of names. That will probably be discussed later.
6 - Yes, our family knows. Well, mine does. Most of Lesli’s does as well. I believe the remaining family members are those who are currently on vacation.
7 - Yes, Lesli will be moving in.
8 - No, there are no plans on marriage yet. Our cub will be a bastard. Fitting, considering my RBSC ties.
9 - No, I’m not BSing you. Attached is a picture of our sonogram.
10 - Yes, it is creepy that you’ve now seen the inside of Lesli’s uterus.
So, let’s take a minute to explain what the deal is with “Caramel Cub”, just so we are all on the same page.
Ever watch Scrubs? It’s the best comedy on TV no one actually watches. The main focus of the show are two doctors, J.D. (Zack Braff) and Turk (Donald Faison). In it, J.D. often refers to Turk as “Brown Bear” or “Chocolate Bear”, as he’s black. Now, of course, I am not black - I’m hispanic, and my skin is more of a medium brown color. Lesli, on a lark, one day referred to me as a “caramel bear”, a fact that far too many people are aware of to even pretend that it’s not true. I’m not entirely sure where the “bear” part came from, but whatever. That’s beside the point.
The point is, if a bear were to have a child, that’d be called a cub.
So, in some time in the late April / early May time frame, we’ll be witnessing the birth of our Caramel Cub, whose name will be identified later.
Attached, proof - for those who don’t believe us:
-oz
For now, it’s the waiting game. I suppose, in a way, it’s been the waiting game for a while. Waiting for this, waiting for that… waiting for direction as to how to plan one’s life.
That’s generally a heady thing - the planning of one’s life, and it’s interesting how it can all boil down to what happened on a test. Odd to think that results will define me, or us, and what all of that nonsense above means.
Literally every second of every day I burn cycles of thought looking at my phone, or looking at my email, for some sign for the next step. You’d not believe how impatient this makes us, nor would you believe how much sleep has been lost from it.
The next question is, will that compare to the amount of sleep that we might be losing in the near future as a result of the tests?
It seems that something that one can never quite escape from life, no matter how far from a classroom, is testing. Tests of some form or another find their way into our lives, whether they be tests of determination, tests of character, tests of strength, tests of skill, tests of driving capabilities, tests of the “water”: it never ends. The important thing is how you handle not only the test itself, but the outcome of the test.
Did you do the best you could? Can you do what’s right? Do you have faith that you tried every step of the way?
These are things I wonder about myself right now, and will be thinking about tomorrow as various aspects of life get tested once again. I know we can press on.
In the interest of sharing tests, check out some of the following:
