T A B L E_T A L K

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Search barnesandnoble.com forbooks about pregnancy
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R E C E N T L Y

That one ridiculous palm
By Anne Lamott
Of Catholic friends, atheist parents and the lily pads of faith
(01/15/99)

Second Thoughts: Earning credit in the straight world
By Sallie Tisdale
Twelve years after he graduated, Michael Backman lied his way backinto high school because he wanted to try again -- not atschool, but at everything wrong that followed
(01/14/99)

Time for One Thing: Marked-down memories
By Grayson Hurst Daughters
Trolling for thrift store bargains is one way to salvage the musty scent of youth
(01/13/99)

What I learned from my breakdown
By Faulkner Fox
How a week at a yoga retreat saved me from the perfect parenting frenzy
(01/12/99)

Drama Queen: The worst toys ever
This month's finalists battle the most nefarious play-pretties that ever tots have touched
(01/11/99)

BROWSE THE MOTHERS WHO THINK FEATURE ARCHIVES

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Mamafesto
By Camille Peri
Why it's time
for Mothers Who Think

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_____FACED WITH THE CRUEL SUSPENSE OF
_____AN ENDANGERED PREGNANCY, A NOVELIST
_____FOUND THAT HER GREATEST COMFORT CAME
_____FROM HEARING STORIES, ESPECIALLY
_____THE SCARY ONES.

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_____BY JOANNA SCOTT

Placenta Praevia was aptly described by James Young Simpson as the condition which aroused more anxiety in the attendant and was of more danger to the mother than any other complication of childbirth.
-- Irvine Loudon, "Death in Childbirth," 1992

It's hard not to love the suspense of a good story, the puzzle of missing facts, the mystery coupled with the promise of resolution. Suspense satisfies us with its paradoxical aspects. It drives us forward through a narrative, revealing more and more at the same time that it continues to conceal. We enjoy not knowing, and we enjoy disclosure. We want to be in the midst of a compelling story even when we feel desperate to reach the end. We enjoy the gradual sharpening of our suspicions.

That's the way I felt during the calm, rotund final months of my first pregnancy. I wanted to meet the little person who would be my daughter, but I also wanted to relish the mystery -- and anxiety -- of not knowing. As long as my child was inside me, I knew where she was and had a sense from her pokes and prods and hiccups of how she was, even if I didn't yet know who she was. Pregnancy seemed to be one of the most satisfying stories, deeply suspenseful and hinting at every step of its own magnificent resolution. And when the pleasure of suspense threatened to deteriorate into worry, all I'd have to do was give a nudge or eat some penne arrabiata, and my little mystery would start bouncing around, assuring me that she was fine.

And so, pregnant with my second child, I looked forward to the same inspiring suspense, to the paradox of knowing and not knowing, to mystery and reassurance. But fate played one of its tricks, and at my 16th-week sonogram a problem was discovered. The fetus appeared to be developing normally, but the placenta was low-lying, directly over my cervix. All of a sudden I was promoted to the high-risk category of expectant mothers (goodbye to the trip to Italy we'd planned, goodbye to everyday pleasures, hello to "conservative management," as the doctors put it). The sweet, 40-week suspense of gestation became dark, strange, almost, at times, unbearable. Suspense was no longer a delight to me, and I found myself desperate to learn everything I could about my condition. I wanted to exchange uncertainty for absolute certainty. I wanted to know what was going to happen to me and my baby.

There is no place for routine vaginal examination in the diagnosis of placenta previa. This is because such examination may cause a torrential hemorrhage.
-- High Risk Pregnancy: Management Options, 1994

The afternoon of the day of the ultrasound, I went to my local library and checked out books about pregnancy. I was frustrated by the lack of information. Placenta previa tended to be briefly defined along with other high-risk indicators, including hyperemesis gravidarum, preeclampsia and spontaneous abortion. In contrast to such odd terms, placenta previa didn't sound so dangerous. But then again, I was 35 years old, of "advanced age" in obstetric terms. "The chances of a number of complications, such as Down's syndrome in the baby, preeclampsia, and poor labor pattern, increase with age," as the writers of "Pregnancy, Childbirth and the Newborn" put it. I was old. I was "high-risk." I was guilty. Not only was I guilty of risking pregnancy at an advanced age, but I was guilty of worrying and therefore compromising with my bad vibes the fetus growing inside me.

At that point, I could have recognized that the books were not reassuring me as I'd hoped they would and given up on my quest for information. I had an experienced group of physicians in charge of my care, and the hospital where I would deliver had one of those facilities for high-risk deliveries billed as "state of the art." But I was obsessed and becoming more obsessed. And so I turned from the layperson's guides to the medical textbooks and read on.

N E X T_ P A G E: An awful feeling of foreboding

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