Light

It used to be that when you flew into Hong Kong airport, the planes would have to fly directly towards a mountain with a bulls-eye painted on it. At the last minute, they would veer a sharp right and start the descent. The landing strip was particularly short, located in the heart of the city, flanked by tall buildings on both sides, and the strip extended out into the water so that a precipitous touchdown would mean a watery grave.

I remember landing once at night and the very bumpy, skittered landing it was with the plane bouncing back up again as it touched down, before rushing to brake as the runway petered out. I imagine that the pilots relied heavily on those runway lights that stretched the length of the landing strip, even out into the bay. (Addendum: If you’re interested, click here to see photos.  I was mistaken in that the water was at the end of the runway, and not at the beginning of it for the landings).

It must have been nerve-wracking for the experienced pilot and impossible for the novice. When my roommates from Taiwan made the trip for the first time, they made it all the way to the point of touch down in Hong Kong before the pilot pulled up sharply and flew all the way back to Taiwan. He was too frightened to land.

An inconvenient case of nerves is certainly better than a watery grave.  And now there is a more modern airport with better landing facilities, located a bit further out.

At another time when I was flying into Singapore at night, I remember looking down as much as 30 minutes before the scheduled landing time and seeing lights shine below out of the blackness at regular intervals. I was baffled. It was as if I was flying over rural Canada where the residences were few and far between, yet still emitting flares of light out of the darkness.

But Singapore is an island. Where were these lights coming from down below? It wasn’t until we were in the final descent that I got close enough to see that they were fishing boats! The mystery elucidated brought a small smile to my face. I wondered if that was what God saw when he looked down.  Individual acts of love and mercy – small beacons of light in a sea of darkness.

When I was in Taiwan, riding in the mountains with my friend on her motorbike, we were heading home through the winding roads as the afternoon light waned. As we entered a tunnel, we realized that her lights on the motorbike were not working and that the only thing visible was the tiny pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.

I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. It was a little frightening, really. We had to drive slowly because if we veered to the right or to the left, we would crash into the side of the tunnel. The only thing we could do was to fix our eyes on the light ahead and make our way towards it. And that we did; my eyes never once left the light and I was afraid to blink and have total darkness for even one second.

Eventually we made it out of the tunnel and the waning afternoon light was as bright to me as the mid-day sun. And very fortunate for us because there were more tunnels ahead, we realized that the lights were not, in fact, broken at all. My friend had just forgotten to turn them on. Ahem.

This pregnancy has been hard on me, as you are all patient witnesses to through my posts. It’s more than just the constant nausea. (And dare I say, it is abating a bit? I still feel nauseous all the time, but I’m not in fear of throwing up at every moment of the day). It’s my age, being 42 with my three children who are still very very dependent on me. I must admit that I feel old and tired and worn out.  It’s my fear of going through it all again. I don’t remember ever being so lacking in courage.

And now with the nuchal fold test at the 12 week scan showing up as a thick 2.6mm, and the blood statistics test showing up as a 1 in 20 risk for a chromosomal abnormality, I find myself digging even deeper to find my courage.

Yesterday I made an appointment for a prélevement de trophoblaste. I think it’s called CVS in English. I never thought I would have an amniocentesis because we would never, under any circumstances abort. (Although I dread to think what would happen if both my life and the baby’s were seriously in danger because of the pregnancy – may I be spared from that). But this CVS sounded better to me because they would extract cells from the trophoblast, which … I found out … is the organ that becomes the placenta after the 14^th week.

Apparently there is still some risk, but it’s less invasive for the baby because the needle does not enter the amniotic sac and you can have the results in 24 hours as opposed to the weeks of waiting following an amnio.

And my doctor echoed my own thoughts exactly when he said, “you are not in your best form at the moment of delivery so if you have any surprises to digest, it is better for you to have them in advance. Or alternatively, spend a much more tranquil pregnancy knowing that everything is fine.” So I decided to go with it.

But then after discussing the issue on our English moms forum in Paris, posters had mixed reviews. Some were happy they did it. Others said it was quite uncomfortable because the needle went through the cervix (whaa?). And others said that if I was not planning to abort anyway, a good 20 week scan would tell me anything I needed to know, so why go through the pain and the risk?

So now I’m hesitating again. I have a doctor’s appointment at lunch time today and I will make my final decision after speaking with the doctor.  The procedure is not until Thursday so I have time to cancel it if need be.

Sure, I don’t want to be uncomfortable. Mostly I don’t want anything to happen to my precious baby. The only reason I would have this procedure at all is to be mentally prepared, surrendered, informed, ready to give my whole heart to this new life no matter what special needs there might be.

I know all of this is just statistics and that things usually turn out fine. I know that. I also know that I will love my baby regardless.  And even though I will be making my decision before any of you read this, feel free to share any thoughts or experiences you might have. I am heading towards the runway lights without the courage to touch down.

I don’t know why this is such a difficult period for me when I am acutely aware of the blessings. I think it brings up my fears as to how good of a mother I will be to my four children. When I struggle to give even my three the attention they need and deserve because of fatigue (and some depression thrown in), how will I do with four? How will I do with the sleepless nights? How will I do with a baby on the hip for the next four years until he or she starts school?  (And because it’s my fourth, will I give birth in our car on the autoroute)?

What will I do if my baby has special needs that entail multiple doctor’s visits or that demand more from me than I am capable of?

In all these worries, there is darkness and I cannot see my hand in front of my face. I march slowly towards the light, knowing there is no turning to the right or to the left.  I can only go forward.

It’s probably just fatigue talking.  It doesn’t make sense that things would be this black, especially considering the joy that awaits.  But whether or not it makes sense that I can’t see clearly right now, it isn’t just darkness – there is light ahead.

And that, inexorably, is where I’m headed.

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