"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away": Part 3

It was the same run-around with the Ultrasound Technician:

 “Here is the baby’s head.” 

“Here are the arms.” 

“Here is the stomach.”

Not a word was mentioned about the condition of the heart.  In a small way I felt our prayers were answered.

Ultrasound Technician:  “Dr. F. would also like to meet with you so get dressed and then wait in the brown chairs in the hallway, to the right of this room, for a nurse to show you to your new room.”

We sat in those brown chairs for nearly 10 minutes, not really knowing what to say to each other. For just a moment in a passing glance, we stared at one another with an awkward smile.  In that moment we both knew:  There is still something wrong with the baby.

I wanted to scream at that voice that dared to tempt me to weaken my faith.  I still had hope.  I still knew that through the power of fasting many mighty miracles were received.  I was trying to convince that voice that it was wrong.  I have two beautiful, healthy children at home so why would I need anything different?  That may have been a selfish thought, but I wanted to prove that my faith (and the faith of all family members who participated in the fast) was enough to see something glorious; something that the doctors could turn to me and say, “Wow, I think we have just witnessed a miracle.”    That was my desire.  I was ready to hear Dr. F. repeat that to me because I had faith that it could happen. 

We were shown our new room and then waited patiently for Dr. F to arrive and give us the news.    

Dr. F (shaking hands with Danny):  “Hello, I’m Dr. F.  I don’t believe we have met before.”

Danny: “No, this is the first time I have met you.”

Dr. F : “It is very nice to finally meet you.”  “And how are you feeling, Jamie?”

Me: “I feel fine, considering the circumstances.” 

Dr. F:  “Yes, I can understand that.” 

“Well, I just finished talking with the Ultrasound Technician and what we have both seen and discussed is not what I had hoped.”  “As far as I can see the baby is not developing normal.” 

(Showing me the ultrasound picture) “If you look here, there is some fluid surrounding the base of the neck that should not be there.  It looks like the beginning of a cystic hygroma.”  “Generally when we see something like this we associate it with some kind of chromosomal abnormality, such as Down Syndrome, Trisomy 13 or Trisomy 18.”  “Also in observing the lining of the stomach, we are seeing a gastroschisis.  Basically that tells us that the intestines are still outside the body, which in the first couple months is completely normal for the intestines and organs to be there before being “sucked” back in, so you still have a little bit of time to see if that reverses itself.  ”  “Depending on where the gastroscisis is located, it can generally be fixed at birth." "Unfortunately, with that and the cystic hygroma we are seeing that this is not a normal fetus development.”  “I’m so sorry; I had hoped to give you better news.”  “As soon as we can get you in, I would like you and your husband to meet with the genetic counselor.” “They will want to perform another ultrasound to check the baby’s status, then at that point they will be able to give you more information about what is going on so you can have all your questions answered and will be able to make a decision concerning this baby.”

Through the entire conversation I just listened.  I fought back every tear; every emotion; every worry.  I would never dream about aborting this baby.  Danny and I already knew that was not an option.  I was trying to be strong.  I can do hard things, I thought.  This is what Heavenly Father has planned for me and I know I can do it.  I don’t need to cry about it.  I need to embrace it and figure out how to succeed.

Finally, when the doctor looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I know this is difficult news to hear”, I could no longer hold back the tears.  The flood gates opened; tears fell—I finally succumbed to my emotions.  She was right.  Despite my ability to “stay strong”, I was not.  I cannot sit here and battle this myself.  It’s okay to be sad.  It’s okay to worry.  It’s okay to be tried and tested.  It’s okay to cry. 

I was embarrassed for crying.  I wasn’t really sad, just a little shocked.  I wasn’t mentally prepared to hear those words; I was preparing for the miracle that I hoped would happen…the miracle I knew could happen. 

Dr. F: “I can see that you are really upset about this.”  “I will make sure to do everything I can to get you into the next available counselor.”  “In fact, I will make a personal phone call to their office today and get something set up for the beginning of this week.”  “What you need to do now is go home and take it easy, take some time with your husband to talk about this, say a little prayer, and wait for the Genetic Counselor to contact you.”  “I wish you the best of luck.  If there is anything else that you need from me, please don’t hesitate to call.  That is what we are here for: FOR YOU!”

The walk to the car was long and quiet.  Despite the information that was given, Danny and I still didn’t have much to say.  We both knew we would keep the baby no matter what, that was not a concern for us, what we both worried about was the worst case scenario:  What if the baby doesn't develop as it should and has an entire list of medical issues, how long would it survive after birth?  Would it survive at all?  How will the dynamics of our family change with this little one entering our lives?  How faithful are we to keep this child alive if we know it only has a short time to live? 

Those were some of the worst thoughts I never expected to discuss with Danny.  I’ve never had to worry like that before.  Ultimately, our best option at that point was to wait for the Genetic Counselor to give us a better perspective on what we should be worrying about.