May 22, 2024 was the day that our life changed forever.
My husband and I drove to our anatomy scan thinking we were past all of the scary stuff. This baby had made it through the first trimester, passed her NIPT testing with flying colors, and we felt that we could breathe easy and relax into this pregnancy and dream of our future with a baby girl who would complete our family. We laughed on the way to the appointment (I can remember the exact round-a-bout we were at for this conversation. That's trauma for you.) that we would find out that our baby girl was actually a boy. And that would be the worst thing we'd hear that day.
I had never experienced energy shifting in a room until that afternoon. You go from laughing and filling in the sonographer about this pregnancy to viscerally feeling that somber cloud fill the air when hearing the words "will you go grab her doctor please" just minutes after beginning the ultrasound. And then immediately knowing you're being lied to when they say "don't worry, nothing's wrong. I just want another set of eyes."
From there we heard words and phrases that no parent ever wants to hear- the kinds of things that make your stomach turn and bring tears that immediately fall despite being in front of total strangers.
"You'll need to see a specialist; I'm not an expert on these cases. I've seen maybe one other in the last five years."
"If it is Spina Bifida, she will likely have mobility issues that will affect the lower half of her body."
"I can't see her cerebellum. It's likely a Chiari II malformation, which is common with Spina Bifida. But I just can't find it at all, which is very concerning."
"I know there are now surgical interventions they can do, but I don't know what that looks like."
And then, that was it. We were sent home with a referral for a Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialist, but only with instructions to wait for them to call. Life as we knew it had been completely flipped upside down. I thought waiting the 24 hours for them to call and schedule us was agonizing, and then I learned we'd have to wait 10 days to see the doctor. We went from dreaming about ballet recitals, princesses, and tea parties to hoping our daughter would make it to take her first breath.
Somehow over the next 10 days, life continued to move around us in a blur. In a way, it felt cruel. Our entire world was crumbling around us, but we still had to feed our toddler. We still had to grocery shop, do laundry, and make sure someone put Cascade in the dishwasher. While I was absolutely crippled with grief and fear, my husband was the rock of our family. And when he needed his turn to fall apart, I would step up. We took turns functioning as one parent for those 10 days.
Slowly we shared our potential diagnosis with friends, family, and our church community. Each found their own ways they could support us through that time of unknowns, and I am so thankful for each and every one in our village.
Finally, we reached our appointment day. And we received an official diagnosis of Spina Bifida with a Chiari II malformation. But our daughter did have a cerebellum and was compatible with life outside of my womb. For the first time in 10 days, we could breathe. Praise Jesus. And what did I do? I went shopping for my baby girl. My girl who was going to make it. And you bet that I cried right in the middle of Target.
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