Even When It Hurts Like Hell..
Well, yesterday was devastating to say the least.
I'm 20 weeks pregnant. 20 weeks and 2 days. Everything is supposed to be okay.
At my ultrasound yesterday I was expecting to hear "Congrats, it's a ___! and ___ looks great. See you in four weeks."
Instead I couldn't even tell what I was looking at on the screen and the sweet old lady looked at us and said "I'm sorry. I have some concerns. This does not look good." And then she looked straight at me and said "What I need you to know is that there is nothing you could've done to prevent this. This is not in any way your fault."
And then she found us a room so we didn't have to wait in the hall.
What's not my fault? What concerns do you have? What is wrong with my baby? How is it not my fault? What is happening? I just want to know the gender... that's why we are here...
Dr. Counihan came in right away. She was crying, too. She didn't explain much to us but said that she wanted to send us on over to the perinatal specialist just to make sure, and that once they had a look they would give us our options. But it was really bad.
I'm positive the tears were freely flowing at this point as I wrote down directions to the office we were supposed to go to.
When the doctor is crying something must be really wrong. I lost hope quickly.
So Tim and I walked over to the perinatal specialist, not even trying to hide our tears. We were just told that something is very wrong with our child. I don't have to keep it together.
We got there, filled out the forms, and they called us back pretty quick.
The ultrasound tech didn't say much, just that she was going to try and see as much anatomy as possible. Her face was grim the whole time.
Dr. Fogle came in and gave us hugs and then started my third ultrasound of the morning. I only wanted one.
She explained everything to us...
Our baby is small. Extremely small. 2.5 weeks behind.
There is extra fluid and swelling everywhere. Between the skin and bones, in the brain, the kidneys, the stomach, the chest cavity...
My baby's cerebellum is missing and it has two cysts on it's brain.
You can't distinguish anything in the face because of the swelling.
She could barely see the arm.
The lungs are being compressed by the extra fluids.
The heart is miraculously on the correct side, but one half is bigger than the other half.
My baby's stomach is too small.
My baby's kidneys are enlarged.
And I'm sorry, I can't tell you the gender because there's too much swelling.
And your baby's heart will eventually stop beating. Could be today, could be next week, could be in a few months. But it will stop beating.
Yesterday I wanted to find out the gender and instead I found out that my precious baby is going to die. There's nothing we can do. Even if I made it to term it wouldn't survive delivery. Even if it somehow survived delivery it wouldn't live long.
They think it's a chromosomal abnormality. This one happens more often in girls.. So I guess we can make an educated guess that it's a girl...
We can either induce now or monitor the pregnancy... come in weekly to see if its heart, her heart, is still beating.
We cried. We are still crying.
This more than sucks.
We are devastated. Heartbroken.
We've had in incredibly hard year and things were finally starting to look up and it's like we got hit with another earth shattering bomb.
After getting out of there and picking up Tony from his godparents we headed to my parents and cried and prayed and cried and prayed and prayed and cried some more. Then we put all of this in a box and watched wedding shows on TLC and The Lion King on VHS. That's right. VHS. Party like it's 1994.
The more we removed ourselves the easier it was to think.
As much as I feel like it will be the hardest emotional thing to continue carrying this precious baby until its heart stops, I think, and so does my husband, that it will be more emotionally devastating to induce while our precious baby still has a heart beat. I would feel like I killed her.
God is bigger than this. Odds don't apply to God. Jesus was dead for three days and now he's alive. And there's a chance of a miracle. That's what we are praying for. I'm not ready to give up on my baby.
And if God doesn't heal her on this side of heaven, I believe that my baby will be healed when he takes her home to him... a new, unbroken, whole body to glorify God with...
But God is good. God is God and God is good. And he's walking with us. He's holding our hand. He is our refuge. He is our strength.