Ultrasound

 I believe in miracles.  You know, in the "yea lord I believe. Help thou my unbelief" kind of way. Not that I had really thought that much about it, until we really needed it.  I have always believed they happen, but not necessarily that they happen for me. But we experienced miracles last year. I'm not sure why. I don't believe anyone "earns" a miracle by being more faithful or more righteous or by offering a more fervent prayer than another. What could be more holy than a fervent, sincere prayer offered by a mother? And yet, so many mothers don't receive their miracles. Their arms remain empty. And my heart aches for every single one of them. Maybe it has nothing to do with us and more to do with the baby or child. Pretty sure I won't figure it out in this lifetime, but I am humbled and grateful to no longer have empty arms. This month marks one year since we got the diagnosis. It's been a heavy year to say the least. I went to my 20-wk anatomy scan alone, not thinking twice about it (because this was just routine, nbd...I've done three before). So I was chatting, trying to be friendly, with the sonographer and there was a medical student watching, which was fine. The student kept asking cautiously, "that's the, heart? That's the...liver?" I thought to myself she really needed to study more - shouldn't she know where the organs are located? and finally she was shushed by the sonographer, which I took as a sign of her annoyance at the ignorance of the student. I did think maybe the ultrasound looked different than others I had had, but what did I know? I'm not medical. So I brushed that thought out of my head. They finished and left the room and I waited. And waited. And waited. I hadn't seen this specialist before but had been warned about his candidness. He entered the room, pulled up his rolling stool and faced me right on my level, knee to knee and eye to eye. This was when I knew something wasn't right. He didn't dance around the problem, just told me like it was, which I was incredibly grateful for. The baby's diaphragm didn't develop resulting in his organs herniating into his chest. I tried to just listen before I panicked. He said there was a pretty routine surgery to put the organs back in place once the baby was born that wasn't really too big of a deal. Oh good, I thought. I'm glad I didn't panic. He continued that the fatal part was that his organs in his chest were preventing his lungs from developing. He would be fine in utero, since he didn't need his lungs, but once he was born he wouldn't be able to breathe. "This is very serious," he said. I still tried to repress the panic, but it was there, bubbling to the surface. He reached over and grabbed an entire pack of tissues for me. Then he continued - to have any shot at all the baby would need advanced support that only one hospital in GA could offer, but in all reality he would need more than that. There were more details and explanations, but I was just glad I could remember that much of it. I asked him to call my husband to explain all of this because I wouldn't remember and he would have questions I couldn't answer. He told me he wanted to call colleagues to gather more information for us, and we should come back together to meet with him in two days to learn more. As I made the appointment, that med student that perhaps didn't actually need to study more, came out and gave me a big, tight hug, which is just what I needed. I left the office, grateful for my mask that I pretended hid the tears streaming down my face. I called my husband at work, and tried through my sobs, to explain what I could remember. I picked up my daughter at a neighbor's, who let my cry on her shoulder and then her couch with her, and went home to meet my husband who had left work to be there with me.