I'd venture to say that most people have one - a day so life-changing, so important (for good reasons or bad or both) that it is forever imprinted in their minds. Our family's personal "Day of Infamy" (as I think of it) was February 29, 2012. Parts of that day are blurry, but other parts remain crystal clear in my mind, three years later: faces I saw, exam rooms I sat in, even the french fries and Shamrock Shake I could barely choke down.
Three years to the day later (or as close as you can get in a non-Leap Year) I decided it was time to start sharing the journey our family began that day. Many of you know parts of the story, some of you walked along side us after that day, and others might be completely unfamiliar with this tale.
Why now? I don't really know! As time has gone on, I feel like God has put it on my heart to share the adventure we've been on. I've slowly revealed our tale to widening groups of people - my weekly Bible study, then a gathering of women at our church. After sharing with the group of women, several people have urged me to write down my thoughts. Since I've blogged in the past about our family, this seemed like a natural outlet for me.
So back to the story...On February 29th, I was 19 weeks pregnant with our second child and I was scheduled for my routine anatomy scan ultrasound. Going into the appointment, I had a strange sense that all was not well. Motherly intuition perhaps? Or maybe just having friends who have dealt with all manner of the "pains of childbirth" - infertility, miscarriage, etc. had made me aware of just how fragile and uncertain the process of growing a baby is. Whatever you call it, we had decided to wait to announce the pregnancy via Facebook until after our appointment. With our first son, as soon as we heard the beautiful sound of his heartbeat, we told the world, but this time, for some reason, we proceeded with caution.
Laying on the ultrasound table, we smiled at the sight of our little one's arms and legs squirming and kicking. But soon the ultrasound tech got quiet. At the time, I didn't take notice, but looking back, it seems obvious. Regardless of the unease I felt going in, I was certainly not prepared for the news she carefully delivered: "it looks like something serious is wrong with your baby's head." I'm grateful for her straight-forwardness; that she didn't leave us wondering what was happening. She sent us from the satellite location to the major women's hospital in the area for a second opinion, but even to our untrained eyes, it was obvious that something was wrong with the picture on the screen...and with our baby.
After battling rush hour traffic and sitting in a waiting room full of happy, expectant moms, we eventually received confirmation of the initial opinion and first heard the word that would change our lives: anencephaly. Anencephaly is a neural tube defect related to spina bifida in which the neural tube doesn't close completely, causing the brain and skull to not form completely. In most cases, the baby will live to full term in the womb but dies during or shortly after labor. If you're interested in more information about anencephaly, this website is a great resource.
As I laid on the table, tears trickling down my cheeks, so many thoughts raced through my head. We were planning to be surprised about the sex of this baby, just as we had been the first time. But upon receiving our baby's fatal diagnosis, I suddenly needed to know if Baby S #2 was a boy or girl. The ultrasound tech didn't seem to understand my request or why I had changed my mind, but told us that it looked like our baby was a girl. Armed with the diagnosis of our baby girl, we were passed from the kind (but unemotional) doctor to a genetic counselor to discuss our next steps.
And that's where I'll leave you for now. I don't exactly have a plan for when and how I'll tell the rest, but leave me a comment to let me know you're here and reading this. :)
