It's Been One Week Since We Looked At You...

It has been a full week since our ultrasound and it feels like we have aged seven years instead of just seven days.  There have been so many emotions, discussions, decisions and feelings to deal with and a lot of tears to shed.  Despite all that, we have still been trying to cling to some semblance of normalcy...not just for us but for the girls as well.  Chris has been off work most of that time and I worked some modified hours this weekend, but for the most part we have just been spending time as a family and enjoying one another. We've eaten out a lot because I just haven't been able to make myself prepare anything. We've also probably indulged the girls a bit more than normal - hence the fact that we now have a kitten.  Otherwise, we have done a pretty good job of holding it together during the day and trying to make sure that life is moving on as close to "normal" as possible for the time being.

It has surprised me a little that woven through all of the bad we have encountered this last week, we have managed to find moments of fun, laughter and goodness too. It seems like the image I have always had when someone receives tragic news is that they spend all day and night sobbing in bed and just can't manage to go on.  (Don't get me wrong, I've had times where all I want to do is hide in bed and pretend that this isn't happening to us!) In reality, it is always in the back of my mind but we have still managed to laugh and play and enjoy the girls.  Chris and I have laughed and teased and glimpsed pieces of our old relationship. I have been able to think about other things like the grocery list, Christmas presents, Halloween costumes and finally getting a haircut that was nearly two years overdue.

The downside to all of that?  It kind of makes me feel guilty.  I wonder if I'm allowed to laugh?  If I'm allowed to have fun?  If I'm allowed to forget about this tragedy long enough to focus on something else? I know, of course, that the answer is "Yes, it's the only way you'll survive."  Somehow, that doesn't help the guilty feeling all that much though.  In the end, I find myself questioning - "Why are you able to discuss this without crying?"  "Why have you been so focused on the practical?" "How are you managing to get up each day, dress and feed your kids, and do all of the other things that have to be done?" "Why aren't you in near-constant tears?"

For the last week, I probably have been focusing more on the less emotional aspects of our diagnosis; these would be the things that require a decision or action on our part at some point.  It is probably intentional that I try not to let myself think about the things that we'll never get to experience with our third child.  Right now, those are the things that make me tear up and feel like I'm at the edge of losing it. I never thought I would be able to discuss cremations, burials, funerals, or death without sobbing, but I've had to.  With those things already discussed, my mind is painfully free to contemplate the first hugs and kisses that we'll never feel, the first words that we'll never hear, the first tears we won't get to wipe away, and the first time playing with big sisters that we'll never get to see. These are the things that didn't really come to mind those first few days but are creeping in now and breaking my heart. 

I know that the strength I've had in the last week has been a blessing and I am grateful that we've made it this far. I am also thankful for the fun and the good times we have still managed to have.  It just somehow feels like it means we love this baby less than we should or that we aren't grieving "the right way." (I know there isn't really a "right way" to grieve, but if you've been there I think you know what I mean.)

Processing

We managed to get the girls home after the appointment (about a thirty minute drive) and my parents came up to stay with them so Chris and I could take the night to just process everything that had happened in the last twelve hours.  We had gone from parents who couldn't wait to find out if they were having a boy or a girl to parents who still didn't have the answer to that question, but did know that their child would die shortly after birth if he/she even made it that long. 

I can't possibly begin to describe the conversation we had that night...and wouldn't really want to because it was one of the most intensely painful and personal times we have ever had together. What I do want to share is just exactly what kind of choices and thoughts we were facing.

When we received the diagnosis, I already had a pretty good idea what it meant - we could either terminate the pregnancy immediately, choose an induction and deliver immediately, or carry the baby to term and deliver at that time.  We meet with a specialist in three days to discuss these things with him, but we've already determined what is or isn't an option for us.  I will say that I am thankful for a husband with whom I am totally compatible and with whom I truly seem to connect; there was never a battle or even a real difference of opinion when it came to this topic. 

A large part of the discussion also focused on what we were feeling.  At the top were bewilderment and anger.  How on Earth could this possibly happen to two normal healthy people?  Why would God allow this to happen?  What did we do to deserve this? Why are we having to suffer like this?

Then the more practical questions - How do we tell our family? our friends? our coworkers? What do we tell a three year old who was thrilled to be getting a baby?  What kinds of arrangements will we make?  Who will be allowed in the room after the baby is born?  What will the baby look like? How long will he/she live? 

Finally, just a lot of sobbing, but somehow not as much as I expected.  It just didn't seem to be that useful. There were so many things to face, so many things to discuss...and the longer I cried, the less we would get done.  

We managed to get some sleep, more out of sheer exhaustion than any real desire to rest.  I also think we both wanted to wake up the next morning and find out that this was all some terrible nightmare that wouldn't quit or some horrible practical joke.  Unfortunately we woke to a world where nothing had changed - we were still facing the death of a child.

Our Ultrasound

We knew I was pregnant even before the test came back positive; so really there wasn't much surprise there.  But we had planned to wait a little longer to have our third child because our life had been so hectic in the previous few months; we thought it would be best to let things settle a little.  God apparently had other plans.  That was ok; we had about a week of panic, then began to get excited.  As I think is probably the case with most third pregnancies, I was so busy with our other two girls and life in general that it wasn't until I started to feel the baby moving that I was really able to start connecting with this new little life. I really began to look forward to our 20 week ultrasound and finding out if we would be adding a baby brother or baby sister to the mix.  (T was adamant that she wanted a baby sister and I had to admit it would be easier since we already had all the pinks and purples, but at the same time a son would have been great too.)

We got to the ultrasound early Tuesday, both girls in tow with promises of seeing their new brother or sister on the TV screen.  Things started off normally enough with the tech showing us what a nice long leg the baby had...but Chris and I both noticed that this ultrasound just somehow looked different than the ones we were used to.  After about ten minutes, the tech abruptly said "I'll be right back" and stepped out of the room.  Obviously panic sets in about that time and you begin to wonder what could be wrong...strangely, the only thought I had was "anencephaly." (It had been featured on one of "our shows," Private Practice, last season and for some reason that stuck in my head.)  Our doctor came in, looked over the tech's shoulders and after a few minutes of watching her nod, she confirmed what the tech suspected and what I think I already knew.  She said the most devastating words I have ever heard, "The baby has what's called 'anencephaly' which means that the back of the skull and the forebrain just haven't developed.  It's like a really really severe case of spina bifida.  It's not compatible with life, or any quality of life after birth."  I'm sure that is a bit of a paraphrase because I kind of started to shut down, but that was the gist.

Like anyone who receives that type of diagnosis, my first thought was "Oh my God, what did I do wrong? I know I didn't do a good job of taking my vitamins, was that it?"  When I asked, she replied with "There is absolutely nothing you did wrong, maybe taking vitamins two or three months ahead of time would have helped, maybe not.  I have people who smoke and drink Mountain Dew and eat Twinkies their entire pregnancy and their babies are fine.  You didn't cause this."  That, however, is a battle I think I'll be fighting for a while.