As I'm writing this, there's rain pounding on the skylight, matching my mood. Here's our sad-ending to Baby Sink.
Daniel & I met at the doctor's for our 12 week appointment. 12 weeks - yay! Finally in the second trimester. At our first appointment, we talked to the doctor and opted for the NT scan which happens at 12 weeks. This scan is an ultrasound & bloodwork to provide additional information on any dificiencies the baby may have. This scan is often called the "down syndrome test". We were both so excited to have another ultrasound, and finally hear the heartbeat. At our first ultrasound, we were only able to see the heartbeat. The ultrasound (seemingly) went great. We were able to hear the heartbeat and see our little nugget moving around. It was so cool to see that. When we met with our doctor, she told us that something seemed off on the ultrasound - where babies normally have a rounded forehead, ours appeared to have a flat one. She explained it could be anything from a shadow on the ultrasound to the skull hasn't formed - and everything in between. She was sending us to a high-risk specialist, and that appointment would be within a few days. We were in shock, confused, & cautiously devastated all at the same time. How could that be? Our baby could be perfectly fine, or not at all. We left the appointment in tears and with a million questions. We called our parents, who were waiting to hear good news about our appointment. It was so hard to tell everyone that there "may" be a problem, and we would have to wait and see. Daniel & I spent the rest of the evening crying, over-analyzing the whole appointment, and not sleeping.
We waited for the phone call the next morning with our appointment time. Friday at 1pm. Friday!? We just spent the past 15 hours in complete agony, and you're telling me I have to wait another 2 days to find out if this is nothing, something horrible, or somewhere in between? I knew I was going to be admitted into a mental institution in those 2 days. I called the Perinatal Center, and asked them very nicely to please let us know if they had a cancellation. Two minutes later, the sweet lady I spoke with on the phone called back and said they were fitting us in - they just had to since I sounded so sweet & distraught. Could we come in that day at 2pm. Yep, of course we'll drop everything and come in today. Oh, we're seeing Dr. Christmas? Here's to hoping he will deliver a Christmas miracle.
We arrived at the doctor's office, filled out lots of detailed paperwork about our pregnancy and family history. The sweet lady I talked to on the phone brought me tissues & a hug. The ultrasound tech showed us Baby Sink... swimming around just fine. Same heartbeat as the day before - 165. Daniel said "at least he/she is consistent". Ha. We asked if she could see what the ultrasound tech from the day before saw - "I see what she saw, and have the same concerns". My heart sank. It wasn't a shadow. Cue tears. Dr. Christmas comes into the room, introduces himself, and immediately says "I have bad news". Cue more tears.
He went on to explain our precious baby has Anencephaly. Anencephaly is a neural tube defect in which our baby's neural tube didn't form - meaning the skull & parts of the brain didn't form. Anencephaly is fatal. Baby Sink wouldn't live outside my womb. We didn't do anything wrong. Again, we didn't do anything wrong. Where do we go from here? Well, the best option (and quite frankly, the only option) for us was to terminate the pregnancy. Cue utter devestation. A D&C was scheduled for Friday.
We called all of the people we love most, and as our hearts broke, theirs broke right with us. We had to deliver the terrible news about this baby that everyone loved so very much, and we've only known about for such a short time. After lots and lots and lots of tears, we picked ourselves up, and ate at Don Jose (naturally, what else do you do?? :). We spent Thursday running errands, grocery shopped, and cleaned the house. Oh, and cried all day long (at least, that's what it felt like).
We had to be at the hosptial at 5:30am on Friday the 13th. Wow, that's early, right? Well, doesn't seem so bad when you can't really sleep. On the way to the hospital, Daniel & I were chatting when we saw the most beautiful & brightest shooting star stream across the sky. It was incredible. And I can promise you, it wasn't a coincidence. That image is seared into my mind.
My surgery went.... well? I mean, I came out of it fine. But, that's not the type of surgery I ever want to have again. Ever. I received lots of pain meds, nausea meds, and I'm confident they slipped in lots of happy meds. The doctor told Daniel "well, she went into surgery crying, and woke up crying". Do you see a recurring theme? Lots and lots of crying.
Since the D&C, we've been surrounded by love, support, and happy thoughts. We've received meals, flowers, chocolate covered fruit, and cards. We've had visitors that bring McDonald's cokes and make us laugh. Robin bravely packed up maternity clothes, ultrasound pictures, and other important items that represent Baby Sink. We are forever grateful for the warm arms that are always wrapped around us.
You always hear that you shouldn't tell everyone that you're pregnant until you're 12 weeks and it's "safe". I don't believe that. If we would have waited until our lives were ripped apart, we wouldn't have the support that we've so desperately needed. This baby would only have had love from the two of us. We would be walking on this bumpy road alone. You would have found me in a mental institution by now. The decision to tell others after our first appointment was the right one for us, and we would do it all over again.
And a note about my truly amazing and simply incredible husband. I cannot say anything negative about him. I will sing his praises. He has been an absolute saint throughout this whole process. From the moment we found out we were pregnant - he was over the moon. He treated me like a princess. And now, to the moment we found out our baby wasn't going to live. We've cried together. He holds me as I sob and sob. He so badly wishes that we could switch places and he could soak up all of the physical pain a D&C carries with it. He rubs my back, makes sure I eat, and makes me laugh. We had a dance party the afternoon of my surgery, because that's how we roll. We've been binge-watching House of Cards. At night before we go to bed, I cry, and he falls asleep holding my hand. We're a team. We're in this together. He has supported me, comforted me, and has been my rock. You want to know the best part? We are going to have lots of babies. He is going to be an amazing dad one day, just as he is an amazing husband right now. We will get through this - stronger than ever before. As crappy as this situation is, it will make our marriage better, and we will never, ever take for granted the precious life we created, and the ones we will in the future.
So where do we go from here? In the near future, when we're ready, we are going to make another baby. Anencephaly has a low risk of recurrence. We have a 5-10% chance of having another baby with anencephaly. Tonight I will start on high doses of folic acid in combination with my prenatals, and that will lower that statistic another 70-80%. Daniel's mom had a baby with anencephaly, and the doctors believe it is a complete coincidence, but we are having genetic testing done anyways. Along with this genetic testing, they will discover the gender of Baby Sink. Maybe one day down the road, we will find out if I was growing a little girl or boy, but for right now we are content not knowing.
We have a long road of recovery ahead of us. This has been the most painful thing I've ever been through in my life. We have a lot of healing to do. But you want to know the good news? We are going to make it. We will make babies, and have an amazing family. I can't wait, but for now, we do our best to get through each day and honor the precious baby we lost. Christmas is in one week, and though we'll be sad, it's the happiest time of year.
So to Baby Sink - please know how much we love you. You have filled our hearts with happiness. You have so many family & friends who love you, too. It was the happiest day when we found out about you on October 14th. We squealed and laughed and cried. It was the most devestating day when we lost you on December 13th. But, you're forever in our hearts, and we can't wait to meet you one day.
"We asked God for a baby and he blessed us with an angel instead. And though we will never be able to hold you in our arms, we will forever hold you in our hearts. We love you little angel and we will see you when our journey ends."
A baby changes everything. Merry Christmas
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