Sonogram #1

by Sarah

August 27, 2009 was a day we had been looking forward to with great anticipation.  We were scheduled for our first sonogram- our first glimpse of our sweet baby! We were going to a specialist to receive what is called a Level II sonogram because of our age, so we were confident that the news we would receive about our baby would be accurate and detailed. We could not wait to find out if we were going to have a son or a daughter.

Sitting in the waiting room, felt like it took forever. Our appointment was over an hour late in getting started, so by the time we got into the actual room for the exam, I was feeling rather anxious. I just wanted to hear the doctor tell me that everything looked great.  Only, we did not hear those words. We were asked about losing fluid, we experienced silence from the medical professionals, we overheard whispers between the doctor and his nurse in the room who was taking notes.  The Perinatologist called in his partner to consult with what he was seeing and to see if she was able to locate something on the screen.  It was terrifying because while we could certainly sense that something was wrong, we had no idea what it was or for that matter what they were seeing on the screen (or more importantly NOT seeing).  I could see our sweet son curled up in a face down position, his tiny frame recognizable on the screen.  He looked so small and tiny; like a little peanut there.  Despite hearing his heartbeat and seeing a "well formed, strong" heart, he was not moving.

After what felt like an eternity, they turned the lights on in the room and the doctor began talking at us and telling us something was wrong with our son's kidneys and that they were not present.  He was extremely serious when talking at us and awkwardly stared at us waiting for a response.  I just stared back at him completely numb. I could hear his voice, but I could not understand what he was saying.  He rattled off the official medical diagnosis and explained that he does not like to issue it with just one exam, so he asked us to come back in a week to confirm.  Of course we agreed to return.  I had no idea what he had just said, but I knew that something serious was wrong with our son.  The doctor's level of concern only amplified my fear and panic. I could not wait to get out of the office and to the safety of our car so I could try and breathe and talk with Joe.

I remember walking out of that exam room into the hallway and encountering a beautiful pregnant woman and child leaving from the exam room directly across the hall.  She was beaming, smiling from ear to ear, obviously happy with the news she had just received and the glimpse of her baby she had just been given.  Her hopes and dreams were alive and well in her belly, while I could feel ours vanishing before our eyes. 

My sweet husband was beside me every single minute and I can only liken my experience of that afternoon leading into the next seven days as an absolute emotional tsunami.  My world had been devastated and I never even saw it coming. My dreams for our family were shattered and vanishing.  Nothing was the same.  My world stopped spinning and I could hardly breathe normally.  My concern for our son overwhelming.  Those seven days until our next sonogram may as well have been seven years.   What was happening? How did we get here? What did this mean? Where was God?