Suffering by Surprise

Deep down, I have always had a tugging feeling that someday, somehow, God would call me to write. I never dreamed that it would be amidst lurking tragedy in my own life. So, here goes my attempt to obey the calling that I believe that God has placed on my life during this time.

Last Monday, Tom and I went to the doctor to see the 20-week ultrasound for our 3rd child. This event had been much debated and greatly anticipated by friends and family. You see, Tom and I have two little boys, and my sister and brother-in-law also have two little boys. The ironic thing is that my mom and dad "mimi and papa" have always desperately wanted a granddaughter. Although we all dearly love our little boys, we were all hopefully optimistic that this would be our girl. As a matter of fact, we took a vote last Saturday evening, and the vote was unanimous! This baby was sure to be a girl!

While Tom and I had strongly considered having baby #3, so far, the timing just seemed to be wrong. Tom was still in seminary (to finish this December), and I felt as though I had no more bandwidth to offer another child while I was working to help support the family and raising two small children at home. However, God had other plans. While Tom was on a mission trip in Kenya this summer, I had the surprise of my life! Tom and I were expecting our 3rd child. To say that I was shocked is an understatement. "Well," I thought, "I guess that God has made the decision for us - no more waiting around. We will have another child in accordance with God's timing, not ours."

It took a few weeks for me to adjust to the idea, but as time passed, my shock began to turn to peace and even some excitement. I knew that even though this new life may present some challenges for us financially, God is our faithful provider. As Joyce Meyer says, "What God orders, He pays for." Our gracious Heavenly Father knew exactly what He was doing. This was not an "accident" or an "unplanned" pregnancy; rather, it was planned by God before the foundation of the world. What peace came with the knowledge that our gracious God was sovereign and fully in control over our circumstances.

Time passed quickly since we received the news in June of our new arrival to come the first of March. I had debated as to whether or not to find out the gender of the baby before my due date. Would it be better to "wait and see" or to find out ahead of time? Tom and I finally decided that we wanted to know sooner than later, so I braced myself for the news as we drove to the doctor's office last Monday morning.

Our appointment was scheduled for 9:15 a.m., but we learned soon after our arrival that the ultrasound tech had an "emergency" and was not coming to work. "You have got to be kidding me" was my immediate reaction. I had scheduled that appointment two months earlier, and my entire family was "standing by" in anxious anticipation to hear the long-awaited news. My mom and sister had tried to get me to take a gender test that is now available in drugstores a few weeks beforehand, but I had resisted, feeling that I was not yet ready to discover the news of my fate to be a mother of three little boys. However, by the time that October 12, 2009, rolled around, I was ready. I could not get this ultrasound over quickly enough. I wanted to know so that we could finally move on to a different topic of conversation at family dinners.

The receptionist at the doctor's office gave us the option to reschedule the appointment to another day. My answer was a resounding "no." "We must get this done today," I said. "My husband has taken off work, and I am going out of town." What I was really thinking was, "I cannot bear to wait another day. You have no idea how much distress it will cause if I have to tell all of my friends and family that we still don't know the gender."

So, the receptionist graciously sent us to another location where they could "see us immediately." Well, needless to say, my definition of "immediately" was not the same their definition of "immediately." After arriving at the new location, we sat and sat. By this time, Caleb and Benjamin were running all over the waiting room. An older lady was quick to remind us, "you know, there are sick people here." "Really? Is that why people come to the doctor's office?" I thought. In all my training in college and law school, I had never heard of such a thing. Coming to the doctor's office when you are sick - what a novel concept. Anyway, Tom and I tried our best to keep the boys under control until I was finally called back at noon. Unfortunately for Tom, he had to remain in the waiting room with the boys until the end of the ultrasound.

Since I had previously had two 20-week ultrasounds with Benjamin and Caleb, I pretty much knew what to expect. "This should not take longer than twenty minutes or so," I thought. Soon, the waiting would be over - we would finally know - boy or girl. Well, twenty minutes turned into an hour and a half. I finally went out to tell Tom and the boys to grab some lunch. I had been informed that we were having another boy, but the ultrasound tech needed to take more pictures. When I returned to the room, the radiologist came in. Suddenly, I realized ... something was wrong. The fact that Baby was a boy didn't matter anymore - the only thing that mattered was that our baby boy was healthy.

I asked the radiologist what was wrong. He was slow to answer and vague at that. "We are looking at some suspicious findings," he said. "I don't want to alarm you at this point; we need to take a closer look at a few things - that's all." "Well, too late for that," I said. "I am already alarmed." "Can you tell me what you are looking at?" I asked. "We are looking at the length of the arms and legs and the size of the ribcage," he said. "I will send a report to your OBGYN this afternoon after taking a closer look at the pictures." The ultrasound tech gave me a sympathetic smile and said, "Thank you for being such a wonderful patient." As I got up to leave she said, "I'm sorry."

Tom and I drove home in the pouring rain. I was in a complete daze. This was news that neither of us had expected. A problem with Baby? What kind of problem? How could this happen? About an hour after our arrival home, my OBGYN called. "I just got off the phone with the radiologist, and I am sending a referral for you to see a specialist," she said. "He will call you to schedule an appointment." "Why, what is wrong?" I begged for more information. "Well, it appears as though your baby has some form of dwarfism, although I see no history of dwarfism in your family," she answered. "So, it could be something more serious?" I asked. "Yes," she answered as I started to cry. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she said as we hung up the phone.

The Perinatologist's office called 30 minutes later. "The doctor will see you at 2:30 on Wednesday," the woman on the other end of the phone said. Never mind the fact that I had a flight to Orange County at 10:50 a.m. on Wednesday. The decision had been made - there was no debate. The Perinatologist had cleared his calendar on Wednesday afternoon to see me, so that was when I would go. I hung up the phone and cancelled my trip to San Diego. To say the least, this week was not going as planned. I quickly began to search the Internet, where my worst fears were met with terrible information. Our baby had skeletal dysplasia.

How could this happen? What did this mean? Why? Why, Lord, would you cause this unexpected pregnancy, only to lead us down this road of suffering? I read story after story of tear-jerking experiences written by mothers of babies with skeletal dysplasia. Deep down, I knew that this was life-threatening. I read that usually only cases of lethal skeletal dysplasia were diagnosable via ultrasound during the second trimester. I spent the next two days crying uncontrollably and preparing myself for the worst.

When we arrived at the doctor's office on Wednesday, we spent another hour and a half in the ultrasound room. The doctor came in the room accompanied by a genetic counselor - another indication of bad news. He was incredibly gracious and soft-spoken. He came in and said, "Tell me what you know." I said, "I know that our baby has some form of skeletal dysplasia." Surprised by my response, he stated, "Well, then you know about everything that I know. That term does not usually roll off the tongue. What is your background?" "Law," I said, "but I have done my research." He assured us that he would give us as much information as possible. So, on we went with more ultrasound pictures.

He explained each picture as we went along. Baby's organs looked good - brain, heart, kidneys, stomach, bladder - even the fingers and toes were accounted for. All signs of a healthy baby were there, but there was one major problem - Baby's bones were entirely too small. His little ribcage was not growing. So, as the heart continued to grow, it would occupy more and more space in the chest cavity, leaving no room for Baby's lungs to develop. Although Baby was completely viable in my womb, he lacked one vital capability - the ability to breathe.

The doctor explained that his goal was to put our baby's condition into one of two categories at this time - lethal or non-lethal. Further testing could be done at a later time to narrow the diagnosis. He explained that our baby's condition was lethal. I was completely stoic. Our worst fears had been confirmed. This baby would most likely be carried full-term only to be stillborn, or more likely, be born alive only to die within hours of birth. I did not understand. How could this be? Baby was so perfect in every way, except that his bones were too small. Outside of a miracle, Baby had zero chance of survival.

We were lead to the doctor's office where we were given our options: terminate the pregnancy or continue on for another 20 weeks with no light at the end of the tunnel. The doctor was surprisingly supportive of our choice either way. If we chose to continue on, he would support us all the way. What a huge relief. I knew that there were no such "choices" for us. We did not choose when this life began, and we would not choose when it ended. Hopeless or not, we would continue on by the grace of God. After all, this next twenty weeks will probably be the only time that we have to spend with our precious baby boy.