Though I believe I had come to terms with the reality of my baby's condition, I was still scared. We had to go to so many ultrasounds in the maternal-fetal medicine clinic. Each time I felt like I was entering a black hole, I was numb. I remember standing in the restroom outside the waiting room trying to catch my breath, trying to rein in the fear and prepare for the worst. I put a wall of science around my heart and asked many questions about the details of the scan. The doctors didn't know much at first. She wasn't growing properly, her facial features were a bit off, she had enlarged ventricles in her brain. They kept checking her heart and other organs, which seemed fine. She always sat in the same position, legs crossed and tucked away. They told us that she could either be profoundly developmentally delayed or just slightly slow. Then they asked us to decide if we were going to end her life.
It is not often that one has to confront their beliefs face to face the way we had to. I could lie and write that there wasn't an ounce of doubt in me. I was afraid for my life, and for my family's life. I didn't want this scary thing to happen to us. I looked to the future and thought for just a moment what might be there if I were to end this child's life. And I saw grief and sorrow and relief.
So there was doubt, but, it never came down to that. It didn't come down to my belief in the sanctity of life either. It came down to the fact that for me "termination of pregnancy" would be me killing my child. I saw her there on the ultrasound over and over. I saw her eyes and her heart and her tiny brain. She was so flawed, so incredibly imperfect, but, she was alive. It was an emotional decision, it was in the core of my being. And there was Jack, her father, who never even experienced that doubt. Together we felt there was never a decision to be made, but, we still had to tell the doctors that, "no" we will not be ending her life.
Yes, I was worried she would suffer. I didn't want her life to be miserable, just like any mother hopes for their child. We never know what our children's life will hold, but, we still let them have a chance at living, even though we know that they will suffer eventually. Who am I to make the decision of whether or not her life is worth the suffering she may endure? She was alive for a reason. If she suffers we will suffer with her. Just as we do for all whom we love. A life isn't less valuable because there is suffering, suffering has its meaning and its place in all our lives. Each ultrasound, brought bad news. Things were not getting better. Our maternal-fetal medicine doctor came up with a preliminary diagnosis. Something that seemed plausible. It was a syndrome so rare that only 40 cases had been reported since it was named in the 1970s. It was a fatal condition where all the babies died either before birth or shortly after. So this is what we were prepared for. Many doctors convened to later share that they didn't believe she would make it through the delivery. My mind believed them, but, and I have never been one to espouse intuition, my body did not. There was a part of me that knew she would be with us for longer than believed. I didn't examine that part, I barely noticed it, I may have even been ignoring it.
Time moved slowly. Annabelle (who was not yet named) was always on my mind. I dreamt of her. Some dreams were horrible, others were comforting. Many people were praying for us. We were all trusting in God's will. And, while I trusted, I also questioned, because I think trusting and questioning can come as a pair. I questioned Him on the meaning of it all, on what exactly it means to "trust in God's will". So I trusted and questioned and waited, and thought way too much. Suddenly time went quickly and the due date was upon us.
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