We went home. I googled. And googled. And googled. I poured over pictures of poor babies from third world countries. I looked at success stories. I read mommy blogs. I learned about surgery and more surgery and more surgery. 3-5 surgeries the first year. Ouch. Possible hearing problems. Ouch. Frequent ear infections. Specialty (very expensive) bottles. Feeding techniques. Speech therapy.
No. THIS IS HARD. This is going to be hard. And I don’t like hard things. I couldn’t even talk about it for a week. I would silently weep in Michael’s arms at night unable to put words to how I felt.
This was not a death sentence. This was not a life long prognosis. This was not a debilitating disease that would keep him from a full and happy life. Yet why did this feel so unbelievable awful?
We waited for our April appointment with nerves heightened begging the Lord to heal Him. Begging this to be a mistake. That we would get to the city and the ultra sound would show it wasn’t really there and we would enjoy a smash burger and some target and breath a sigh of relief that he was perfectly fine and it wasn’t real. Yes I’ll have that option God. Ok? Ok.
April came. The office looked expensive. I signed in. Dr. Smith, specialist in high risk pregnancies. HIGH RISK. I died a little when I saw that on the form. I fumbled through a People magazine on an expensive leather couch and tried to play like I was fine. We were fine. We were going to see our little man on high def 3D ultra sound and he would be perfect and totally fine. They called us back. I saw the boards lined with beautiful birth announcements of twins. Tons and tons of twins. Twins with perfect lips and perfect faces. No cleft lips. They must not get beautiful birth announcements I thought. I nervously walked with Michael to the room.
I laid down on the bed and looked at a HUGE TV screen on the wall in front of me. Please let it not be there. Please let it not be there. And if it is, let them see no affected palate. The palate seems really scary. Let this not be happening.
When you get a 3D ultrasound you can see EVERYTHING. Every little wrinkle, every little line. He decided to be difficult and had his hands in front of his face. So she measured and checked all sort of things. She was very sweet explaining everything she was looking at as she found it. Poked on him a bit and he finally put his hand down. There it was. His face. His lips. And his cleft. Tears. Lots and lots of tears.
The doctor then came in and did another scan. There was his sweet face. His eyes. His nose. And his cleft. She explained that there was a unilateral cleft (meaning on one side) and based on the look of the cleft that the palate was affected. Tears. Lots and lots of tears. They would not know the degree of the palate until he was born in August, but we did know it was affected. Heart sank. Ok. Plan. I need a plan. Let me cling to the comfort of a plan. What is the plan?
She then explained we would come to the city and get scanned every few weeks until the baby is born to track his progress and make sure nothing else develops. “Nothing else develops???” I decided to put those very scary thoughts away for another day. That was a worry for tomorrow because we had mountain of worry here already.
Appointments scheduled. Copays paid. Car ride home. Families texted. Spirits crushed.
“This is really hard,” I told him that night. “And I don’t like hard things.”
Open Doors Sticky Floors 