TRIGGER WARNING: This is the 4th in a series of 5 posts that get increasingly more dark and raw with each telling. Some readers may be triggered by themes in these posts - including infertility, terminal diagnosis, grief, and anticipating infant loss. You have one more dark post after this one before I promise it will get better.
Written May 22, 2022 about Monday, May 16th
I was so wired and anxious the whole drive to the hospital. We left while Theo was still asleep. I had Psalm 6 pulled up on my phone the whole way and just chanted to myself "The Lord has heard my weeping. The Lord has heard my cry for mercy; the Lord accepts my prayer." I asked Michael to pray.
Pastor C arrived at our appointment before us and stayed until we left. 7 am to almost 11 pm. We were thankful for someone to make small talk with. He paid our copay.
We named her Abigail. We both sensed it was her - yes, a girl! - while watching the ultrasound and not [girl name] or [girl name]. Abigail - our bonus baby we never expected.
She does have anencephaly (and not trisomy 18 - the panorama test came back normal) and the doctors/nurses say it has progressed further than other babies' so they doubt she'll make it full term (I can't remember the words they actually used but that's the meaning I walked away with).
After the ultrasound we went to a different waiting room with Pastor C. He got to be the first to hear our happy news - it's a girl! I knew it would be a girl. Earlier this past week I'd read that most babies with anencephaly are girls. And just like when I realized I was pregnant, I suddenly knew. It's a girl. My baby girl. I'd been praying since February that she would be a girl.
I sat and filled out basically the same paperwork for the consultation appointment as I had for the ultrasound while Michael showed Pastor C the ultrasound photos. I couldn't talk. I could barely hold myself together. I think I might have been numb. But I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, Pastor C wiping away a tear and trying not to lose it - just like we were trying not to lose it too while sitting in a waiting room of other people having otherwise supposedly normal days. I will forever be grateful for that tear. How could everyone around us be having a Monday? When our lives had suddenly come screeching to a halt and time was standing still?
In our appointment the nurse or doctor...I think she was a nurse...basically went through the process with us. Asking us what we knew already, what my OB had said at my appointment the week prior, what we knew about anencephaly etc. I cried through the whole appointment and had to keep repeating myself because my voice made a lot less sense to her and to Michael than it did to me. I've done so much research this week and I am so thankful I did. Because then she told us that she had to make sure we knew our options and the risks. She talked about abortion. Different ways to end Abigail's life.
We could inject something to stop her heartbeat and then induce labor. How could I ever stop her heart!? I just saw her dancing. I just heard it beating - a strong healthy heartbeat. I'd go through labor and give birth to a dead, very tiny baby.
Or the safer way... Safer!?!? They could remove her from my womb...in pieces. I couldn't believe these words were being spoken to me.
I told her it wasn't happening. We are going to try to carry to term. Or until her heart stops naturally.
She apologetically and kindly said she had to keep telling me the risks though. She said Abigail will probably die in my womb and I won't know about it. That we'd have to do weekly heartbeat checks because if she stays dead in my womb for too long and they don't catch it, I could get an infection and that with any stillbirth there's an increased risk for me of hemorrhaging.
I'm so glad I did all that reading because we then discussed that I could stay within an hour of hospitals with a major blood bank. I told her I read that as long as I was near one I should be okay. She agreed that our hospital, and others in the area, are well equipped for handling this risk and that with the weekly heartbeat checks the risk was low.
She continued to tell me what she was legally obligated to tell me about the risks. That I will likely develop polyhydramnios. I'd read about this too. I waited with my solution to this risk while she explained that my baby likely wouldn't be able to swallow and therefore my amniotic fluid levels could increase dangerously, stretching my uterus and causing pain and damage. I told her I read about this but I also read there's a relatively safe and common procedure to reduce the fluid level. And she said yes, it's something we do all the time.
I don't remember her telling me any risks for abortion. I don't know what the risks for that are. All I know is that if I hadn't done all of that research, I would have been terrified in that room as she listed the risks for carrying to term. I do sincerely think she was very kind. I hated that she had to talk to us about abortion though. We told her that we want to hold our baby girl, that her name is Abigail, and that we are going to try to give her every chance to be born alive.
I'd asked the nurse if we could hear her heartbeat one more time and record it. I'd seen bears on Pinterest that are weighted and have heartbeat recordings in them and I thought I'd make one. She let us do the recording but also told us that the hospital would love to provide us with a heartbeat bear - they do them all the time.
Michael picked Abigail's middle name while we waited for them to prep an ultrasound room to go back in and make a heartbeat bear. I was desperate for him to pick her middle name. I needed to know her. Completely. I was so anxious and I knew that as soon as he spoke her name, I could begin to be okay somehow.
Abigail Esme Judd. He wanted her middle name to mean "loved." (For the record, he went through a lot of unpronounceable names - mainly of Celtic origin - on a baby app before he got to Esme)
Going back in for that second ultrasound of the morning my heart was racing. I was so scared. I didn't know if I could handle seeing her again. It's not that I didn't want to but I felt like I was dying and my whole world was shattered and burning around me. My baby is dying. My baby girl. And there's nothing I can do. And they're telling me I'll never be able to meet her alive. And I want her so badly. But I can't keep her and God didn't answer my prayer.
My due date is still October 24th. I originally thought it would be the 14th but they dated it at my 8 week ultrasound and today even though we now know she has anencephaly and therefore would have been small even back then, they're sticking with the 24th. Five months.
Oh Lord, will I really have to do this? Five months suddenly feels so long. This is going to be such a long year. I'm going to keep getting bigger. I'm going to feel her moving in me. And she's going to die. How can I carry her for five more months and feel her moving and have people congratulate me in the grocery store and try to make small talk about my pregnancy all the while knowing she's going to die. God, I can't bear this. It's too much. Why couldn't I have miscarried her? That was my worst fear but I never even considered this. This seems so much worse. They're telling me she's going to die inside me. I'll give birth to a dead baby. And then I'll come home to recover from all the postpartum hormones with no baby. My milk will come in but I'll have no baby to nurse. How will I ever hold a baby again? SW & JL & JK...they're all having babies this summer. And I'm certain the next time I hold a baby I'm going to sob all over the poor thing and freak out whoever the parents are.
I need to hold a baby. I want to hold a baby right now more than anything in the world. That baby smell and those little noises and soft, soft skin. Oh God, I want to hold my baby. I don't want her to die. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.
Afterward we went to the Creperie before going home to relieve M from babysitting Theo. It's our favorite date spot and we both needed to eat something. We hadn't had food yet. And we had a lot of phone calls to make so we needed sustenance. I don't know which of us said it...maybe we both thought it...but we know that whatever I eat, Abigail will get to taste. She needs to experience the Creperie while she can.
While we were at the Creperie an older woman came and sat beside me. She'd noticed my sticker and asked "Are you a patient at __? Floor #7? I know what that means. I spent quite a bit of time there 13 years ago. You can do this. You are going to survive and life will go on."
She told me I am strong and that she'd say a prayer for us. It was like a visit from an angel. I'm so glad she was brave enough to approach a stranger and speak up.
I think I made phone calls for the rest of the day. I couldn't do it last week. Michael screened all my calls. I was unstable and unable. Today I need to tell everyone. Over and over and over again. It's the only way I can process what's happening. It's the only way I can understand.
We're telling everyone her name. We didn't do that with Theo. And our other kids - the ones we haven't met yet - we have their names picked out and we won't share them until they're born. But Abigail is special and we want everyone to know her for as long as possible.
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