She told us that most often baby’s with Trisomy 18 will miscarry, are still born, or may live a few hours after birth but not many do.
She asked if our kids knew, and they do, we had told them just four weeks ago. We waited to tell them and our families. We had already had an ultrasound, doctor appointment, and even waited a few weeks after that to tell them. She knew that was hard, “what do you tell them?”
What do I tell them?
That was something that did cross my mind, but not the actual conversation of it, just the heartbreak of it. How do I tell them that they will never know this baby? This baby they have begged and begged for, planned for, were so excited for. How do I tell them this baby will go to heaven instead of come home to us? I lost it.
We talked about what to expect when I have the baby, and it will all just depend on how far along I am.
At this point, I will have no indication of losing the baby. The only way I will find out is to come in for a doctor appointment, and our baby won’t have a heart beat.
How is this happening to us?
I will now go to appointments every two weeks to monitor the baby’s heartbeat.
She went on to tell us that our next step is to meet with a Maternal Fetal Doctor. They will do more detailed ultrasounds, look at the baby more in depth, and suggest that we do an amniocentesis test.
Matt and I had already discuss this test, and I don’t have the need or want to move forward with it. We discussed the test with my doctor, and she told us that the test does have risks for infection and miscarriage, and our decision should be based on how far am I willing to go, and that’s something the fetal maternal doctor will also discuss.
How far am I willing to go? This is my baby. A life that we created. I feel this baby everyday. I am willing to go to the ends of the Earth. If I could, I would carry this baby forever and not think twice about it.
It’s crazy isn’t it, how you know you would devote your life to someone that you have never met.
We agreed not do any further testing. We know our baby is not healthy, our prognosis is very poor, and ultimately,
I’m having a baby that I can’t keep.
I know that one day, the baby’s heart will stop. As hard, and as gut wrenching as that is, it’s unpreventable. It’s hard. It’s hard to accept, almost like a pill I can’t swallow.
It’s a nightmare I wish I could wake up from.
It’s hard to know that one day, I’ll have this baby, and I’ll have to face my worst fears, and I can’t do anything about it. I’ll have to tell this baby goodbye, the baby that I would have given anything to keep. I’ll never bring this baby home. I’ll never be able to rock this baby to sleep. Ill never watch this baby take their first steps. I’ll never be able to see this baby grow up. I’ll never be able to give this baby a birthday party. I’ll never be able to watch this baby play with their brothers and sister. I’ll never be able to see this baby go to their first day of school. I’ll never be able to watch this baby grow up.
This is the hardest thing I will ever do in my life.
My doctor told us she would set up an appointment with a maternal fetal doctor, and she would be back. Before she left the room, I asked if she could tell us the gender of the baby.
It’s a girl.
Our beautiful baby girl. How heartbroken I am.
We were set up to meet with our fetal maternal doctor on Thursday, which was in just two days.
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