Two years ago this week our world tilted on its
axis. We lived in Houston, Texas, I was 20 weeks pregnant with our 4th child, and we had just been
in to receive our anatomy ultrasound. This is the scan where the baby’s
major organs are checked. We had the scan done at a special ultrasound clinic
and our biggest decision that day was whether to find out the gender of the
baby or not. We choose both and had the technician write the results on a
yellow sticky note and I placed in my purse.
The next day Mark and I were out trying to
finalize the sale of our two vehicles and had stopped to eat lunch when my
obstetrician called us. I quickly stepped out of the restaurant to more clearly
hear. Just in time to hear the Dr when she said, “All the measurements look
good with the baby and everything looks up to date... However, the technician did
find a spot in the brain. You’re going to need a level 2 scan to address this.”
I felt the blood draining...I tried to ask coherent questions, tried to
understand what the Dr was saying, but basically until we had the scan there
was no telling what “spot on the brain meant.” This was Thursday and so we had
to wait over an agonizing long weekend until Tuesday to attend the scan with a
perinatologist.
That weekend I turned 31 and it was a
horrible birthday, sad to say. I was consumed with worry. If you’ve never
experienced it worry on this level it rips you in two. Sleep was the only
respite from this disease that was eating me alive.