2nd Worst

{Continued from this post.}

We woke up on Wednesday morning, October 5th, hoping to find out this had all been a dream.  Or rather a nightmare.

The details are a little fuzzy in my head of this day.  I know that while we were getting ready for our doctor's appointments, I sat on the bed and wrote a Facebook message to a large group of our friends.  I needed to let everyone know what was going on and to ask them to pray.  Sometimes I look back on that letter and am amazed at my words.  Clearly the Lord had afforded us peace and comfort that could only come from Him.  During our whole time with Graham, He was so good to give us overwhelming peace and glimpses of Hope.  Here's an excerpt:

...

Being completely honest, I am so scared and also so very sad. Of course, this is not the way we would have liked all of this to happen, but we also trust in the sovereign plan of God. We are crying out to Him for a miracle, but we know that He loves and knows our precious baby even more than we do. And He will heal this baby. Maybe in not the way our flesh so desires, but our baby will be healed regardless.


I am not sending you this email for you to feel sorry for us. We are fine. We will be fine. We have the Prince of Peace. But I am sending you this email begging that you would join us in prayer. Our very specific request right now is that the tests would come back showing that the baby and I are candidates for the surgery. Please join us.

...

Even though, like I said before, the details are fuzzy from this day, I can still picture myself sitting on my brother's guest bed and crying big, fat alligator tears while writing this email.  It still didn't feel real.

We dropped Parker off at my niece & nephew's daycare (Sidenote: Another provision from God.  Their very nice and capable daycare allowed drop-ins and were more than willing to accomodate our situation.  They let Parker and Laurel see each other as much or often as they needed during the day so we knew Parker would feel comfortable). 

We made the long trek from Katy to the Medical Center in Houston where we first met with a genetic counselor.  There were no procedures to be done at that appointment, but this kind lady did want us to be familiar with all of the chromosomal issues that could be causing the baby's blockage.  Trisomy 13, 18, and 21 were all tossed around as possible issues.  There was a constant stream of tears as we looked through a book with her of the disorders and the fatality rates.  She told us that they could do a CVS placenta draw that day to test the chromosomes and see what is wrong.  It would also tell us the gender.  We agreed to the procedure, knowing it would give us insight in how to better treat our baby.

The next appointment was with our fetal intervention doctor, who did a very thorough ultrasound on the baby.  It lasted about 45 minutes, and then he asked us to go into the conference room next door.  Matt and I, along with about 5 other doctors, sat down at the conference table, facing an empty white board.  In the next 30 minutes, that white board became full of scenarios and percentages.

We were basically given 3 options:
   1) IF there were no chromosomal issues, and the bladder taps of urine proved that the kidney was somewhat functioning, and it was a boy, THEN we could go forward with a bladder shunt placement surgery.  However, it only offers a 60% survival rate.
   2) Do nothing, and let the baby pass on their own.
   3) Have a "procedure" done to "eliminate" the baby.

I remember sitting there, and every once in awhile, looking around at the doctors who were staring at the whiteboard.  Did they know they were talking about my baby?  Did they not see that this is a devastating conversation we are having?  How could they look so un-moved?

After the lengthy conversation, everyone left the room except for Matt and I.  They wanted to give us time to discuss everything, now knowing all of the information and all of the risks.

Can I let you in on a little secret?

It was easy not to choose Option 3.  We were not going to abort this precious life inside me.  BUT - there was a fleeting moment in all of it that I just wanted to choose Option 2.  The future looked bleak for this baby.  Why don't we just let the baby pass on their own, peacefully, inside my womb?  Do we really want to go through all of these procedures just to have a baby who would be so sick?  A baby who would need so much medical help for the rest of their life?

The Lord spoke to us during that time, though, and asked that we would walk this path - however long it took.  Whatever it looked like.  Whether it ended that day during the invasive procedures the doctors were about to perform.  Or whether it ended when this baby passed away at the age of 90 years old.

We were confident that the Lord was calling us to chase after life for this baby.  We knew that the whiteboard in front of us was nothing but bad news.  There was no hope.  The only place we could find true Hope was through God.  Isn't that what it all boils down to, anyways?  Christ Alone.

The decision was made to move forward with the needed procedures.  The doctors made sure that we knew that there was a risk with the following procedures, and that this could be the end right then and there if something went wrong. 

Believing the Lord was calling us to continue, I laid on a table with Matt on one side and a sweet Nurse Practicitioner on the other squeezing my hands while the doctors performed the 1st of 3 bladder taps.  It was surreal to be watching the ultrasound on the big screen TV mounted to the wall, seeing the same thing the doctors saw while they expertly inserted a needle into my belly, into the pregnancy sac, and into the baby's bladder.  They drew urine out to test and see if the kidneys were still working.  The next test was a CVS placenta draw where they went into my belly and actually clipped off a part of my placenta to send in for chromosomal testing. 

I remember that Matt and I were both praying, out loud, while the doctors were working.  I kept on repeating to the Lord, "You know."  He alone knew the days numbered for our sweet baby.  He alone knew what needed to be done.  He alone knew the issues that were causing the blockage.  He alone knew who the sweet baby was.  He alone was in control.

The rest of the day was a blur.  We set up more appointments with doctors in the coming days, and then headed back to Katy to see Parker and my brother's family.  All I wanted to do after those appointments was hold Parker.  I saw my baby up on the screen all day long and felt so helpless, unable to do anything to help him.  Towards the end of the day, and in the days (and months) to come, I found myself not even looking at the screen.  It is too much, sometimes, to see your sweet baby up there hurting while there is absolutely nothing you can do.

I know this entry is not the most upbeat thing I've ever posted on this blog, but I really did want to get all of this written before I forgot more than I already have.  If I count the Monday after Graham passed away - the day that we went to the funeral home - as the worst day of my life, then I count this day, October 5th, 2011, the second worst day.  It was such a very rough day for our family.

But know this - there were brighter days coming.  The Lord performed some miracles in our sweet baby's life.  Of course, we all know the ending of this story and we know that Graham is no longer with us.  But along the journey that started this day one year ago, there was still answered prayer and glimpses of joy.