A year and two days ago, November 18th last year, was the day we first found out something might be wrong with Elisa. It was supposed to be a joyous day, the day we would get the ultrasound where we would see if we were having a boy or a girl. We had even planned a Gender Reveal party for later that weekend. Mark;s mom was flying in to Seattle specifically to come to the party and see if she was going to have a granddaughter or a grandson.
But that appointment didn't go the way we thought it would.
Looking back on the ultrasound now, I can see how the technician was taking more measurement than she may normally do, that she was being very quiet.
But to Mark and I we were just super excited to see our beautiful baby on the screen, and waiting for when the technician would tell us to look away, so we wouldn't accidentally see the gender (we wanted to wait and see with everyone else at the party).
So after the ultrasound we sat in the lobby for about a half hour while they reviewed the ultrasound and we waited for our check up with our OB.
We sat there looking at the ultrasound photos, being so happy that we finally made it this far. That things seemed to finally be going our way.
But when we got to see our Doctor we knew things were not right. She came in, sat us down and very sweetly said, "things just have to be so hard" she sat down and put her hand on me to comfort me as she continued to explain the situation. Our baby was three weeks behind growth targets, which was not normal, and they believed something was wrong. They didn't know what, or why, the equipment they had couldn't tell them enough, so we would have to schedule to be seen by a high risk doctor the next week.
We left the appointment shell-shocked. That an appointment that should be joyous and exciting turned in to dread, and that we would have to wait until the following Monday to figure out what was actually wrong.
So two days later, when my birthday rolled around, I did not feel like celebrating. I was worried and depressed about what might be wrong with my precious baby.
Now this year, as my birthday rolls around again, I don't feel like celebrating.
Those who know me well know I am a planner, and I like to have things in order. When I looked at my "life plan", I though I would have two children by now. I do, but no on sees them, they aren't here with me, and I have the ache in my heart of two losses. Even after all of that, I had hopped I would at least be pregnant again by now, and have the hope of a younger brother/sister for our angels. But even that hope was crushed.
I have succumbed to the fact that I cannot have a life that follows a plan, but I still grieve the life I wanted. Getting another year older with an empty house and no light in sight that it will happen soon is hard. That and knowing that Elisa's official diagnosis day is just around the corner, coming up on Tuesday, I don't feel much like celebrating
But that appointment didn't go the way we thought it would.
Looking back on the ultrasound now, I can see how the technician was taking more measurement than she may normally do, that she was being very quiet.
But to Mark and I we were just super excited to see our beautiful baby on the screen, and waiting for when the technician would tell us to look away, so we wouldn't accidentally see the gender (we wanted to wait and see with everyone else at the party).
So after the ultrasound we sat in the lobby for about a half hour while they reviewed the ultrasound and we waited for our check up with our OB.
We sat there looking at the ultrasound photos, being so happy that we finally made it this far. That things seemed to finally be going our way.
But when we got to see our Doctor we knew things were not right. She came in, sat us down and very sweetly said, "things just have to be so hard" she sat down and put her hand on me to comfort me as she continued to explain the situation. Our baby was three weeks behind growth targets, which was not normal, and they believed something was wrong. They didn't know what, or why, the equipment they had couldn't tell them enough, so we would have to schedule to be seen by a high risk doctor the next week.
We left the appointment shell-shocked. That an appointment that should be joyous and exciting turned in to dread, and that we would have to wait until the following Monday to figure out what was actually wrong.
So two days later, when my birthday rolled around, I did not feel like celebrating. I was worried and depressed about what might be wrong with my precious baby.
Now this year, as my birthday rolls around again, I don't feel like celebrating.
Those who know me well know I am a planner, and I like to have things in order. When I looked at my "life plan", I though I would have two children by now. I do, but no on sees them, they aren't here with me, and I have the ache in my heart of two losses. Even after all of that, I had hopped I would at least be pregnant again by now, and have the hope of a younger brother/sister for our angels. But even that hope was crushed.
I have succumbed to the fact that I cannot have a life that follows a plan, but I still grieve the life I wanted. Getting another year older with an empty house and no light in sight that it will happen soon is hard. That and knowing that Elisa's official diagnosis day is just around the corner, coming up on Tuesday, I don't feel much like celebrating
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