I was almost 35, pregnant, and considered to be of advanced maternal age. I was due for an ultrasound, the 20 week one where you find out the gender of your baby, and I was so anxious. I'd already had 4 boys and one girl, and I was almost pretty certain that this was going to be a girl. It had to be, since I'd already given away all of my boy clothes.
The day before I went in, I was struck with the thought that this 20 week ultrasound WASN'T just about finding out the gender, but checking up on the baby's overall health and development. I couldn't believe I had never even thought of that prior to this, especially since I was such a seasoned mom. Either way, in the back of my mind, I was preparing to learn that this baby just might not be perfect.
The big day arrived, and my husband and I anxiously waited to be called back. I was incredibly nervous, especially since my obstetrician had sent me for a specialized ultrasound...just in case. My baby was probably going to be just fine, but they had to check things out, just to be sure. Once we were called back and the warm gel was on my stomach, my eyes searched the monitor, trying to find the baby's face, hands, and gender. But my ultrasound technologist had her own method, and I was forced to wait. By the time we made it to the face, I was dying to see the little nose and mouth. She scanned over the face multiple times, but I just couldn't make any sense of what I was seeing. I had seen enough ultrasounds to feel pretty confident in deciphering the images, but for some reason, this one was just a garbled up mess of grays. I made out a little tiger cub's face, but surely that wasn't right. After a minute of searching for a clear image of the face, she moved on to other parts of the body. It was a boy, and I tried being excited, but the weight of disappointment clung a little bit to my heart. I so desperately had wanted my daughter to have a sister, someone to share her secrets and crushes with, someone to have as her best friend. We looked at his spine, his little feet and hands, then back up at the face for a clearer shot. I figured she was trying to get the best picture for us. But no matter what, those little lips and smooshed up nose evaded us. Or so I thought, until she informed us that it appeared that our son had a cleft lip.
Those words should have hit me like a ton of bricks, but they didn't. Sure, I was disappointed, and I would probably cry later, but for now, I felt I could be strong. I had a friend whose baby had a cleft lip, and after it had been repaired, it really looked good! I was okay. As we checked out my baby's face closer, she pointed out where the cleft was, and said she wasn't exactly sure, but it looked like maybe it was a bilateral cleft, where BOTH sides of the lip were split. It was then that I realized I WASN'T strong, and I broke down and cried. She left to get a doctor who could give us more information, and my husband and I were left together to mourn the possibility of a defected child.
When we finally left the office, I felt heavy with the burden we were about to face. I regretted ever having announced my pregnancy, because I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want to look at anyone, and I most certainly didn't want to talk to anyone. My mother-in-law was babysitting our kids, so when we walked into the door, I hid in my bedroom and cried while my husband shared the news with her. I ignored the ringing phone for the next few hours, resenting all those nosy people trying to pry into my life. In reality, all they wanted was to celebrate the gender with us, but to me, it was having to admit to them that I was unable to create a perfect baby.
It took hours of crying and trying to gather strength before I was able to call my parents. I told them the gender, and then timidly told them that he had a cleft. I expected sympathy, reassurance, or something to find some strength from, but I did not expect the laughter from my dad. "Good one!" he said between chuckles. I froze, not knowing how to even proceed. The tears that exploded were the only way he knew I was serious. It was at that moment that I felt I was completely and utterly alone on this journey.
So beautifully written
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