He walked into that little room where I waited, angst flooding my every pore. I remember how I was sitting. His ordinary white lab coat. His common hair color. The sound of his voice, purposefully soft.
His face was my confirmation…the only confirmation I needed. I already knew. I just didn’t know exactly what I knew. I searched his face in desperation. My pulse pounding in my ears. My heartbeat visible…no, obvious…through my gown. My breath coming only in short, silent gasps. He just kept looking at the printouts from my ultrasound, flipping through copy after copy. Eye contact came slowly.
At some point he spoke the word “gastroschisis.” The room blurred. The air left my lungs. I fumbled for the box of harsh, white, doctor’s office Kleenex. I couldn’t see his face anymore. I didn’t want to. I didn’t even look. His words tumbled through the fog in my head. I was there, very present…but I wasn’t. I was outside myself, watching this nightmarish scene unfold, as if viewing through the filtered dream scene in a movie. Nothing was clear. His voice was distant, but close. His words muted, but deafening. His concern genuine and palpable, but illusory and irrelevant.
Reality and nightmare merged, overwhelming all my senses.
I could stay in the room as long as I needed. I remember him saying that. I didn’t want to. But I didn’t know how to leave. I wanted to run. But I could barely walk.
Somehow, eventually, my legs carried me through the waiting room—the room filled with expectant mothers and their small children. Were they smiling? Excited? I imagined they were. But I kept my head down. A haze surrounded me. I was pretty sure no one could see me, my red eyes, my blotchy face. I was pretty sure I was invisible.
I must have walked to the elevator…but it felt more like floating. Some other force moving my legs. The elevator opened quickly…mercifully. I leaned against the back wall, my head still down, silently begging the doors to close.
I needed to be alone.
And then I was.
In my car, in the parking garage. Two phone calls. First work. I’m not coming back in today. I’d tell them why later. Next, my sister…my best friend. My voice wavered and shook. What could she say? Shock froze conversation. I hung up. I cried. Two more phone calls, but they had to wait until I was home. They would be even harder. The first would be the worst.
How do you tell your husband? How do you say that to her daddy? He was waiting. Hoping it was another appointment with little to report. Maybe even counting on that. But it wasn’t. This was the phone call no one should have to make.
~~This is part 2 of a 3 part post, to be continued soon. You can read part 1 here...it may help you understand why I chose to share something so personal and emotional. And why sharing was both extremely difficult and extraordinarily easy. I'm humbled to have your audience. God's blessings on each of you who take the time to read. He is faithful and loving and He never fails.~~
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