"Ok, I need to go get the doctor now. No worries I'll be right back."
This ultrasound technician was a liar. She worked in a high-risk fetal maternal medicine office. Her lies should've been more convincing.
One umbilical artery. Feet that aren't quite right. Left leg doesn't move. More tests. More ultrasounds. More doctors. Amniocentesis. More questions. No answers. And finally, her brain is "smooth"...
"Ma'am, this pregnancy isn't viable. This fetus will not survive outside the womb. You need to consider termination, before it's too far along to do so."
"NEW DOCTOR!" I demanded. And a different doctor told me the same thing. And after him, another doctor with the same opinion.
Another baby girl. I have four sisters and a daughter. This family only makes girl babies. And THIS girl baby is mine. This baby girl belongs to my sweet daughter. HER baby.
We prayed together. We researched, we cried and we PRAYED. Our families all over the country prayed with us. Come hell or high water this baby would be born. We would spend as many seconds with her as God allowed.
We chose her name. She would be named after my mother, and my husband's. We did not plan her funeral. We were told to "make arrangements" but couldn't bring ourselves to do so.
After her traumatic birth via cesarean, we would learn the true extent of her medical issues. But what we took away from those moments was the true extent of God and miracles and love. I learned my true strengths, my undiscovered weaknesses, and my faith flourished and blossomed like never before.
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