This is long buckle-up.
Tyler came home from London HALLELUJAH LORD ALMIGHTY! I was anticipating him being at home so he could help me wrangle, but most of all so I could feel less isolated in this weird in-between of unknown. I dropped Si off with a friend, picked up T from work, and we drove the wet, cold, dark, depressing drive to the doctor. The technician did a comprehensive scan of his heart. After she was done, we were asked to go to another room to chat with the doc. My heart sank. This. Was bad. We looked at one another; we knew it. We sat in the room, and the doctor proceeded to tell us that our baby had transposition of the great arteries-TGA. TGA is one of the rarest and most fatal congenital heart defects. There is no cure; the chance of stillbirth is high–if you make it full term, open-heart surgery will be done the first week of life. This surgery is a milestone if he does make it. There is a higher chance of other genetic disorders, a higher chance of abnormalities, and lastly, not sure if this will be one of many surgeries, etc. etc. etc. blah. blah. blah. She reminded us we had two weeks to terminate and I completely tuned everything out from there. I became more concerned I would throw up on the table than listen to anything else this woman had to say. I wanted to punch this innocent doctor in the only spot visible on her face, right in the place between her protective goggles and covid mask. We made an appointment for the next day with the cardiologist and the elevator shut. I began to wale. The waling did not stop.
We got home. I curled into bed, only getting up to vomit here and there. We put the boys to bed, and Tyler and I looked at each other, still in shock. He said, ok, let’s figure out how we are going to move forward with this. What do we think? What do we believe? I said, well–it’s our responsibility to believe in a miracle. If we have based our lives on the belief that our God cares, sees, and heals, then this was our test if we believed it or not. I wasn’t sure.
tocarryamos.com 