There are a couple of things I need to write about - just so I can stop thinking about them. It helps to organize my thoughts, write, and then even read what I wrote over and over again. My brain feels like it's constantly working. Putting my thoughts in order and then reading over them helps my brain slow down.
On Monday, we went to Baptist hospital to have a fetal echocardiogram. I've spent a lot of time at Baptist, particularly the children's hospital.
When Elijah was a toddler, he went through a little bit of testing for cystic fibrosis. It was so long ago, I don't even remember what doctor we saw or what test(s) he had.
Levi has been a surgical patient at Baptist for a hernia repair.
Most of Melissa's specialists are at Baptist. Her geneticist, endocrinologist, and ENT are at the children's hospital. She's had multiple swallow studies, a few xrays, several hearing tests and one speech test. She's seen a general surgeon, a plastic surgeon, and she's had 3 (maybe 4?) surgeries there. Many hours at Baptist.
Seth is currently a patient of the same surgeon who's done Levi's and one of Missy's surgeries. Seth has a hernia (which just blows my mind - what are the odds that TWO of my boys would have inguinal hernias?), and surgery is scheduled for August 10.
So being at Baptist on Monday wasn't a 'new' experience. But it was so very different. We checked in on the 7th floor, Peds Specialties, just like I've done many times before. But we didn't have a child in our arms or walking beside us, like every other parent there. So we got some looks. I'm sure people were just wondering what we were doing there without a child. I was SO nervous. Nervous enough that I felt sick to my stomach. We waited in the waiting room for 30 minutes, which felt like f-o-r-e-v-e-r. I remember hearing the theme song for 'Mickey Mouse Clubhouse' in the background from a tv in the waiting room, and I felt myself relax a little, which is just weird. But I think I know why that song helped me - it was familiar. It put me back in my living room, on any typical weekday morning, knowing one or two of the kids were watching Mickey Mouse while I ate my breakfast. It was familiar. Routine. Ordinary. I needed that.
Once we were finally called back, the ultrasound tech greeted us way too happily. She asked 'How ya'll doin' this mornin'?' in a perky southern drawl, and I wanted to reply really sarcastically. I didn't. I was polite. Quiet, but polite. Once we were in the ultrasound room, her tone changed. She softened, reassured me, told us everything she was going to be doing, and told me to do my best to relax. Yeah, right.
She started getting things set up. At one point, she needed to go get some paperwork, and Jason asked her where the restroom was. And they both left the room. It feels ridiculous, but... I panicked. I was laying on that reclining chair, my tummy covered with a towel, and I was alone. I couldn't breathe. Tears just rolled down my cheeks. I tried to tell myself that it was ok, that they'd be back in a minute - I even tried to pray. I needed Jason to come back. I have needed him with me more than ever over the last 10 days. Eventually, the tech came back, and I don't think she could tell how upset I'd been. I was thankful for that. I was afraid that if she'd asked, I would have fallen apart all over again.
The ultrasound was fairly uneventful. I couldn't see the screen very well, so I could really only stare at the wall. I tried not to look at the tech's face too much - I've learned that ultrasound tech's have great poker faces. But they also make some pretty funny faces when they're concentrating on the screen.
The pediatric cardiologist wanted to speak with us about the results of the echo. We were taken to an 'office' for this conversation, and that completely freaked me out. I guess I always picture the office conversations being reserved for the really awful news. But it turned out to be not-so-terrible news. The doctor even asked us if we had a name picked out for the baby before he told us the results. That tiny gesture right there skyrocketed my respect for him.
We left Baptist 3 hours after we had arrived. Jason and I went to eat a little lunch, wishing it could be a celebratory lunch. Even though we'd heard what we felt like was good news from the cardiologist, we both felt a heaviness, knowing that this news about Elliana's heart probably hadn't changed her overall prognosis.
I'm not sure how to end this post. This must be the most depressing blog ever. I feel like I should try to close on a happy note. But I've never been a 'look for the silver lining' kind of girl.
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