The day before a year ago today - we were pumped. At 3:30 in the afternoon we would discover what modern science would now allow us to find out- the gender of the little "Acorn" that I was carrying. Yes, I'd dreamed that we had a baby but that I'd been too drugged to remember any of it, so I woke to find Nick telling others that our baby's name was Acorn. So little Acorn, as we had dubbed him/her was starting to move and my belly was starting to grow, and now AT LAST we could find out if we'd be having an Ada June or a ... well, we didn't have a boy's name picked yet, so at least we'd know that we would have work to do!
Bladder full and excitement mounting, we were called back into the ultrasound room. I laid out on the bed and smiled at Nick. We tried to not be too junior high-ish, but who can refrain from a bit of giddiness at such a pivotal time? The tech didn't speak English very well, and what she said was short and to the point. She would point at a blob on the screen and say, "leg" or "heart" or "liver". Good times, good times, but what about the gender, ma'am? At one point she nonchalantly said, "...looks like a girl..." Uh... okay? Rather anti-climactic for me. But we waited for her to speak definitively and tell us FOR SURE. And we waited. And... this was taking some time. I got nervous. The few things she had been saying had stopped completely now. Silence in the room as Nick and I held hands and waited for it to be done.
The tech finished her work and told us we could leave and that a doctor would contact us with the results of the ultrasound. Results?? As in, we have a baby in there? It's proven now?? We walked out together into the hall and I started to cry. NOT the usual response after such a great experience of learning we were going to have a baby girl, or having the unique experience of seeing her.
The next morning, one year ago today, right now, I was making pancakes. Wild rice pancakes, I believe, my specialty. Nick's family was coming over for us to announce the gender of the first Pitrone grandchild. The pink whipping cream was all dished up in the fridge, hidden behind the salad dressings for the moment of the Great Reveal.
My cell phone rang.
I picked it up and heard the voice of Lori, my nurse practitioner. She apologized as she started the call, saying that these calls were the hardest part of her job.
I handed Nick the spatula and left the kitchen and the warm griddle and the gathering family and headed into the office/nursery-to-be in search of a pen. I scribbled out on two yellow post-its the verdict. Our baby didn't have all the chambers in her heart. Something was missing. There was a hole.... a ventricular septal defect, I wrote. I cried.
No. That- that's just not fair. It must be wrong. What did that lady know, anyways? It all looked like gobbledygook to me on the ultrasound screen. I bet they make mistakes like this all the time. How much training do they even have to become ultrasound techs? Anger, fear, fear, anger.
Nick saw my scribbled out notes and asked me more questions that would've been nice to ask while Lori was still on the phone. We had an appointment for later that afternoon for a follow-up with a REAL professional, a perinatologist, whatever that was. But for now, the pancakes were done and it was time to celebrate? I mean, CELEBRATE. Muster it up, Anna, you can do this. You've got stoic Swede running through your blood and Minnesota nice to top off the rest.
This was a defining moment in my life. To have difficult, perhaps tragic news delivered, and to learn how to survive. I cried at the table with Nick's family as I learned that there are times in life where putting on your best face or emphasizing the positive doesn't fix things. It's not honest.
My life took a turn that day- in what direction, I am still not positively sure. But it was a day that changed the course of my life and of our lives as a family. A year later and that baby Acorn is out, is over 16 pounds, is rolling over and then crying because she can't roll back, and has a scar story to knock any of the rest of us out of the running.
Maybe another year down the road, or two, when the details are not so fresh and vivid, I will look at this past year as "such a year of growth", or as a "precious time of trusting", or as a "great example of the Lord's provision". I'll shoot for that, don't you worry. I know in my heart of hearts that this past year I have had far more moments of desperation, anxiety, frustration, fear, fatigue, and doubt than I'll ever really let you know. After all, the pancakes are ready, and don't they smell delicious?
