Seven Months

I've been feeling this day coming for a while. Yesterday I was deeply angry. I raged for the better part of the day. I could have beaten someone. Sometimes the rage is overwhelming. Finally, in the afternoon I took a nap because it was all I could think of to do. When I woke up in the late evening, I found Bryan home from work, taking a nap too. Sometimes, a nap is all you can do when you feel this bad.

I had terrible dreams all night. I can't clearly remember them, just bits a pieces, but the theme was death. I woke up mid-dream because I was sobbing and my heart hurt. (You know it's going to be bad when you wake up crying).

Today is seven months. It's also one year.

One year ago today, the doctor stood next to me [you remember her, the icky Dr], scanning my tummy.  She suddenly stopped and turned the screen away. "I'm seeing something concerning." My heart stopped in that moment as I tried to understand what she was saying. Little did I know it was the beginning of the end. After I cleaned myself off and redressed, with my hand held firmly in Bryan's, she explained that she saw something wrong but wasn't sure what it was. I must have lost all color because she looked at me and said, "don't worry too much, it's too early to terminate at this point". (Meaning we would wait to see what was wrong before killing our baby - gross). She made an appointment for us with the high-resolution ultrasound tech for two hours from that point, and Bryan and I wobbled out to the car and cried. We prayed so hard. "Please God, let him be ok!"

Over the next two hours we sat in horror and prayed for our baby's life.

We went back to the office and had another ultrasound. This time, instead of having the fear of god put in us, the very sweet tech helped us feel more calm. "I see what she [the icky Dr] is talking about, but I've never seen it before so I don't know what it is either." Instead of leaving us shaken and hurting, she down-played it and gave us reassurance. I'll always appreciate the way she handled it.

Our sweet baby Samuel, with the ugly black spot in his tummy. The photo that began it all.

Here is what I wrote in Samuel's journal that day:
Today we got some troubling news. During our appointment, we had an ultrasound. She noticed that your tummy was holding more fluid than expected. She told us we were going to need a more in-depth ultrasound, so, later in the day, we went back and had another look. Again, they noticed the extra fluid. They made us an appointment at the Mayo Clinic for two week from now. We were so scared! We love you SO much that even the thought of something wrong is heartbreaking! I cried a lot this afternoon. We want you SO much! We began praying fervently that you would be healthy and safe. One of the worst parts was that we were not given any information about what it meant that there was fluid buildup. We has to just sit and wait. We called some of our close friend to pray with us. We will do our best to keep busy for the next two weeks.

And Bryan's:
We are very worried after that doctor visit but we have no idea what to expect. We were upset with the doctor for not telling us what it might mean. All we could really do was wait and pray. We love you very much and we just knew we were going to do whatever we could to keep you healthy.

Needless to say, today is ugly to me. It literally hurts my heart that today exists. I can feel all the sadness and anxiety of that day in my heart. It reminds me of the terror and the sadness and the sick-feeling I had for so long around this time last year. It reminds me of what's about to come: the one year anniversary of his diagnosis and the horrible procedures and the up and down and "is he dead or not" moments and all the nightmarish events we went through. I've been traumatized in a way that won't be quickly resolved.  It all happened because of what happened on this day, last year.

I can't believe this is my life. Where is my sweet boy with little baby teeth in his drooling smile and chubby little thighs crawling around? It feels like he was stolen from me, along with all my joy and faith in life. It's all gone.

I miss him.