The iconic 1994 song by Mariah Carey has taken on a whole
new meaning for me this year. It has been incrementally playing in my head
since Monday, Nov. 26th.
For those of you who do not know, Trenton and I found out we
were pregnant in August of this year. This is something we had planned but were
surprised that it happened so quickly. While
we did have fears, we were also excited to meet our little one in April of
2019. I began a baby registry almost immediately after seeing those 2 pink
lines.
We had our first ultrasound at the end of September. Our baby’s
heartbeat was perfect and she looked healthy. Our doctor couldn’t see all that
she wanted to, due to it being too early, so she sent us in for another sonogram
at the beginning of October. Of course, I was anxious leading up to this
sonogram. I couldn’t stop thinking that there could be something wrong with our
little one. Even so, I knew that most of my fears never come to fruition, and I
was sure that all of it was just in my head. Deep down, I believed our baby was
healthy, but I was still scared.
We began announcing our pregnancy to friends, extended
family, workplaces and church family after 12 weeks (week before our 2nd
sonogram). I also had the cute pregnancy announcement picture ready to post on social
media after our next sonogram. A post I would never get to make.
October 8th came. Our sonogram day. I sat in the
waiting room shaking. I was surprised when they took my blood pressure and it
was normal. The sonogram tech came in and did the sonogram. We got to see how
much of a wiggle worm our little one was. I loved seeing her sweet little feet
kick. After the sonogram tech left, the doctor came in and looked at a few
things himself. Then came the words I thought I would never hear, “There’s
something wrong with your baby.” We were told she likely had a genetic
condition and that she probably wasn’t going to make it due to the severity of
the scan. I don’t remember much of what the doctor said after that. I kept
waiting for him to say, “I’m joking, your baby is healthy.” I know that’s
irrational to think that a doctor would tell you that mean of a joke, but I
didn’t care. It couldn’t be real. I screamed. I couldn’t catch my breath. I
pleaded with God. Trenton and I sat in that office for what felt like an
eternity, holding each other and sobbing, waiting for the doctor to come back
and tell us he made a mistake. But it didn’t happen. Our sweet nurse did pray
over us and our little one, and we felt God wrap his arms around us in that
moment, but we were still upset and angry.
After our visit, we were sent to do more tests to find out
exactly what was wrong. After a week of waiting on blood test results, we got a
call telling us our baby was a sweet little girl and that she likely had Down Syndrome. We decided to name her Amara Joy, meaning Eternal Joy. Trenton and I
could have sworn we saw her smile in a 3-D sonogram a few weeks earlier, so the
name fit her perfectly.
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| Last Bump Picture |
At our next
appointment, our doctor surprised us by telling us that the Down Syndrome diagnosis
meant that Amara was likely going to survive. Of course, there would be some
challenges along the way, but she was going to live. I started reading books
about children with disabilities, and I got in contact with a few people in
Abilene who had children with Down Syndrome. Even so, there was something in my
heart that wouldn’t let me accept that our Amara was going to live. I think I
was trying to protect myself from any more terrible news that we might receive.
We waited 4 LONG weeks for our next sonogram. Finally, November
19th came. This time, my blood pressure wasn’t so great. (It’s not
supposed to be this way, but I really hate sonograms.) The sonogram tech came
in again, and as soon as she left the room I knew something was wrong. They always
let you hear the heart beat, but this time she didn’t. I knew what that meant.
Trenton tried to tell me that they may have just forgotten, but I knew. My
heart was no longer beating alongside our little girl’s. The doctor came in
soon after and confirmed the news. Amara had likely passed away around 16
weeks, about 2-3 weeks prior to the 19th. Trenton and I cried for
the loss of our sweet girl, but tried to rest in the fact that she was with Jesus.
That she would never experience the pain of this world. We even got to
experience her smile before she left us, and I was so thankful for that.
We set our inducement date for November 25th. We
got to the hospital on Sunday at 4 p.m. and began the process of inducing
around 6 p.m. Thankfully, the labor went a lot quicker than expected and I delivered
our sweet Amara Joy at 2:29 a.m. Monday morning. She weighed 2 oz and was 5.25 inches long. Her hands and feet were so
small and her legs were so long just like
her daddy’s. We spent 12 short hours with her, and family got to hold her. We took
pictures with her and a few keepsakes. Pictures that we’ll cherish forever. Pictures
that will have to hold the place of not having our girl here with us.
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| Amara's hand and footprints |
