The technician deftly maneuvered the wand across my stomach as the grainy image on the screen blurred in and out clarity. “Hmmm,” she murmured, smiling as she tried another angle. “Let’s take a look at that little hand there buddy.” After a pause the image crystallized further. “There we go,” she continued. “So it looks like there may be an issue with his left hand.” Her voice remained steady and calm. “See there? It seems that not all of the digits formed properly. The doctor will be able to talk more about it with you when he comes in later.”
Stephen and I sat there staring at the screen. It became easy to see the hand our little guy had seemingly hid protectively from the ultrasound’s prodding scope. Sure enough, there weren’t the typical five digits, but perhaps a couple smaller ones on the ends —if that. Heart, kidneys, she continued to check the other organs. “The bowels look a little bright. It’s hard to tell. I’ll let the doctor take a closer look at that too when he comes in.”
Several minutes later the doctor entered with a heavy medical text in hand. “So there appears to be a malformation on the left hand. And Sherry said the bowels may have looked a little bright as well. Why don’t we take a look?” After another scan he confirmed the tech’s findings. “The bowels aren’t extremely bright,” he continued after placing the wand back into place, “but it’s sort of an all or nothing with echogenic bowels. It either is or isn’t and in this case they are just bright enough to classify it as echogenic. Quite often that doesn’t mean anything. But since he has the issue with the hand we need to flag it as a possibility of an underlying issue.”
He hoisted the book up on his lap and opened it to a page with minute text and colorful diagrams. “Your son has what we call a split hand/foot malformation syndrome. Unfortunately it’s very rare. There really isn’t a lot of information about it. It could be related to as many as seventy-five underlying conditions. Or— unrelated to anything. Idiopathic. Just something that happened. Based on some of the other tests I am cautiously optimistic that it may be an isolated, structural abnormality. However, the only way to know for certain will be amniocentesis.”
“And would that change anything? Course of treatment?” I asked.
“Not really. It would just help diagnostically speaking.”
Even though the risk of miscarriage with amniocentesis is small, it was a psychological risk I just didn’t want to take. If anything had happened, it would always leave me wondering. And since it really wouldn’t change anything—? “No thank you.”
“Okay, well we will just continue to have ultrasounds every so often to monitor growth. Sometimes the echogenic bowels can be associated with stunted growth, although it may be nothing at all. If you have any questions” he fished a card out of his wallet and handed to me. “Feel free to call and let me know. We’ll see you back in about four weeks or so.”
I gathered my things glancing at the clock as I did. 1:00 pm. We had already been there for over two hours. “I guess you need to get back to work,” I said, looking at Stephen.
“Yeah,” he mumbled numbly.
“Hopefully it’s nothing. I mean, if it’s just a hand, that’s not a big deal, right?”
Stephen nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. I guess we just don’t really know.”
And we didn’t. And wouldn’t. The doctor had thrown out several possible disorders including cystic fibrosis. Many of those conditions we wouldn’t even know or be able to confirm until he was born. Cautiously optimistic. We’ll go with that. Stephen and I got back into our separate vehicles and returned to work. It was a long day. That evening was the same old frenzied routine wrangling children through the dinner time-bed time production. Then dishes. Laundry to fold. We both picked at some food briefly before turning in for the night.
It wasn’t until the next evening after a series of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses that we finally settled down on the couch. We sat in silence for several minutes. “How long has it been?” I asked. I didn’t need to say what ‘it’ was.
Stephen released a heavy sigh. “Feels like a week.”
I nodded in agreement. It was strange how time is such a fluid and perplexing thing. One day it is racing by like an over-exuberant brook, the next slinking through the moments with painfully, exaggerated sluggishness. In this case the heaviness of the news seemed to weigh down the moments into an illusion of days stretched into weeks.
The only certainty was uncertainty.
Not having any answers, not sharing news with our family just yet, the next several weeks between scans were curious. There is always an assumption of a normal, healthy pregnancy. E-mails and baby ads feature beaming parents holding healthy newborns, pregnant women in designer clothes sauntering carefree through flowing fields, and an underlying notion that every pregnancy is just a delightful, albeit occasionally, humorous condition. Public space is limited then, for pregnancies that carry the weight of uncertainty or for some, even grief.
I felt occasionally guilty when people would make the typical pregnancy comments, (naturally not knowing about our current situation), and I would respond with expected, obligatory replies, hoping that they didn’t catch a shadow of sadness or hesitation flicker across my eyes. The joy was still there, just a bit muted as we were concerned over the health and future of our child. I longed to hold him in my arms, to snuggle him close to my chest and gaze down at his precious face, to whisper my love to him over and over between kisses upon his brow.
How remarkable to have someone as close to me as within my womb feel as impossibly far away as a distant star. Oh my love.
The pace of time waxed into normalcy as we went about our daily lives, the busy season of young children and church life. We take each day without overly worrying about the future or that which we cannot change. I simply treasure this beloved life growing within. I delight in his small movements from time to time, a reminder that not long from now we will gaze upon each other’s face. I welcome the snug fit of (even!) maternity clothes, a reminder that we are growing toward a moment of encounter unlike any other. Pregnancy is such a privilege, an honor and a joy for me. This pregnancy is no different, because each moment of his presence is a blessing.
The only certainty with this little one is the uncertainty of variables. But so is life. His condition, whatever it might be, is only a reminder of the illusion of consistency. Our assumptions of impermeability and stability are simply a precarious bubble floating upon the breeze of time— only a temporary condition that inevitably will dissolve in an instant. So relinquishing any thought of control, we take each day as it comes, with hope and thanksgiving for our lives in this moment and the joyful anticipation of this cherished life to come.