Brace Yourself

From the beginning, we knew our first ultrasound in Wenatchee would be generally informative. We would walk away knowing whether this child had EVC or not. We would walk away with a list of things that could be concerning.

But we also knew the real information – the details on how big of mountains our little girl would need to climb – would come from further appointments across the mountains.

That day is tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll get a long detailed look at our daughter’s anatomy in general, as well as a very good look at her heart. We’ll spend somewhere around four hours at the prenatal clinic – ultrasound, echo, conferences with doctors.

We’ve been here before, so we have an idea of what the day will look like. I have an idea of the emotions that will swell. I know the lump that will form in my throat, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, as doctors describe just how big the hurdles are. I know my husband will have the ability to listen critically and ask good questions, and I’ll sit there and try to save the ugly sobs for the car. And I know the whole time the wiggles and fierce kicks of my daughter within me will seem to contradict everything I’m being told.

But there are differences this time around. We have an actual diagnosis. There will be no hunt, no guessed diagnoses with their accompanying prognoses. We have also watched a baby’s growth patterns defy expectations. We’ve watched a rib cage grow at a rate no one anticipated. We’ll get a measurement of the thoracic cavity for the first time tomorrow, but we know that’s merely a starting point. A marker to watch and see what the Lord may do.

But the heart? We know with Shiloh’s heart we’re wading into uncharted territory. Just how deep the water is we hope to learn tomorrow.

All this to say, I find myself steeling myself up today. Bracing myself. Deep breaths and rehearsing of truth. Trying in some way to prepare for the emotional onslaught to come.

But I know from past experience that there’s not really a way to prepare for those swells. They are going to come and wash over me regardless. However, I also know that they won’t last forever, at least not in that initial intensity. I know with time and space and the buoying of prayers from many that peace, and hope, and patient expectation does return.

On the morning of February 8th, less than twenty four hours after our initial revelatory ultrasound, I read the following through tears from Streams in the Desert:

Never look ahead to the changes and challenges of this life in fear. Instead, as they arise look at them with full assurance that God, whose you are, will deliver you out of them. Hasn’t He kept you safe up to now? So hold His loving hand tightly, and He will lead you safely through all things. And when you cannot stand, He will carry you in His arms.

Do not look ahead to what may happen tomorrow. The same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you tomorrow and every day. Either He will shield you from suffering or He will give you His unwavering strength that you may bear it. Be at peace, then, and set aside all anxious thoughts and worries.

Fitting words as we walk into tomorrow. Thank you for holding us all, and especially Miss Shiloh, up in prayer!

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