I thought I better post this now instead of later. Tomorrow is Fall Family Fitness Day and the Cuthrell’s Halloween Party. Ray and I went in to the meet with Ingrid this morning. We were hoping to hear what happened to Jessa. It seemed to us that a reason would give us closure. We were warned against hoping for that. Unfortunately in many cases between 18 and 19 weeks there isn’t a reason.
First let me say how much I love Ingrid Shelton. She is a fabulous doctor who has taken wonderful care of me. I can’t believe she will probably be overseas if we decide to expand the Stiff family. I can’t imagine having anyone else there to catch a baby. (Yes, catch in my case is very appropriate. Just ask Ingrid.) Maybe I’ll start telling Ray we have to follow her to Guam. Can you tell I love that she has been my doctor?
Going to the hospital this morning was more difficult than I imagined. Seeing the giant building just past the gate gave me a flood of memories that I could have done without. Walking down the long halls past labor and delivery, seeing familiar faces wondering if they recognized us was not my best moment. Ray met me at the clinic. Bria did her best to preoccupy us and before I knew it we were in one of the cramped little rooms waiting.
Ingrid was able to tell us what it wasn’t. Jessa’s chromosomes were just fine. She was indeed a little girl and we won’t be changing her name to Jesse. She was in fact fine and dandy according to the amnio. There was no infection. There were no blood clots. It seems that something else went wrong with our perfectly normal pregnancy. We don’t have the autopsy results yet. That will take several more weeks. I’m not sure what to hope for.
In the meantime, in 4 weeks, I’m considered healthy physically. I think emotionally it might be a while. Every day still hurts but feels a little more normal. The hurt doesn’t go away. It’s more like I’m growing accustomed to it. Of course how normal could I really be anyway?
I’ll end with this story. We left Ingrid and started through the maze of hallways. Some poor lady had the nerve to say, “How are ‘ya?” I managed to smile and mouth something that sounded like okay. Have I said how much I hate that question these days? As soon as the lady was out of ear shot I asked Ray, “What do you think would have happened if I had said, ‘I’m shitty!'” (Sorry for the language. Hope your kids aren’t reading this.) He turned around with huge eyes and asked “Did you?” He didn’t hear the first part of my statement. We got a really nice and much needed laugh out of it. So now be warned the next time someone asks. That just might be my answer.