After the biggest snowfall of the season, we awoke....
It was the day that we would find out if HLHS would plague us again.
After cooking pancakes and bacon, Brian went outside to start shoveling the car out. It was going to take forever, but I was not cancelling this appointment. I would walk to Philly if I had to. Finally, our neighbor came by and plowed us out.
The drive up to the hospital was one that seemed familiar. It was strangely similar to the drive up on the morning on 6/4/10. The not knowing was the same, which caused an awkward silence.
Upon arrival there was locating the floor again. We have an issue with remembering if it is floor 5 or 6. We finally made it. We completed the paperwork and insurance information and we waited.
The same tech who scanned Wyatt, the many times he had Echos, came out and took us back. We went into a different room, thank goodness. I laid on the table and took a very deep breath.
Then the Echo began. The baby looked great and it was moving around a lot. The tech asked, "I know you don't know the gender because it is so early, but if I am able to tell, would you like to know?" We both quickly looked at each other and at the same time said, "Yes!"
I few seconds later, the little femur bones were pointed out. The tech counted, "one, two" then said, "and there is the appendage, you are having another little man."
Brian choked back tears, I looked over at him while one tear trickled from my eye. I couldn't believe it. We were blessed with another little boy. Then the news got even better...
After several minutes of silence, horrible thoughts began running fast through my mind. Thoughts of how boys are more likely to have HLHS than girls, what if this baby has HLHS also, why does it seem that I only see three chambers?
Finally, she spoke! The tech said, "So far, everything looks perfect." PERFECT.... The word rang in my ears. We have a little boy and his heart looks perfect.
That was it, the Echo was complete. We were escorted out of the room and taken down to the same tiny room in the corner of the hall where we were told of Wyatt's condition. We walked into the room and noticed the tissues were off the table this time. I refused to sit in the same chair as I had with Wyatt. I walked around the table and took a seat, while I starred at the photo of the children who were CHD survivors, the same photo I starred at after finding out Wyatt's heart was failing him.
The doctor came in, the same one we had for Wyatt. She had tears in her eyes. She gave me a hug and we expressed how happy we were to see each other. She briefly sat down and she smiled and said, "This baby has a perfect heart. Everything looks great." This was the same doctor who had to tell us that Wyatt didn't make it. I am sure several thoughts were going through her mind. But this time, it was good news.
Our smiles couldn't have gotten any bigger. I felt like my smile was hanging off my face, it was definitely bigger than ear to ear. We made our next appointment and we headed out. We were speaking with a coordinator, the same one who we had with Wyatt, and all three of us were happy, smiling, and pleased.
We got to the waiting room and opened the door to leave. Quickly my smile was removed from my face. What I saw was something I had prayed I would never see again. A pregnant woman and her husband sat in the waiting room. They looked at us and I noticed the tears streaming down their faces. They just had a Fetal Echo and now they were sitting in the waiting room sobbing. I wanted to go over and tell them, "I know." For I know the pain, the heartache, the sadness. But it didn't seem appropriate.
Instead, Brian and I looked at each other, ensured our smiles were washed from our faces, and we remained silent until we were out of ear length from the other family.
While walking down the hallways of the hospital, I recall saying, "It is so wonderful to have that test done and be able to leave this place." On the way to the car we both breathed many sighs of relief, so many, that we began laughing about it. The bricks, boulders, and cinder blocks had all been removed.
On the way home, we both brought up the family in the waiting room. We discussed understanding their pain. We also discussed how different we had become. We realized that no matter how perfect one child's heart can be, there will always be another child suffering from a CHD, something that so many others know nothing about.