Reliving the Past

August 4th last year was a day like today...  hot and sunny, clear skies and my 'routine' ultrasound scheduled.  Except last year in my mind, my 20 week ultrasound's only purpose was to tell me if I was having the girl I wanted so badly. 

Matt didn't ask soon enough for time off and didn't realize that the other auto glass guy was off today, so I got the news on Friday night that he wouldn't be coming with me... too late to reschedule my appt, especially after I had just battered them to give me a date soon (they weren't retuning my calls and it took me almost 3 weeks to get this appt). 

I have only stopped crying for minutes at a time this morning.  And my tears, although some are from fear of this appt, are mostly about what my last 20 week ultrasound meant for my life... and my precious daughter's.

I'm really struggling with my loneliness in this journey since I seem to be the only one who has thought about this at all.  Nobody seems to be thinking about the fact that this is not an easy day for me - or recognizing that this still could be a life-changing event for our family.  I guess it's just the way of our world - ultrasounds are not a big deal - they are "FUN".  But, they are not fun for me at all.  And this one is bringing back all sorts of emotions about the day we found out Rachel would die, that are not easy to deal with. 

I have heard many times over the past couple of days "oh, your ultrasound is coming up, how exciting!".  I'm not excited, I'm actually dreading it.  I know we already saw that he has a head... but over the past 11 months, I have talked to hundreds of women who have lost their babies to all sorts of different things.  Today is not just about anencephaly.  What if today is about another defect I've never heard of? 

The only thing I can think to compare it to that might make sense to the people who have not lost a baby is that when someone has had cancer treatments and is going for a scan to make sure it hasn't come back, it doesn't matter if it's been 25 years, there is always that thought "what if they find it again?" or "What if it's moved to another spot?"- and I'm assuming that comes with some remembering of what they went through and how painful it was.  People don't usually say to someone going for a scan after cancer "this is so exciting!  You're going to get good news!  Think positive!"  People tend to understand why that is scary.  But, for some reason because we're talking about babies, I'm supposed to be able to separate the two.  It's just not possible. 

So anyway, I figured writing might help me to be able to breath again, and it has... I've stopped sobbing for the moment.  But can you please pray for me?  My appt is at 10 am.  Hopefully, I'll be posting some great news in a few hours....