This blog was written in January 2020.
Our son may have Down Syndrome.
The call came when I was in the middle of lifting some dumbbells at OrangeTheory. At this fitness class, phones are not allowed in the workout, so I had left mine with the blonde college-aged student at the front desk. I had been expecting a callback ever since I had heard the midwife’s voicemail earlier that day and had called back, only to hear that she was busy. As the OrangeTheory girl walked my phone over to me now, I greeted it with all the anxiety that had been building this last hour of waiting.
The voicemail had stated that she needed to discuss something from the 20-week anatomy scan from exactly a week ago. She needed to go over the results of the scan with me. Her voice had been professional on the line, but she needed to speak with me today. The urgency quickened my heart.
As I brought the phone to my ear, I remembered the sonographer from the week before assuring us that if she had seen something wrong, she would have called in a doctor. I remembered the wave of relief that had washed over me. And when I had scheduled the next midwife appointment afterwards, everyone in the office said that I was fine to wait until our next centering class (where all the ladies due at the same time meet for group) three weeks later rather than needing any detailed appointment sooner. Everything went smoothly that day, and we left simply overjoyed that we finally knew we were having a boy.
But now, the midwife explained how she would have called sooner, but that the report had not been finished until two days ago, that she had not been available to review the report until today, that she was sorry she was just now calling.
Then, as I sat on the bench in the OrangeTheory lobby, she explained that they needed to get a better picture of the baby’s stomach. A momentary lapse of peace rushed over me as I recalled the sonographer stating several times that the baby had not been in the position that she had wanted. If they had a bad picture, maybe they just needed me to come in to get a better picture. I could do that, easy.
But that wasn’t all. As I moved from the lobby to one of the restrooms for privacy, the midwife then spoke the words that would crumble all sense of relief:
“They spotted two soft markers for Down Syndrome.”
Quiet hung on the line as the news hit me. I leaned against the wall, tears welling in my eyes as I heard the midwife describe what “sandal gap toe” and “short nasal bone length” meant. My focus dimmed in and out as I strained to comprehend the enormity of her words—words that were coming to me over the phone in a bathroom stall and not in person at an office. I stammered responses of “how” as I listed that I was only 25 years old and that, no, I did not have anyone in my blood line with Down Syndrome. I thought through how everything in my pregnancy had been easy—I had not even gotten a bout of morning sickness! I considered how I had exercised four times per week and had done everything I could do to eat healthy. I had even started taking my prenatal vitamins over a year before we conceived.
I did all the right things.
Yet, this was still happening.
Nothing I did could have prevented this from happening. The midwife described how this does, in fact, sometimes happen to young moms without explanation. I cried and tried to type out the soft markers she had stated into the notes page on my phone so that I would not forget; my mind was a blur now, and I could hardly think straight.
She then explained that they needed me to come in for a blood test for genetic screening. Of course, I would come in the next day, but it would take 7-10 business days to get the results back.
Seven-10 business days. Right now, I am on day three but actually day one because I had my blood drawn on a Friday. The wait is excruciating.
But we will accept and embrace whatever the Lord has for us next. I have prayed and cried more in the last three days than I have in a long time. This suffering is unlike any I have encountered before, but it has drawn me closer to God than ever before. I feel His Presence calling me into peace despite the breaking of my heart. I know that God is able to produce results that declare our baby boy to be healthy and without defect. I also know that He is God and that this might be part of His plan.
The hard part of right now is that I do not know what God wants for our lives. I fear that He is calling us to a life we did not expect to live, but God is not a God of fear. He is a God of peace, and that peace overwhelms the fear and calls me to worship all the same. The outcome looms ahead, uncertain and cloudy, but God is steadfast here in the unknown and there in the future. I know this, and I cling to this now.
____________
On the second Monday after I had gotten my blood drawn for testing, I called the midwives, hoping to hear some good news. The week before, I had called on Wednesday to learn that I was eighth in line at the lab, had called again on Thursday to discover that I was next on the list, and had tried expectantly on Friday to hear that, no, the results still were not in. Each day that passed had brought on more eagerness, yet even more disappointment that the waiting would have to continue.
And on this Monday morning, 11 days after we heard the news that would humble us and remind us of our lack of control in this life, I thought, surely, today is the day, only to find out that the results still had not come through.
The frustration and exhaustion with waiting stung again. At work this time, I had to force my mind to focus on other things. I continued on with my work the rest of the day, but the thoughts of why in the back of my mind raced.
The past week and a half had been a whirlwind, the first few days being especially hard. But something shifted after that third day of finding out our son could have Down Syndrome. Something changed that made the wait more bearable and more…peaceful.
Suffering has a unique way of drawing us closer to God, and this rung true for me over the grueling await of the results. I prayed more—and not the typical journal praying that is common for me; I prayed out loud, on my knees, in the car. And I worshipped more; worship had been difficult for me for a while, and I had typically only worshipped at church on Sundays. But now, my worship looked like singing through tears in the car and actually raising my hands in surrender during church services for the first time in a while. I practiced and postured my dependence on God as I waited to see what His answer was for our son.
And answer us He did.
Actually, God answered the prayer I didn’t know I needed answering. I did not know how much I was missing out on experiencing God’s Holy Spirit, but God did. He knew that my relationship with Him had grown stale. He knew that, though I tried through consistency and discipline to experience Him, I was struggling in my heart to truly surrender my life and control into His hands.
God knew what I needed, and He provided. God drew near to me and made His Presence known in my heart in a big way that only God can. I felt God near to me for the first time in a while. He comforted me and gave me peace in a situation that would have otherwise been chaos.
If the answer from the test results was not what we wanted, God would still be good. God would still be with us. He would still be God.
On Monday afternoon, I was sitting in the OrangeTheory fitness class lobby again, and the trainer was starting to go over the workouts for the day, when I recognized the midwives’ phone number pop up on my Apple watch. I immediately scrambled for my phone and hurried outside, the sun shining on the sidewalk of a warm Texas January day.
“Amanda?” The nurse, Miranda as I had come to know her by now, spoke with a smile tinging her words. This was it—the moment that would determine whether these next few months of waiting for our boy would be filled with a different kind of planning or not. And then, she said in a calm voice, “The results came back low-risk.”
Emotion surged over me as I absorbed what “low-risk” meant. It meant that my son would not likely have Down Syndrome, despite what had shown up on the ultrasound. In fact, the chances were now less than 1 in 10,000! Miranda said she would send me the report so that I could review it in full detail but that there was nothing else we needed to do from here.
Everything was going to be okay.
I hurried back into the workout class with joy emanating from my soul. God could have said no to our prayers that our boy would have normal development, but He chose to say yes. Hallelujah!
This news was the best an expecting mother could receive, and I rejoiced with people in my community over how God had provided this good news. But as I move forward out of my suffering and into a new season of rejoicing, I remind myself that I still need God. Just as much as I needed Him when I had no control over our baby’s health, I need Him now. I need the Holy Spirit to breathe life into me now, too, even when everything is going okay. In these moments of contentment and peace, I can too easily slip into the groove of complacency, but I am determined not to let that happen again.
God came through and answered my prayers and reminded me of His goodness and His nearness through a hard waiting period. He comforted me and reassured me that He is better than all of my hopes and dreams. He drew near to my broken heart and healed the cracks I had not realized were there.
May I not forget this as I cradle my growing womb that holds a perfectly-healthy baby boy.
