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When I was 33 weeks pregnant with my son, I attended my routine ultrasound appointment. The technician, who seemed unsure of herself, said, “I’m having difficulty here. I need to get the doctor.” My initial irritation grew as the wait continued; I was hungry and had errands to complete.
The doctor arrived and took several more images. She informed us that they had captured some concerning pictures of my son’s heart and recommended we see a pediatric cardiologist that same morning. “The appointment is at 11. You should grab a bite to eat while you wait,” she advised, suggesting that a second look couldn’t hurt.
My husband, always the voice of reason, encouraged me to go. “It’s better to be safe,” he said, leading us to the hospital cafeteria where I expressed my frustration.
At the pediatric cardiologist’s office, I noticed the doctor’s bowtie and gray hair. After the nurse performed another ultrasound, the doctor said, “I’m not sure why you’re here.” I explained the earlier visit, and his demeanor shifted as he examined the images. Eventually, he looked up and said, “I don’t see it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confusion washing over me.
“I’m uncertain if the pulmonary artery is missing or if I simply can’t find it,” he replied, leaving me feeling uneasy.
Then he dropped the bombshell: “Your baby has a serious issue. He does not have a pulmonary artery.” My heart sank. “You just said you weren’t sure,” I protested. But he assured me with kind eyes, “He needs open-heart surgery immediately after birth. He’ll be stable with a team from neonatology at the ready.”
I was devastated. The realization that something was wrong with my son, who hadn’t even been born yet, hit me hard.
In the weeks that followed, we met numerous specialists, trying to prepare for my son’s birth, but no amount of preparation could truly ready us for what lay ahead. When he finally arrived, I held him for a brief two minutes before he was whisked away to Children’s Hospital for surgery. I was left behind, overwhelmed with emotion.
Fast forward to 2019. Since his birth in 2012, my son has undergone two open-heart surgeries, ten catheterizations, five stents, a valve replacement, and a synthetic graft to replace the missing pulmonary artery. Meanwhile, I’ve dealt with PTSD, stress, and secondary depression, constantly worrying about his health and the next medical appointment.
But amidst these challenges, I have found hope. I remind myself daily to silence the negative thoughts and focus on gratitude. I’m thankful that my son has turned 9, that medical advancements continue to improve, and for the incredible care he received at Children’s Hospital.
I no longer take his life for granted, and I remain hopeful that we both will enjoy a long future together.
For more insightful discussions on topics like this, check out this post from our other blog. If you’re exploring fertility options, Make a Mom is a great authority on the subject. Additionally, Women’s Health provides excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination.