Abigail's Story

An Unwelcome Surprise

The following Friday, we had our first “real” ultrasound. The baby would look like a baby now, not just a fuzzball, and we couldn’t wait.

We arrived early, eager for a glimpse, and were escorted back to the room promptly.

The room was pleasant, lights dim. A giant monitor hung near the ceiling in front of my exam chair, and a cushioned seat was just inches away, allowing my husband excellent views as well as the ability to hold my hand.

I pulled up my shirt and laid back.

The gel was cold, then came the scanner.

Images shot up onto the monitor before us. We caught a glimpse of something moving, but then the screen turned black. Another little tease, I think I saw a foot. Then black. Finally, she found focus.

The littlest legs were flailing. Arms were waving too. We could see a little head turning, and caught a glimpse of a profile. Clearly, this child was already full of life.

That is going on inside of me. 

I held as still as I possibly could, wishing I could feel it. But I couldn’t. I just had to have faith that this was real.

The lady began taking measurements. Then she snapped us a few shots, that in just a few hours would be proudly displayed on our fridge.

We watched the baby lift its hand, and could see five tiny fingers wave before it rolled over, as though playing peek-a-boo. After a few seconds, and my voice prodding, “Roll over, baby, show mommy,” it rolled back over, it’s legs kicking with excitement.

I love you. 

Right now, all I had was the black and white picture before me, but love for that little one bubbled up from the depths of my soul. This little one was a part of me. And I knew with every fiber of my being, I would fight for this little one, come what may.

After the measurements, the technician began looking around my uterus to ensure all was as it should be.

But there, amidst the grey background, was a large black circle. Similar to the one I’d seen two years before on the little 10-inch monitor.

“What’s that?”

“That’s a fibroid. It seems rather large…” I could see her little cursor on the screen, measuring it.

8 centimenters.

She found another that was 5 centimeters.

And another that was 3.

My husband squeezed my hand, wondering the same thing as me. “What does this all mean? Will they impact the baby?”

“They could,” the technician paused, clenching her lips together. “The one is pretty large. Anything over 5 centimeters in considered large, and this one is 8, almost 9.” I tried to picture the size of that in my mind, and figured it was roughly the size of a baseball. How could I have something that large inside of me without feeling it? Without knowing about it? For now, it was larger than my baby, and thus presented a problem.

The technician continued. “When pregnant, fibroids grow. They can compete with the baby for blood supply.” She paused again. “I’m going to refer you to a specialist. We’re going to need to monitor this to ensure the baby is growing as it should be.”

I was given an appointment to see a perinatologist, and there I was deemed high-risk. Ultrasounds would now be scheduled every 4 weeks to monitor baby’s growth.

The perinatologist was a large, older gentlemen with a kind face and sweet voice. He seemed very knowledgeable and I found myself grateful to be placed under his care.

After his assessment, he went over the details with us. But what I really appreciated was the word picture he gave, trying to ease my mind.

“I like to think of it this way. A normal pregnancy is like driving down a coastal freeway on a sunny day. The music’s turned up, the windows are down, and you’re enjoying the ride. But for you, we’re driving during a rainstorm, at night. We’re still confident we’ll get where we’re going, but… we’re keeping the windows rolled up, turning the music down, and we’re gonna drive a lot slower. We’re just going to be a lot more cautious. But, I’m sure we’re going to get where we’re going just fine.”

Being visual, I appreciated his explanation. It just made sense.

But, I still worried.

After getting home, my thoughts went back to what the technician had said. They could compete with the baby for blood supply. It sickened me that my own body could be harming my child, and I had no way to stop it.

Once I realized that my fears had too strong a grip on me, I reached out to a close group of family and friends explaining the situation and asking them for prayer.

In spite of God proving to be the ultimate provider throughout every bump yet, the human heart is shaky, and I found myself in moments of panic, allowing my thoughts to come up with the scariest of scenarios.

I needed comfort.

I needed peace.


Wasn’t that what I’d said when we had moments of sheer worry, getting to forever with Sweet Pea? It was the only word that brought true comfort. The only word that could calm the storm inside of me.



Continue reading the story here.


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