Before I grounded myself from Google I read an article written by a doctor.
This doctor's biggest frustration in his 30 plus years of practicing medicine was the ultrasound.
More specifically, how as a result of the ultrasound, doctors filled their patients with fear...especially when dealing with Down's Syndrome.
"We terrorize mothers-to-be because of 'indicators' that we see. We tell them their baby has a chance of being born with Down's Syndrome. They don't hear the word 'chance.' They hear everything else. And then spend the rest of their pregnancy living with a fear that is usually unfounded. It's not right."
When my sister was pregnant with her fourth child, and only son, her doctor told her that he saw something wrong with Tyler's kidney.
Heather was sent to a perinatologist who confirmed that something was indeed wrong.
She too heard the worst case scenario...not once, but in every appointment she had with that doctor.
My sister got to the point where she wanted nothing to do with that doctor.
Not because of what the doctor said, but because of how she said it.
Heather's mind was put at ease when she met with her regular doctor who told her this.
"That perinatologist is new. She's new to Utah, and she's fairly new to this field. She's out to prove herself...to prove that she knows what she's doing. I can guarantee that you will only hear the worst from her."
And then Heather's doctor told her not to worry. He told her that her baby would be okay.
And Tyler was indeed okay.
When Jason got home from yet another business trip last night, he found me curled up in bed, with tears still wetting my face.
In a sad and weary voice I told him I was scared. I told him I didn't want our baby girl to be born with Down's Syndrome. And I told him that I felt guilty for feeling that way.
Jason's reaction was anger. Not at me, but at the doctor. The doctor who gave us the worst case scenario. The same doctor who told my sister that her baby would be born with major health issues. The same doctor who was absolutely wrong in her diagnosis of that little baby.
Somehow listening to Jason's anger made me feel better.
Listening to his opinion of the doctor's professionalism, or lack of, gave me strength.
Jason's frustration with the doctor doesn't change the possible outcome for Emily, but somehow it helps me hold on to that word 'chance.'
As Jason told me last night, "Our daughter has JUST AS MUCH A CHANCE of being born 'normal' as she does being born with problems. Focus on that."
And then in a quiet voice he reassured me of something else.
"Do you know how many people are praying for our daughter."
"Do you know how much faith is being shown in her behalf?"
"God is bound to honor those prayers and that faith."
"God is still forming our baby girl, and if He wants her to be born healthy, she will be born healthy."
"And if she's not, there can be no doubt of what He wants for our daughter."
And then my husband looked at me and said, "Noelle, I believe that Emily will be healthy and strong. Hold on to that. And if I'm wrong, we'll deal with that when we need to."
I'm holding on Jason...as tightly as I can.