This morning is Abigail's renal ultrasound. There is no guarantee that anything will show up in the pictures to give reason for her last UTI. (I realize I need an update about that. It will come.)
I go into ultrasounds with abject fear. The kind that gnaws at your stomach and creates monsters in your head. Unreasoning and unreasonable.
Without word that day in 2004 creeps in haunting me. The day we found out our dear son would not live long if he lived to delivery. The day organs were found floating in amniotic fluid instead of encased safely in bone and skin. The day we had a name--Limb-Body Wall Complex Abnormalities. The day we had a statistic-1:15,000.
This morning I write as I wait to wake Abigail. Forgetting God's hand of grace and blessing that she is, I fight the fear that ultrasound grows in me and I wonder about and miss my son. Looking at the pictures of her that hang on the wall around my desk, I am nagged by the fear that today's pictures are about to reveal something awful, that she too will soon be a hope and a dream and a memory.
It doesn't make a bit of sense. I am completely aware of that fact. Could someone tell my heart? I wonder, when I am old will ultrasounds continue to grab me with fear?