How it all began...

Like many pregnant woman, I felt huge when carrying Ari.  I had been through this before with my daughter born in 2004, but this was different.  By 30 weeks, I looked like I was ready to deliver.  My breath felt condensed, pinched nerves sent pain through my arms and legs and I was all belly.  I literally looked as if I grew by the day.  It turns out, there was a good reason for all of this.

It took until 35 weeks gestation to officially receive a diagnosis.  I called my OB daily, urging him to see me, intuitively knowing something was wrong.

"You look great." "Many women carry larger with their second." "Everything is fine, you're perfectly normal."  The answers from the doctors and nurses I saw were repetitive.

I tried to suck it up, telling myself that lots of women have babies and I was not special.  But I knew otherwise and was relentless in my calls and requests for urgent appointments.  My nights were spent pacing the room, tears leaking at the pain in my numb arms, feet itching so bad that I scratched them to the point of bleeding.

At my 35 week appointment, I measured 42 weeks, or 2 weeks overdue.  An immediate in-office ultrasound was ordered. This day plays over and over again in my head, like a haunting re-occurring dream.  Part of me tries to push it out of my mind, and part tries to never forget.  Thank God my husband was with me.

The ultrasound tech was chipper and chatty, proud to show us a preview of our perfect baby boy.  Her temperament grew somber and beads of sweat formed on her brow.  With a nervous quiver in her voice, she told us that it looked like I had polyhydramnios, or excess amniotic fluid.  She was searching for his stomach, but couldn't find it.  Excusing herself, we were left to wonder what what was wrong.

A different nurse came in and guided us back to an exam room where a doctor was waiting.  Arrangements were made to see a perinatologist immediately.  Ironically, it was the same practice I had been to for 2 prior ultrasounds of this same baby.

What we heard from the perinatologist was unexpected, scary, and changed so many lives forever.

Our baby was missing an esophagus.

My body was making amniotic fluid for the baby to swallow as nutrition, but without an esophagus, the fluid built up, causing me to visibly grow by the day.  Our baby was receiving all of his nutrition via his umbilical cord, but that too was defective- having only 2 vessels instead of 3.

The severity of the birth defect was not able to be detected due to the excess fluid and the doctor mentioned the possibility of other birth defects that tend to travel in a pack with esophageal atresia, called VATER Syndrome or VACTERL Syndrome.  We would not know about any other defects until after he was born.

We were paralyzed with both fear and reality.  WHAT NOW??

We left the doctor's office in separate cars.  Wracked with emotion, I called my parents... A conversation they are sure to remember forever.  Within 24 hours they went from Pennsylvania to Atlanta, dedicating their time and lives to the comfort and routine of my daughter.

I tried to stay composed, but I just couldn't.  Excusing myself from the family that evening, I remember sitting the my son's nursery, rocking in his glider and sobbing- big, choking sobs, yet it didn't help.  My life was not going to change because I "cried it out".  This my was first lesson in bearing the weight of fear, worry, and love and not being able to do anything about it.

I glanced around the room at the perfect blue, brown and cream stripes on the walls and at the wooden letters "A-R-I" that hung above the changing table, took a deep breath and vowed to rise above the pain.  Ari did not have a choice in how he developed in utero, but I had a choice in how I was going to deal with it.  From that point on, I became him champion, his voice, his advocate.  Squaring off my shoulders, I joined reality again- and never looked back.