32 weeks! Little Wilbur (or maybe we should say Wilburta to be more gender-appropriate?) is doing great! We have been making weekly visits to the maternal-fetal specialists, having weekly biophysical profiles (BPP’s) and bi-weekly measurement checks. So far, Wilburta has continued to grow and in my non-medical, very educated opinion I think she has gained some ground (although the doctors will never give me the satisfaction of saying that). She is in the 27th percentile overall!!! Woot woot! Even though some of her individual measurements remain on the small side, 27th percentile overall is not bad at all if you ask me.
When I taped Wilburta’s ultrasound photo on our mirror after our first scary visit, I wrote the word “believe” underneath of it in lipstick. It was a physical reminder to believe that anything is possible. But I have to admit, it was really hard to believe in believing. Make sense?
Hope was easier for me. I hoped. I wished. I prayed. But in the back of my mind, all I could hear were the doctor’s words: She will be born early. She will be born small. I couldn’t quite get past that fear to allow myself to believe that he really could be wrong, to believe the best case scenario…I guess, because he didn’t really give us one at the time.
However, as more time has gone on, Wilburta has made “adequate” growth each time…nothing tremendous, but she’s slowly growing and growing. The doctors say she could go the whole way if I keep doing what I’m doing, but with every visit they have always left me with that little kernel of fear. Seriously, there has always been something every single visit to worry about. After they measure her and she’s grown, I’ll say “That’s good! I think?” and then they will say something like “Yes, but the blah blah measurement is still blah blah” followed by at least one other worry-inducing statement such as “Change your appointments to Wednesdays or Thursdays so we know your doctor will be on call if we have to send you straight to delivery at your next appointment.” or “The baby made adequate growth, but your fluid levels are borderline low. Come back in 2 days and let’s check on that.” I go in to these appointments just bracing myself for bad news, trying to not let my hopes get to high.
I had a revelation this weekend though. I realized that there is a HUGE difference between “hope” and “believing”. Although I’ve been scared and worried about little Wilburta, I haven’t lost hope that she will be ok. Never once. The hope has always been there. But believing it- well that’s another story. That deep down knowledge that everything will be ok has escaped me. I guess it has ever since we lost Callie. It’s kind of difficult to have faith and believe again after something like that because your fear of being wrong has been justified in the most horrible way.
It’s so hard to believe in something that you have no control over. It’s even harder when the experts give you reasons not to believe. It’s scary because it’s not in your hands. I think the hardest part is just handing it over to God and saying “Here is the deepest desire of my heart- please transform my hope into faith.” What a battle that is!
Somehow, though, I’ve crossed over. Despite all the worrisome visits, the good but never-quite-perfect reports, I have decided that everything will be ok. In fact, here is what I truly believe:
- “Wilburta” is FINE and because of our history and her little lag in growth back in December they have decided to watch us like a hawk to make sure she doesn’t become NOT FINE. Which she won’t, because she is FINE!
- “Wilburta” will be born on her scheduled C-section date.
- She will be between 6-7 pounds.
- She will be healthy and perfect in every way.
You know what? I don’t even think she needs to be called Wilburta anymore. She’s not a runt in my opinion. She’s just doing things her own way and when she comes out she will be like “Um, what was all the big fuss about?”
I’m not sure when or how I turned the corner, but I have. Yesterday, I saw a rainbow in the clouds and it just cemented all those hopes I mentioned above into firm beliefs. What is the good really of believing anything else? I could be wrong, but why stress over that? It does me absolutely no good and it robs me of all the joy and excitement that we should be having over this little one.
So, I’m done. I’m done letting fear break my spirit. I’m done stressing over what could be. It is not for me to decide. It is not for the doctors decide.
Nope, it’s between our baby and God now.
And, I believe in them.