Meet the Doula Changing Lives

I am mama of two kiddies, my son, Brooks and daughter, Vivienne. Before I fell pregnant with my son, I conceived a little boy who had severe genetic deformities. My husband and I were living in Los Angeles at the time and we went in for routine genetic testing. On the way to the appointment, we had an argument about something trivial, but I remember it vividly because the cloud of frustration I carried onto the ultrasound bed swiftly evaporated as I was catapulted into the stark reality that there was something terribly wrong with my baby.

The ultrasound technician took a long time taking measurements and eventually went to fetch the head doctor. I was blissfully unaware that I should be fearful, as we had just seen a tiny little foot kicking up in the greys and whites of the ultrasound monitor and heard the baby’s heartbeat. The doctor appeared and used three different probes on me. Finally, he spoke. ‘It looks like there may be some problems. Do you have a history of genetic abnormalities in either of your families?’.

I felt the breath lodge in my throat. My baby. What is wrong with my baby? The Dr. examines the monitor. The internal probe doesn’t hurt but feels cold and makes me catch my breath. Noah and I clutch onto each other’s hands so tightly my thumb is numb.

The Doctor struggles to look me in the eye.‘ There are some problems.’ He looks back at the monitor. ‘The baby’s liver and bowel are outside the body. It’s heart is exposed and it’s head is too small.’ We are sent to obstetrics in the next building. My options are to do nothing and wait for the baby’s heartbeat to inevitably stop, and deliver a still born in a few months time, or to have a Dilation and Curettage, an abortion, as soon as possible. They do not know what is wrong with my baby, just that this condition is fatal.