avablog

Leah and I had an ultrasound appoint this morning as part of the genetic screening they do now. Our technician was very bubbly and friendly, which, as those of you who know Leah understand, perfectly suits my wife’s personality. We marveled at all the detail we could see on the little baby growing in Leah’s belly, and we asked a fair number of questions about how on Earth anyone can possibly make out some of the things they make out in those images. Thankfully, the news from the ultrasound was good for us and our little sprout. Everything’s measuring normally, and the little heart is beating away at 154 bpm.

But you can’t rightly come out of an appointment like that and not wonder about the parents, people just like us, who see things in those amazing images that make them catch their breath in dread. How does our effusive technician handle those parents? What could you even begin to say? On the walk back to the car, I found myself obsessing about the smallest details of her delivery, starting with the image on the screen of a malformed appendage or other anomaly. Sometimes the news must be really, really bad. I guess it is what it is. How do you shake the memory of those terrible days, even when you’re working with parents who are so thrilled to learn that everything appears to be OK?