I lie on my back, the cold white sheets causing goosebumps to sprout. Desiring warmth, I instead expose my enlarged belly for all to see. Hubby smiles. This belly is the result of his efforts, and we are here to see what it contains.
The goo plopped onto my abdomen is clear and cool, accentuating the chill of this northern Wisconsin February day. The technician grins as she massages the gel across my growing mountain. It is impossible to feel fat when your belly is so hard. Baby is actively moving, feeling like a goldfish trapped in a bowl, swimming endlessly from one side of the bowl to the other. Trapped. Moving with no destination.
Jesus met a man who was trapped. Trapped inside a body that wouldn’t let the light in. From birth, this man was completely blind. I wonder what it would be like to have never seen anything. I close my eyes. I try to imagine life without color. I try to imagine memories consisting only of voices, the touch of faces and objects, the aromas, the sweet and salty tastes. The images I see in my mind all include color and visual dimensions. Trying to imagine color away is impossible. My world is in color. My world is three-dimensional. Missing this extra element of sight, the blind man must have felt trapped.
I watch my en-wombed child take shape on the ultrasound screen. This two-dimensional, black and white image looks miraculously like my beautiful baby. I am fascinated watching the baby swim away from the ultrasound wand, twisting and turning somersaults.
“Your baby is not cooperating!” the technician laughs.
The shadows continue to spin around on the monitor.
“Future gymnast!” Hubby brags.
The tech smiles politely. She has heard it all before.
“Do you want to know the sex of the baby?” she asks, moving the wand to the posterior end of our future Olympian.
“No,” I say, “Extra motivation to push if I don’t know!”
Measurements are taken. I stare at the screen, excited to finally see my baby for the first time. I am completely oblivious to the true reason for an ultrasound.
The sound of my doctor-friend’s voice on the phone the next day confuses me. She explains to me how a spot was seen on the spinal column of the baby during the ultrasound. She is sending me to the city for a super-duper, high-tech ultrasound. I'll meet with specialists. I’ll start down the road every mother fears. There is something wrong with my baby.
“Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” the disciples asked Jesus regarding the blind man. I get it. My mind works the same as the disciples. My baby isn’t perfect. ‘What did I do wrong?’ I ask myself. I have read every pregnancy book I could get my hands on. Coffee, diet soda, and alcohol have been eliminated from my diet. Folic acid has been a daily supplement since we started trying to conceive. I exercise daily. Hot tubs are a no-no. Everything under my control, I have controlled. What did I do, God? What have I done to offend you, that my baby would be born less-than perfect?
When hubby gets home from work, I break the news. We stare at the black and white image of our child. The grief creeps inside of me, stealing my joy, my exuberant pregnancy bliss. Hubby helplessly watches as I silently sink into despair. He tries his best to keep me from falling into that dark place where it is so hard to find light. No words can bring me to the surface. We sit. We wait. We wonder. We fear.
In our fear, we drive together to the specialist. The advanced ultrasound shows a more defined baby. The image suddenly appears more alien than human. Baby twists to show us the spine, and I see it. The spot. It’s true. Still photos and measurements are taken. The doctors are correct. My fleeting hope this is all a bad dream dissipates.
We sit uncomfortably in comfortable chairs across the desk from the specialist. He shows us what we have already seen. “This dark spot indicates the myelin sheath forming around the spine is open. Your baby has spina bifida.” I know what this means. I have a degree in Biology and have read more than the average pregnant mama. My baby will have neurological problems. My baby may never walk. My baby may be paralyzed. My baby may wear a diaper forever.
“Neither this man nor his parents sinned.” Jesus said of the man born blind. Then Jesus does the unthinkable. Jesus spits on the ground. He makes a mud concoction with His saliva. He puts it on the man’s eyes. I picture the blind man. Does he know who Jesus is? Does he know this God-man is rubbing muddy spit on his eyes? The blind man does not see it happen. He doesn’t resist. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t push Jesus away. The blind man simply lets it all happen. I guess that’s what trust is.
But I don’t know how to trust, and I’m kinda new to this whole praying thing. It’s brought me peace a couple times before, and I even got what I asked for - a baby! Oh, I get it. I prayed for a baby, but I never prayed the baby would be healthy, so God is making a point with me. ‘When you pray, don’t neglect the details!’ I am in control of taking my prenatal vitamins, but God is in control of how the vitamins work. And I can’t control God. He seems more full of tricks than treats when it comes to me. Would I dare trust a trickster? Is He trustable?
Our next visit is with a genetic counselor. He speaks in a slightly soothing monotone voice, as a funeral director would in choosing casket colors and music. He paints a picture of our future. Surgeries, wheelchairs, constant care, and hundreds of thousands of dollars. The weight of being a parent of a special-needs child hits me. I will not just be a parent for eighteen years. I will be a parent for life. I begin to feel the heavy burden of this child.
“If this seems overwhelming to you, I would encourage you to consider terminating the pregnancy,” the specialist calmly discusses, as if choosing a flavor of ice cream. “Children with spina bifida have dozens of surgeries during their lifetime. Their quality of life is very low, and only 17% of those born with spina bifida end up living to age 40. Your child will go through unbearable suffering. It is a hopeless endeavor. To terminate this pregnancy is truly the most loving action you can take at this point.”
My gaze meets his. I don’t blink. Who do I trust? Do I trust the words of this doctor, or do I trust the words of God, who is knitting this baby together inside of me? A low growl begins deep within me; its intensity is shocking. My heart rages like a momma bear whose cubs are separated from her. I think of the longing which has never waned. I scream on the inside as I did on the outside when my first child was born. There is only one person in this world who will love, defend, and protect this child. That person is me.
“I will never consider killing my baby.” My voice is clear, calm, and controlled as I continue to meet his gaze. I can love this child, regardless of any imperfections. I already do.
Hubby and I once again realize we have no control. I am carrying a baby with neural tube defects. Our lives are about to get turned completely upside down. We begin to pray, in earnest, to this God who I am not completely sure I trust. But He is our last resort. He is our only hope.
When the Pharisees asked the blind man how he had received his sight, he replied, “He put mud on my eyes, and I washed, and now I see.” Why mud made from saliva? How does dirt make us see? If it had been clean rose petals placed on the blind man’s eyes, somehow the entire narrative takes on a different vibe. Is it the beautiful things in our lives which help us to see Jesus more clearly, or is it the dirty, wretched, ugly circumstances which force us to cry out to him?
We peacefully prepare for the arrival of our precious baby. We read as much as possible to prepare for our special-needs child. We tell no one about the birth defects. It is our secret. Let others be joyful while they can. I know I would cry continuously if I were to be constantly explaining things, so I explain nothing. It is only discussed within the walls of our home or the offices of our many doctors.
“This happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him,” Jesus said. So the blind man was born blind intentionally? God actually gave the blind man an inability to see for the purpose of displaying His works? As the Pharisees investigate the entire incident, they are unable to disprove this miracle of Jesus. They call Jesus a sinner for healing on the Sabbath. They question the blind man and his parents. “If this man were not from God, He could do nothing,” replied the blind man. But He did do something. He restored sight to a man blind from birth. He must be from God. He is.
I’m seven-months pregnant when I enter yet another ultrasound. The chill of the cold sheets feels refreshing to my warm and swollen pregnant body. The thrill experienced at the first ultrasound doesn’t exist today. The wand which could once capture the entire baby, now follows a single hand, foot, brain, and spine. My heart races as I stare at the monitor. The technician slowly follows the spine as our gymnast takes a break. I’m not always completely sure what I am looking at. Hubby and I watch and wait. We say nothing.
We are called in to meet with the specialist. Again. I cling to Hubby’s hand. We walk somberly, as on a final march to the guillotine. I sit, one hand cutting off the circulation of Hubby’s hand, the other resting on my baby-shelf. Mr. Specialist looks at us over the top of his glasses. He smiles gently and shakes his head from side-to-side.
“I can’t explain it, but…” He leans forward, placing a large photo of our baby on the desk. He removes a pen from his lab coat and points to the spine, tracing it up and down. “You see, the spot is gone. It is completely gone. There is absolutely nothing wrong with your baby.”
Those words resound in my ears. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your baby.”
“Did you hear him? There is absolutely nothing wrong with our baby!” I feel like skipping through the parking ramp, but realize I am a bit front heavy for skipping right now. Instead, I giggle like a schoolgirl. We drive home, tears of joy running down my cheeks. I am humbled.
Hubby speaks. “It is a miracle. You know that, don’t you? The doctor himself couldn’t explain it. Holes in myelin sheaths don’t just heal on their own. We have one photo showing the hole, and another showing the healing. What do you think?”
What do I think? I think this trickster God is maybe not who I thought He was. I am not sure what He wants from me, but I am filled to overflowing with gratitude. He rubbed dirt in my blinded eyes and opened them to see Him. I’m pretty sure there was Jesus spit in the dirt.
After the abuse of the blind man by the Pharisees, Jesus found him.
“Do you believe in the Son of Man?” Jesus asked the blind man.
“Who is he, Sir? Tell me so that I may believe in Him.”
“You have now seen Him; in fact, he is the one speaking with you.”
“Lord, I believe.”
Photo by Jonathan Sanchez on Unsplash
He is our HOPE