A week later, my husband and I were sitting in front of a specialist. With a child’s heart drawing in her hand, she discussed our baby’s condition and the plan. As a cardio-thoracic theatre nurse, discussing cardiac conditions was my interest, but absolutely not at that moment. As the specialist explained, I could almost guess what her next sentences would be. That very moment, I felt like our destiny had been drawn already as parents.
Pulmonary Stenosis, that was their diagnosis. Maybe 1-2 surgeries after birth; that was their initial plan. I tried to be strong, never wanting to show my pain. Then I looked at my husband. I could see in his eyes the same fear and worry I was feeling inside me. The only difference was, it may have been harder for him to comprehend his own emotions when he was not really connected with the baby.
For me, there was still a bit of hope because I knew this baby was safe inside me. I could feel it move. My heart could pump for him.
The specialist told us to wait for 4 more weeks to have the echogram. As the days passed, I was getting heavier like my heart. A day did not pass that I didn’t cry or think about it. No matter how much my family (and even myself) told me “It’s okay. It’s pointless to worry about something that has not happened yet”, my heart wasn’t settling even a bit.
I decided to take the bus to meet up with my husband before the echogram. I wanted to have that 45-minute bus ride to calm myself and to let go of my thoughts. And I prayed, as I do every day since that morning with the specialist. Unlike usual mums-to-be, I prayed not for a healthy baby anymore; I prayed for a fighter. A tiny little warrior who could be strong enough to fight what fate was about to give us. I prayed until I cried again.
“It looks all normal to me.” – These were the sonographer’s words after the 1-hour echogram. For whatever reason, our baby seemed to have healed his own heart – even my own midwife could not believe it.
My husband called it science. I called it a miracle. For the first time in many days before that, I could breathe.
The second trimester, as most people had told me, was the most beautiful chapter of pregnancy. It’s when you start feeling pregnant and beautiful. It was during those weeks that I realised that pregnancy and motherhood didn’t really change me. Yes, I could not just pack my bag and take an adventure, but I was still that person who looked for adventure, just a different kind of adventure this time. I hadn’t lost myself. I just found a new soul. A stronger and grateful one. All mothers have their own story; this was mine.
At 35 weeks, we started our new adventure earlier than expected. We had the most beautiful gift we ever received on Christmas day. We become a family.
Francoise Voldoire and her husband moved to New Zealand in 2015 and now call Christchurch home. She is a theatre nurse by profession and an adventurer for life! She believes in the beauty of writing and photography as it holds memories. She finds her happiness in travelling, food and the great outdoors. After giving birth to her firstborn, she found her new simple pleasure of being a mother. You can follow her on Instagram.
