HOPE'S STORY, PART 1: "HOPE FROM HEAVEN"

There are days that shake and shatter everything familiar and planned and routine.

Last Monday, we were going through the regular adjustments of first-time soon-to-be parents. It sounded something like this:

"TYLER! HELP ME WITH MY SOCKS! MY FEET ARE TOO FAR AWAY!"

and

"CAELI! WE WILL NOT BUY ANY MORE FACELESS WILLOW TREE FIGURINES...WE NEED TO SAVE FOR A BABY!"

Despite our pre-baby anxieties, we couldn't wait to welcome a little stranger into our family. I had read a quote on a favorite blog that said it best:

"A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bank balance smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for."

We tried to make a bet about the gender (If Tyler lost, he was going to have to start road cycling with STRETCHY PANTS, and if I lost, I would have to drive a mini-van someday). Only the bet didn't work cause both of us thought it was going to be a boy.

Tyler's family history didn't include a recipe for girls.
"It's a boy," Tyler stated, examining the ultrasound image. He was looking at what appeared to be two boy-ish looking body parts (we never did find out what those were).

"I'd have to disagree with you, Dad," said the doctor.

Tyler and I looked at each other.

Dr. Clark began to describe the various parts of female anatomy she was seeing. She pointed out to us the perfect little feet, the femur bones and legs, little hands clasped closed.

"A beautiful spine," Dr Clark commented, and we admired the little bones symmetrically stacked and aligned.

When she got to our little girl's head, there was a short silence, as Dr. Clark took pictures of frames with the ultrasound. Looking back on it, I can't remember exactly how she said it, but the information seemed to come gradually, gently, and sunk in slowly.

I remember her saying the word 'encephalocele' and saying we needed to go to the University Hospital to take more images with a more detailed ultrasound. I remember her showing us where the base of the skull seemed open--indicating the skull had not grown completely together--and pointing out two bubble shaped forms outside of her head where something--either brain fluid or brain tissue--was leaking out. I remember her saying she had clinicals that afternoon and would show these to the other doctors.

The tone of the ultrasound had taken a 180 degree turn. We waited silently as they got us a CD of the pictures Dr. Clark had taken to bring to the University of Utah hospital.

Tyler and I walked to the car quietly.

A number of text messages waited for us on our phones--family excited to hear what the gender of our baby would be.

Tyler didn't turn on the engine.

I called my mom and explained what we had been told. This would be her fifth grandchild; my two younger sisters both had two children, older girls and younger boys. I felt a knot rise in my throat three or four times as I spoke, but I didn't want to break down. I told my mom we were on our way to get the ultrasounds at the University Hospital, would let her know what we found out, and hung up.

We called Tyler's mom next. It didn't go as well. Both of us broke down, as well as Tyler's mom.

To make a longer and awful story shorter, we got the ultrasounds done and confirmed it was brain tissue, not fluid, outside of our baby girl's skull. Every other part of her appeared perfect and beautiful. This very small hole in her skull was the only defect. A very decisive and severe defect. The phrase the doctor's kept using: "not conducive to life."

An encephalocele is rare--about one in every 10,ooo births in the United States. Doctors aren't sure what causes them. If there is only fluid in the sac outside the skull, the baby is almost sure to live, and live normally. If there is brain tissue, the prognosis is not so good. Depending on where the tissue is coming out, the baby could have anything from a fairly normal life to no life at all. Unfortunately, our baby's encephalocele was at the base of the head, where the brain stem grows, and the brain stem controls everything from breathing to motor movement and heart function. They told us that once she is separated from me, there is no way she will be able to function on her own.

They told us we had options. Many mothers chose to terminate pregnancy right away or after a few weeks when they were emotionally ready, so that they did not need to wait so long to have another child. We decided to bring her to term, because we didn't feel we had the right to choose for her. She seemed so alive right then...kicking and moving almost constantly.

What made the situation harder, was that after seeing so many pictures of her (we had three more ultrasounds before the day was over) I felt I knew her better.

At one point they were trying to get her to move so they could take a better picture of the encephalocele, and no matter how much they jabbed my belly, no matter how long I lay on different sides, no matter how long I touched my toes and tried to get her to move, she refused. "She's as stubborn as her mom and dad," I muttered. And it made me proud.

They were able to take a clear picture of her face--her beautiful big eyes are what I noticed--and it made me smile a little because it was almost as if she was a little vain--she didn't want her imperfections to be photographed, just her cute face. Just like her mom. Later, Tyler told me he had been secretly wishing for a girl all along, because he wanted to have a Daddy's little girl.

I was loving this girl more and more. And it made my heart ache.

I won't go into the rest of that gloomy day.

It was even raining outside.

Tyler's mom and brother made plans to come down from Idaho the next day.

I started fearing that I would lose Tyler in some accident or something, too. Weird, I know. An old childhood fear of losing loved ones that seemed to surface.

That night I woke up sobbing at 2 am and cried to Tyler, I don't know how I can do this. I kept thinking, the worst is yet to come. How will it feel to finally see her and love her so much after nine months of not being separated and then hold her deceased little body in my arms? What would she look like? How could I let go?

I hung on to him (I'm think he was covered in snot in five minutes) and was so grateful to have him.

The next day I didn't go in to work. I went with Tyler to work. It may sound lame, but I just wanted to be close to what I did have.

We met his mom and brother downtown and after walking around Temple Square, ended up across the street at the Church history museum. Upstairs was an art exhibit. We were almost through, when a painting caught my attention. It was of three girls.

I called Tyler's attention to it.

We looked at the title.

Faith, Hope, and Charity by Jonathan Linton.

We had the thought at the same time.

"We should name her Hope."

Hope Caeli Fenton. 'Caeli' is Latin for 'from heaven.'

Hope 'from heaven' Fenton.

Faith, Hope, and Charity
by Jonathan Linton