Every Thursday night at 8pm sharp I sit in my living room and watch Grey's Anatomy. Now this is something I've been doing for years, nothing unusual really. It's just been a show to me, until December 28th that is. Well actually even before that date. Allow me to explain myself.
If you're a current fan of the show I'm sure you know that before they left for the winter break like they always do it was revealed that something was wrong with two of the characters soon to be born child. What you might not know is that I was worried that my son might have the same condition.
I had been seeing the specialists at my doctor's office since I had switched to my doctor. It was just to keep a closer watch on me due to some family history that we ruled out with genetic counseling. While I was having an ultrasound at about 20 weeks the tech asked how tall I was. I told her 5ft., and then of course like any mom would, why? She said that his femurs (thigh bones) were shorter in comparison to other measurements, but it was probably because I'm short.
Then probably about 2 weeks later I was sitting in the living room, watching Grey's Anatomy. It was the episode where they found out April's baby had a form of brittle bone disease, and they say one of the signs is a short femur. I was horrified. I just knew that my son had that.
To make a long story short he didn't have anything wrong with his femurs. I even asked one of the doctors and he kinda laughed and said "I'm more worried about your femurs than your baby's". I was released from the specialists and all was well. Until it wasn't.
When the new episodes came back after James death I wasn't sure if I could watch it, but I knew I had to. As strange as it sounds though it's been healing. Like when you clean a wound, it stings but it makes it better at the same time.
I'm pretty good at putting on a brave face around others. But for an hour each week I have to confront it. I have to admit that that happened to me, that it happened to us. It's like I'm seeing my life, what we went through, for an hour each week. It's made this easier to process, easier to accept.
When she finally finds out that it's lethal and they plan to pick a day and induce her, and they talk about baptizing their son, I remember. When she talks about miracles, I remember. I remember feeling him move while I'm sitting in the bed and asking the nurse could it be possible and seeing her shake her head "no". Then I finally had to accept that the miracle that I wanted wasn't coming, God had a different plan than what I wanted. And when one of their friends says to another of their friends about her child's passing it reminds me of the friends that opened up to me about their pain, and how grateful I was for their support.
I read that Sarah Drew (the actress that plays April, and she was pregnant in real life) actually came up with the story line. I don't know why she did, but I'm grateful. Because for just one hour each week I got to heal in some weird way. I'm thankful that there's people in this world that want to shed light on the moms and dads that leave the hospital with empty arms, and even emptier hearts.
