4. The point of no return

A bit of a dramatic blog title, but it captures the sentiment of our latest ultrasound. I didn’t sleep the night before and we spent the morning trying to keep ourselves busy—music is helpful, so is tidying, puzzles, reading books that aren’t about babies, cooking, making nervous jokes about the situation. We’ve got into a habit of turning our phones off on ultrasound days. No distractions—just each other and Junebug.

We were both shaking as the doctor came in to do the next ultrasound. It’s a weird feeling, to be so excited to see your baby, and so terrified at the same time. She quietly started the process of measuring, and I reminded myself to keep breathing.

Crushingly, after two weeks, Junebug’s growth has slowed. Their arms and legs only grew a week’s worth (we were hoping for much more) and the chest is also very small. Thankfully, the curve in the thorax (the deadly bell-shape) that the doctor was concerned about, doesn’t seem to have developed, but the numbers are not on our side.

Knowing that we were 5 days away from the legal cut-off for pregnancy termination in Hong Kong (24 weeks), the doctor talked us through the situation. We asked directly, “Is this definitely lethal, or is it borderline?” “It’s borderline,” she replied. That means a chance for survival. Junebug is keeping us guessing. Far from making us frustrated or angry, it makes us love our baby all the more.

We opted out of a termination, knowing that whatever the next scan tells us, I will have to carry to term. It was a decision we made easily. If there’s a chance, we have to take it.

The doctor and nurse were calm and compassionate, even as I tried to ask questions between blubbing. Now begins three more weeks until the next ultrasound to check on growth. The doctor asked if we needed support, “God, yes” I think my reply was. She said she’d refer us to a nurse from the counselling team for the next day.

We came home, curled up on the bed and let ourselves be very sad and very scared. We promised Junebug that the next day we would be brave, but this was our day to be afraid.

My family sent messages of positivity and optimism. I chatted to my mum who, as she always does, reaffirmed how much love this little one has awaiting them. I’ve never been more grateful to my family and friends. When people I knew went through something difficult or tragic and I’d feel the only way to express my love was to say that I was hoping, praying and thinking of them—it always seemed like it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Being on the receiving end of those positive thoughts, prayers and words of encouragement now—it’s the most powerful and uplifting thing. A message from a friend saying, “thinking of you today”, it means the absolute world. I’ll have to remember that—it’s so important to reach out.

When I was feeling up to it a few weeks ago, I joined another group of mums-to-be for a coffee date. I was worried I’d seem like a bad omen, or a dampener on what should be a fun experience. Another mum in the group told me that I could sit next to her, and another that I was always welcome. Each has had their own struggles and challenges. All of them are just incredible. They let me talk about Junebug’s situation, and then shared their own stories and anxieties and moments of celebration. It was absolutely beautiful. Junebug, you better get here—there are some phenomenal families and new friends who will be waiting for you.