My Story

...to grant those who mourn in Zion, giving them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.  So they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.  Isaiah 61:3

Over the years, I have shared my story countless times.   Sometimes calling it a testimony, sometimes just having coffee w/ a friend and sharing about my childhood.  Each time it takes on a new flavor as I select which details to exclude, tailoring it for my audience.  Here, I hope to include them all.  I want my story not to glorify the sin and poor choices in my life, not to glorify the suffering, the broken, the ugly, not to glorify anything I have done; rather, I want my story to glorify the One who has redeemed me and all things hard, ugly, broken.  I’m reminded that God is more concerned about who I am becoming than with who I was or what I am doing or what I have done.

Like many Hoosiers, I grew up in a small town and was a farm girl.  Our family is very tight-knit, and I’m a bit of a black sheep for moving one hundred miles away (considering that my siblings are within a ten-mile radius of my parents, you can understand why).  Our church family seemed to overflow into all areas of life: my teachers, coaches, family friends all constituted our church family and ultimately our small-town community.  I felt very safe, loved, and supported as a child.  My earliest memories are full of family vacations, gatherings at my grandparents’ pond, and lots and lots of love and laughter.

Other than normal childhood selfishness and mischievousness, the first time I recall darkness entering my life was at the age of nine.  Our large extended family spent lots of time together, always a favorite childhood memory.  But this time would be different.  This time darkness would creep in and take hold of innocence and begin to leave a bleakness that would mark two decades of struggle.  This time a relative would expose me to pornography and sexual abuse that would follow over the course of the next couple of years.  This time would create in an innocent child confusion, curiosity, and above all, shame. 

This blackness would end up where most of my blackness ended up: shoved, stuffed deep into a corner of my heart and mind, never to be spoken, never to be shared, but allowed to fester and poison a soul.  With it deeply stuffed away, I was able to profess my faith that summer and be baptized and then go about life as a “good Christian girl” over the next decade.  I was an All-American hometown sweetheart, participating in every club imaginable, competing in sports year-round, and serving others out of the “goodness” of my heart.  I even visited residents at nursing homes and led a Bible study for girls five years my junior because I was simply that “good.”   All the while, that blackness still poisoning me with desires and shame.

Desires that I sometimes acted on by accessing pornography on my own or acting out in dating relationships.  Followed always by deep, deep shame.  Followed always by repentance and sorrow and a resolve to do better.

And so college came and went much the same.  A good Christian girl at a good Christian school working at a good Christian camp in the summers: a life devoted to ministry and rule-following and good works. 

And then I graduated. And much of the same.  The long ago stuffed-blackness reared its head, carnal desires waged war, and shame condemned me.  The vicious, never-ending cycle was leading me down a path of destruction.  I hated who I was, and most of all I feared missing what the Lord had for me because of this darkness.

About this time, I had that same conversation with a friend in my small group at church.  How above all, I feared missing God’s plans for my life.  And we both walked away from the conversation knowing something spiritual had just linked our hearts, and within three months we were engaged, married six months later.  And that man.  That man has helped me to unstuff the blackness. To forgive a relative who wronged me.  To ask God to free me from this prison of self-condemnation and hurt and shame.  To find freedom in Christ.  Because though I had professed my belief at the age of nine, I had not lived freely according to the life I had been given.  I had still lived chained to my hurt, to my desires, to my shame.  And with the help of a godly man, I realized the power given to me in Christ to be freed from those things.

So a few years into marriage that wonderful man and I found out we were going to have a baby.  We were ecstatic as this fit into our plan and timeline.  But I soon had some spotting and we were concerned about the well-being of the baby.  An ultrasound revealed he was fine, but after my 16-week appointment, “fine” was no longer part of my vocabulary.  Replaced by “fear,” all I could do was fear what might be wrong with him.  We were told that based on the results of a prenatal test, I was at an increased risk for having a child with Down syndrome.  This seemed highly unlikely as I was only twenty-six and this was our first pregnancy.  (Besides, didn’t only women advanced in maternal age have children with Down syndrome?)  But in-depth ultrasounds increased my risk even more so that we were left with a one in seven chance.  I cried a lot.  And at times I thought a miscarriage would be a blessing.  So much fear of the unknown.  So much fear.  Still, I convinced myself it was unlikely.

Then birth happened five weeks too soon, the baby came breach, and no one was ready to diagnose Down syndrome upon his appearance at birth.  Still we wondered.  A prolonged stay at the hospital with some need of oxygen and lamps before heading home where we first started to note some facial characteristics of Down syndrome.  Eleven days old, and at his first doctor’s appointment a new blackness came crashing in to my elated new-mother’s heart.  My perfect baby had Down syndrome.

And days turned into weeks turned into months of mourning. Grieving the child I thought I’d had…daddy’s little football star, a big strong man.  Suddenly all I could see was everything my child was not.  I couldn’t see that he would bring us joy unspeakable.  That we would love him so much our hearts risked bursting.  That there would be no words for the way he touches us so deeply, daily.  All I could see was lack.  Lack of all the dreams I had dreamed.  Yet through it, I didn’t question God, or whether God was good, or even why.  I simply wondered, “how.”  How was I supposed to do this?  How would I raise a child with special needs?  How would he be treated in life?  How would he get through school?  How would he be received beyond school, in the working world?  How long would he be given life on earth?  How long would he want to live with us?  How would this affect subsequent pregnancies?  How would this affect future siblings?  How long before he would walk and talk and feed himself?  And on and on.

Who are you, O man, who answers back to God?  The thing molded will not say to the molder, "Why did you make me like this," will it?  Or does not the potter have the right over the clay to make from the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for common use?  What if God, although willing to demonstrate His wrath and to make His power known, endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction?  And He did so to make known the riches of His glory upon vessels of mercy, which he prepared beforehand for glory, even us, whom He also called . . .  Romans 9:-20-24

And while the blackness sought to bring me back into that place of confusion and shame, God was so good and refused to let me go there.  He pulled me close and was kind in my time of hurt.  Friends and family were supportive, and slowly doors opened to new friendships with mommas in the same position, mommas who could relate and love me in the broken.

And slowly, the broken turned into the beautiful, the lack turned into plenty, the curse turned into the gift. 

But I’m stubborn.  A bit of a mule.  And I learn slowly.  Very slowly.  And instead of recognizing God’s hand and guidance in my life, I’m determined to make my own course, so what began as a hobby and tinkering with some yarn for friends turned into a full-blown business.  In the midst of having three babies in three years I decided that running an at-home business through an Etsy shop was a GREAT use of my time, energy and mental resources.  (Did I mention I’m stubborn?)   Little did I realize that a gift of creativity would soon become the next area of blackness in my life, consuming my pride and energy, and turning me into a grouchy, irritable, tired person.  No free time to play with kids, meet with friends, or minister.  I was simply getting by and looking for the next free minute to crochet.  But in January 2013, our pastor started a sermon series on Acts, and when he read Acts 1:8, the Word took hold of me. 

"but you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be my witnesses in all Judea and Samaria, and even the remotest part of the earth."

I cannot recall a single word of that sermon that day, but THE Word worked mightily in my heart that moment and told me that my life was supposed be different.  Different than those around me.  That those around me would know no different and certainly not know Him as a result of interacting with me.  That I needed to pursue relationships with the women in my neighborhood.  My business was an idol that had to be crushed.  So I closed up shop two weeks later, and that began a period of spiritual growth that leads me to now.  

These two years have been marked with highs and lows, feast and famine.  But there is always a constant.  See, God is never the one who moves.  MY heart is prone to wander.  In moments of famine, I have but to whisper, “Jesus.”  And that is sometimes all the prayer I can muster.  But always, always my savior is near, always he is kind, always he is patient.

Friends, my prayer would be that we all learn that.  That no matter what blackness, brokenness, ugly we've experienced or are experiencing in our lives that we can trust our savior is near.  And he is always good.

Suffering

I'm doing hard work today.  Important work.  Urgent work, really.  Which of course is why I'm writing a blog post instead of tending to the work.  But sometimes an initial stream-of-consciousness-processing is what it takes to make the work flow.  Since this past summer when a close friend was diagnosed with breast cancer, God has impressed on my heart to draw nearer and lean into an understanding of godly suffering.  What does that look like?  How do we as believers suffer in a way that points a skeptical, jaded world to Him?  How do we accept hardship, grow from it, even possibly worship in the midst of it?  I didn't want to be the one to show up after my friend's mastectomy and give her the trite, "God won't give us more than we can handle."  I wanted to know deeply in my soul and bones that God was good, and I wanted to be able to rely on what I knew of Him to provide me with the responses needed while walking through suffering.

Not coincidentally, I started reading Tim Keller's Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering shortly before Bear's week-long hospital stay and stint with pneumonia.  I found that I relished the blessings of that week: a Christian doctor who prayed with us, countless family and friends showing up and being the body of Christ, a mom and mother-in-law who swarmed in and took over for my girls, a clear echo cardiogram, meals provided upon our return home, cards, emails, and text messages that touched my heart deeply.  What a beautiful taste of heaven it was.  When I was incapable, I was able to sit back and see the stunning bride for all she is.  This, people, is church.  The body of Christ caring for a weak, sick, or broken member.  Nursing us along in our inability.  Encouraging us, pushing us back to health.

And such a valuable reminder of practical things which are truly spiritual.

Case in point: food.  My beautiful friend who met me upon our return home with groceries and dinner.  And others who cared for us that way.  I felt so loved and was reminded of the importance of my role as a stay-at-home mom to love others the same way.

There is no occasion when meals should become totally unimportant.  Meals can be very small indeed, very inexpensive, short times taken in the midst of a big push of work, but they should be always more than just food."    --Edith Schaeffer

Which brings me back to this important work.  I'm writing a Bible study.  On suffering.   Because of my friend's journey with breast cancer, I was introduced to a beautiful soul, Kara Tippetts.  (You can follow her story on her blog Mundane Faithfulness.)  Kara has written about her own cancer story and the fight and struggle to find grace and God's goodness in the midst of it in her book The Hardest Peace, which is what I'm using to develop the core of my study.  Her broken honesty inspires the hardest of hearts, and even now as I write this, she struggles for her last few days on this earth, seeking to praise in each moment.  Oh what do I know of suffering?  I have sometimes cranky toddlers who make messes, skip naps, are ungrateful, and are loud and rambunctious at the library.  Seriously.  Those are the things that brought me to tears yesterday.  How can I possibly write a Bible study on suffering when a soul like Kara is about to leave this world and leave behind four beautiful young children and one faithful man?  When my friend has walked her own cancer story yet grieves the recent loss of both her in-laws and daily finds grace in caring for her son with special needs?  How can I possibly write about suffering when I have every need met?  When I live in such comfort?  When we are blessed with such health?  With family and friends who love and support us?  How can I possibly write?  Write.

I am not qualified.  This is true.  And so, I lay myself down at the foot of the cross today and look to the only One who can provide the words I so desperately need.  The words the women in my Bible study so desperately long for.  His Word that quenches every thirst, satisfies every hunger.  The Word who became flesh and dwelled among us that we might become qualified.  That I might be qualified.  To write.  So this morning, I do that.  I read and re-read and edit.  And ask the Word to be alive in me and through me that many might find Him in their hurt and suffering.  That this world that can never satisfy pushes us into our brokenness, to our edges, and causes us to lay it all down at the foot of the cross.  To seek a greater peace, an everlasting hope, as we become like Him in our suffering.

21 Dreams Project: Everything We Needed

We live in the Indianapolis area and have been so blessed by deep relationships with families of kiddos with Down syndrome.  About a year ago I told you about The Lucky Ones, a group of women whose common bond is parenting a child of Down syndrome.  Through some of the same women, I learned of Sycamore Sisters Photography and the 21 Dreams Project.  Jen of SS Photography is a fellow momma of a child with Down syndrome, and to help raise awareness she started the 21 Dreams Project, part of which is publishing volumes of books featuring beautiful photos and touching stories of individuals with Down syndrome.  

So it is with great excitement that I announce that Bear is part of the most recently released volume!  I would love to see every OB/GYN office carry these books in their waiting room, as now nearly 92% of women who receive a prenatal diagnosis of Down syndrome choose to terminate the pregnancy.  I choose to believe that many of these women do not make this decision out of malice but out of fear and ignorance.  With a little awareness and education, surely we can work to overturn this horrifying statistic.  I plan to gift one to my doctor and hope many others follow suit.  

Portions of the book's proceeds support Down Syndrome Indiana, and you can purchase your own copy here.

Since you can't preview Bear's page in the book, I thought I'd let you in on what I wrote about my beautiful little man.  Enjoy.  

It’s in his eyes.  I always said that about Bear.  Long before his lips curled into his first smile, he smiled with his eyes.

  

It’s in his touch.  The way he can’t sit beside me without playing with my hair.  How he pats his sister’s back as she sobs broken-heartedly because he’s heading to school.  How he eats his dinner with his hand on his daddy’s knee or arm.

 

It’s in his laugh, the one that is sheer unbridled joy and delirium. 

It’s in his stubborn perseverance.  Insisting that pizza, quesadillas, or doughnuts are for every meal or clearly letting us know, “I don’t want to.” 

It’s what we never hoped for; it’s everything we love. 

   

Bear is our eldest, the first grandson on my side, the first to steal all of our hearts.  As with all firstborns, the amount of expectation surrounding his arrival was immense.  Would he be Daddy’s little champ on the football field and baseball diamond?  Would he be Grandpa’s little buddy, hunting and farming at his side?  Would he become a fiercely protective older brother?  Would he have a tough exterior that secretly melted in the presence of his momma?  Would he enjoy music and academia and head to a prestigious college?  So many dreams.

During our pregnancy, there were some flags indicating our baby might have Down syndrome, but I was only twenty-six, we were both young and healthy.  Surely Down syndrome couldn’t affect our family.  When Bear arrived five weeks early, any physical traits of Down syndrome were nearly undetectable, and based on that, we were told by several medical professionals that he did not have Down syndrome.  We requested to have the necessary testing done to be sure, and at twelve days old, his doctor knelt at my feet in her office and cried with me as she broke the news.

Our perfect, first-born son has Down syndrome. 

I was crushed.  Dreams shattered.  Hearts broken. 

    

Calls made, tears cried, more calls made.  Husband rushing home from work.  More tears cried.  But somehow, my rock of a husband walked in the door with a new set of dreams.  His son was not a disappointment, had not fallen short of the dreams and expectations he had for his firstborn.  No, this boy of his would still accomplish great things.  Special Olympics, college, a prestigious job, these things were not out of Bear’s reach.  And after a few months of raging and grieving within my own spirit, this hope of his began to crack my fragile shell and let some light in.

Bear’s twinkling eyes smiled up at me; that belly laughter rolled at the sound of my voice; the comfort of his snuggles in the wee hours of morning softened my hard and bitter heart. 

And today, five years later, everything we hoped for has been far surpassed by the love and joy Bear brings our family.  There are no words to contain the fierce, protective love we have for him, no pictures to capture his endearing relationships with his sisters.  He is beyond what we hoped for, everything we needed to love.

Spread the Word to End the Word 2013

I'm embarrassed to admit that the word "retarded" was a part of my every day vocabulary prior to having Bear. I think most of us find ourselves using it when in reality we mean, "ridiculous." Today and every day, make a conscious effort to use ridiculous or some other more appropriate word in its place. Help Spread the Word to End the Word! 

The Lucky Ones

When Bear was a little over a year old, his physical therapist mentioned that she was working with a family w/ a newborn with Down syndrome and that the mom was wanting to connect with other mommas.  I was thrilled to meet someone in the area who was on the same journey, so I agreed to exchange contact info.  That mom and I met and closed down Starbucks that night.  And time went on and both of us became more connected to the Down syndrome community in our area.  Before we knew it, there were about 15 of us in the Indy/north Indy area, so we started a Facebook group to be able to connect regularly.  Last summer, we had our first official girls' night out and since then our group has nearly tripled in size to almost 50. 

We've gained a lot of new mommas to the group over the past few months, and when meeting a new momma, it's so hard to remember that she is probably still reeling and coping with some grief, because on the other side of that grief is such joy and deep love.  Those first months after the diagnosis is a really hard place to revisit because they were awfully lonely and dark days filled with fear of the unknown.  So at our girls' night out this fall, I was telling some moms from our group (called Moms of Kids with Down syndrome) that at first it's so scary and that we have to grieve the loss of the child we thought we would have.  But as time progresses and we get to love our wonderful children, we realize we're the lucky ones for having a child with special needs.  And so our group became, "The Lucky Ones."

I can't begin to describe what this group of women has meant to me.  Our daily Facebook posts of questions, concern, encouragement, and inspiration get me through those times of discouragement when Bear isn't progressing like his typical peers.  I've made some dear, dear friends through this group...girls who upon meeting for the first time become instant sisters (because when you share something like Down syndrome, you forget all the small talk and get right to the core of the issue: did your child have open heart surgery when he/she was a few months old?  Did you have to have a G tube?  Is your 3-year-old walking yet?  4-year-old talking?  5-year-old potty trained?  What have you done about Medicaid Waiver? Social Security? and so on and so forth.  Oh how your topics of conversation change when you have a little one with special needs.)

What doesn't change is our fierce love for our children.  Like any mom, we would give our lives for our kids; we just get to experience the raw, unbridled love that comes with a child with special needs.  And if you didn't read my post On Love the other day, now would be a good time to do so.  Love does not mean it's all warm fuzzies all the time.  Love defined is seeking to know and intentionally meet the legitimate needs of another.  I can't think of a more appropriate definition of how "lucky" we are to LOVE our special kids!

Check Your Ego at the Door

I've always been a high achiever, whether it be in academics, athletics, or my profession (I think it comes with being a people pleaser). I expect excellence of myself and of those around me and am disappointed when one or the other fails. So, tell me, how does a high achiever expect excellence of a child with special needs?

One of the greatest lessons I've learned from Bear thus far is that having a child with special needs is the ultimate ego check. All those things that we as parents hope for (I hope my child gets my brains, his daddy's brawn, my sense of humor, etc.) suddenly evaporate. Instead of searching for the ways my child is like me, I find myself searching for signs of development. Will he smile soon? Is his muscle tone developing? Can he hold up his head and look to both sides? And I know I'll continue to look for those things as the years progress. When will he walk? How long will he sign before he can speak? Will he potty train before starting school?

Ultimately, having a child with special needs is the greatest lesson in humility. We all pray for it--God make me a more humble person--but aren't truly prepared for the way he answers that prayer. Who would pray, "God, please give me a child with speical needs so that I may become more like you?" Our children typically serve as such a source of pride, and not to say that I'm not one proud mama because I am, but I've already experienced discrimation against him because of his DS and he's only 2 months old. Talk about being humbled. I can only imagine the ways he will be discrimated against all of his life, but learning how to handle that with grace and dignity and strength instead of indignation and anger will mold me and teach me humility beyond what I could have ever learned on my own.

Because He is Loved

"Kids with Down's are so loving," has been a constant refrain from friends and family as they address Bear's diagnosis. Funny, because 6 weeks ago, I would have said the same thing. Now, however, I realize that too often we take for granted that love is not something that is just assumed or granted simply because of a condition. Down Syndrome does not guarantee lovingness. Bear is no more likely to be loving than any other baby. He will be loving because he is first loved. (This sounds oddly familiar.) How would Bear possibly know what it is to be loving if we first didn't love him? He wouldn't. What we do know about children with DS is that they are more accepting of people and situations because they are not hindered by or burdened with the trivial and petty things that bog us down or keep us from reaching out to others. All it takes for a child with DS is to know that someone or something is good and they embrace that with joy.

The other refrain we keep getting is, "God only gives his 'special' gifts to 'special' people." Now, I've been raised in a Christian home, have gone to church all my life, and still recognize this as Christianese. This makes it sound as though God sits in Heaven and has a quota of babies with Down Syndrome that he must give away each year, so he seeks out only the most deserving couples to give them to (must give credit to Dan for these words). If God only gives his special gifts to special people, then why at Walmart the other day did I see a girl with DS who was obviously unkempt and probably had not been afforded all of the services possible for her? Would society say that her mother was a special person to receive such a special gift? I think not. If my first instinct was to judge that mother, I can only imagine what someone who has not been affected by DS would think.

Isn't it possible that sometimes God just lets life happen?? Dan and I are no more special than my sister and her husband who are expecting and will probably have a "normal" little boy. Why would we assume that we're set apart because God's given us Bear? Isn't it possible that we simply have to arise to whatever life gives us and be faithful in those things? I think God receives more glory in that response than if we say that God's given a special gift to a special couple. That steals the glory from God and places it on Dan and me.

On the way up

It's amazing how quickly a heart can change. A week ago I was sad, grieving, a little angry. Today, I'm excited. I'm looking forward to what's to come. I've been in touch w/ our local parent support group and we've been invited to attend their Christmas party next week to meet some of the parents and kids. As much as every parent wants their child to be unique, to stand out, to be an individual, I am assured that my child will be a trailblazer. He won't be just another kid like the hundreds around him. He will be different and will be known for being different. My prayer continues to be that he loves passionately, has a huge heart, and brings joy to every person and situation he touches. So far so good.

I sent an email out to my co-workers today announcing Bear's condition. I asked that they not apologize because we aren't sad or sorry, and for some reason that tends to be our natural response as humans...why is it we automatically see this as bad news?

The news, part 2

After being home for just under a week, we had our first pediatrician's appointment. My doctor came in and went right back out to get some paperwork (I knew it was the result of our genetics testing...the karyotype test that would give us our fate). She sat down beside me and said, "Morgan, we got your test results back, and they're positive for Trisomy 21 that's consistent with Down syndrome." I took a deep breath, said ok, and tried to keep it together, which I did successfully for about 3 minutes before my chin began to tremble and the tears pooled in my eyes. You know, we knew this was a possibility, but it didn't make it any easier when we received the news. I guess that as a middle school teacher I see how hard life can be for kids who are different. My poor kid will always be the kid that others say, "Aw, he's so cute" about. Or the one they make fun of. Or the one who has the false impression of friends. Or the one who would manage the teams but never truly a part of them. Immediately flashes of what wasn't to be ran through my mind at a million miles an hour. I couldn't help but mourn and grieve for what wouldn't be for my child.

I called Dan to see when he was coming home. He could tell something was wrong but played along w/ my charade. As soon as I hung up, I received a text from him asking if I needed him to come home now. I responded and told him I was fine. The next second he sent one back asking if Bear had Downs. As much as I wanted to ignore that text and just allow him to go through the last couple of hours of work, I couldn't hide this from him. I wrote back yes, and he was home within 20 minutes. I tried to be strong but couldn't help from crying We both did our share of crying that night as we shared the news with family, gave up dreams we had for our child, and prepared to face the unknown.

Today, 5 days after receiving the news, I can honestly say I'm at a much better place than I was on Monday. However, it doesn't mean I don't still grieve the child that could've been. Yet I know there's so much in store for us. I read all these encouraging accounts of parents of children with Down syndrome, and they speak of unconditional, unspeakable love that results from their child. In fact, that's all that anyone can say right now in an effort to comfort me. But that's easy to say when you're sitting on their side of the fence. When you don't have a child w/ special needs, it's easy to tell people about how he's going to be so loving and how we'll all love him so much and learn so much from him, etc. It doesn't make it any easier for me to let go of what could've been. I know God will heal all of that in time; I trust he will. I know eventually I'll enjoy Holland (if you don't get this allusion, there's a pretty cool story out there...just can't think of the title right now). But right now, is it ok if I have a bit of a pity party and feel a little resentful about it?

Quad Screen?

So, prior to being pregnant I had never heard of a quad screen...didn't know what it was, didn't know what it tested for, didn't know what the results were indicative of. However, you can bet that when I received the call that our test results were positive for Down syndrome, I was online researching. I cried and cried as I read about Down syndrome and then I rejoiced as I heard account after account of those whose test results had been a "false positive." Though the test brags only a 5% false positive, it seemed that everyone I talked to had either received a false positive or knew of someone who had. Surely we were in that category, too. I mean, we had no family history of any kind of birth defect, chromosomal disorder, etc. We were both young and healthy. We had done everything right. How could we possibly be having a child with Down syndrome?

Regardless, we went through two Level 2 ultrasounds to see if there were markers of Down syndrome present. We didn't receive anything definitive. Doctors are so worried about covering their butts and being liable that they don't give you anything useful. All we got was, "Well, he could possibly have a short femur, but then again, he could be a healthy kid who's just a little slow growing. His nasal bone looks a little short, but kids w/ Down syndrome typically don't have a nasal bone at this point. It looks as though there could be a bright spot on his heart, but I can't really tell." After seeing three different specialists, including a perinatologist to do a heart scan, I felt confident our child was fine (though our chances were one in seven). I don't think the nagging ever left Dan, though.