Helpless, But Not Hopeless: What a Fetal Diagnosis Taught Me About Faith

Pregnancy makes you think, rethink, and think harder about any and everything. Healthy eating. Vitamins. Water. Oxygen. Sleep. Motherhood. Childcare. College. Books. Careers. Homes. Support. Space. Time. God.

I've never thought so much about God.

I actually don't quite understand how there are women around the world who have gotten pregnant, had a baby, and still don't believe or trust in Him.

There is no more helpless feeling on this earth than pregnancy. A sperm and an egg turn into a zygote, into an embryo, into a fetus that often lands in exactly the right place. A single tiny sperm and an egg a million times larger than it become a baby — a human little thing with not just legs and arms, but a functioning heart, brain, kidneys, lungs, stomach... everything. An entirely new organ that did not exist anywhere in your body before appears, then helps feed this child by filtering nutrients from the bacteria you digested. And guess what? You had nothing to do with any of that past that one night you... you know.

Of course you can eat exactly right, go to every appointment, drink every ounce of water ever cycled from the beginning of time, take your prenatals, never drink, never smoke, and sleep correctly when the baby allows. But you cannot put organs where they're meant to be. You cannot choose the sex. You cannot cause the living being inside of you to grow any faster or slower than God is allowing. You cannot make the heart start beating. You cannot make the lungs grow or put the wrinkles on the brain. You cannot make the sun rise at night and the moon rise during the day.

You can't do what God does — and that's a helpless position when you feel like you are the mother, and you deserve control, and you are already so desperately in love with this tiny thing you haven't seen, touched, or smelled yet.

I went in jolly.

For many people who haven't been pregnant in a while, they're shocked to hear about the happenings of a 20-week scan. Normally it's a joyous occasion — you discover the sex of the baby if you choose, and the ultrasound tech measures every organ of your baby's body to ensure it's the correct gestational age, with no causes for concern.

I saw my 20-week scan as routine as every other appointment before it. We'd found out the sex at 12 weeks through a blood test that also revealed negative results for chromosomal disorders. When I arrived, the secretary was a close friend's mom and I felt even more comforted. The ultrasound tech was amazing — she told me exactly what we were looking at and took care of me like I was her own. When the scan was over, I waited for the doctor to come in. He took a while, but I didn't see that as any cause for concern...

"Your baby has a mass in his chest cavity. It's larger than any I've seen before. His heart is shifted and it's taking up space where his lungs would need to start growing in the next few weeks."

Excuse me?

If your mouth just dropped, imagine mine. Imagine having to repeat those words to your parents. Imagine going into a space jolly and excited and leaving an absolute wreck. Imagine finding out your first child — an unexpected blessing of a child — before you even know him, you already know there's something wrong with him.

Everything except the cause.

The doctor set me up for an MRI and a more detailed follow-up ultrasound to be evaluated by one of the best radiologists in the state. Between leaving the scan and getting to the MRI, I knew everything there was to know about fetal lung masses. The outcomes, the treatment options, the experts — everything except the cause, which remains unknown.

CPAM — Congenital Pulmonary Airway Malformation — is a rare, non-hereditary condition seen in 1 in 25,000 pregnancies. Slightly more common in males than females, varying in size and appearance. The lesion itself isn't inherently dangerous, but it can block lung growth, compress the heart, and cause fluid to form around the chest cavity leading to heart failure. Typically, lung lesions stay the same size or regress naturally between 26 and 28 weeks. To determine severity, they measure the mass from three angles and compare it to the circumference of the baby's head; that number is called the CVR. A CVR greater than 1.6 is cause for major concern.

His CVR was 1.64 on the MRI and 1.9 on the ultrasound.

They asked if termination was an option. It was not. They wanted me to follow up in two weeks. They gave me a follow-up CVR of 2.3. They asked to confirm termination was still not an option. It still was not.

White Plains Hospital transferred my care to Albert Einstein, where they have more specialists on lung lesions. I was told I'd hear from them on a Monday. That Monday came and went. On Tuesday I was on the phone with Children's Hospital of Philadelphia.

SHOUTOUT CHOP. THE GREATEST CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL OF ALL TIME. NO DEBATE. NO DEBATE. NO DEBATE.

CPAM babies live.

By Thursday, my husband at the time and I were on our way to Philadelphia for a full day of meetings, scans, evaluations, and treatment at CHOP. We met all types of doctors and nurses, endured a two-hour ultrasound and echocardiogram, were told to throw all of our research out the window and trust that our son would be okay — and I was sent home with a stinging injection of steroids and another dose scheduled for the next day.

They gave us a much less concerning CVR of 1.4 and told us that CPAM babies live. They live, they thrive, they play basketball and soccer, they play tubas and saxophones, they run and jump and play just like any other kids.

CHOP monitored us weekly, then biweekly, from that day forward. Right after the steroids, his heart was back in its correct position and no fluid was detected. At our last appointment they showed me all of his healthy lung tissue; his CVR was down to 0.4. They promised that they don't allow any patient to give birth elsewhere if they foresee trouble at delivery — and they didn't foresee trouble. The little baby had plans to have surgery a few short weeks after his arrival... but we knew the God who shrunk the mass could surely make it disappear.

Oh right. God.

That's who this started with. That's who it's going to end with.

Let me be the first to tell you, if no one else ever has: He is good. My helplessness led me to my knees, where I begged the God of the universe — my only source of hope — to come to my son's rescue. Let me tell you that this was not without doubt. Not without tears. Not without help from Someone much greater than myself. I said out loud, and doubted out loud, that I know God can... but what if this doesn't end well? What if He doesn't want to? What if it's not His will? There are plenty of faithful, truly God-loving people who pray and sometimes it just doesn't work out the way we thought it should. What if that was our story?

"...Your faith has made you well. Go in peace..." — Mark 5:34

When Jesus walked the earth healing people across the ancient Middle East, His power alone could have healed them. But He also credited their faith. Faith isn't believing that God will do what you want Him to do — He's not your genie. Faith is believing that because you are led by His Spirit, what you pray is what He desires. Faith is believing that because you pray, God has a chance to use you to do His work. Faith is believing that God can and He will, because you had the faith to believe.

White Plains didn't put that mass there — God allowed it. CHOP didn't trigger the regression — God did it. Whatever doctor delivers a healthy baby won't be the reason for that miracle — God will. And if there's a need for surgery, the surgeons won't be the reason for success — God will be, again. And if there's no need for surgery... God is good. Whatever the outcome, God is good. Always.

Helplessness can always be my portion where God is involved. He's the King of seemingly helpless situations. What's a 2x3x5 cm lung mass to a man who was dead for three days and came back to life?

There's been hope since then. I have hope now.

"Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." — Romans 15:13