A Prenatal Diagnosis Story: Counseled to Abort, but Chose Faith in God

I’ll never forget that day seven years ago. It was November 3, 2016, a Thursday. I was pregnant with twins and it was the day of my 18-week ultrasound. I was so excited to find out the babies’ gender. Were we having two boys, two girls, or a boy and a girl? Though I would have been thrilled with any combination, I was hoping for a boy and a girl.

My husband and I arrived at the clinic near our home in south Calgary and soon learned that we were in fact expecting boy/girl twins. I was beyond ecstatic! The technician then asked us to wait while she tracked down the radiologist to come speak to us. The doctor came in and explained to us that our little boy had a condition called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, and that he would send me to a clinic for high-risk pregnancies the following week. Without any further information, we left the clinic hopeful that the issue was minor and blissfully unaware of the turmoil to come.

The following week we made our way to the Calgary Maternal Fetal Medicine Clinic in the northwest. After a two-hour-long ultrasound, a middle-aged female doctor met with us and explained our son’s condition in detail. There was a large hole on the right side of his diaphragm muscle that had allowed his intestines and liver to navigate up into his chest, thereby crowding out his lungs. The right lung was practically nonexistent and the left lung was only 27% the size of a healthy lung. With treatment, he had only about a 25% chance of survival. Without treatment, he would suffocate as soon as he was born. My mind was reeling trying to take in all of this information. It had never occurred to me that my child might die! Without a chance to process this news, I was hit with yet another bombshell.

“In situations like these,” the doctor said, “you may want to consider having a reduction.”

A reduction? I thought. What does she mean…? Oh, wait a minute…She means an abortion. She wants us to kill our son.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Though I was in a state of shock, I knew there was no way under any circumstances I would ever allow him to be harmed. Unable to articulate that thought, my husband came to my rescue and said, “We know you’re talking about abortion, and let me tell you that we stand for life. We will not have an abortion, and we will fight for our son.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had just received a prenatal diagnosis. Though it isn’t

something that is talked about much, it’s a very real and relatively common occurrence. It’s also traumatic. Nothing prepares you for the dashing of all the hopes and dreams you had for your child, and if you aren’t already standing on the solid rock of Jesus, it has the potential to crush you.

From that day forward, my husband and I faced pushback from the doctors for not only

choosing to carry on with our pregnancy, but for insisting that our son receive treatment at birth. We were asked again to consider abortion at least two more times, and then were offered palliation, which I’ve since learned is called perinatal hospice, or a dignified way to honor the life of a baby who will likely die before or soon after birth. We insisted, though, that the doctors’ do their best to save our son, and we would trust in our God to do His part.

From the beginning, I couldn’t understand why the doctors believed that killing my son was the solution to his congenital issue. It was so upsetting to me, and when I wasn’t overwhelmed by the situation, angering. I understand that many in our world today have been blinded by the lies of the Enemy, but for me it’s as plain as day that every preborn child is alive and has great value as a human being. I grew up reading Psalm 139:13-14, which says:

“For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.”

We knew both my son and daughter, equally, were being woven together by the Lord, that He loved them both immeasurably, and that He had a plan for both of them. We knew that God could do a miracle and save our son if He so chose, and it was freeing to give Him the responsibility to make that decision, not ourselves. To make a long story short, after a ten-week hospital stay (relatively short considering the severity of his condition), Nate came home—the Lord saved him. Though the journey was difficult, and he required a year of weekly follow up, today he’s a healthy and happy little boy—you would never know he had once been so sick. We have never regretted for a moment choosing life for our little boy.

If you have received a prenatal diagnosis, or find yourself in a crisis pregnancy, may I encourage you? Trust in the Lord to help you through this difficult time. He’s always there for you and will never leave you or forsake you. Dig into the Word, cry out to the Lord, cling to Him and don’t let go. He’ll hold your hand and walk with you over the stormy waters and lead you to shore. Look to Him and don’t let go. Let Him be your strength. Amen.