Today I had a bizarre experience. I went for scans on a shoulder, having been so foolish to make a dive in F grade cricket where I landed on my shoulder awkwardly. The bowling that day didn’t help either, of course, though it was fun at the time. So I went in for my scan, having had an x-ray beforehand. The scan was easy enough, and then I was off to a meeting with my pastors’ peer group. On the way for my son’s school pick up, I could hear my phone ringing. On arrival at school, I picked it up and dialled 101, to then get a message to call the radiology clinic.
At this point it seemed a bit strange, especially given they wanted me to come back in as soon as I could to have another scan. I put that off to them having not done the scan properly. Little did I expect that this follow-up scan would throw me into the land of déjà vu — to see something I’d already seen.
It wasn’t until the sonographer had re-scanned the shoulder and then had departed from the room to get the doctor that I sensed I had been here before. July 1, 2014, to be exact.
It is hard to put into words just how I felt. The thing is, when we went to the sonographer on July 1, 2014, we were told to go and then come back. When we arrived back, we had another scan, and then the sonographer went immediately out to get the doctor.
Today, as the sonographer went out to go see the doctor, I was shunted back to that fateful day when we were told there was something mortally wrong with Nathanael’s scan — heart transposed, diaphragmatic hernia, enlarged kidneys, etc. It was the commencement of four long months before he was died in labour — stillborn.
While I waited for the sonographer today, I fully foresaw the doctor coming in to give me the worst of news. I was preparing myself for, “You’ve got cancer,” or something like that. Now I know some of you will say, “Oh, you’re just being silly,” but the nostalgic feeling was palpable and though I wasn’t panicked in the slightest I couldn’t shake it from my mind.
Why do I even write this? I guess I just want to put it out there. Once we’ve experienced a trauma, a very similar circumstance takes us right back there to the memory of it. I also want to say that the conversation I was having with myself pivoted around, “It feels the same as 2014 but it won’t be the same.” We need to recognise that situations and circumstances don’t always or even often repeat themselves. Having my son there for the five minutes the sonographer was gone, I focused on chatting with him and what he’d done at school, even though I was hyperaware of my surroundings, noting the exact minute on the sonographer’s display, the light in the room, the jumper on the bench, even the feeling in my shoulder. I kept reassuring myself that everything was alright and that, like in 2014 when we received the worst news, I would be able to endure the moment if the worst news was about to be heard.
As it happened, there was no visit from the doctor, and the sonographer just had to check because there was something of an anomaly to reconcile. All ended well.
We never know what we will arrive out of left field to remind us of something we can never forget. In those moments, it’s got to be a prayer that we can talk ourselves through it, that we can rationalise it, or at the very least that we can rest on good help if we need to. And there’s no shame in any of this.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
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