God and Tomas, part two

One month later I went for a follow up ultrasound with the maternal fetal doctor. We knew if the echogenic foci was still there, our chances of a DS baby would stay the same 1:4. I can't remember why, but I did not have the girls with me that afternoon. Looking back it was definitely a God thing, as I almost always have the girls with me. But I laid on the table and was ready for whatever was coming. Or so I thought. The foci was still there, and I was ok with it. It would be what it was and this baby would be who he would be. But then the tech went and got the doctor and the doctor took a looooong time looking at something on the screen. He then stopped, sighed, and turned to me. I remember the sigh vividly, it made every muscle in my body tense and ache.
He told me that he was fairly sure the baby had duodenal atresia. Both such foreign words to me I had to make him write them down. Because of a "double bubble" marker on the ultrasound screen he was pretty certain that was the case. It meant the baby's stomach had not attached to his intestines and he would need life saving surgery within days after birth. At that moment the words "down" and "syndrome" flew out the window. They were so large 15 minutes beforehand, and then they were just gone. My baby was broken. He could not eat, therefore, he could not live. I did not at that time know anything about TPN (nutrition through an IV) and no one told me anything about it until months later. All I knew then was that if he didn't have surgery he would die. My love for him expanded exponentially and wrapped itself around his developing body. Only one thing pounded in my brain. I wanted this baby to live. I didn't care what he had or what he was or what he looked like, only that he live and I get to love him outside like I loved him while he was inside. The doctor went on to tell me that there was a small chance what he was seeing onscreen was just something to do with the bowel development, but that he would check again in a month. To his credit he never asked me "the question". I left, picked up the girls and went home.
My husband was away on business and I went back and forth so many times during the day about whether to tell him or not. Finally, I decided to wait until he got home and not worry him while he was at his meeting. That all fell to pieces the moment he called home that night and I heard his voice say "Hi, honey". I just started sobbing hysterically, poor guy, he had to ask me yes or no questions I was crying so hard I couldn't talk. He must have had a good few minutes of complete panic before he found out what was going on.
Him -  "Is something wrong?"
Me  - affirmative sobbing grunt
Him - "Is it one of the kids?"
Me  - affirmative sobbing grunt
Him - "Olivia"
Me - negative sobbing grunt
Him - "Victoria?"
Me - negative sobbing grunt
At this point he paused a little bit and then said "The baby?" in a voice so filled with pain I knew he loved him already too.
I moaned my positive and then did my best to compose myself and get the news out. As much as he can drive me crazy, and he has some serious OCD issues let me tell you, at times like these that man is my rock. He talked me back to calm and stayed with me on the phone until I was ok for the night. And that was it. Our paradigm had shifted. Even a diagnosis of DS would still mean a healthy baby. But not anymore, with or without DS our baby would not be born healthy, and we were heartbroken.