Exactly 33 days and on schedule

The widget on my cell phone tells me we are exactly 33 days from E-day. At the same time, the “I’m Expecting!” app on my phone also informed me that I should be starting the 37th week of my pregnancy. I was supposed to be induced at 38 weeks.

In my grief counseling session on Friday, I discussed why I am so frantic for these results. The explanation is simple — if I were still pregnant - at 37 weeks - I would be doing all sorts of things to get ready for my son’s arrival. You know, buy diapers, formula, and clothes! Pack the bag for the hospital! Take pictures of my belly!
But I’m not doing any of those things.
There is nothing I can do for those baby boys now. Nothing. There are no diapers to be changed, bottles to feed, clothes to wash. All have is this drive to find out what killed them, to wrack my brain - the brain that I promise you did not get a degree in genetic science (I got a B- in high school biology, sorry Mrs. Trader) - and FIND THE ANSWER. Even though I know someone in Texas will literally HAND ME THE ANSWER in 33 days.

I feel like that’s all I can give them. It’s all I can give me.

I have been holding strong, but last week I broke down and called my genetic counselor (poor woman is a saint with my endless questions and theories). I asked if she had heard ANYTHING from Baylor, anything at all?
So she actually called Baylor for me and got a very “snippy” but firm answer. “Everything is on track and we expect results in the middle of April.”
Well, alrighty then.
The good news, if we are playing the Glad Game at 33 days, is that the exome is on schedule. And that is all I, and my genetic counselor, and the scientists at Baylor, have to say about that.

So the question from my grief counselor persists - What will become of the obsession once the exome is back?

We have 33 days to find out.