I have carried you for nine long months. This morning when I woke up it was the first morning in nine months I didn't have to get up by my alarm to take medicine at the right time, the first time in nine months I didn't have to give myself a shot this morning, the first time in nine months I just laid in bed with nothing I needed to jump up to do to keep you safe inside me. I just laid there feeling you wiggle around, until I heard "Mommy, Come get me!" coming from your big sister's room :) Yes, I have carried you for nine months. I can remember when we weren't sure I would even carry you long enough for your heart to start beating, when we weren't sure I would carry you past 16 weeks, when our goal was just for me to carry you to 24 weeks when you would be viable outside of me. I remember being so surprised when I started feeling you move at just 16 weeks and how strong and frequent your kicks were that early. I remember finding out you were a girl and the joy it brought my heart (I secretly hoped you would be a girl). I remember surprising your Mimi and Papa with a cake that told them you were a girl and how happy they were. I remember all the many ultra sounds that showed you were growing, developing, thriving and doing well. So many anxious days, so many sleepless nights, so much fear that I would lose you, so many desperate moments of checking to make sure your heart was still beating, so many needle pokes and bruises on my tummy, so many band-aids stuck to my tummy after a needle stick, as if they were a physical announcement that this tummy is broken and doesn't work so well when it comes to carrying babies. Moments of joy, moments of sadness, moments of sheer hope and faith. It's been quite a ride baby girl and it's almost over. This is our last day to be connected to one another, your last day inside of me. So bittersweet. I won't miss many aspects of this pregnancy, but as hard as it has been, I will miss carrying you, your kicks, your rolls, a tummy big and round from blossoming life, the reality that against all odds I have a little miracle inside of me. I will miss this part my dear one. Very much.
It is still unreal to me that tomorrow I will hold you in my arms. Tomorrow the hope and faith of you will become reality. I don't know how I will feel when I see you...relieved, completely smitten as I was the first time I saw your sister, scared or just numb. That is my biggest fear. That I will feel numb from the overwhelming emotion of the last nine months and especially the last week. I want feelings that live up to the heartache we have endured to have you. I don't want it all to have been for nothing, I want joy and overwhelming love at the sight of you sweet girl and I fear I may not be able to feel those things because of recent circumstances. Maybe I just still can't believe you are real. I feel you. I know you are in there but my heart has been hurt for so long, perhaps I have forgotten how to feel pure joy. Perhaps you will remind me. That is my hope.
This is the last day that I will carry you. I will never again carry a child but because of you amazing baby I will end my child bearing days with sweet victory over this struggle. Tomorrow I will see you. I will know you. We will start our life together. I can't wait to hold you, kiss you, feed you, rock you, sing to you, tickle you, see you laugh and smile, watch you grow up, walk, talk, play and grow into the amazing little girl God has destined for you to be. I can't wait for Christmas mornings, notes in your lunch box, Halloween costumes, first days of school, late night cuddles when you are afraid, Saturday morning pancakes and cartoons, Friday night movies and popcorn, vacations on the beach, I can't wait for life with you. You are life. You come to us when we need you most. You are our sunshine amidst the storm. You are proof that God gives just what we need, just when we need it. You are love. You are a fighter. You are our girl and a special angel watches down from heaven as you come to us tomorrow. I can see her smile, see her tears of joy. I can hear her voice and feel her hug me at the sight of you. I can see her holding you, gazing with a look of pure love. She would literally rather have died than for you to not have made it here. She prayed for you and God answered her prayer, my prayer, so many prayers. This is the last day I will carry you. But tomorrow is the first day of your LIFE. Enjoy this gift that has been given to you, the gift of life. Enjoy it, treasure it and honor God with it. Be happy. That's what she would want and that's what I want. There is no pressure to live up to the standards of a miracle baby. You don't have to do anything but just be you and be happy. And though this is the last day I will carry you inside me, tomorrow starts a life time of me carrying you in my arms, carrying you through trials, carrying you in my heart the way only a mother can. I will carry you forever and I will love you always and forever and no matter what.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Emotional Pregnant Lady - Party of One
We sit in church this morning and I sob so hard that the girl (who I don't know) sitting in front of us hands me a package of tissues. A very sweet gesture and I gladly accepted one, but it was embarrassing none the less. What prompted my 50th sob fest of the week...one of our Deacon's prayers during service for my mother in law. I listen as he updates the church that Vickie is in her final days and will be going to heaven soon. I think about my baby who is coming soon. He starts to pray. It hits me just the right way and the water works turn on. This has been my life the past week, especially since my last doctors appointment. Baby girl passed her bio with flying colors. She's measuring great, 6 lbs 5 oz, not too big, not too small. I then sit and wait to see my doctor. When she comes in she asks how I am doing. She can tell just by looking at me how tired I am and then I go on to describe this pain I have been having in my stomach and how uncomfortable it has been (just muscles being stretched) . So she says, "How do you feel about being induced?" "Yes please. Today please." I answer. She says we can't do it yet but when I am 38 weeks we can. I feel bad. Is it awful to induce a baby early if you have no good medical reason? What if she's not ready? My doctor's answer is spot on...."After everything you have been through, why not? No point in taking any chances. She's ready. You're ready. Let's just do it". October 23rd is the date she gives us. Jason pulls out his phone and checks his calendar, "That day is good for me. I don't have much going on." I can't help but sigh and laugh a little...and gently remind him that even if he did have something going on he would cancel it...men :)
I feel relieved that our baby will be here in just 10 short days. I even feel excited and happy. But sadly, those positive feelings are hidden beneath a mountain of more powerful negative ones. I worry that induction is not the right decision since we really don't have a good medical reason, I worry that she might not be ready and she will have complications after delivery, I worry about the effects pitocin could have on her. I worry that I am taking this out of God's hands and putting it in my own. I worry that Vickie will pass and Jason will miss our daughter's birth or I will be sitting in the hospital alone with my new baby while I miss her funeral. This is why I have been the most emotional pregnant lady ever. The smallest things set me off. I cry for no reason. I think I am going crazy. I try to talk to people about it but no one really gets it. "Oh you are just hormonal and at the end. Everyone feels this way at the end." and then they go on talking about something else. But no, everyone does not feel exactly this way at the end. I thank God for a therapist who has to listen to me (because I am paying her to :) and a husband who doesn't have to but does because he loves me. My therapist asks me how I cope with such overwhelming stress. I tell her I cry, I sleep and I shop...usually in that order. She says that is actually a pretty good way to cope and I should keep crying, sleeping and shopping to my heart's content until my baby is born. So I guess that's the plan for the next 10 days.
You may wonder why I agreed to be induced if I am so worried about it. The answer is because I am just as worried about not being induced. I do have gestational diabetes which is one good reason to induce early. If I have her earlier Vickie may get to see her before she passes, another good reason for her to come a little early. Really, I will worry no matter what plan of action we take. But the thought of just waiting on one more unknown to happen all the way into 40 weeks is so daunting to me right now that I just can't help but want to be induced, even if it does scare me. So this is it, the day I long thought would never come is fast approaching. It terrifies me and excites me and elicits a full range of emotions all at once. I am a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the tears to explode at any time. But since I have professional approval from my therapist to cry as much as I want, that is what I will do. I will cry this baby into my arms for 10 more days. And I will keep sending up prayers that maybe I won't have to be induced or wait until 40 weeks...maybe, just maybe, she will decide to come early all on her own. That is my prayer.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
P.S. In case you are wondering from my last post, I did finally get my new medicine, preservative free. I started it about 5 days late and it was quite the ordeal learning how to use the weird contraption of a needle and needle dispenser. The nurses couldn't even figure out how it worked. In the end it was Jason who just grabbed it form the nurse, put the thing together in about 1 minute and said "There, that's how it works. I will help you do it for the first time tomorrow. Let's go." (To anyone who knows Jason's father, does he remind you of someone??) I guess 3 1/2 hours in the OB's office was enough for him. So I am on my new medicine and though it still does not guarantee I will be able to have an epidural, my chances are much greater now :)
I feel relieved that our baby will be here in just 10 short days. I even feel excited and happy. But sadly, those positive feelings are hidden beneath a mountain of more powerful negative ones. I worry that induction is not the right decision since we really don't have a good medical reason, I worry that she might not be ready and she will have complications after delivery, I worry about the effects pitocin could have on her. I worry that I am taking this out of God's hands and putting it in my own. I worry that Vickie will pass and Jason will miss our daughter's birth or I will be sitting in the hospital alone with my new baby while I miss her funeral. This is why I have been the most emotional pregnant lady ever. The smallest things set me off. I cry for no reason. I think I am going crazy. I try to talk to people about it but no one really gets it. "Oh you are just hormonal and at the end. Everyone feels this way at the end." and then they go on talking about something else. But no, everyone does not feel exactly this way at the end. I thank God for a therapist who has to listen to me (because I am paying her to :) and a husband who doesn't have to but does because he loves me. My therapist asks me how I cope with such overwhelming stress. I tell her I cry, I sleep and I shop...usually in that order. She says that is actually a pretty good way to cope and I should keep crying, sleeping and shopping to my heart's content until my baby is born. So I guess that's the plan for the next 10 days.
You may wonder why I agreed to be induced if I am so worried about it. The answer is because I am just as worried about not being induced. I do have gestational diabetes which is one good reason to induce early. If I have her earlier Vickie may get to see her before she passes, another good reason for her to come a little early. Really, I will worry no matter what plan of action we take. But the thought of just waiting on one more unknown to happen all the way into 40 weeks is so daunting to me right now that I just can't help but want to be induced, even if it does scare me. So this is it, the day I long thought would never come is fast approaching. It terrifies me and excites me and elicits a full range of emotions all at once. I am a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the tears to explode at any time. But since I have professional approval from my therapist to cry as much as I want, that is what I will do. I will cry this baby into my arms for 10 more days. And I will keep sending up prayers that maybe I won't have to be induced or wait until 40 weeks...maybe, just maybe, she will decide to come early all on her own. That is my prayer.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
P.S. In case you are wondering from my last post, I did finally get my new medicine, preservative free. I started it about 5 days late and it was quite the ordeal learning how to use the weird contraption of a needle and needle dispenser. The nurses couldn't even figure out how it worked. In the end it was Jason who just grabbed it form the nurse, put the thing together in about 1 minute and said "There, that's how it works. I will help you do it for the first time tomorrow. Let's go." (To anyone who knows Jason's father, does he remind you of someone??) I guess 3 1/2 hours in the OB's office was enough for him. So I am on my new medicine and though it still does not guarantee I will be able to have an epidural, my chances are much greater now :)
Monday, October 7, 2013
Beautiful Prayers
I sit here in my bedroom, fighting back tears. Riley is down stairs watching TV, too much TV, but it is all I can do right now. Just let her watch TV. I am overwhelmed and angry. I have to switch one of my medications this week, 36 weeks, because it is not safe to take it and have an epidural. It could cause paralysis if I did. So I am supposed to switch to one that is safe to take with an epidural. I have to search and try five pharmacies before I can find one who has it and when I finally do the medication comes in multi dose vials that I have to draw myself, rather than the pre-filled single dose syringes I have been using with my old medicine. I ask the pharmacist if these vials have preservatives in them as I know they usually do. He says he will check and call me. Sure enough, he calls me back later and tells me it does have a preservative that is not recommended in pregnancy. I research it and the FDA clearly states pregnant women should not take this preservative. I am so mad. I have to check, check and check again all the time or doctors and pharmacists will just give you this stuff without a second thought. So I refuse to take the medicine and have a call into my doc to get a script for the preservative free form of the medicine. This could take days. I will keep taking my old medicine until then. If I go into labor in the mean time then no epidural for me, which actually seems like a pretty good idea right now. Anything that poses a risk of paralysis to me and harm to my baby is just not worth the pain relief. I have been through enough pain just getting to this point. I'm sure I can handle labor and delivery without pain meds. All this just makes me feel anxious. I don't want to have to take all these meds and worry about them hurting my baby or paralyzing me...can't I Just have the baby now??!! Babies born at 36 weeks do quite well I am told.
My mother in law is in her final days the hospice nurses tell us. 7-10 days is what they expect. A baby, a birth, a new life. A death, a good bye, an ending. All at once. It is so much. It overwhelms me. I fear every day that I am going to lose my baby. This past week has actually been harder than the last several months. I am so far. I can't lose her now. The stakes are so high and so the fear is much worse. I just want her here safe and healthy...now. And I don't want to take any more medicine that could hurt my baby but "the benefits outweigh the risks". Great, that is a lovely place for a mother to be in...this medicine could hurt your baby. Yet, if you don't take it, you could lose your baby all together.
I think of the lyrics to Amy Grant's "Better Than a Hallelujah":
My mother in law is in her final days the hospice nurses tell us. 7-10 days is what they expect. A baby, a birth, a new life. A death, a good bye, an ending. All at once. It is so much. It overwhelms me. I fear every day that I am going to lose my baby. This past week has actually been harder than the last several months. I am so far. I can't lose her now. The stakes are so high and so the fear is much worse. I just want her here safe and healthy...now. And I don't want to take any more medicine that could hurt my baby but "the benefits outweigh the risks". Great, that is a lovely place for a mother to be in...this medicine could hurt your baby. Yet, if you don't take it, you could lose your baby all together.
I think of the lyrics to Amy Grant's "Better Than a Hallelujah":
God loves a lullaby
In a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes
In a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes
God loves the drunkard's cry
The soldier's plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The soldier's plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The woman holding on for life
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The tears of shame for what's been done
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
This describes my prayers for the past five years, but especially lately, not so much words formulated into sentences and requests put before God. But more desperate pleas, cries in the middle of the night (or afternoon while your child is watching too much TV). Prayers come in the form of exhausted sighs, feelings that have no words to describe them, broken prayers that Jesus takes to God and makes perfect on my behalf. I hope God really does love those kinds of prayers better than a hallelujah sometimes because He has been getting a lot of them from me. What do you pray for when your husband's mother is suffering and has no quality of life...a miracle or mercy that takes her swiftly? What do you pray for when your choice is to take a drug that may hurt your baby but if you don't you could lose your baby? How do you ask God over and over and over to please bring your baby safely into your arms without starting to feel like a broken record? I suppose you don't. And your prayers become formed out of "the beautiful mess we are and the honest cries of breaking hearts". Thank you God, that you can turn my mess into a beautiful prayer.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Being Carried in the Weakness
Riley and I have a new favorite song, "Carry Me" by Josh Wilson. I love it because it is about God carrying us through trying times, times filled with an unclear future and anxiety. Riley loves it because it's catchy, because she likes to be carried, because I sing along so passionately as we drive along in the car and she gets a kick out of mommy's singing, or perhaps for a deeper reason...I don't know, but she requests it all the time and I am happy to oblige her...it is a song that is good for both of us right now. All that I write in this particular post is not from my own mind. I am paraphrasing some of it from our minister, Curt Spark's sermon this morning, but it just goes so perfectly with a truth I have been struck with lately that I had to share. I just love it when God takes my own life experiences and truths He is revealing to me and then reaffirms them with a Sunday morning sermon, as if to put a final explanation point at the end of the lesson.
"My grace is sufficient for you. For my strength is made perfect in weakness" 2 Corinthians 12:9. I have heard many people say of a trying time in their lives, "I didn't know how strong I was until (insert trying circumstance) happened." I have found that to be absolutely not true for me. The truth is I didn't know how weak I was until I lost 6 children to miscarriage. I didn't know how badly my heart could hurt. I didn't know I could be the type of person who would struggle to get out of bed, or cry for the better part of my day, or withdraw from my family and friends. I know it is not popular in our culture of self sufficiency where depending on someone else is viewed as weak, but the truth is I was weak and I was depending on someone else to carry me through. No, I didn't know how weak I could be...but what I learned was how strong God could be. I didn't know that in my weakness and suffering the perfect platform for God's strength was being created. If I have shown any strength at all throughout this whole ordeal, it was not my own, but God's shining through me. El-Shaddai is a name for God meaning "strong", "powerful" and at the sane time also "comforting", "nourishing" and "providing fruitfulness". I have come to intimately know God by this name. He is certainly El-Shaddai to me. When there was no way, by His strength and power He provided a way. When we thought life could never be produced between Jason and I again, He made us fruitful and created life out of the two of us. When this world told us it was impossible, God made it possible. If that isn't strength and power then I don't know what is. And when I needed to be carried, during the long, sleepless nights of worry and anxiety, during the moments of uncertain futures and crushed dreams, during the times when my arms ached for babies I never got to hold and I just begged God to let me know if my babies were boys or girls, if they were blonds or brunettes, if they were lively and energetic little people or quiet and reserved little ones, all the things I would never know about them, I asked God to let me know them somehow. The moments I doubted God and His word and His love, during those moments when I was completely weak, He was comforting me, providing for me and carrying me.
It takes a lot of faith to say all this, because it is written from the viewpoint that all has turned out OK at the end of this storm. But we don't really know that yet. I have six weeks to go before we will know what God's plan is for this pregnancy and this baby. I still fear I will lose her. Day by day I am learning to trust God more and more, but it's a process and I still struggle with this fear and anxiety. Despite that fear, I am writing in faith that El-Shaddai is going to complete this good work He has started in me and deliver this baby girl to us healthy and safe. I am writing in faith and believing in His strength and power and love and provision. The thing I am most humbled by and most thankful for is this realization that I don't have to be strong, I don't have to have it all figured out, I don't have to have all the answers. And we didn't have any of these things when we closed our eyes and jumped off the cliff. I didn't know how strong God was going to have to be for me throughout this pregnancy, I didn't know what the right option to pursue was, do we do this treatment or that one, do we trust this doctor or the other one, there was no clear answer for us and we had no idea how to move forward to have another baby. We did not have all the answers we wanted so that we could make that decision (We probably never would have. There is just too much unknown in this world of fertility and unexplained miscarriages and the new science on immune related pregnancy loss). We were so weak that our only choice was to finally, in a moment of desperate faith, throw our hands up in the air and give it to God, take the terrifying jump, not knowing exactly how we would land, but trusting that the landing place would be God's arms no matter what. We had no answers. We had no plan. We just put or faith in a miracle providing God and jumped. And we have been allowing Him to be our strength ever since. We have been depending on Him to carry us ever since. I have been asking Him to carry me and to carry my baby and to allow me to carry her safely for almost 9 months now. In retrospect I see that God equipped me to act out the lesson before I even had learned it...it is only by God's strength that that is possible.
So I fully admit my weakness in all of this, in all of life. And I praise the God who is powerful and strong and loving, the God who is my strength, my El-Shaddai. I stand in awe of the miracle He is giving us. The words of many doctors are seared into my heart, "There is nothing more we can do for you.", "We just don't know why you keep miscarrying." and of the baby I carry now a doctor said to me in the early weeks when the pregnancy was struggling along..."It is unlikely we can save this one." God looked down at us all and in our weakness He created our Vivienne and made the impossible happen. "With man it is impossible. But with God all things are possible" Matthew 19:26.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
"My grace is sufficient for you. For my strength is made perfect in weakness" 2 Corinthians 12:9. I have heard many people say of a trying time in their lives, "I didn't know how strong I was until (insert trying circumstance) happened." I have found that to be absolutely not true for me. The truth is I didn't know how weak I was until I lost 6 children to miscarriage. I didn't know how badly my heart could hurt. I didn't know I could be the type of person who would struggle to get out of bed, or cry for the better part of my day, or withdraw from my family and friends. I know it is not popular in our culture of self sufficiency where depending on someone else is viewed as weak, but the truth is I was weak and I was depending on someone else to carry me through. No, I didn't know how weak I could be...but what I learned was how strong God could be. I didn't know that in my weakness and suffering the perfect platform for God's strength was being created. If I have shown any strength at all throughout this whole ordeal, it was not my own, but God's shining through me. El-Shaddai is a name for God meaning "strong", "powerful" and at the sane time also "comforting", "nourishing" and "providing fruitfulness". I have come to intimately know God by this name. He is certainly El-Shaddai to me. When there was no way, by His strength and power He provided a way. When we thought life could never be produced between Jason and I again, He made us fruitful and created life out of the two of us. When this world told us it was impossible, God made it possible. If that isn't strength and power then I don't know what is. And when I needed to be carried, during the long, sleepless nights of worry and anxiety, during the moments of uncertain futures and crushed dreams, during the times when my arms ached for babies I never got to hold and I just begged God to let me know if my babies were boys or girls, if they were blonds or brunettes, if they were lively and energetic little people or quiet and reserved little ones, all the things I would never know about them, I asked God to let me know them somehow. The moments I doubted God and His word and His love, during those moments when I was completely weak, He was comforting me, providing for me and carrying me.
It takes a lot of faith to say all this, because it is written from the viewpoint that all has turned out OK at the end of this storm. But we don't really know that yet. I have six weeks to go before we will know what God's plan is for this pregnancy and this baby. I still fear I will lose her. Day by day I am learning to trust God more and more, but it's a process and I still struggle with this fear and anxiety. Despite that fear, I am writing in faith that El-Shaddai is going to complete this good work He has started in me and deliver this baby girl to us healthy and safe. I am writing in faith and believing in His strength and power and love and provision. The thing I am most humbled by and most thankful for is this realization that I don't have to be strong, I don't have to have it all figured out, I don't have to have all the answers. And we didn't have any of these things when we closed our eyes and jumped off the cliff. I didn't know how strong God was going to have to be for me throughout this pregnancy, I didn't know what the right option to pursue was, do we do this treatment or that one, do we trust this doctor or the other one, there was no clear answer for us and we had no idea how to move forward to have another baby. We did not have all the answers we wanted so that we could make that decision (We probably never would have. There is just too much unknown in this world of fertility and unexplained miscarriages and the new science on immune related pregnancy loss). We were so weak that our only choice was to finally, in a moment of desperate faith, throw our hands up in the air and give it to God, take the terrifying jump, not knowing exactly how we would land, but trusting that the landing place would be God's arms no matter what. We had no answers. We had no plan. We just put or faith in a miracle providing God and jumped. And we have been allowing Him to be our strength ever since. We have been depending on Him to carry us ever since. I have been asking Him to carry me and to carry my baby and to allow me to carry her safely for almost 9 months now. In retrospect I see that God equipped me to act out the lesson before I even had learned it...it is only by God's strength that that is possible.
So I fully admit my weakness in all of this, in all of life. And I praise the God who is powerful and strong and loving, the God who is my strength, my El-Shaddai. I stand in awe of the miracle He is giving us. The words of many doctors are seared into my heart, "There is nothing more we can do for you.", "We just don't know why you keep miscarrying." and of the baby I carry now a doctor said to me in the early weeks when the pregnancy was struggling along..."It is unlikely we can save this one." God looked down at us all and in our weakness He created our Vivienne and made the impossible happen. "With man it is impossible. But with God all things are possible" Matthew 19:26.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Pink Walls
What says "welcome baby girl!" more than pink walls? This weekend we were blessed to have several good friends come over and paint our baby's room for us. I sat in the room today, the empty pink room. I looked around and just took it all in, the room, what the room means, the thought of who will soon occupy the room, the little blessing that makes this room necessary, and all the girly pinkness of it. I felt happy, relieved to check another task off my ever increasing to do list. I also was struck by the permanence of it. There they were staring me right in the face, pink walls, a permanent mark on our house that will forever shout that a baby girl was expected for this room. Sure, I can always paint over it, but the proof will be there beneath the surface never the less. Her mark on this house, proof of her existence will always be here. I feel sad and scared. Sad that I can't just paint my baby's room and feel excited about it. Scared that even now, with just 9 weeks to go, what if we don't end up needing a pretty pink room? I can't help the tears that slip past my eye lids even as I write this, a mixture of joy, disbelief and fear.
My therapist once asked me at what point in my pregnancy would I finally feel confident that everything would be OK with the baby. I answered her, "When she is born." And this is the realization I have come to, pregnancy after a loss is hard, unbelievably hard. Pregnancy after six losses is almost as hard as the losses themselves were. You feel so much pressure to enjoy it and take in every moment because you know what a blessing and gift it is. You know how many other mothers are out there hurting and longing for a baby, grieving for ones they have lost. You know their pain and you know how incredibly blessed you are so you should be thankful, you should be happy. And you are. But you are also terrified. You are stressed. Simple decisions like should I get the flu shot or not keep you awake at night, even though you know you should. But you are scared to do anything at all while you are pregnant. You lay on the couch and anxiously wait for your baby to start kicking. You become panic stricken when she doesn't and then feel silly a few hours later when she is clearly learning how to kick box in there. People ask how you are feeling all the time and you lie and say "oh good" or "I'm tired and have a lot of heartburn, but otherwise I feel pretty good" when all the while you only think about how emotionally hard it is on you and you know that is not what they meant when they asked the question and they are not prepared for the real answer to "How are you feeling?" Most of all, you just want this baby here, safe and healthy. You love that you are pregnant and carrying this little life but the emotional tole is becoming very heavy and you just want her here. You want to look at your pink walls and only feel joy, not because you are expecting a baby girl to be sleeping in there soon, but because she is and she is here and she is perfect.
Pregnancy after a loss is hard and the more losses you endure the harder the subsequent pregnancies become. It has taken me almost my whole pregnancy to learn this, something that can really be applied to many situations in life and that is this...It's OK that it's hard. It's OK that I am scared. It's OK that this is not the ideal pregnancy I hoped it would be. It's all OK. Accept it and embrace that this is the pregnancy I have, hard though it may be, it's mine and it's bringing a miracle into this world. It has taught me faith and patience. It has taught be to press into God and put trust in Him like never ever before in my life. It has taught me what it feels like to step out of the boat and know my survival depends on Jesus alone and how to cling to Him with the smallest amount of energy I have left. And it has taught me that the smallest I have is enough, enough for Him and He will fill the gaps for me. It has taught me that one child does not replace another and that is how I know they were each so precious to me, each individual baby that was lost was a baby I loved and still grieve for even though I carry this one. I know this now for sure. And strangely this mess of a pregnancy is beautiful. It is a mess of a mother who is scared and weak and weary, and hopeful and faithful and relentless in her pursuit of her dream. It is a mess of tears and stress and sleepless nights and knowing it really will be a miracle if this baby survives nine months inside this crazy lady, and it is weeping tears of joy at the very thought of finally seeing her and holding her, it is thanking God for the little princess clad three year old who talks to my tummy and tickles the baby and sings her songs, It is the awe of seeing her on ultrasounds every week, it is the sheer joy that comes every single time I feel her move. It's crying alone in a pink room, it's starring at those pink walls and slowly starting the process of tearing down walls of fear and sadness around my heart. It's a mess. It's mine. It's beautiful.
It's OK to be sad. It's OK to be happy. It's OK to just feel what I feel. It's OK that pregnancy is hard for me. It's OK because God has removed the walls that stood between us and our long awaited baby. He has removed the walls between defeat and victory. He is removing the walls between my pain and healing and He has made pretty pink walls a reality in our home. He has made this life, Vivienne, and whatever mess it makes out of me to get her here is just simply OK.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
My therapist once asked me at what point in my pregnancy would I finally feel confident that everything would be OK with the baby. I answered her, "When she is born." And this is the realization I have come to, pregnancy after a loss is hard, unbelievably hard. Pregnancy after six losses is almost as hard as the losses themselves were. You feel so much pressure to enjoy it and take in every moment because you know what a blessing and gift it is. You know how many other mothers are out there hurting and longing for a baby, grieving for ones they have lost. You know their pain and you know how incredibly blessed you are so you should be thankful, you should be happy. And you are. But you are also terrified. You are stressed. Simple decisions like should I get the flu shot or not keep you awake at night, even though you know you should. But you are scared to do anything at all while you are pregnant. You lay on the couch and anxiously wait for your baby to start kicking. You become panic stricken when she doesn't and then feel silly a few hours later when she is clearly learning how to kick box in there. People ask how you are feeling all the time and you lie and say "oh good" or "I'm tired and have a lot of heartburn, but otherwise I feel pretty good" when all the while you only think about how emotionally hard it is on you and you know that is not what they meant when they asked the question and they are not prepared for the real answer to "How are you feeling?" Most of all, you just want this baby here, safe and healthy. You love that you are pregnant and carrying this little life but the emotional tole is becoming very heavy and you just want her here. You want to look at your pink walls and only feel joy, not because you are expecting a baby girl to be sleeping in there soon, but because she is and she is here and she is perfect.
Pregnancy after a loss is hard and the more losses you endure the harder the subsequent pregnancies become. It has taken me almost my whole pregnancy to learn this, something that can really be applied to many situations in life and that is this...It's OK that it's hard. It's OK that I am scared. It's OK that this is not the ideal pregnancy I hoped it would be. It's all OK. Accept it and embrace that this is the pregnancy I have, hard though it may be, it's mine and it's bringing a miracle into this world. It has taught me faith and patience. It has taught be to press into God and put trust in Him like never ever before in my life. It has taught me what it feels like to step out of the boat and know my survival depends on Jesus alone and how to cling to Him with the smallest amount of energy I have left. And it has taught me that the smallest I have is enough, enough for Him and He will fill the gaps for me. It has taught me that one child does not replace another and that is how I know they were each so precious to me, each individual baby that was lost was a baby I loved and still grieve for even though I carry this one. I know this now for sure. And strangely this mess of a pregnancy is beautiful. It is a mess of a mother who is scared and weak and weary, and hopeful and faithful and relentless in her pursuit of her dream. It is a mess of tears and stress and sleepless nights and knowing it really will be a miracle if this baby survives nine months inside this crazy lady, and it is weeping tears of joy at the very thought of finally seeing her and holding her, it is thanking God for the little princess clad three year old who talks to my tummy and tickles the baby and sings her songs, It is the awe of seeing her on ultrasounds every week, it is the sheer joy that comes every single time I feel her move. It's crying alone in a pink room, it's starring at those pink walls and slowly starting the process of tearing down walls of fear and sadness around my heart. It's a mess. It's mine. It's beautiful.
It's OK to be sad. It's OK to be happy. It's OK to just feel what I feel. It's OK that pregnancy is hard for me. It's OK because God has removed the walls that stood between us and our long awaited baby. He has removed the walls between defeat and victory. He is removing the walls between my pain and healing and He has made pretty pink walls a reality in our home. He has made this life, Vivienne, and whatever mess it makes out of me to get her here is just simply OK.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Monday, August 12, 2013
The Long Cold Winter
28 Weeks. 7 months. Jason and I sit in our kitchen visiting and feeling very happy after a great appointment today. At 28 weeks, my doctor has now ordered weekly non stress tests and biophysical profile tests to monitor our little baby. We had the first one of these today. I was nervous about it. The last and only other time I had one of these tests was when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Riley and she failed it and was induced early. I was scared this baby would fail too and I would have a baby in the NICU by tomorrow. But instead this little one scored a whopping 10 out of 10...perfect! Her heart rate was great, she responded to stimulus (a loud noise right by my tummy) great, she moved around a lot and I have plenty of fluid in her happy little uterine home. And her growth is right on, 2 pounds 8 ounces, falling perfectly in the 50th percentile. Which is good considering I tested positive on my second gestational diabetes test two weeks ago. I now have two weeks of blood sugar monitoring, finger pricks and special diets under my ever expanding belt. It's a big bummer. I was upset about it at first, but with many things, I'm just falling into the routine of it all and just chalking it up to yet another complication I must manage to have a healthy baby. But really, when you have been through all that I have been through you kind of just learn to roll with the punches instead of letting them knock you down. However, I pretty much guarantee you this seals the deal when it comes to my weight gain in this pregnancy...I will go through nine months of pregnancy and not gain a single pound. It's really hard to gain weight when you are following such a strict diet and exercising every day, another thing that worries me and why it is great to see that though my weight won't seem to budge, little girl weighs perfect. She is growing and putting on weight perfectly and seems to be oblivious to it all, exactly how I want it for her.
As Jason and I sit in the kitchen happily chit-chatting away he tells me about a conversation he had with a friend recently. His friend asked when we were due and commented that he knows so many people who are having babies this October and November. Jason's reply was, "Yeah, Ryan, it was a long, cold winter last year." We got a good laugh out of that. And then I thought about how it has been a long, cold winter for so long for us. The biting cold relentlessly at our backs for the past several years. Every time new life started to bloom, the bitterness of winter would come and steal it away before it ever had a chance to grow. So many years of bareness, a life without Spring ever coming back around. This past winter was indeed an especially long and cold one, lasting months longer than normal. It even threatened to take this little baby I carry now...I still remember making our way through the treacherous blizzard trying to find a doctor and pharmacy that was open and who would see me so I could get the prescriptions and medicine I needed to keep my baby alive. It was a literal race against time. Nothing seemed to be in our favor and I was certain I was going to miscarry again. This coming after the long, cold journey of defeat, loss and heart ache. A journey that led me to places I never knew existed..., the loneliness of a room on the maternity ward where I could hear the cries of newly born babies and the sounds of happy families coming to visit while I lay trying to deliver my sleeping baby, the cold, sterile operating room of a hospital where I did eventually deliver that tiny little being, the office of a man at the funeral home where I sat and discussed the cremation of my child with a complete stranger, and onto my knees in desperate pleas to God to save me from this deep and profound hurt in my heart. And then down the road of cancer and the suffering it causes on all who experience it. Just last week we had quite the scare when Jason's dad called us and said, "Come over right away. Mom has taken a turn and the nurses don't think she will survive the night." We dropped everything and rushed over and stood by her side for hours. What we witnessed that night was truly awful. So awful that the tears and stress of it caused me to start contracting, at which point I was promptly sent home for rest. Yes, a long cold winter it has been. But joy comes in the morning. With her fighting spirit and utter determination to see our little miracle baby before she goes, Vickie was better the next day, surprising us all. I am 7 months pregnant with a baby who got a perfect score on her tests today. We spent this evening discussing a very special project that is underway in Vickie's honor. A project that made us all feel good and smile. The warmth is beginning to overtake the cold, the snow is melting, Spring is almost here. The flowers will bloom. New life will grow...a life in the form of a baby girl, a life in the form of a beautiful soul beginning to live the way we were always meant to live, with God in heaven. Vivienne Faith Parker is living proof that winter does not last forever and joy will come. The name Vivienne means "alive or life". We knew it was the perfect name for our little Baby Life. She represents life. Life overcoming death, happiness overshadowing the suffering, Jesus, the One who gives us life, triumphing over the long, cold winter.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Monday, July 29, 2013
My Story
I feel like my life is a book without an ending. I have a story but the ending is yet to be revealed. I am getting close to the end but just like a good book, the last part can seem to take so long to get through when you just want to know how it ends.
I have done little to prepare for our baby. She is due in three months and she does not have a bedroom, clothes, a car seat in the car, etc. I know that I have enough from when Riley was born that I could get by for awhile before I would really have to go buy anything or even have a room for her. So I have just been putting it off. Putting it off because I am tired, because my time seems so limited, because the demands of my family are too great for me to focus on preparing for a baby right now and because it is very scary to prepare for a baby that you fear may not ever come. But the planner in me had a little panic attack recently when it hit me that three months will fly by so fast and I am not at all ready for this baby, or at least our home is not at all ready for her. So I started the process, I bought a few things here and there and today while I was busy converting our guest room into a play room and our play room into a nursery and all the while trying to keep Riley entertained I got a phone call. These phone calls come every so often and they always stop me dead in my tracks. A mother has lost her baby. She is in despair. She has found the number, my number, to the support group I used to co-lead with another baby loss mother. She is calling for help because she has no where else to turn. This particular mother has had several children with no problem and then out of no where, totally unexpected, all of a sudden she is having miscarriages, one at 15 weeks and then another at 20 weeks. We talk for a few minutes, mainly she just wants referrals to a private counselor. I give her some referrals and tell her she is welcome to call me anytime if she needs anything. I hang up and my heart hurts. I know her pain. I feel sick when I think about what she is going through right now. I thank God she has other children. They will be angels who carry her through. But to make it that far two times in a row and then to lose them both...I feel the anxiety rise up in me. And this is the double edged sword that is support groups and part of why I stopped leading the one I used to. You find great comfort in knowing you are not alone and bonding with other mothers who know how you feel, the only other people on earth who know how you feel. Their stories also scare the hell out of you. I know mine surely scares the mother who has had one or two miscarriages. She thinks, "Finally, someone who understands." She also thinks, "Oh my, Am I going to have six miscarriages too??!!" I know that's how she feels because I remember when I had just had two miscarriages and I would hear stories of people who had seven or eight and then finally had a baby and all I would think was, "Is that going to be me?" I totally missed the part about how she did eventually have a baby, I just heard lots of miscarriages and felt terrified. Maybe it was my intuition...that did indeed turn out to be me.
Support groups are amazing and also scary. I hung up the phone and felt paralyzed. How can I go on preparing for this baby when I hear a story like that? I remember how keenly aware I am that I could still lose her. How do I finish the task I have started, a half converted guest room/ play room/ nursery? My house is a mess with piles of things that are designated for a certain room, certain shelf or Goodwill. I feel overwhelmed with the task ahead, preparing our home for this baby, living out three more months in my story with no ending. I was doing ok operating inside my own little protective bubble, but when a scary phone call bursts my bubble it is really hard to go on. I talk myself through it....That is her story, not yours. God is working in her life just like He has worked in mine. He is carrying her just like He has carried me. He will provide just what she needs to get through each day just as He has done for me. He has a plan for her and her family and He is a God of miracles. He will redeem this pain in her life, some way, some how. I know He will. But the one thing I cannot do is take her story and make it mine. I remember my story, a story that began with a rainbow, that contains all the elements of a good story, heartache, determination, faith, blessings in the midst of the pain, great love between a man and a woman who must endure the fire that refines their love and makes it come out shinier and stronger than it ever could have been if not for the burning heat, a miracle baby named Riley...and a great ending. I don't know how this story will end yet. The next three months will tell us. My heart aches for the mother I spoke to today. I will think about her all day. But I will chose to focus on what I do know. And what I know is this, God has been with Jason and myself and this little baby from the very beginning. He has brought her this far and he has touched my heart with a strange assurance that she will make it here safe and sound. God's timing is perfect with this little baby as she came just when our family needed this little ray of hope more then we could imagine. All of us are hopeful, despite great family tragedy right now, because of her little life inside me. This is what I know of my story, I have Jason, I have Riley, I have a baby who is alive and kicking today and I have a God who loves me. Maybe that is the end of my story. But I think God has a better ending than that in store for us. I wait in eager anticipation to see my story, His story, unfold.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
I have done little to prepare for our baby. She is due in three months and she does not have a bedroom, clothes, a car seat in the car, etc. I know that I have enough from when Riley was born that I could get by for awhile before I would really have to go buy anything or even have a room for her. So I have just been putting it off. Putting it off because I am tired, because my time seems so limited, because the demands of my family are too great for me to focus on preparing for a baby right now and because it is very scary to prepare for a baby that you fear may not ever come. But the planner in me had a little panic attack recently when it hit me that three months will fly by so fast and I am not at all ready for this baby, or at least our home is not at all ready for her. So I started the process, I bought a few things here and there and today while I was busy converting our guest room into a play room and our play room into a nursery and all the while trying to keep Riley entertained I got a phone call. These phone calls come every so often and they always stop me dead in my tracks. A mother has lost her baby. She is in despair. She has found the number, my number, to the support group I used to co-lead with another baby loss mother. She is calling for help because she has no where else to turn. This particular mother has had several children with no problem and then out of no where, totally unexpected, all of a sudden she is having miscarriages, one at 15 weeks and then another at 20 weeks. We talk for a few minutes, mainly she just wants referrals to a private counselor. I give her some referrals and tell her she is welcome to call me anytime if she needs anything. I hang up and my heart hurts. I know her pain. I feel sick when I think about what she is going through right now. I thank God she has other children. They will be angels who carry her through. But to make it that far two times in a row and then to lose them both...I feel the anxiety rise up in me. And this is the double edged sword that is support groups and part of why I stopped leading the one I used to. You find great comfort in knowing you are not alone and bonding with other mothers who know how you feel, the only other people on earth who know how you feel. Their stories also scare the hell out of you. I know mine surely scares the mother who has had one or two miscarriages. She thinks, "Finally, someone who understands." She also thinks, "Oh my, Am I going to have six miscarriages too??!!" I know that's how she feels because I remember when I had just had two miscarriages and I would hear stories of people who had seven or eight and then finally had a baby and all I would think was, "Is that going to be me?" I totally missed the part about how she did eventually have a baby, I just heard lots of miscarriages and felt terrified. Maybe it was my intuition...that did indeed turn out to be me.
Support groups are amazing and also scary. I hung up the phone and felt paralyzed. How can I go on preparing for this baby when I hear a story like that? I remember how keenly aware I am that I could still lose her. How do I finish the task I have started, a half converted guest room/ play room/ nursery? My house is a mess with piles of things that are designated for a certain room, certain shelf or Goodwill. I feel overwhelmed with the task ahead, preparing our home for this baby, living out three more months in my story with no ending. I was doing ok operating inside my own little protective bubble, but when a scary phone call bursts my bubble it is really hard to go on. I talk myself through it....That is her story, not yours. God is working in her life just like He has worked in mine. He is carrying her just like He has carried me. He will provide just what she needs to get through each day just as He has done for me. He has a plan for her and her family and He is a God of miracles. He will redeem this pain in her life, some way, some how. I know He will. But the one thing I cannot do is take her story and make it mine. I remember my story, a story that began with a rainbow, that contains all the elements of a good story, heartache, determination, faith, blessings in the midst of the pain, great love between a man and a woman who must endure the fire that refines their love and makes it come out shinier and stronger than it ever could have been if not for the burning heat, a miracle baby named Riley...and a great ending. I don't know how this story will end yet. The next three months will tell us. My heart aches for the mother I spoke to today. I will think about her all day. But I will chose to focus on what I do know. And what I know is this, God has been with Jason and myself and this little baby from the very beginning. He has brought her this far and he has touched my heart with a strange assurance that she will make it here safe and sound. God's timing is perfect with this little baby as she came just when our family needed this little ray of hope more then we could imagine. All of us are hopeful, despite great family tragedy right now, because of her little life inside me. This is what I know of my story, I have Jason, I have Riley, I have a baby who is alive and kicking today and I have a God who loves me. Maybe that is the end of my story. But I think God has a better ending than that in store for us. I wait in eager anticipation to see my story, His story, unfold.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
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