Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 1 Corinthians 13:7
Losing a baby will do one of two things for a marriage. A marriage will either strengthened or it will be torn apart. Richard and I have always been close and communicated well, but even the best of marriages will face challenges. With each challenge you work through, your marriage will grow stronger. The challenge though, can be a treacherous journey.
Just a month before we lost the baby we attended a weekend marriage conference at our church. Initially, it did not look like we would be able to go, as the probability of getting someone to watch the kids for the weekend look grim. To pay for a sitter would have been a hefty bill. At the last minute a woman from our church called out of the blue and offered to watch the kids as a favor. ( I am fairly certain that my pastor might have mentioned something to her, but he never confessed to doing such:)). I was relieved to have Teri watch the kids as she was always great with them in Sunday school and was a mother of four grown children herself. I knew I wouldn't have to worry about a thing that weekend. So, off we went.
We really enjoyed the conference. Simply being able to sit down next to each other and relax uninterrupted was awesome in itself! We ended that weekend refreshed and gained some great insight on how to grow closer as a couple. Having that opportunity to attend that conference truly prepared us for the crisis that lay ahead.
We knew that it would be crucial that we cling to each other and focus on healing our family from our loss. It is very easy to turn inward when you experience a traumatic event. Because it is primarily the woman who feels the biggest impact physically and mentally after a miscarriage, working through the loss can be especially trying on a marriage even under the best circumstances. Each person is experiencing different emotions of their own and receiving different reactions from others as well.
My husband, Richard, is a great husband and father. He is one hundred percent family man. The first time I saw him interact with my 5 month old niece while we were dating I knew this guy will be an awesome father someday. Our four kids adore their dad. He is with them whenever he is not working. He is the kind of guy that is always thinking about me and the kids and would rather be with us then anywhere else. As I said in an earlier post, Richard did not bat an eye at having a fifth baby. He was just as excited as he was when we were expecting our first child.
Although Richard did not come to my most of my first trimester appointments, (he was either working or watching the kids when I had appointments) he did come to my 12 week ultrasound, along with our two youngest boys. We all watched the baby moving around on the screen. My son Benjamin was so excited! He instantly said, "told you so mom". He said this because he had insisted a month earlier I was having a baby because "he could hear the baby's heartbeat in my tummy":) I was grateful that Richard made it to that ultrasound. It made the pregnancy real to him, he could finally see what I was feeling. It was also the only time he would ever see the baby.
When we got out to the car after the appointment I pulled the visor down to check my makeup and down fell a card into my lap. It was signed with a simple, " I love you so very much". This was the day we were officially telling everyone we were expecting, and he wanted me to know that he truly was excited about the new addition to come.
The only times I have seen my husband cry, have been when we visited his father's grave, said our vows, when he saw each of our children for the first time, and when they wheeled me to surgery to take the baby. After the procedure, because I was so sick, I couldn't see him for over two hours. When he was finally brought back to be with me, he had changed from the man I looked back at as I was being taken to surgery. He now had a different role to play. He was supposed to be strong for me.
I believe that Richard would say that his biggest struggle was understanding what he could do to help me. When men are confronted with problems they try to find a solution. There was no solution here, just pain that had to be worked through. Sometimes the best thing he could do, was say nothing and just be with me while I cried or woke up from a nightmare.
He had his own feeling as well, but put them aside to be strong for me. At times I would take his desire to be strong for me as his lack of sadness or disconnect from what happened. I had to realize that although he processed his grief differently, he felt the pain of our loss just the same. There were times when I saw glimpses of that sadness, but for the most part he kept that from me.
Most of the focus after the loss of a child is on the mom. I have been so blessed to have had so many people who care and call to check in on me or stop by to visit. Men, however tend to get far little support. With the exception of some close friends and members of our church, Richard rarely received calls asking how he was. In fact it seemed just the opposite.
Richard was expected to continue to be the same son, brother, friend, co-worker that he once was before. Anything other then what was expected of him, seemed to be almost taken offensively by others. It was as if it wasn't his loss, but mine. If he wasn't taking care of me and the kids he was usually having a conversation with someone who couldn't understand why he wasn't attending a get together or calling as often as he used to. It was difficult to see him have to deal with so much. If Richard was writing this he would say it was no big deal. He was just doing his job as a husband and father. That makes it sounds so simple, but he truly was the glue that held our family together until I could begin to function again.
One of the things that we took away from the marriage conference, was that we needed to make our marriage a priority among all things. Richard has been a rock for me, and for that I am grateful. Our journey through healing from our loss is far from over. Next month will be a big month for us. It will be the month the baby was due and also Richard's fortieth birthday. There are difficult emotions to work through yet to come, but we know if we look towards God and lean on each other we will continue to work towards a place of peace and healing for our family.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Kinley
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above.
~ James 1:17 from NKJV
It was about a week and a half before I lost my baby, that I was sitting in a hospital room with my best friend Shanna. We have been friends for fifteen years and had seen each other though everything. The loss of her parents, both of our marriages, college graduations, and the birth of my children, and now the birth of her first child. She had just given birth seven weeks early to her first baby, Kinley, by emergency C-section. I was sitting by her hospital bed in ICU, listening to her describe the last twenty-four hours prior to Kinley's arrival.
Shanna's husband was out of town Friday when she began to feel seriously ill. She decided to hold off until the next morning to go in to the doctor. I still feel ill when I think of what could have happened to her alone in that house. I was only five minutes away and had I known I would have been with her all night. When she reached her doctor's office the next morning her blood pressure was through the roof and her blood work showing she was septic. The doctors had to take the baby, as Shanna's life was in jeopardy. There was no time to wait for her husband to fly home from New Jersey, the baby needed to be taken now and Shanna had to go under general anesthesia.
I got the call from our friend Angela while I was napping. I had not been feeling well and Richard took the kids out so I could rest. It turns out I had missed half a dozen calls prior. I jumped up in a panic throwing on clothes and racing out the door. I was desperate to get to the hospital before she woke up from surgery. I felt horrible that she had to go into surgery without me there.
So, there I sat there listening to her describe how she had been feeling I gently lectured her for not calling me the night before, for continuing to work while she was experiencing chest pain, and for being too passive about her symptoms that could have killed her.
If only I had realized that at that moment I was doing the same thing. I had been experiencing swelling in my upper abdomen, headaches, racing heart, chest pain, sudden weight gain, and a general feeling of malice. I was just struggling to continue with my day, thinking these symptoms were just a result from being so tired having to work and care for four children. I didn't know that I was placing myself in the same danger I was lecturing Shanna about.
Kinley did great! She was only in NICU for about a month. Close to two weeks into her stay I still had not been able to come and see her as I had been feeling pretty rough. I felt terrible that I wasn't there with my best friend and had not yet spent time with her baby.
Shanna went every morning and night to be with Kinley at the hospital. She was at the hospital with her husband the night my water broke. I knew they were there but I didn't have the heart to call her and tell her to come downstairs to the ER. I didn't want her, or anyone else to sit there and hurt for me. It was ironic she was on one floor spending time with her precious baby and downstairs I was saying goodbye to mine.
Each time I had a baby, Shanna would remind me that we were supposed to be pregnant together and to not let it happen again until she was ready to have a baby as well. Well, after my fourth we concluded that we would never be pregnant together and have babies the same age. That is, until she got the call from me and I told her the news. She was shocked, but so excited. We would actually get to be pregnant together, the babies just a few months apart and they would be the best of friends. It was actually going to happen!
Obviously in life our plans do not always pan out. One week she gave birth to Kinley and a week or so later I tragically had to say goodbye to mine. Our babies would never be rolling on the floor together while we chatted over coffee. We would not be swapping baby clothes. If mine was a girl ( we did not have a chance to find out for sure, but I know it was a girl and I have always been right! ) they would never have play dates where they dressed up and played with their dolls. If mine was a boy he would never chase Kinley around the house with frogs or run her dolls over with trucks. It was a dream that ended. Abruptly.
My therapist asked me what things I avoid now. I rambled off many different things that easily trigger tears. Not tears of pity for myself, just sadness for the loss. She asked me if I avoid babies. Not all, I answered, not Kinley.
Kinley is my best friend's child. I call her my niece and see her as the same. She is as precious to me as one of my own. I anticipated her arrival with Shanna for months! I could see how I could struggle with memories of the hurt of my own loss when I am with her, but instead I am reminded of God's perfect plan. He brought Kinley safely into this world and took mine safely to heaven. Both are his children. Neither less significant than the other. Sometimes if I am feeling sad, I will I spend time holding Kinley. I could sit and snuggle her for hours. She is a precious connection to the baby I lost. She is a living example of God's miracles and beautiful reminder of the baby I will someday see in heaven.
~ James 1:17 from NKJV
It was about a week and a half before I lost my baby, that I was sitting in a hospital room with my best friend Shanna. We have been friends for fifteen years and had seen each other though everything. The loss of her parents, both of our marriages, college graduations, and the birth of my children, and now the birth of her first child. She had just given birth seven weeks early to her first baby, Kinley, by emergency C-section. I was sitting by her hospital bed in ICU, listening to her describe the last twenty-four hours prior to Kinley's arrival.
Shanna's husband was out of town Friday when she began to feel seriously ill. She decided to hold off until the next morning to go in to the doctor. I still feel ill when I think of what could have happened to her alone in that house. I was only five minutes away and had I known I would have been with her all night. When she reached her doctor's office the next morning her blood pressure was through the roof and her blood work showing she was septic. The doctors had to take the baby, as Shanna's life was in jeopardy. There was no time to wait for her husband to fly home from New Jersey, the baby needed to be taken now and Shanna had to go under general anesthesia.
I got the call from our friend Angela while I was napping. I had not been feeling well and Richard took the kids out so I could rest. It turns out I had missed half a dozen calls prior. I jumped up in a panic throwing on clothes and racing out the door. I was desperate to get to the hospital before she woke up from surgery. I felt horrible that she had to go into surgery without me there.
So, there I sat there listening to her describe how she had been feeling I gently lectured her for not calling me the night before, for continuing to work while she was experiencing chest pain, and for being too passive about her symptoms that could have killed her.
If only I had realized that at that moment I was doing the same thing. I had been experiencing swelling in my upper abdomen, headaches, racing heart, chest pain, sudden weight gain, and a general feeling of malice. I was just struggling to continue with my day, thinking these symptoms were just a result from being so tired having to work and care for four children. I didn't know that I was placing myself in the same danger I was lecturing Shanna about.
Kinley did great! She was only in NICU for about a month. Close to two weeks into her stay I still had not been able to come and see her as I had been feeling pretty rough. I felt terrible that I wasn't there with my best friend and had not yet spent time with her baby.
Shanna went every morning and night to be with Kinley at the hospital. She was at the hospital with her husband the night my water broke. I knew they were there but I didn't have the heart to call her and tell her to come downstairs to the ER. I didn't want her, or anyone else to sit there and hurt for me. It was ironic she was on one floor spending time with her precious baby and downstairs I was saying goodbye to mine.
Each time I had a baby, Shanna would remind me that we were supposed to be pregnant together and to not let it happen again until she was ready to have a baby as well. Well, after my fourth we concluded that we would never be pregnant together and have babies the same age. That is, until she got the call from me and I told her the news. She was shocked, but so excited. We would actually get to be pregnant together, the babies just a few months apart and they would be the best of friends. It was actually going to happen!
Obviously in life our plans do not always pan out. One week she gave birth to Kinley and a week or so later I tragically had to say goodbye to mine. Our babies would never be rolling on the floor together while we chatted over coffee. We would not be swapping baby clothes. If mine was a girl ( we did not have a chance to find out for sure, but I know it was a girl and I have always been right! ) they would never have play dates where they dressed up and played with their dolls. If mine was a boy he would never chase Kinley around the house with frogs or run her dolls over with trucks. It was a dream that ended. Abruptly.
My therapist asked me what things I avoid now. I rambled off many different things that easily trigger tears. Not tears of pity for myself, just sadness for the loss. She asked me if I avoid babies. Not all, I answered, not Kinley.
Kinley is my best friend's child. I call her my niece and see her as the same. She is as precious to me as one of my own. I anticipated her arrival with Shanna for months! I could see how I could struggle with memories of the hurt of my own loss when I am with her, but instead I am reminded of God's perfect plan. He brought Kinley safely into this world and took mine safely to heaven. Both are his children. Neither less significant than the other. Sometimes if I am feeling sad, I will I spend time holding Kinley. I could sit and snuggle her for hours. She is a precious connection to the baby I lost. She is a living example of God's miracles and beautiful reminder of the baby I will someday see in heaven.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Just Laying Back on the Couch
For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace. 1 Corinthians 14:33(KJV)
It was about 5 weeks after I lost the baby that I finally bit the bullet and went to talk to my doctor about symptoms I was experiencing. I was having chest pain, panic attacks, and long crying spells which were followed by periods of numbness. My doctor felt, and I agreed, that I was onbiously suffering from anxiety due to the traumatic loss of the baby and everything combined. She convinced me to try some medication that was going to help with all of my symptoms. Initially I did find relief from my symptoms somewhat,but after a few weeks passed they came back that much stronger.
About 10 weeks into treatment I decided it was probably best to see a Licenced Mental Health Therapist. I didn't want an everyday counselor as I had started having nightmares that were horrific and always included the baby being found dead somewhere and someone asking me why I didn't stop it from happening. I found myself easily startled by noises and unable to do things as simple as go to the store without leaving my cart and walking out. I knew that this type of behaviour was not normal for me under any conditions.
The night I walked into the therapist's office I felt like I was able to take my first real deep breathe in months. My therapist, Helen, was warm and welcoming. I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. That next hour was the best hour I had had in months. So, I went back a second time and then a third. I looked forward to going. As a mom I rarely get a chance to sit down and here I was, being told it was okay to lay back on a comfy leather sofa, put my feet up, and just talk about me. It was a little taste of heaven.
The third visit is when we got down to business. Helen took out a book and began asking questions. I knew we were completing my diagnosis but I wasn't sure exactly what these answers and questions were leading to. At the end, my diagnosis of Post- Partum Depression and severe anxiety were both overruled by my strong diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
What??
Not only did I have it, it was considered severe as I hit all major five points of diagnosis and all but one of the sub-points. I had never thought of PTSD as anything other than a disorder that soldiers get when they return form war.
I left a little confused but managed to find some humor and relief in the diagnosis. I now knew that these symptoms were not just me acting crazy, but a symptoms that I legitimately could not control. I called my mom, a therapist herself, and told her the news. I had always been an over achiever and here her daughter hit all five points for diagnosis of PTSD. Go me!
Here is what I have learned in the last few weeks about PTSD. The symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder can arise suddenly, gradually, or come and go over time. Sometimes symptoms appear seemingly out of the blue. At other times, they are triggered by something that reminds you of the original traumatic event, such as a noise, an image, certain words, or a smell. While everyone experiences PTSD differently, there are three main types of symptoms:
re-experiencing the traumatic event, avoiding reminders of the trauma, and increased anxiety and emotional reactions.
I decided to take my time and deal with this problem head on. Often we do not seek help out of pride or an assumption that if the symptoms eventually go away, everything will be fine. Truth is if you are not willing to get real with problems, whether they are with your mental health or a marriage crisis, you will eventually hit a wall and crumble. It may not be in a month, a few months or even a year. But it will happen, it always does.
What is getting real? It is facing the truth. It is speaking out loud the about hurt. It is choosing to do the real work to heal, not just pretending all is well and carrying on as normal.
I am not sure what this therapy will include. We haven't even started scratching the surface of therapy as it is desired that a persons symptoms be under control because therapy can cause more trauma.
So, once a week I will be visiting Helen and that super comfy leather sofa. I haven't mentioned it to her yet, but I am thinking if she could bring in a Starbucks Barista for me I am certain it would certainly help my therapy process. Just me, laying back on the sofa with my feet up and a Grande Green Tea Frappuccino with two pumps of hazelnut. Ahh.
It was about 5 weeks after I lost the baby that I finally bit the bullet and went to talk to my doctor about symptoms I was experiencing. I was having chest pain, panic attacks, and long crying spells which were followed by periods of numbness. My doctor felt, and I agreed, that I was onbiously suffering from anxiety due to the traumatic loss of the baby and everything combined. She convinced me to try some medication that was going to help with all of my symptoms. Initially I did find relief from my symptoms somewhat,but after a few weeks passed they came back that much stronger.
About 10 weeks into treatment I decided it was probably best to see a Licenced Mental Health Therapist. I didn't want an everyday counselor as I had started having nightmares that were horrific and always included the baby being found dead somewhere and someone asking me why I didn't stop it from happening. I found myself easily startled by noises and unable to do things as simple as go to the store without leaving my cart and walking out. I knew that this type of behaviour was not normal for me under any conditions.
The night I walked into the therapist's office I felt like I was able to take my first real deep breathe in months. My therapist, Helen, was warm and welcoming. I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. That next hour was the best hour I had had in months. So, I went back a second time and then a third. I looked forward to going. As a mom I rarely get a chance to sit down and here I was, being told it was okay to lay back on a comfy leather sofa, put my feet up, and just talk about me. It was a little taste of heaven.
The third visit is when we got down to business. Helen took out a book and began asking questions. I knew we were completing my diagnosis but I wasn't sure exactly what these answers and questions were leading to. At the end, my diagnosis of Post- Partum Depression and severe anxiety were both overruled by my strong diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
What??
Not only did I have it, it was considered severe as I hit all major five points of diagnosis and all but one of the sub-points. I had never thought of PTSD as anything other than a disorder that soldiers get when they return form war.
I left a little confused but managed to find some humor and relief in the diagnosis. I now knew that these symptoms were not just me acting crazy, but a symptoms that I legitimately could not control. I called my mom, a therapist herself, and told her the news. I had always been an over achiever and here her daughter hit all five points for diagnosis of PTSD. Go me!
Here is what I have learned in the last few weeks about PTSD. The symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder can arise suddenly, gradually, or come and go over time. Sometimes symptoms appear seemingly out of the blue. At other times, they are triggered by something that reminds you of the original traumatic event, such as a noise, an image, certain words, or a smell. While everyone experiences PTSD differently, there are three main types of symptoms:
re-experiencing the traumatic event, avoiding reminders of the trauma, and increased anxiety and emotional reactions.
I decided to take my time and deal with this problem head on. Often we do not seek help out of pride or an assumption that if the symptoms eventually go away, everything will be fine. Truth is if you are not willing to get real with problems, whether they are with your mental health or a marriage crisis, you will eventually hit a wall and crumble. It may not be in a month, a few months or even a year. But it will happen, it always does.
What is getting real? It is facing the truth. It is speaking out loud the about hurt. It is choosing to do the real work to heal, not just pretending all is well and carrying on as normal.
I am not sure what this therapy will include. We haven't even started scratching the surface of therapy as it is desired that a persons symptoms be under control because therapy can cause more trauma.
So, once a week I will be visiting Helen and that super comfy leather sofa. I haven't mentioned it to her yet, but I am thinking if she could bring in a Starbucks Barista for me I am certain it would certainly help my therapy process. Just me, laying back on the sofa with my feet up and a Grande Green Tea Frappuccino with two pumps of hazelnut. Ahh.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Meant to Be
"Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; Your walls are in My view continuously." (Isaiah 49:16)
The absolute most ignorant ( pardon my bluntness) thing that can be said to a woman who has lost a baby is, " It wasn't meant to be".
The day after I got home my husband took the kids with him to the airport to meet grandma. I planned on turning on the TV and resting, but I found myself, as I often do, just blankly staring, processing nothing that I was watching.
My phone rang not too long into their absence. It was a family member calling to check on me. The call started off awkward as it usually does when people are not sure what to say. I spoke as quickly as possible with the hopes of ending the call.
Then, I heard four words that, still today, make me cringe. "Well, you know it just wasn't meant to be".
I stuttered for a moment trying to get a response to leave my lips. " But it was meant to be. There was nothing wrong with the baby, there was something wrong with me. I was sick. The doctor said there was this infection that had probably been there was a couple weeks and that if it wasn't for that my water.........". I was cut off with a curt, " We can say, 'if this or that happened', Sabrina, but it is, what it is".
What do you think it the second things I hate to hear the most? Yep you guessed it, " It is, what it is". To me that just sounds lazy. It is a way of brushing things off that you cannot understand. Or, perhaps it is a way of brushing off things you don't want to understand because it may leave you with questions. The answers might shake up a belief you have about who God is. It may make you realize that no matter what you do or how hard you try to control your environment, you have no control. Only He does. That can be a scary concept to grasp. But, I assure you once you do it will be your greatest comfort.
I became very defensive and hurt during this phone call. I was trying to defend the validity of this unborn child. "It" was meant to be. "It" isn't just "what it is".
I think that I speak for all women who have had to bear the grief of losing a baby when I say that, my baby had ten fingers and ten toes fingers. It had a beating heart just like you and I. It could suck it's thumb. It was God's perfect creation that he meant to make. I loved it already. I dreamed of it's cherub face an tiny feet. It was mine , it was real, and it was meant to be.
An therein lies my own misconception. This baby was not mine, it was God's. It was his to take home. Our children our not ours, they are His. He gives them to us for a time. He expects us to raise them with the same love and discipline he shows us. When I think about the love I have for my children, it is a love that is so deep it hurts. Magnify that times anything I could possibly comprehend and I see that He loves them more then I could EVER love them, because his love is Infinite.
It is because of the promise of his Infinite love, that when I close my eyes I can see him waiting with open arms to welcome home his child that I lost.
The absolute most ignorant ( pardon my bluntness) thing that can be said to a woman who has lost a baby is, " It wasn't meant to be".
The day after I got home my husband took the kids with him to the airport to meet grandma. I planned on turning on the TV and resting, but I found myself, as I often do, just blankly staring, processing nothing that I was watching.
My phone rang not too long into their absence. It was a family member calling to check on me. The call started off awkward as it usually does when people are not sure what to say. I spoke as quickly as possible with the hopes of ending the call.
Then, I heard four words that, still today, make me cringe. "Well, you know it just wasn't meant to be".
I stuttered for a moment trying to get a response to leave my lips. " But it was meant to be. There was nothing wrong with the baby, there was something wrong with me. I was sick. The doctor said there was this infection that had probably been there was a couple weeks and that if it wasn't for that my water.........". I was cut off with a curt, " We can say, 'if this or that happened', Sabrina, but it is, what it is".
What do you think it the second things I hate to hear the most? Yep you guessed it, " It is, what it is". To me that just sounds lazy. It is a way of brushing things off that you cannot understand. Or, perhaps it is a way of brushing off things you don't want to understand because it may leave you with questions. The answers might shake up a belief you have about who God is. It may make you realize that no matter what you do or how hard you try to control your environment, you have no control. Only He does. That can be a scary concept to grasp. But, I assure you once you do it will be your greatest comfort.
I became very defensive and hurt during this phone call. I was trying to defend the validity of this unborn child. "It" was meant to be. "It" isn't just "what it is".
I think that I speak for all women who have had to bear the grief of losing a baby when I say that, my baby had ten fingers and ten toes fingers. It had a beating heart just like you and I. It could suck it's thumb. It was God's perfect creation that he meant to make. I loved it already. I dreamed of it's cherub face an tiny feet. It was mine , it was real, and it was meant to be.
An therein lies my own misconception. This baby was not mine, it was God's. It was his to take home. Our children our not ours, they are His. He gives them to us for a time. He expects us to raise them with the same love and discipline he shows us. When I think about the love I have for my children, it is a love that is so deep it hurts. Magnify that times anything I could possibly comprehend and I see that He loves them more then I could EVER love them, because his love is Infinite.
It is because of the promise of his Infinite love, that when I close my eyes I can see him waiting with open arms to welcome home his child that I lost.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Eat, Pray, Love.....Thanks but I Think I'll Just Eat
"But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me". 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)
It was immediately following my return home when an old addiction resurfaced. I am not too proud to admit it. After all, even prayer couldn't help this craving. That is right, my addiction to peanut butter M&M's was back! Sales clerks at Walgreens and CVS knew me by name. I am sure eventually a poster with my picture was posted behind the counter. I was clearing out their shelves on a regular basis and it was bad for business. And no, I was not buying the single serving bags. I was only interested in the Family size bags.
Leaving the house and socializing was nearly impossible for me so Richard found himself taking the kids to karate, church, and parties by himself. One particular Sunday when everyone was gone, I turned on Netflix. It is rare that I get a chance to pick out my own movie. I planned to savor the moment. I scrolled and scrolled through the movies and then hit one that I had heard everyone rave about, "Eat, Pray, Love". In fact, I think Oprah devoted a whole show to this " must see movie". I thought to myself this is exactly what I need. This movie will be the inspiration that I need to move forward, to be able to feel like I am living again, to be able to at least be around people. So, I cuddled up on the couch with a blanket and my M&M's.
If you haven't seen the movie, the short story is that a middle aged woman seeks to find herself after a divorce that she initiated. She left all she had behind to travel for eighteen months. She went to Rome (Italy), Pataudi (India), to pray, and Bali (Indonesia) to love ( Note, this part I liked because I am always a sucker for a happy ending). Aside from the movie being slow there were a few things that really bothered me ( aside form the fact I cannot eat pasta....what would I even do in Italy???). I expected this movie to inspire me. I thought after this movie I would be energized to move forward and get past this funk I was in. It didn't happen. I was annoyed that I spent two hours of my life watching a movie that taught me nothing, or so I thought.
The movie actually got me wondering why every movie that tells a story a woman going through a traumatic life changing event, shows the character leaving everything behind to "go find herself". Why does healing have to be found half way around the world eating fettuccine or embracing a new religion? How unrealistic it is for "real" people who have families they love and a life that they want to have to just up and leave for a while to find themselves. What is realistic is that like most moms I am lucky to have five minutes to myself each day. Those 5 minutes are usually spent in the shower. At night I am usually so tired I collapse soon after the kids go to bed. Reality is that I have a husband and four little lives who depend on me to keep it together and keep moving forward. I will not be jet setting anytime soon to find myself in Italy.
I do not think I have ever seen a book written or a blockbuster movie that shows anyone searching to healing from their maker. Is the bible not the owners manual for our lives? I know that I often find myself looking elsewhere and have to bring myself back to the one reliable source. Perhaps we get discouraged by God and "his timing" so we resort to far less reliable methods like the latest Self Help books, movies, or traveling around the world
Someone recently said to me, " I did everything right, I do not know why God let me get here. He promises to get us through hard times and instead things seems to get worse". God doesn't promise to "get us through" tough times. His Word promises to SEE us through. He promises to be with us during times of tribulation. We see these times as trials, but what they really are, are times of grace. They are times for us to learn to lean on him and to grow.
The growth during these times doesn't have to happen immediately. Sometimes we simply need to be held until we can begin to move forward. It is during this time that God draws closer. "The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18 (NIV)
My favorite song is by Natalie Grant it is titles "Held". The lyrics are below.
Two months is too little,
they let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling
Who told us we'd be rescued
What has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We're asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, it's unfair
This is what it means to be held
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held
This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it and
Let the hatred numb our sorrows
The wise hand opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and tomorrow
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held
If hope if born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait for one hour
Watching for our Savior
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Aftershock
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)
My doctor says the first thing I said when I woke up was, " I woke up?" He told me that the infection was so bad that if we had just waited a few more hours, things would not have turned out well. In other words I would have died. I didn't know at that moment that getting through surgery was just one obstacle for me. In post op my blood pressure started getting into the 180' and my heart rate the 150's. They tried for over two hours to stabilize me, with no luck. Finally after two hours they brought Richard to be with me in post op ( the restricted area...whatever) and within 20 minutes my blood pressure started going down enough to move me to a room. However, my fever kicked in and thus began my fighting off a serious infection that had spread through my body.
I don't remember too much about my time in the hospital. I was fairly well drugged and spent most of my time either sleeping or watching CNN and the earthquake in Japan. I refused to eat anything but Italian Ices.I remember feeling so deeply for those people and thinking just how insignificant my tragedy was compared to theirs. I was so blessed to have four beautiful children. I felt selfish to feel sorry for myself when there people across the world were losing everything they had, their family members and home. I watched their entire lives literally washing away on the screen in front of me.
My mother in-law had come to stay with the kids. After the first night they were wondering where mommy was and my husband and his mom decided to sit them down and tell them what happened to the baby. I was so thankful that the kids were being looked after and even more thankful that I did not have to see their reactions to the bad news. I knew they would be heartbroken. Knowing that made my heart hurt more.
After a couple of days on IV antibiotics, my doctor finally came to me and said if my fever did not stay down and spiked again the next day he was calling in infectious diseases. I was terrified. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be home with my husband and kids. More importantly I was worried that I might never get to do that. So I decided enough was enough I was going home. My nurses came in and packed my bed with ice and covered me with blankets. I refused any fever reducing medicine. I was going to get rid of this fever once and for all. I prayed and prayed and prayed until I fell asleep.
I woke up around 4am drenched in sweat. My fever had broke. I just needed it to stay that way. When my nurse came in she cautiously optimistic that the fever was permanently gone and I would be doing better from there. My doctor gave me permission to go home the next day if I went the entire day with no fever. I had to spend the next 3.5 weeks on antibiotics etc, but at least I could do that at home. I was so happy to be in that van riding home. I thought home was going to make me better. I thought being with my kids would help me begin to heal.
When I walked up to the front door there were signs made by the kids that their Aunt Stephanie helped them do for me. They were so cute. The kids were ecstatic to see me. But I felt nothing. In fact it felt surreal to me, like I was watching myself come home to my family. I assumed it was from being sick, weak, exhausted and did my best to sit with them and talk to them for a few hours before I went to bed. It was an agonizing few hours. Here I was with these adorable kids who wanted to smother me with their affection and I found myself wishing I was back in the hospital. I had made it through the fight for my life, but did not know that the real fight was just begining.
My doctor says the first thing I said when I woke up was, " I woke up?" He told me that the infection was so bad that if we had just waited a few more hours, things would not have turned out well. In other words I would have died. I didn't know at that moment that getting through surgery was just one obstacle for me. In post op my blood pressure started getting into the 180' and my heart rate the 150's. They tried for over two hours to stabilize me, with no luck. Finally after two hours they brought Richard to be with me in post op ( the restricted area...whatever) and within 20 minutes my blood pressure started going down enough to move me to a room. However, my fever kicked in and thus began my fighting off a serious infection that had spread through my body.
I don't remember too much about my time in the hospital. I was fairly well drugged and spent most of my time either sleeping or watching CNN and the earthquake in Japan. I refused to eat anything but Italian Ices.I remember feeling so deeply for those people and thinking just how insignificant my tragedy was compared to theirs. I was so blessed to have four beautiful children. I felt selfish to feel sorry for myself when there people across the world were losing everything they had, their family members and home. I watched their entire lives literally washing away on the screen in front of me.
My mother in-law had come to stay with the kids. After the first night they were wondering where mommy was and my husband and his mom decided to sit them down and tell them what happened to the baby. I was so thankful that the kids were being looked after and even more thankful that I did not have to see their reactions to the bad news. I knew they would be heartbroken. Knowing that made my heart hurt more.
After a couple of days on IV antibiotics, my doctor finally came to me and said if my fever did not stay down and spiked again the next day he was calling in infectious diseases. I was terrified. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be home with my husband and kids. More importantly I was worried that I might never get to do that. So I decided enough was enough I was going home. My nurses came in and packed my bed with ice and covered me with blankets. I refused any fever reducing medicine. I was going to get rid of this fever once and for all. I prayed and prayed and prayed until I fell asleep.
I woke up around 4am drenched in sweat. My fever had broke. I just needed it to stay that way. When my nurse came in she cautiously optimistic that the fever was permanently gone and I would be doing better from there. My doctor gave me permission to go home the next day if I went the entire day with no fever. I had to spend the next 3.5 weeks on antibiotics etc, but at least I could do that at home. I was so happy to be in that van riding home. I thought home was going to make me better. I thought being with my kids would help me begin to heal.
When I walked up to the front door there were signs made by the kids that their Aunt Stephanie helped them do for me. They were so cute. The kids were ecstatic to see me. But I felt nothing. In fact it felt surreal to me, like I was watching myself come home to my family. I assumed it was from being sick, weak, exhausted and did my best to sit with them and talk to them for a few hours before I went to bed. It was an agonizing few hours. Here I was with these adorable kids who wanted to smother me with their affection and I found myself wishing I was back in the hospital. I had made it through the fight for my life, but did not know that the real fight was just begining.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Story
"The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, is when I carried you." ~ Mary Stevenson.
I guess to read my opening post might be very confusing to those who are not close to me. Even for those who are close to me my first post may be much different than the usual cheery happy person that they talk to from day to day. Everything happened so quickly that even though it was announced on Facebook ( that is the new official way of announcing things, right?) many probably still didn't know that I was 3 and a half month pregnant with our fifth child back in March of this year. Surprised? So were we. Still to this day I am not so sure how that happened.That is a joke, please feel no need to give me the story of the birds and the bees.....I got it.
Anyone who saw me regularly knew by my growing tummy, greenish tint to my face, and swollen feet I was definitely expecting. We were, as I said, completely shocked. Four had always been our number and after we had Samuel in 2010 we were complete. Four was a handful, but really not anymore than three was. We always wanted a big family so we just knew after our third child that there would definitely be a fourth.
My husband was instantly overjoyed about baby number 5. I took a day or two to relax. I had been working a full time job at a law firm. I had been a stay at home mom for 8 years and then, just 6 weeks after I had Samuel a job fell into my lap and I had to take it. It truly was the perfect job. Still the thought of being a working mom of 5 kids was very overwhelming to me.
After a day or two my look of shock turned into a silly dreamy smile as I spent the next two weeks bitting my tongue and told no one.
As soon as we had a heartbeat we told everyone. I have to say that everyone was as shocked as we were, but very excited. To know Richard and I, is to know that we love being a family. We love our children and enjoy every minute we have together. Never have we been the type to take advantage of what we have. We always stay close to home and spend anytime not working together with the kids. So it was official, our family of six was soon to be a family of seven. Leia put her request in for a sister. She wanted a sister so very bad and I wanted one for her. She certainly wasn't lacking in brothers, she already had three.
In late February I started to have symptoms that concerned me. Having had four kids I considered myself (and still do for the record) to be an expert. Over the course of three weeks I contacted my doctor three times about my concerns both over the phone and in person. My concerns were dismissed as symptoms some pregnant women just get. One early morning I woke up cramping. It wasn't bad, but it was enough to make me uncomfortable. I took some Tylenol and returned to bed. I dreamed that I was standing in my bathroom at work covered in blood. When I woke up I knew something must not be right. I went to the ER on 3/14 and after some blood work and an ultrasound I was sent home an assured I was just fine. They never mentioned to me that my blood work came back with several abnormalities. The kind that would indicate to even someone who knows nothing about medicine that I had an infection. I went home and convinced myself I was fine.
The cramping continued into the next day, but began to get better. I relaxed thinking maybe I just had a stomach bug or some other simple ailment and that I was on the mend. However, that night my water broke while I was sitting on the couch. I wasn't entirely convinced because I never heard of someones water breaking this early so I went to the ER. I insisted to Richard he not go with me. I told him I was certain I was overreacting. The truth was I was trying to spare him the pain of watching me go through this.
Once I saw the ultrasound I knew it bad. All of the amniotic fluid around the baby was gone. I assumed it was because the baby had died and I was miscarrying. But that was not at all the case. The baby's heart was beating away at 160 beast a minute. I could see little arms and legs moving on the screen.
The ER doctor must not have known better because she sent me home. She told me that within a few hours the baby's heart would stop and I would begin lose the baby. What she did not know was that I was very sick and was about to become septic. My blood work was double the abnormal numbers form the day before. It was never mentioned.
I have no idea how I got home that early morning. I think it was around 4am. I collapsed on the bed with Richard and we both cried for hours until the sun came up. By this time I was feeling very ill and had the chills. I called the office of a doctor I used to see and trusted with my life and went in. I again somehow convinced Richard I should go to the doctor alone. That way he could stay with the kids and they wouldn't catch on that there was something wrong.
When I arrived at the office, the doctor did another ultrasound assuming that the baby was now "gone" and prepared to schedule a D&C. However, instead of seeing a quiet still uterus, what we saw was a baby whose heart was still going. It was at 165. Perfectly healthy heartbeat despite it's deteriorating surroundings. I could have turned away and not looked at the screen up on the wall, but I knew that what I was seeing was all I would ever see. I didn't want to miss that last opportunity.
My doctor and I discussed my options. Without a doubt the baby would not be able to survive without water and was too young to live if born.While talking to me about the situation the doctor felt on exam that something more was going on here. My cervix was still closed. This was not normal for someone who's water broke hours ago. The doctor said my uterus felt hot and that he feared this was an infection that had not yet spiked a fever. My doctor did not have access to that blood work and was just going off my presentation, which was getting worse by the minute. I was told I had no choice but to abort the baby immediately. There was no time to wait and see if it's heart would soon stop, that could have taken weeks. There was no time to wait for a more humane way to end this baby's life with an injection to the heart before the procedure.
I was taken to the hospital immediately and put on antibiotics, pain killers, a "cocktail" to make me relax before surgery. My husband got there just minutes before I was taken back. My doctor made sure I understood the procedure. Did I understand this was a dilation and curettage abortion? Yes, I told him I did. It raised questions with some nurses who questioned why this was being done while the baby's heart was still beating. There was something about the ethics board and some argumentative discussion that were held. My doctor looked down at me and said, "You didn't want five anyway right?" I felt a part of my die when I heard those words.
I just lay there quietly with my eyes closed saying goodbye to the child I would not meet, but already loved. The fifth child that I wasn't planning on, but certainly wanted. I apologized in my heart for the procedure which was about to happened and asked God to be waiting for this baby on the other side. By this time I was feeling so ill I wasn't sure if he would be greeting one of us, or both of us. I was prepared for either.
I guess to read my opening post might be very confusing to those who are not close to me. Even for those who are close to me my first post may be much different than the usual cheery happy person that they talk to from day to day. Everything happened so quickly that even though it was announced on Facebook ( that is the new official way of announcing things, right?) many probably still didn't know that I was 3 and a half month pregnant with our fifth child back in March of this year. Surprised? So were we. Still to this day I am not so sure how that happened.That is a joke, please feel no need to give me the story of the birds and the bees.....I got it.
Anyone who saw me regularly knew by my growing tummy, greenish tint to my face, and swollen feet I was definitely expecting. We were, as I said, completely shocked. Four had always been our number and after we had Samuel in 2010 we were complete. Four was a handful, but really not anymore than three was. We always wanted a big family so we just knew after our third child that there would definitely be a fourth.
My husband was instantly overjoyed about baby number 5. I took a day or two to relax. I had been working a full time job at a law firm. I had been a stay at home mom for 8 years and then, just 6 weeks after I had Samuel a job fell into my lap and I had to take it. It truly was the perfect job. Still the thought of being a working mom of 5 kids was very overwhelming to me.
After a day or two my look of shock turned into a silly dreamy smile as I spent the next two weeks bitting my tongue and told no one.
As soon as we had a heartbeat we told everyone. I have to say that everyone was as shocked as we were, but very excited. To know Richard and I, is to know that we love being a family. We love our children and enjoy every minute we have together. Never have we been the type to take advantage of what we have. We always stay close to home and spend anytime not working together with the kids. So it was official, our family of six was soon to be a family of seven. Leia put her request in for a sister. She wanted a sister so very bad and I wanted one for her. She certainly wasn't lacking in brothers, she already had three.
In late February I started to have symptoms that concerned me. Having had four kids I considered myself (and still do for the record) to be an expert. Over the course of three weeks I contacted my doctor three times about my concerns both over the phone and in person. My concerns were dismissed as symptoms some pregnant women just get. One early morning I woke up cramping. It wasn't bad, but it was enough to make me uncomfortable. I took some Tylenol and returned to bed. I dreamed that I was standing in my bathroom at work covered in blood. When I woke up I knew something must not be right. I went to the ER on 3/14 and after some blood work and an ultrasound I was sent home an assured I was just fine. They never mentioned to me that my blood work came back with several abnormalities. The kind that would indicate to even someone who knows nothing about medicine that I had an infection. I went home and convinced myself I was fine.
The cramping continued into the next day, but began to get better. I relaxed thinking maybe I just had a stomach bug or some other simple ailment and that I was on the mend. However, that night my water broke while I was sitting on the couch. I wasn't entirely convinced because I never heard of someones water breaking this early so I went to the ER. I insisted to Richard he not go with me. I told him I was certain I was overreacting. The truth was I was trying to spare him the pain of watching me go through this.
Once I saw the ultrasound I knew it bad. All of the amniotic fluid around the baby was gone. I assumed it was because the baby had died and I was miscarrying. But that was not at all the case. The baby's heart was beating away at 160 beast a minute. I could see little arms and legs moving on the screen.
The ER doctor must not have known better because she sent me home. She told me that within a few hours the baby's heart would stop and I would begin lose the baby. What she did not know was that I was very sick and was about to become septic. My blood work was double the abnormal numbers form the day before. It was never mentioned.
I have no idea how I got home that early morning. I think it was around 4am. I collapsed on the bed with Richard and we both cried for hours until the sun came up. By this time I was feeling very ill and had the chills. I called the office of a doctor I used to see and trusted with my life and went in. I again somehow convinced Richard I should go to the doctor alone. That way he could stay with the kids and they wouldn't catch on that there was something wrong.
When I arrived at the office, the doctor did another ultrasound assuming that the baby was now "gone" and prepared to schedule a D&C. However, instead of seeing a quiet still uterus, what we saw was a baby whose heart was still going. It was at 165. Perfectly healthy heartbeat despite it's deteriorating surroundings. I could have turned away and not looked at the screen up on the wall, but I knew that what I was seeing was all I would ever see. I didn't want to miss that last opportunity.
My doctor and I discussed my options. Without a doubt the baby would not be able to survive without water and was too young to live if born.While talking to me about the situation the doctor felt on exam that something more was going on here. My cervix was still closed. This was not normal for someone who's water broke hours ago. The doctor said my uterus felt hot and that he feared this was an infection that had not yet spiked a fever. My doctor did not have access to that blood work and was just going off my presentation, which was getting worse by the minute. I was told I had no choice but to abort the baby immediately. There was no time to wait and see if it's heart would soon stop, that could have taken weeks. There was no time to wait for a more humane way to end this baby's life with an injection to the heart before the procedure.
I was taken to the hospital immediately and put on antibiotics, pain killers, a "cocktail" to make me relax before surgery. My husband got there just minutes before I was taken back. My doctor made sure I understood the procedure. Did I understand this was a dilation and curettage abortion? Yes, I told him I did. It raised questions with some nurses who questioned why this was being done while the baby's heart was still beating. There was something about the ethics board and some argumentative discussion that were held. My doctor looked down at me and said, "You didn't want five anyway right?" I felt a part of my die when I heard those words.
I just lay there quietly with my eyes closed saying goodbye to the child I would not meet, but already loved. The fifth child that I wasn't planning on, but certainly wanted. I apologized in my heart for the procedure which was about to happened and asked God to be waiting for this baby on the other side. By this time I was feeling so ill I wasn't sure if he would be greeting one of us, or both of us. I was prepared for either.
Something Solid to Land On
“When you have come to the edge Of all light that you know And are about to drop off into the darkness Of the unknown, Faith is knowing One of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on or You will be taught to fly”~ Patrick Overton
I have been thinking about writing this blog for months now. I used to journal all the time when I was a teenager and in my early twenties. Well, basically before I became a mom. I would write for hours about all of my dreams and all of my drama. Of course, I thought my life was so very complicated then. I guess my mother was right. My life was nothing near complicated then.In fact she has been right about a few things now, so I have no plans on telling her that I am writing this blog. No need to feed her ego.
Today just happen to be the day I sat down before midnight and had time to myself. It is amazing to me how many things I can think about writing, but when I sit down to do so, I cannot find those words again. In fact for the last four months or so, my mind has raced with thoughts all day, everyday.
My title for my blog, " A Thread of Grace" explains my life to a perfect point. I am here because I am hanging onto a thread of the Grace of God.
I do not imagine that my story is unlike so many other people who have been dealt a blow by life that knocked them off of their feet. The kind of blow that leaves you dazed and confused and fighting to find the person that you were or at least the person who you have now become.
Life's trials come in all shapes and sizes. What is devistating and life altering to one, is a walk in the park for another. When you think that you are in the midst of something so big that nothing could not hurt any more than it does at that moment, you will often find later that yes, in fact you can hurt more and it can be worse. The good news is that no matter how far down you go, no matter how much it hurts, there is a heavenly father who waits. He doesn't wait to simply get us through situations, but to see us through life's trials.
The quote above by Patrick Overton is one of my favorites. I disagree slightly though with his view. I think that when we have come to the edge of all light and drop off a cliff into the darkness that instead of something being there for us to stand on, it is often more like a drop off a cliff onto rocks below that leave you wounded and waiting for rescue. You see, sometimes you are so injured you have to heal before you can stand, let alone fly.
I have heard too many times lately, "Well, if anyway can get through this you can". I hate to disappoint those who themselves feel better by thinking that I am Superwoman, but no, I am not such a strong person and right now I am not just getting through this. In fact, I want to, " just get through" this. To get through it means to find closure, and closure to me seems scarey. The only connection I have is a painful one. I would rather have a painful connection then have no connection at all.
Too often when we experience something painful we try to "get through it" quickly to move on with our lives. But "getting through" isn't working through. It isn't healing. It isn't real.
So here I am, having been smashed into the rocks that were waiting for me as I dropped of the edge of the light into the darkness. I am sitting here. I am not ready to stand up, and too wounded to fly. But I am not alone for God is here with me. I never asked him for a miracle. I only asked that he not leave me alone. He hasn't.
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