Miracle – Part 2

Continued from Miracle – Part 1…

Shortly thereafter everything turned into a little bit of a circus.

Did I mention that military hospitals are teaching hospitals? That means that the one doctor and nurse that might regularly attend to you while you’re in labor becomes 40,000 almost-doctors and 35,000 almost-nurses. Every time we needed to “check the progress of things” I had a whole audience. I pretended like they were just my entourage and called it good. Truth be told, I didn’t really care how many people there were. I didn’t really care what they had to do, either. Funny how that happens.

The Mag Sulfate made me feel a little goofy, and the speed at which everything was moving made things that might otherwise be very important to me (like having 40,000 people at once check my “progress”) became pretty trivial. My “progress” was closed up tight as a drum, however. That didn’t make anything any easier. My little guy was still cooking and he was NOT ready to come out of that nice, warm, albeit small, swimming pool. So we did all sorts of interesting things to help “progress” move along more quickly.

Because Murphy’s Law apparently has my name written into it, absolutely nothing moved along more quickly. Friday afternoon turned into Friday evening, my parents arrived, and then Friday night turned into Saturday morning. Saturday morning turned into Saturday night and I turned into a grouchy person. The nurses didn’t want me to get out of bed for anything, but I was NOT having that. I begged, pleaded, whimpered and cajoled until they agreed to at least let me get up to go to the bathroom. The entire time, I watched the fetal heart monitor and wished that time would fly. I thought of all of the things I wasn’t doing.

My in-laws stopped by the hospital multiple times a day to see how we were doing and I was still concerned about them fending for themselves at my house. “I could be home vacuuming or something,” I thought. “I could be working right now.”

I had planned (you know me, the planner) to begin my maternity leave as soon as he was born… and not a day before. I worried about the days ticking by that I wouldn’t have to spend at home with my little bundle of joy.

Also, there was the slightest possibility that they would have to do a C-Section, or that things could become “an emergency situation” at any moment, so I couldn’t eat either. Just ice chips and popsicles. What fun. When Saturday night became Sunday morning, I had had enough. Although at that point I could claim the longest labor in the history of mankind (at least it felt like it), and I was excited about the prospect of telling the little guy as a teenager, “I was in labor with you for 500 years, young man! You will do (insert thing I want him to do, here),” and labor wasn’t all that bad yet, I just wanted to get ON with it.

My wish was granted. In came the Pitocin Fairy to hook me up to another IV. She explained that the mild labor I was going through would become stronger, that the pitocin would help me to begin contractions in earnest, and she hooked up another monitor to track my contractions. Away she went. After another couple of hours, I was still just barely cramping. I thought, “What’s the big deal? If this is what labor is about, everyone else out there who has had a baby IS a baby. A BIG baby. Seriously. This is cake.”

Then the doctor came back…

With a giant crochet hook…

And broke my water…

I had, to this point, denied that I needed the services of an anesthesiologist. I was doing this naturally, thankyouverymuch. I’m no sissy. Drugs are NOT for me. No sir!

Riiiiiiiiigggggggggghhhhhhhhttttttttttttt…

As soon as my water broke, the doctor also split my entire pelvic bone in two (evidently), and the pitocin kicked into high gear, causing me the most excruciating pain I have EVER felt. I hunched, scrunched, begged for mercy, tried breathing, hyperventilated, said some choice words, white-knuckled it on the bed rails, tried breathing some more, decided that breathing thing was a bunch of crap, said some more choice words, grabbed my husband’s arm in a vice-like grip and screamed…

“GET ME THE EPIDURAL MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He obliged. Heck, he pretty much sprinted from the room. I’m sure it only took the epidural man about 3 minutes to get there, but it felt like an eternity… in hell. Oh boy, was I sorry for all of those things I said about those women who had it so easy before. This was NOT cake. Not even close. It was ridiculously, deliriously, unbelievably painful. In fact, I declared that every woman that has ever gone through childbirth before should be automatically sainted. Especially the ladies that did it naturally. I had respect!

The epidural man showed and stuck a needle about a mile long into my spine. Normally I would shudder, or worry… or something, about the dangers of said procedure. I had no such thoughts. I just wanted the pain GONE.

Once I had the epidural, life was back to beautiful. I watched those giant, ugly contractions that had caused me such agony print out on the monitor and I thanked God, over and over, for the blessing of better living through chemistry. The line would go all the way to the top of the paper, stay there for a very long time, and then come down again only to head right back to the top. Those contractions were SERIOUS.

That would explain why, within an hour and a half, I was feeling a lot of pain again. All of that “progress” that was sealed up tight as a drum? It went from 2 to 10 in 1 1/2 hours. No working into it for me. No sirree. Let’s just get it moving right along here. I sent my husband to find that epidural man again. He came back with the doctor instead and I considered doing a flying karate leap from the bed directly to his solar plexus. When the doctor said, “It’s time to push,” I reconsidered.

There I was, laboring along, with my Mom and my husband on either side of me. My Mom picked at the socks I had on my feet. I think she was trying to be helpful and straighten them out for me, but got rewarded for her efforts by my deep, gravely demon voice (picture Linda Blair in the Exorcist), “Don’t touch my sock AGAIN!!!!” The nurse at my feet that kept repeating, “Push through the pain, push through the pain, push through the pain,” I really wanted to smother her with a pillow, but I left it alone and muttered under my breath, “YOU push through the pain!” She probably never had kids.

Thankfully, that little stretch was pretty short, too. An hour and a half into pushing, we headed for the delivery room. I think we were just in time because we were only there for about five minutes before my little guy entered the world.

Under those bright lights, my Mom and husband standing there, doctor at my feet, flurries of activity, at 5:04 pm, the world narrowed to a tiny point of light. I saw the doctor pull him away from me and run for the nearest table. I saw them suction him. I saw his little body, purple, lying there on that table, and I said, over and over and over again, “Cry, baby. Cry, baby. Cry, baby.”

It was forever that the flurry continued, but the room was silent. No one said a word.  The medical personnel worked feverishly.  My Mom and my husband stood silently.  I think I held my breath.

And finally… finally… finally… I heard his tiny cry.

It was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

To be continued…

Miracle – Part 1

Nine years ago today a miracle happened.

It started in a not-so-miraculous way. I had a month left to go in my pregnancy and things had been very uneventful to that point. My in-laws (now ex) were in town for the holiday and we all made a trip to the local Wally World to get some last-minute items. While we were there someone suggested that we all try out the blood pressure tester, so we did. Imagine my surprise when I registered 160/110. I thought for sure the machine was broken, so I had my husband (now ex) try it out. He took his three times in a row and got a different reading each time, so I rolled with the “machine is broken” theory.

Still, it nagged at me a little. I was getting very swollen–none of my shoes fit except one pair of cheap canvas sneakers without the laces–and I just didn’t feel like myself. My husband suggested that we swing by the hospital… just in case. He was military, so “swinging by” the hospital meant going to the ER and hoping that someone would be there who understand what was happening. We went. When we arrived, my blood pressure was up to 165/115 and I was told to lay on my left side and wait. We waited… a long time.

At the end of that long wait, the hospital decided to admit me for observation. I was mortified. My in-laws were there. The next day was Thanksgiving. I could NOT be stuck in a hospital while they cooked their own bird! It just could NOT happen! The nice folks at the hospital disagreed and gently, but firmly, admitted me. My husband called his folks and told them to make themselves comfortable, that we would spending the night at the hospital.

When the morning rolled around, my blood pressure had gone down a little, and they sent me home with a urine collection jug (outstanding experience — if you have never been through collecting urine for a 24-hour-period, you simply MUST try it), strict orders for bed rest, and an order to come back in on Friday with the 24-hour urine so they could check it all out again. Awesome. So I was home, but my in-laws were still cooking their own bird, with help from my husband, while I lounged around on the couch. If you know me at all, you know that laying around on the couch is NOT my thing, particularly when there is work to be done. I was going out of my mind.

The next day I took my happy little jug and myself back to the ER to be re-evaluated. I brought my husband and my Day Planner. The OB that was on call, the most wonderful OB ever on the earth, was the one to do the re-evaluation. Turns out I had all of the diagnostic criteria for severe pre-eclampsia. Fabulous. He patiently explained all of the criteria to me, and explained why they were concerned about it.

He ordered an ultrasound to check on the status of the amniotic fluid, and then told me the words I was dreading… “We need to deliver you.” While he had been optimistic (prior to the re-check of my blood pressure, which had gone up to 185/120, and the evaluation of the 24-hour urine which contained a boatload of protein) about keeping the little bun in the oven for another couple of weeks (I was only 35 weeks along at that point), he had since decided that it was time.

I didn’t really understand the statement. I’m a planner. I had a birth plan all drawn up. I had not finished the nursery yet. My Mom was not in town for the delivery like she was planning to be. Most importantly, I had not penciled this event into my Day Planner. I reached for the Day Planner, flipped it open and thumbed through to the following week.

“Great,” I said. “Which day is good for you?”

The OB smiled a little smile, took my hand in his and said, “Today is good for me. More importantly, today is good for you.”

“Oh no,” I replied. “Today is NOT good for me. I don’t have my birth plan. I haven’t even packed a bag.”

Still smiling, he said, “Sorry about the bag. We’re having this baby… TODAY.”

I was in shock. Truth be told, I was excited to meet this little boy that had been growing in my belly for eight months. I longed to hold him, to meet him face to face, to see what he looked like, to count his tiny fingers and toes. I was already madly in love, and I was so looking forward to bringing him into the world. But I wasn’t ready TODAY! And now I wasn’t just not ready, I was scared, too.

When the ultrasound machine arrived, my hands were sweaty and my eyes were wide. I was nervous about the blood pressure, and feeling a little woozy from the Mag Sulfate they had hooked up to my arm. I was freaked out by the word “induction” and even more freaked out by all of the horror stories I’d heard about having babies in military hospitals. But the OB (did I mention that he was the most wonderful OB ever on the earth?) was cool, calm, and collected. He fired up the machine and began to scan my belly.

He commented about the amount of amniotic fluid left (plenty), commented about how tiny the little guy was (less than five pounds, he estimated), and then he rolled it to just the right spot and I could see his face…

Big as life…

Clear as day.

At that very moment, the fear melted away.

I stared in awe at that little face that, even on a grainy ultrasound screen, looked a little like me. I stopped caring, that second, about needles, or having too many people in the room, or how long it would take, or how much it would hurt, or whether it was written in my Day Planner, or whether I had a wipe warmer, or whether I could follow my birth plan. Everything else in the world ceased to matter. I felt a rush of emotion. I felt tears sting my eyes, and I said this prayer:

“God, I know you’re in control of this. Please take care of my baby. I know you have a plan and I know that you know that I don’t know what it is. I’m really scared. I so desperately want to meet him… and hold him… and see him grow up. Please be with him. Let him know I love him. Let him be healthy.”

And peace washed over me.

To be continued…

Elfin’ Fun

My friend Donna has a great sense of humor and she sent me this link so I could see what I look like in stripes and pointy shoes (elves wear flats, in case you were wondering, so I don’t look like ED-the horror!).

The message you can send to your friends and family says, “Hey, I just made a total elf of myself. ” Did I ever…

Check me out! I have some serious moves!

Check out my friend Carol Ann, too. She like to move it, move it…

You should try it yourself. Leave me your own link so I can see how you work it.

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Thanksgiving Should Be Every Day

I really, truly love the snow. I love to sit at the window and watch it fall gently, cup of tea in hand, afghan wrapped snugly around my shoulders. I love to watch it blow and whip, swirl across the road, blizzard and pile up in the driveway. I love snow days–staying home with the kids and making snow forts, snowmen, and snow angels. I love it. I look forward to it. I really do.

I’m not so fond of it when we have to be on the road, though. And here we are on roadtrip number 500,000 this year. We hit a 20-mile stretch where it was total black ice. We saw accident after accident and there was a police officer, lights a-blazin’ in the middle of the highway in front of us, slowing traffic down to 45 miles per hour. Add to that the encroaching darkness, and it was just not fun. It took us almost 45 minutes to go 20 miles. My Hubby was tense, I was tense, the kids were scared.

After our 20-mile stretch, the snow let up, the road dried out, the police officer pulled over to help a stranded motorist, and we drove on. We breathed multiple sighs of relief. We laughed, we relaxed our shoulders. We made it to our destination, safe and sound.

That’s the first thing I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving Day.

But that’s not all. I have so very many reasons to be thankful…

2. I’m thankful for My Hubby. I’m truly blessed to have married my best friend, my soulmate, the love of my life. He is an amazing husband, an amazing father, an amazing leader of our household, a Godly man, the man I always dreamt of being married to. I love talking to him, dreaming of our future together, falling asleep with him every night, worshiping next to him every Sunday.

3. I’m thankful for my kiddos–biologically mine or not, they are the funniest, sweetest, kindest, most amazing group of short people I’ve ever met. They make me laugh, cry, realize the value of sweet time, and get my priorities straight. I can’t imagine doing life every day without them.

4. I’m thankful for the health of all of those in my family. I know people who have struggled mightily with sickness, and I’m so very grateful that we don’t. My Hubby and I are healthy. My kiddos are healthy. My parents are healthy.

5. I’m thankful that we live in America. There is a whole separate list I can put together that contains the reasons I love America. Suffice it to say here that we still live in the land of opportunity. We have so many freedoms and I am thankful that I am a citizen of this wonderful country.

6. I am thankful for my job. I know lots of folks that get up every day and dread going to work. I am lucky enough to have found something that really fits me and that I enjoy doing. I may not be there for the rest of my life, but they pay me well to do something I enjoy. I am blessed.

7. I am thankful for my home. When I was a teenager we went on a mission trip to Tijuana, Mexico and visions from that trip were burned into my memory. Most of the folks we saw there lived in a shantytown–ten or more people to a 10×10 shack made out of corrugated tin. They slept in shifts because there were too many of them to fit at once. I have a pretty modest home by our country’s standards, but I think often of others around the world that live like those folks in Tijuana and I remember that I am very blessed, not just with the roof, but with the kind of roof I have over my head.

8. I am thankful for my friends. I know there are lots of lonely people out there, but I am not one of them. I have the best friends on earth. I have friends I have known since childhood, since college, since the birth of my son, since last year, and since last week. I have friends that live across the country, just a few miles, and across the street. I have friends that I have never met, but connect with often in the blogosphere. I am thankful for them all. I strive to be the kind of friend to them that they have all been to me.

9. I am thankful for my church. I am thankful that God has blessed our church leaders with vision, discernment, and the gift of evangelism. I am thankful that we have a gathering place where we can worship and learn together. I am thankful for the friends we have made there, the relationships we have built there, and everything it has meant to our kids.

10. I am thankful that we have the freedom to thank God for all off these things. There are so many people across the world that hide in their basements to worship, cannot speak God’s name in public, and keep their entire Bible hidden in their hearts because they cannot read them out loud. I am thankful that we can be open about our faith in our homes and communities and, while others may not agree, we are not persecuted for our beliefs.

God, I am blessed. Thank you so very much for all that I have. While I am undeserving, you have made me truly rich beyond measure. Help me to remember that every day.