(Nearly) Wordless Thursday

I know it doesn't quite make sense

as a catchy blog post title,

but

all I can say is,

today I am 36 weeks pregnant --

wow.

Just ...

wow.

I am humbled.

Above and Beyond Expectations

This Tuesday began a marathon of doctor's appointments that won't end until the baby is born: Tuesday--orthopedist and obstetrician, Thursday--obstetrician, Monday--pediatrician, Tuesday--obstetrician, Wednesday--cardiologist .... You get the gist.

And, you know what?

I am thrilled beyond belief.

I wouldn't be having all these appointments if I weren't as far along as I am now.

The doctors say we have exceeded all expectations. I am 35 weeks pregnant today. Only one more week and, although the baby would still be considered a preemie, it would be safe to deliver. Caden was born at 36 weeks, and his only preemie issue was that he had no interest in eating. (Those of you who know my son know this is no longer a problem for him!)

Even though everything has been going so incredibly well, I think it never really seemed possible we would get here. I've had frequent moments of doubt where I cried out to God, "I believe--help my unbelief!" Sure, once the doctors confirmed that the membranes had resealed and the fluid levels looked fine, there seemed to be no reason to doubt that we would see October come and go before this baby made his or her grand entrance. But, still, I couldn't see that far ahead, I've been engaged in a different kind of marathon up to this point: I've been putting one foot in front of the other, just trying to get a little bit further on the journey. But now I can see the finish line. It's closer than I expected--I can finally see that it's possible to get there.

I don't know why God chooses to answer some prayers and not others. I don't know why some babies live and some babies die. I do know that the fact that this baby is still alive has nothing to do with me. It has nothing to do with how good I am (because I'm not), and God certainly doesn't love me any more than the women whose membranes break and don't reseal. It's not about me. I also know that God doesn't love me any less than the women whose babies are born far too early, but survive. I don't know or understand God's reasons. But what I do know is this: The healing and protection of this baby is a gift from God. I do not take that for granted.

I am uncomfortable and irritable and just plain big right now, but I wouldn't trade any of that for anything. When this baby is born, I will hold him/her up to the world and say, "Look what God has done."

Miracles

I received a phone call on Monday afternoon from my ob's office, letting me know that my titers are currently 1:2! Now, our understanding has always been that once the titers went up, they wouldn't go down -- but mine have apparently gone from 1:4-1:2. At my next appointment we'll be sure to ask my doctor to clarify how this happened.

Regardless of the details, we are beyond thankful for this news. This means no inter-uterine blood transfusion! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your prayers. We have been blessed with so many miracles during this pregnancy: the resealing of the membranes, the stability of the titers, the lack of infection, that fact that tomorrow I will be 34 weeks pregnant.

My handicapped parking permit expires today. When I got it, I couldn't comprehend this day -- it just seemed so far away. Only 20 more days until I'm released from bedrest. I will wait, and I can wait -- I'm just so excited for the day to get here. I can't wait to meet our little miracle and introduce him/her to all of you.

Blessings to you all.

Well ... that explains a lot!

The past couple of weeks I have been feeling extra uncomfortable and just plain big. I didn't remember my belly being much larger than this with Caden and wondered how much more I would be growing with this baby.

When we went in for my 33-week appointment on Thursday, the tech kept measuring the baby over and over and kind of muttering to herself in a thick Russian accent. Finally, she looked at me and asked, "How has this baby been measuring?" I answered, "Big!" And she sighed with relief and said, "Good. I didn't want to scare you when I told you he or she is currently measuring six pounds."

Wow.

Six pounds.

Caden was born at 36 weeks and weighed six pounds and fourteen ounces.

Even if I don't go into spontaneous labor after cerclage removal, there's no way the doctor will let me continue to full term -- I could end up with a ten-pound baby!

There is no reason to think that this is anything but a big, healthy baby -- I don't have gestational diabetes, and all the other indications are good that this baby is doing very well.  He or she has fat cheeks (like his/her siblings), and on the ultrasound I got to watch him/her sucking.

When I consider that in June we were facing the prospect of another one-pound preemie, my heart is overwhelmed with thanksgiving. Now, if our baby is a preemie, he or she will weigh more than six pounds. To me, that feels like a gift. 33 weeks is a gift. When we were at labor and delivery on Monday for my contractions, I was frustrated, but not frightened. To be here instead of facing delivery at 24 weeks is such an amazing miracle.

Many of you have asked about my titers. I had my recent draw on Thursday, so I should hear about my numbers on Monday. I'll post here and let you all know.

Blessings.

Okay, God, I'm Listening ...

I've been working really hard on being obedient to God as of late. Sometimes when I'm praying, I hear the small, quiet whisper that could really only belong to the Lord, and two things happen:

1. I don't want to do it. Whether it be from pride, or convenience, or whatever ... I don't want to do it. Even if it's the simplest thing ever.

2. I find a way to convince myself it's not God's voice.

I'm a pretty rebellious person, quite frankly. Just ask my parents and my husband. But I want to be obedient to God, and I've been working on really listening and really obeying. Last week, I thought I heard God telling me to do something, and per usual I hesitated. It was small and seemingly insignificant, and truthfully it was to my benefit, but I still didn't want to do it. It just seemed weird. But after some back and forth waffling, I finally said, "Okay, God, if you say so," and I did it. Nothing profound happened with the action itself. I wasn't rewarded -- I didn't win the lottery or run into a friend I hadn't seen in years or anything else like that. Being obedient didn't change anything visible in my life. But my relationship with God ... that's a different story. You see, that one small bit of obedience opened a path between me and God that hadn't been there for a long time, and my prayer time that day reflected that. I could feel God with me in a very profound way, simply because I chose to trust and obey.

Now, what happened yesterday unfolded in a very different way. I was praying when I had a strong sense from God that I was supposed to go to Labor and Delivery triage. So I quietly said, "Yes, Lord, I've learned my lesson, and I know to obey you no matter what," right? Nope. I was back to square one apparently, because what I said was, "What!?! I feel fine, and you want me to tell Scott he has to stop what he's doing to take me to the hospital? Plus I have work to do! What would I tell my doctor? What would I tell the triage nurse? This is not you, God. This is just my paranoid inner voice. If you want me to go to the hospital, you need to give me a pretty definitive sign, okay?"

How's that for obedient?

But throughout the day I began to have frequent -- albeit painless -- contractions. I was following my doctor's instructions for my modified bedrest and sitting down most of the day, but I still couldn't get my body to settle down, and some of the contractions were so intense they were making me feel breathless. Eventually Scott encouraged me to time a few of them, and when we discovered that I was having up to six contractions an hour, I called my doctor, and sure enough, she sent me to triage.

In Labor and Delivery, they hooked me up to a monitor, and we quickly discovered I was having regular contractions. Fortunately, these contractions had not caused me to dilate, so they could still safely stop them. After four hours in the hospital, two shots of terbutaline, one dose of procardia, and an IV of fluids, everything settled down. I was sent home with instructions to take it easy and come back if anything seemed wrong.

Now, I might have gone in to triage even if I hadn't heard God speak, but I doubt it. I wasn't in any pain and am no stranger to painless contractions. I know that they affect my body in ways I can't afford right now, but I think I might have still brushed them off as nothing. What's worse, I was willing to brush off God when He told me there was something going on that might threaten my baby. And I listened to the doctor before I listened to Him. Holy cow!

There's a lot of good news in this story: My regular contractions were stopped, and I've only had two since I got home. I did not need to be hospitalized. My cervix wasn't affected by this contracting. We got to hear the baby on the monitor and learned that he/she is very healthy. But most importantly, God didn't abandon me because of my hard-headedness. He reached out to me and gently said, "Go." I am so thankful for this. I'm glad to know that no matter how many times I mess up, He will take me back.

I will never be the completely obedient daughter God desires for me to be -- I'm too self-centered and stubborn, and I'll never quite get it right. I know this. But I am going to do my darndest to listen to that still, small voice of God and to put aside my own nonsense and obey.

Mommy's Nose ... Daddy's Toes

I woke at 2:59 a.m. today, and I stayed awake until 3:20 -- just as I have every October 2 for three years.

You see, my  little girl was born just before 3 a.m. on October 2, 2007, and she lived for twenty minutes before she slipped from this world into Jesus' arms.

Two days before she was born, I had some cramping and bleeding, which my obstetrician waved off as "likely to be nothing." The symptoms continued, however, and I was sent to labor and delivery "just in case." I felt silly -- like I probably was worried for nothing -- but when the triage nurse examined me, the look on her face told me immediately that something terrible was happening. In fact, I had gone into labor, and my amniotic sac was bulging. I was put in a hospital bed with the head tilted downward, and I was wheeled into a room where I was told that they would try to keep me pregnant as long as they could. I was given a drug to stop my labor, received a steroid injection to assist in maturing our baby's lungs, and was taken to the operating room for an emergency cerclage. The anesthesiologist tried multiple times to get a spinal block in before ultimately deciding to put me under. I woke shortly thereafter to see the doctor's face hovering above mine, looking grim. She informed me that my water had already broken and I had developed an infection that was threatening my life as well as my baby's. I asked her if my baby would die, and she said, "Probably."

Probably.

The most painful word I have ever heard.

I was wheeled back into my room where I was in hysterics until the effects of the anesthesia finally wore off. Then I was simply broken.

We had originally planned to be surprised by the gender of our baby, but we asked to be told before the baby was born so that we could pray for her by name. When they told us we were going to have a little girl, we smiled through our tears at one another and said, "Isobel."

The next several hours we began to plan for what was to happen next. We met with the NICU doctors who told us the odds for Isobel's survival at such an early gestation. They were not good. But my infection was getting steadily worse. The doctors had warned us about the possibility of the infection going septic, and Scott was becoming frightened. We prayed that when she arrived we would know what to do -- fight to save her, or let her go. We weren't worried about the possibility of disability -- we just didn't want them to hook her up to tubes and machines if there would be no chance of survival.

They induced my labor. Then we waited. Finally, just before 3 a.m., I began to feel pressure, and I called for a nurse. She examined me and said, "Let's have a baby," and called my doctor and the NICU staff. As we waited for everyone to arrive, I began to shake. It only took a few pushes, and Isobel entered this world.

As soon as I saw her, I began to cry. She was so tiny ... I just knew... But they whisked her away and began to examine her. It only took a few moments, and the NICU doctor pulled Scott aside and told him that Isobel's heart wasn't strong enough to survive. I saw Scott take a deep breath, steady himself, and say, "Give her to Heather." They wrapped a hot water bottle in a blanket, placed her on that, then wrapped her up and put her in my arms.

And then -- miraculously -- time slowed down. As we reflect on that horrible/wonderful night, we are amazed that we we able to fit so much into a life that was just twenty minutes long. It didn't feel rushed -- it felt like grace.

I touched her chest, and she moved at the feel of my hand. I marveled at her tiny, perfect face. I watched her little body struggle to breathe. Scott and I were given time alone with her, and we sang to her I'll Fly Away and Amazing Grace. A dear friend of Scott's had come to pray for us and he sat in the waiting room until Isobel's birth so he could baptize her. Our family members who were able to be there came into the room and witnessed her consecration into God's family. And they were there as she silently slipped away. Scott put his fingers on her tiny chest and announced that she was gone.

When our family, friends, and hospital staff left us alone again, Scott unwrapped her and we looked at her tiny fingers and toes, which were long like Scott's. We kissed her darling button nose, and we cried. A nurse came to see if we were ready for them to take her away, and we said no. When the nurse came a second time, we gave Isobel to her -- we were afraid if we didn't we wouldn't ever be able to say goodbye.

I've regretted that for three years now.

I wish I'd held her all night.

But a few days ago as I sat remembering and regretting, I realized that if I'd held her all night, it still wouldn't have been enough. If I'd held her through the next day -- or the next week -- it wouldn't have been enough. Nothing short of a lifetime would have sufficed.

Three years later, I set my alarm clock for 2:59 a.m., but I woke before it went off. I woke Scott, and we sat awake in the night remembering the twenty precious minutes we shared with our little girl. She was tiny, and the time was short -- but the impact on me was huge.

In some ways, I am worse for the wear. At the time, people told me, "Oh, you'll get over it." or "You'll have more children." The first is absolutely untrue. I don't think anyone who has lost a child -- or the hope of a child -- ever gets over it, whether it be due to miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death, illness, accident, or infertility. I may be speaking for myself, but I've found that although each day gets a little easier, it never completely goes away. Instead, what happens is we put one foot in front of the other, and we find a new way to live our lives without our children in them, but the loss is always there. Two days ago I was watching TV, and a commercial came on that featured twins who had each been one pound at birth. They looked as if they were currently about five pounds. I burst into unexpected tears. Why didn't my one-pound baby survive? That story is not the only time I've been surprised by grief. Sometimes it's the little girl I see who has wispy brown hair and dark brown eyes, or it's the advert for the father/daughter dance. I'm more brittle these days -- more prone to shatter at the slightest impact.

The second happened to be true for us -- we did have another child -- but that doesn't negate the pain of the loss we experienced. There are times I look at my family at dinner and it becomes painfully apparent that there should be one more chair pulled up to the table. And I have had moments where I'm snuggling my amazing, darling son on my right arm, and I realize that my left arm feels achingly empty. One is so much less than two.

But in some ways, I've also changed for (what I think is) the better. I discovered in those twenty minutes with Isobel exactly what it means to completely love someone. I know I need to cherish the time I have with my loved ones -- in my best moments I know exactly what a gift they are to me. I learned that it's impossible to rely upon my own strength -- that all I can do is my best and then I need to hand things over to the Lord. I know what it feels like to put my head on my heavenly Daddy's chest and weep. And though it seems counterintuitive, I've also learned that I need to trust Him -- after all, He's the one holding my baby. I don't always do it perfectly (as I've mentioned before), and it's often more difficult to trust Him now, but I can more clearly see the need for me to give myself over to Him.

Now, let me be perfectly clear: I do not believe that God caused Isobel to die in order to teach me some sort of lesson or to bring about some sort of greater good. God chose not to save her, but that is different from Him killing her. I don't believe there was some sort of higher reason for her death, either. The reason she died was because there is sin in the world. Full stop. But, even though God didn't cause her death, He can work through her death to bring beauty from the ashes. And my call is to listen to God in order to hear exactly where He would bring good from this pain -- that's what I need to do to bring honor to God and meaning to Isobel's life. I haven't heard yet what He wants me to do -- what beauty He plans, so in the meantime I'll do my best to put aside my contrary and rebellious nature, be obedient, and wait.

Scott and I feel very protective of our little girl. After she was born we were able to get two pictures of her while she was still alive. In the pictures she is very tiny and clearly very ill. We have them hanging in our bedroom so that we can control who sees them -- not because was are ashamed, but because she is so precious to us. I haven't ever posted them online, but I'm going to do so today. The reason is that I want you to see my little Isobel, to know her for the tiny, perfect person she was. She was real. She made a huge impact on my heart and in my life.

Dear Jesus, on my sweet baby girl's third birthday, please hold her, give her a kiss, and tell her how much we still love her and miss her. Amen.