Re-everything.

Posted on August 30, 2011 by Joy

Oh my.

Word to the wise…Do not think you will get anything done the weekend after you have four wisdom teeth and one molar removed from your mouth. Just don’t.

(Also- weirdest bruise I have ever seen!)

Do you like my chimpunky style? The left side of my mouth healed very quickly and is ‘back to normal’ but the right side (shown to the camera)- whole ‘nother story entirely. I have a very lopsided look since the right side is so swollen and distended. I couldn’t get a decent picture of it, but the bruise looked like a grade school drawing of a spider with legs sticking out every which way. My kids were so entertained by it and their mamas’ inability to speak clearly. Me, not so much.

After a almost a month of feeling much healthier- of beginning to find a normal of sorts- to go back to being ill/indisposed felt a bit terrifying. I know that sounds odd. It’s just my wisdom teeth, for crying out loud! Truly, though, chronic illness messes with your head after a while. I have had to repeat to myself often in the last few days that it’s just your teeth. You are feeling better every day. It’s just your teeth. When I fell sick last year, I never would have imagined that I would then be sick for almost a year following it. I don’t think anyone with chronic illness does; you think you are just going to be sick for a weekend, you’re just a little tired, some chicken soup and you’ll be good as new.

But one day, one weekend, turns into a week, then two, then four or more, and the months stretch on, and nothing is okay and nothing is normal. You’re exhausted, you can’t do the things you love, you can’t help the people you love… and it stretches on. And on. And on. There is no end point in sight. I’ve heard this from many who’ve struggled with chronic illness as I have, and it’s the indeterminacy of it that tortures so. It’s one thing to be ill with the flu and know that in 24-48 hours, you’ll have your body back, and that while you feel awful right now, you’ll be back up and back to your old self very soon.

And healing, when it comes, comes just as slowly, and almost as un-see-able at first. You’re a little less sore, a little less tired, perhaps, but you are still so exhausted after moving from bedroom to living room that you have to stay on the couch and watch your children play… and you can’t be up and at ‘em and playing with them or making dinner or any number of things…and then another day goes by, and it goes a little better, until, every so slowly, you are back to ‘you’.

You just can’t see straight.

However willingly, I was back in that position this weekend. I couldn’t speak. I was woozy from medication (and ended up being nauseated from the anesthetics). I was back in that dark space that accompanies chronic illness whether I wanted to be there again or not. I was so surprised at how much it bothered me! It had real, hairy tentacles of fear wrapped all around it. The despair of not being able to do things swooped in so quickly it was choking me at the neck before I realized what was going on.

Yet here I am, on a Tuesday, getting back to normal. (And sneakily enjoying the pudding I get to eat. Wisdom teeth removal= best way to lose 10 lbs while eating nothing but cool creamy stuff. ) My brain is coming back online, my exhaustion is fading. I am okay, and getting better by the hour. I cannot express to you in words what a gift this is. I know that sounds so funny, but it is very true. To get ill and to get better. It is a gift I didn’t even know to be grateful for before illness struck me down.

And in this gift of an ordinary Tuesday, I am breathing grateful for the chance to re-charge and re-new and just re-everything…I can live the life I need to live, want to live, the life I had thought I had lost due to illness. Grace. All grace.

Transition…

Posted on June 22, 2010 by Joy

n.

Passage from one form, state, style, or place to another.

Passage from one subject to another in discourse.

A word, phrase, sentence, or series of sentencesconnecting one part of a discourse to another.

A modulation, especially a brief one.

A passage connecting two themes or sections.

Music

A modulation, especially a brief one.

A period during childbirth that precedes the expulsive phase of labor, characterized by strong uterine contractions and nearly complete cervical dilation.

I find myself in a place of change. It’s a change wrought over two and a half years of hardship- two and a half years of God taking hold of my life- two and a half years of finding that I belonged to Him and no other. Two and a half years of learning to trust. Two and a half years of learning to let go, lean back, drink of the wild and tremulous love of Christ.

Fingers trace along the line of counted blessings, and I marvel. Can this be? What seemed the darkest days then seems to me now a precious time, paid for in tears and sorrow. We lovers of God- I wonder if we become so mindful of the Glory that we forget the Cross? That we forget the sorrow? He promised there would be much of it in our lives. And yet we wish, yet I wish, to go from joy to joy and glory to glory without the hard and narrow path that leaves blisters and weary muscles. Paul whispers of the long journey, the marathon race- no quick sprints here. Heart heaving, breath catching run that seems to spread out before us, endless. But it does have an end- and will I come to the end with weary muscles but strong heart? It seems there is no path more fitted for strength than that of weakness.

I wonder at this. And I wonder at the place I find myself now. A wonderful place, and yet a strange, terrifying place too. It is time for wings to open, time to set off and fly. I realized rather unconsciously that I had been collecting bird paraphernalia over the last few months- a robin’s nest, tiffany blue eggs, adorns my computer’s desktop. A sweet little carved green bird with swirls sits next to my Bible. My office folders are covered with florals and birds in all manner of flight. Every ATC I make has wings in some sort or another, butterfly wing, bird wing, dragonfly. It is funny how our heart is speaking even when our brain is not attending the messages.

I keep thinking of the idea of transition. Of the curled caterpillar breaking through the chrysalis, of the woman in her travails, ever so close to new life uncurling within her and stretching long…

My transitions in labor have been such a strange place. I do not labor well and always have to be assisted with the drug Pitocin. Once it has been added, the labor progresses quickly, often leaving my unmindful of what is happening within my body. But transition- I always notice it because I begin to cry, seemingly for no reason at all. Of course, science will tell that there is a huge hormone surge at that moment as the body moves into the last stages of labor- but for me, it always surprises. My husband can tell you that transition is always when I, strong and capable, suddenly crumble. I cry and exclaim that I can’t do it anymore, and why can’t the baby just be here? The irony is that it is so very close and the baby will soon be in my arms- but it is almost as if I lose track, grow weary, grow weak. And then suddenly, time to push, and the next thing you know, there is baby. There is life. LIFE!

The comparison is so apt. This gift of transition. This is my scribble here…to mark out this moment. To notice my weakness, to realize that I am moving into a place of joy, and I just need to let go. Need to be weak, need to stretch long, strengthen knee…

and fly.

Love Story: Redemption…

Posted on February 17, 2010 by Joy

redemption

I was tracing the faux granite strands in the countertop as he was speaking. My finger rubbed across the gash in the laminate where knife had slipped, spilling onion entrails everywhere and permanently scaring the hard-worked surface.

I remember the day well. My eyes wet with false tears from overpowering onion scent, I misjudged the slice and sent the knife flying. It caught in the countertop, thankfully, or it would have gone careening into a toddler girl and boy sitting upon the stools, watching mama prepare dinner. I caught it barely in time. As I attempted to clean up the mess, I brushed eye with hand thoughtlessly. I was blinded. My tears were in earnest now- I could not see for overactive tear ducts, upset at the slipped knife, worried by the divot in the countertop. I was overcome by the fact that one of my children brushed close with danger at my own hand. It had been a long day of overactive tempers, upset toys, and worried conversations. I lost it, slipping to floor between counters, sobbing, shoving the knife on to the oven to get it out of reach of littles’ hands.

He found me there, crumpled and broken, like so many days before and so many since. He grabbed clean kitchen towel and gently dabbed at my eyes, blowing at the ducts to remove the offending allergen. My eyes began to clear, my sobs turned into airy, shuddering sighs.

“Why can’t I get anything right, beloved? It seems I am always at odds, always dropping, always broken or breaking something or someone else.”

He wordlessly wrapped me in arms, much like he had done this fear-filled morning, and reminded me of truths I always seemed to forget. And he ended with the question he always asked, and I always sidestepped and danced away from: “Why, Angel, are you so very hard on yourself? Do you not remember that you are mine? You are His?”

His statement this morning was the same variation of the battle cry. You need to remember redemption.

I struggle in the grasp of the obvious watch care and love of both my husband and my Lord. I want to turn away, want to slump shoulders, turn tail. I do not want to go into battle this day, face my fears. It would be easier to stay in the drowning deep, head barely above water, than emerge into the glorious air of redemption, gasping at grace. Because in between the deep and the air is the wrenching wave of pain, detritus of life slamming about.

Why indeed?

It was hard to stare at it, bald-faced like that. My husband stood in quiet, loving patience. Waiting for me to process, waiting for me to speak.

Why indeed?

Why give in to the yellow-faced Fear? Why give in to the mangling tentacles of bitterness?

Had not my Lord and Father proved more than faithful, more than worthy of my trust?

I eyed Fear, standing off beyond my husband’s left shoulder, elbow leaning casually on clock as if to say, you don’t have time for this. My gaze returned to my husband, feeling for his hands as I began to speak.

Battle lines were going to be drawn this day. No going back. No retreat.

“He is good. Our Lord is good, beloved. How can I deny it? How we have seen His hand moving in our lives together over these months! The strain of new paths to mark out is difficult. I will not deny that. But you are right. I need to remember His gifts.

“First, the house and place to live. How unsettled I was when we decided to put the house on the market, four days after Christmas, with no job, no leads in sight. It felt as if I was tearing my heart right out when we did that. I trusted, trusted, big gulps of grace filled air, leap of faith, that you were right, that we were right, that it was a wise decision. I tried not to worry. What would happen? How would we provide? How could we know? And you reminded me that we couldn’t know for sure, but that we would trust.

“The realtor came. She mentioned the eye-popping number that she would offer it for sale, meaning that our equity in the house had more than tripled in the intervening time. My brain could hardly wrap around this, considering the economy, the collapsed housing market, the lost jobs. How could I not consider these things, having lived the roller coaster ride this year and a half past? I remember thinking it would truly be God-given if someone actually bought the house for that price- I could not fathom the entire affair. We had a showing within hours.

“A few days after that, the phone rang. It was a normal every day sort of day. The laundry was flipping in dryer, the kids were squealing and talking in playroom, you searched out job leads on the computer as I sat nursing Josiah. We had been talking, worrisome conversation that was growing stale as we puzzled out just what we were to do with the reality we were faced with. It was the job you had interviewed for the past November. We had all but given up hope on the company, for we had heard nothing, not a peep, in the intervening time of three months. It was a job you had dreamed of doing, the reason you had gone to school; but we had despaired that you had not qualified. You quickly stepped out of the playroom into the frigid garage, so as to hear better. When you came back in the room, your face had a surprised and hopeful look. An interview, by phone, was set for later that week. We found all this strange. When the interview happened, I confess, I was upstairs, pacing floor, praying soundlessly, not daring to hope. You finally came upstairs, almost lunchtime. You were truly perplexed at this point, as was I. We had no idea what would happen- the interview process had been so different from anything we had been used to.

” It was late. The kids were already in bed, some drifted off to sleep; the phone rang and you disappeared into the depths of the basement again, after debating whether or not to answer the unfamilar phone number at such an odd hour. I could tell as soon as the basement door cracked open and you mounted the stairs. The lift of your step was all different; you fairly flew up the stairs as if they weren’t even there. The joy in your face was palpable as you told me the wondrous news. It was more than we dared hoped for, more than we had dreamed. You started the new job soon, and it was just far enough away from our current house that we would have needed to move. We just sat and stared at each other for a while, unable to speak. Then the joy overcame and it was all we could do not to shout, restraining ourselves lest we woke the children.

“How could we have known that the timing of putting our house on the market would have been crucial to the new job? We simply couldn’t have. Only God could have known.

” The next weeks were a blur as we had house showings about every other day. I began to get discouraged because it took so much for me to get out of the house quickly with five children; your new job schedrule was a transition and you were hardly home.

“On one of the craziest days of the whole thing, I got a call from the realty company. Could we be out of the house for a showing at 3:45? It was 2:30. The house was trashed, dirty clothes and toys strewn everywhere, dishes littering the sink, cherrios crunching underfoot. I gulped, said yes, and scrambled. We barely escaped the driveway as the prospective buyer turned in. That night, I fell into exhausted slumber, trying not to cry because I was so overwhelmed and was desperately missing you.

“How shocked I was, how amazed we both were the next morning when our realtor called to tell us that we had an offer for the full price! It seemed grace upon grace.”

I corrected myself.

“It is grace upon grace.”

As I had been speaking, I had seen Fear fade slowly, sometimes holding ear as if in pain. Soon white as a sheet, then barely there. Soon, Fear disappeared from sight entirely.

My husband smiled wide, grin wrapping near around head, and I gratefully slid into his arms for a long embrace, full of grace filled remembrance.

” I remember Beloved, I remember. Thank you. Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

His green-gold eyes said everything.

Hallelujah, for the battle is the Lord’s and no other. I will trust in Him.

—

To read Part 1: And so it begins.

To read Part 2: Morning has broken.

Love story: Morning has broken…

Posted on February 14, 2010 by Joy

The steam was rising off my coffee in spiral swirls; I had been staring at the airy designs for many minutes, unseeing.

The voice rushed around me with a pop of air.

” Do you really think He’ll come through for you?”

In a whiny insinuating tone, Fear began to recite a laundry list of the many times God had supposedly failed me. It began to take on a droning, bored quality in true Bueller style—and the spell was broken for me.

I laughed a beleaguered chuckle. Addressing the early morning air around me, I spoke aloud.

“You know, the thing I don’t get about you- you seem so much smaller and ever more so annoying in the light of day. And, you always seem to forget yourself.”

” But dear,” the contentious voice responded, “it seems to me that it is you who have forgotten. You’ve forgotten how much you’ve screwed up, face first in the mud. Why on earth would anyone want to touch you, let alone Him?”

I could almost imagine him taking a long drag on his cigar, swirling the mint julep, looking at me like a cheshire cat, thinking that he had just won.

His mistake was calling me dear.

” I write to you, dear children, because your sins have been forgiven on account of His name.” (I John 2:12) The verse from 1 John came to mind, and that was it, the battle was over. I had managed to memorize the book a couple of months ago, and verse after verse cascaded through my thoughts. Can you almost see the surprise in Fear’s face? He must have spit his drink out over his coat, I am sure.

Head cocked to the side, I stared into my now-cold coffee.

“Well, I think we’ve had an…er…interesting chat. But as you have no right to be here, I suggest you get a move on, alright? ”

My husband found me like that, head to side, staring down into the inky depths of my coffee as if it held all the answers. His voice and movement made me jump.

“G mornin’ Angel- how’s it goin’?” His sleepy voice drew down deeper into his slow southern drawl. I smiled inwardly- his voice, his drawl are like elixr to me- I still get butterflies when I hear him. It’s half the reason I fell in love with him in the first place. I must have startled and stared at him a bit too long, because his voice edged with concern- “Angel?”

Trying to recover the moment, I answered over-brightly “Great! Didja sleep well?” Cringing, I took note of the banshee screams in the background of two boys carousing, the angry shrill words of my Lorelei fighting with her brother, and a baby making his needs known.

“Angel, beloved- you sound- uh, not yourself. What’s going on?”

I sighed, a near sob. “Do ya have a minute? I’ve got a long list.” A sad, sardonic smile.

He reached across, taking the coffee cup out of my hands and placing it on the kitchen counter, wrapping me up in his arms.

” I know, my Angel. I know. It’s really tough.”

I couldn’t muster a whole lot to say, other than, “I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. I’m incoherent, unable to think.”

His eyes, green, brown, gold, swirled and flipped and focused as he looked at me. I could see the change in him, the square of shoulder.

He knows my history. He has sat quietly, listened, loved me through the dark days. He was and is my safe place to land, and he knew what my admission meant. I was overcome in battle.

“Well, the only way out is to remember, right? Let’s start the list. Let’s tell His story. Let’s remember what He said.”

—-

To read Part 1: And so it begins.

To read Part 3: Redemption.

The very happiest of Thanksgiving wishes to you!

Posted on November 25, 2009 by Joy

This time last year, I was in a quiet, reflective mood. I think I was still caught by the reality of nearly losing my life- time felt so very different. Crisper, faster, clearer. There was this awed grateful acknowledgment of God's grace that I was still living and breathing and moving, that I had children to love and care for, that I could still see my husband's face, and even more miraculous—two days before Thanksgiving, I discovered that a babe grew within me- my dear wee Josiah, who is now four (four! my goodness!) months old.

Such a year has passed. It has been the scariest year of my life, but also the most amazing year of my life. God is good. He has shown Himself faithful over and over and over again. This year has not been about me. It's been about Him. His leading. His provision. He had to take me out into the desert so that I could hear His voice, still and small, calling on the wind. I can say, from the darkest, scariest, strangest place that God is good. All the time. It is not some trite little Sunday call and response to me anymore. It is the life I've lived for this life-changing year. Friends, don't wait until God has to drag you kicking and screaming into the desert so you can hear. You have a chance right now to believe that He is your everything. He is all you've ever needed, ever will need, all you've ever wanted. No matter how many times you fall down, no matter how dirty, no matter how broken, He loves you. Loves, loves, loves, beyond every measure, beyond what you can imagine, you- from the top of your beautiful head to your very tippy toes. Can you believe that? I do. I know.

That is what I am thankful for: LIFE. His life. Life more abundantly. Life in a whole different way that I ever knew before. Eternal life. He died, so that I could LIVE. I am grateful for the Love that saved me.

Have a wonderful, blessed, family-filled day, dear friends! I'll be back on Friday with our adventure to an 18th century Thanksgiving…did you know we can still time travel?

A song of praise…

Posted on November 23, 2009 by Joy

: for warm Indian summer weather before winter settles down with her drizzly cloak

: for fuzzy croc shoes that keep David's toes warm (he who likes to remove shoes and socks at first opportunity)

: for good books that inspire

: for the council of the wise

: for things far better than silver and gold: wisdom, freedom, peace, rest

: for the chance to create art for the church

: for hex pipe and zip ties and drills and a husband who knows so much about mechanical things (oh the lengths we go for art….heeeeeee)

: stolen moments of movie watching and laughter with my husband while we wrestled with an unwieldly frame for the artwork that wanted to zig when we wanted it to zag

: for the fact that nine years later, we're still laughing, kissing, and whispering Songs…

: for my whirly girl who twirls and laughs and reminds me of grace, everyday

: for David's string of babbles fast turning into words and sentences, the beginnings of language and expression

: for my Isaiah, who loves his hot shower almost as much as his mama does ( he who used to scream in outright terror at the thought of falling water- I never thought I'd see the day he would like to take a shower, let alone luxuriate in it!)

: for Ben, whose curious mind and constant questions amaze, delight, and stump me on a daily basis

: for my beloved Husband, who is strength in my weakness, peace in my passion, and my better half in every way

: for family come to visit soon

: for the anticipation of fun and food, for fellowship and love and the laughter of friends

: that the Lord's mercies are new every morning,

Great is His Faithfulness!

Ebb and flow

Posted on November 2, 2009 by Joy

The days, they get hard pressed, shaken down, crayon on wall, laundry on floor, stubbed toes and rough voices. Like apples in the press, cider running like gold, so go our days. I ache for beauty, search for it. Picture taken last year calls to me with peace.

And I praise.

: for scarlet tresses bedecking trees

: for golden glimpse of sunshine playing across the field chasing shadows like laughing school children

: for words wisely spoken in council

: the smell of wood, burning, smoke upon hill

: the coo of a babe entranced with the world around him

: the careful story his eldest brother tells me of adventures brave and true, illustrated right there on page to see

: the smile of my girl, her goofy laughter causing us all to grin too

: hard work of learning done this morning and oh! the questions we contemplate in the afternoon

: the music of life playing in the background- no radio today, too loud! Five children plenty to fill the void…

O LORD, our Lord,
         How excellent is Your name in all the earth,
         Who have set Your glory above the heavens!

Out of the mouth of babes and nursing infants
         You have ordained strength,
         Because of Your enemies,
         That You may silence the enemy and the avenger. (Psalms 8:1-2)

A week of celebration…

Posted on October 26, 2009 by Joy

It's been quiet here while we slipped away to Virginia Beach to celebrate my husband's graduation. Everyone's giveaway packages will ship in the morning- I didn't get addresses in time to send them off before we left!

–

I am so unbelievably proud of James. I've watched him work hard through the last two years to finish his degree in a shorter amount of time than it normally takes (he transferred to Strayer from ETSU). He's a daddy to five, runs a technology consulting business, and is active serving at our church. It's been a full, heavy load. Many, many late nights and early mornings, writing papers while cradling a baby…My heart about burst when we found out he would graduate magna cum laude. That was icing on the cake!

Ben turned seven earlier in October, and David turned two last Monday. Nana (my mother-in-love) had her birthday too. Lots of cake and fun to be had! But we're sorta over cake now. You can have too much. (It's hard to believe, I know.)

Here are my favorite scenes from our week away:

To see and know…

Posted on August 24, 2009 by Joy

I never would have thought it would draw to an end like this.

It marks a year, my little scribbling here today. A year since the world turned upside down and right side up and back again.

As I cuddle close Josiah, another baby rests near in my thoughts, cradled in my heart. We said goodbye just as we began to be aware of each other, and it happened so fast.

A year ago, I nearly died.

Three short weeks after that happened, my husband lost his job.

Had you asked me in those intervening days if I had thought we would be here today, I probably would have looked at you askance. I knew in my heart that God was in control, but I remember how dark and scary the way seemed.

Now I look back as I watch this year draw to a close and I see.

Miracles shine like dew drops along the path near the footsteps of the One who carried me through. Grace after grace, mercy after mercy, provision upon provision. In the face of grave uncertainty, every need has been answered and provided for. Every time we thought we were coming to the bottom, our jar was filled again. I think of all the people along the way too, the ones who loved us, the ones who prayed, the ones who gave of their hearts in our time of need, and continue to bear our burdens with us…I stand amazed.

The blessing journal stands full of stories from this year, too many to count.

…Of health regained

…Of a heart turned towards Home

…Of the miracle of life

In the face of a messy economy and countless other trials, we never went hungry. We never lost our house. We never lost our joy. I watched others I knew lose everything, but we did not. Grace upon grace! I would never have thought that it would be twelve long months of fruitless searches as my husband tried to find a job, that even the gas stations and fast food places and retail stores would close in rapid succession like dominoes. And that he is searching still. I never would have imagined after the horror and loss of last August that I would be holding the most amazing miracle of a baby, counting his fingers and toes and kissing his sweet skin.

And here I stand at the close. What will the next twelve months, fifty two weeks, three hundred and sixty five days, bring?

All I know is this.

My God? He can do anything. He is in control. And I am His. That is all that matters. The rest is grace.

Josiah’s story…

Posted on August 7, 2009 by Joy

To tell the story of Josiah's birth, I have to go back in time before I can go forward.

In August of 2008 (last year), I suffered an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured into my abdominal cavity. A miscarriage. The thing was, I didn't even know I was pregnant. (The pregnancy had progressed about eight weeks). I had been attending my best friend's wedding, and the day after began to struggle with annoying but not overly painful abdominal pain. I honestly thought that I had pulled a muscle, as I had been lifting flats of sodas (about fifteen pounds worth) in heels no less, the day of the wedding. As the weekend progressed, I began to feel worse. We were in Virginia Beach, away from home, away from my obstetrician (of course, at the time, I didn't realize it was him that I would need). We cut our visit to Grandma short and returned home. I had this overwhelming desire to get home- still not at all suspecting that I was dealing with a pregnancy. It fascinates me how the hormones created by our body will direct things even when we were unaware- it truly felt like this primal need to get home. The pain had gotten much worse- in fact, in a Charlottesville rest area, James and I were strongly debating whether to stop at the next emergency room. I honestly think that is when the pregnancy actually ruptured. The pain was overwhelming, but like all things, I was able to slowly work through it. (And yes, people have noted I have a strong tolerance to pain). I convinced James to keep driving.

I still thought that I had only pulled a muscle. Painful and annoying. I consider this God's grace- my ignorance probably kept me from freaking out- He truly directed every path to the conclusion, as all the people involved (even my OB/GYN) will tell you. The next day, I visited my family practitioner, complaining all the while of abdominal pain. I had been bleeding, but since it was the middle of the month when I normally would have a period, I thought none of it. The two simply did not connect in my mind. My doctor, on the other hand, quickly connected the two, and I was sent for blood tests and the whole work up. (I was still blissfully unawares.) As I returned to the exam room, I sat for over forty five minutes, which was very unusual for my doctor. And when she came in the room, finally, I knew something was wrong. She tried to speak a few times, and then said, quickly, rushing over the words: "Joy, you are pregnant. And you are bleeding, and you have abdominal pain. I am sending you over to the hospital STAT for an ultrasound, because I think you may have an ectopic pregnancy. You need to prepare yourself for the fact that you will lose this baby, if it is not lost already."

The next hours that followed were a blur- the ultrasound confirmed their suspicions, but strangely, they could not get a good image- they began to think that I may be pregnant within the uterus but also have some sort of bleeding on my ovaries ( I forget what it is called.) The decision was made to observe, and watch the chemical hCg levels within my blood- if they doubled, they knew that I was in fact pregnant within the uterus. I was dealing with a doctors group associated with the hospital, not my own, and I was so very confused. But I just kept breathing- I trust Dr. H very implicitly, and I knew that as long as I got to him, I would be well cared for…James kept calling until he finally got a hold of Dr. H. (He had been off that weekend, on a much deserved vacation!) By Monday, I was in his office, and he grew increasingly confused by what had occurred and what was written in my chart- test results weren't recorded- it took till Tuesday to get this all figured out and all the tests and ultrasounds in their proper place. Keep in mind it has now been over a week since the pain and bleeding began. Through out it all, my vital signs were absolutely normal, particularly my blood pressure. (Very unusual in the case of abdominal bleeding.) If you know anything about ectopic pregnancies and ruptures, the chance of death is incredibly high. I had everyone fooled, as Dr. H would gently tease later. (You have no idea how much my case scared him after the fact.)

On Wednesday, they decided to perform same-day, outpatient surgery laproscopically to get a look at just what, exactly, was going on. Dr. H, of course, warned me of the risks involved, explained that he may have to open me up at the bikini line if something was particularly bad- he just didn't know. All the while, I was okay, calm even. I just wanted the baby to be okay, and knew that I needed to be still. To this day, I don't think anyone realized just how bad the situation had become. From what I have been told, when Dr. H entered my abdominal space he realized just what was going on (and apparently the way the blood had pooled was blocking the ultrasound from getting proper images). Not only had the pregnancy ruptured out of my fallopian tube, it had been bleeding. And as Dr. H explained, it should have been bleeding profusely- everything should have been off the charts wrong- my vitals should have been bad, everything. Apparently, it was pushed against my liver in such a way that the liver held pressure to it and did not allow it to bleed as it should, for as soon as Dr. H began to move the fallopian tube away I began to bleed profusely, and, as you can imagine, what was supposed to be same day outpatient surgery turned into full scale surgery to save my life.

When I woke up in recovery, Dr. H was by my side. I have known him for years- he had delivered all three of my younger children and we had a great rapport. The look on his face is something I will never forget, even in my anesthesia induced haze. I just knew. I began to cry. He grabbed my hand, and he said: "Sweetie, I am so sorry. But you need to know this- you need to know- (and here he paused for the longest time)- you should have died. Your life is a miracle. There is no reason for you to be alive right now. Truly, Someone was watching out for you this day." He was choked up, and I had never ever seen him like that, ever. I should mention that it took weeks for me to truly understand what had happened with the surgery- I was more absorbed with the grief of losing the child to really understand just how close to death I was. At one of my final post-surgery appointments, Dr. H informed me that, while I still had one fallopian tube and ovary, the chances of me being able to get pregnant were extremely low. We had discussed birth control options, up to having the other tube 'tied', but I just could not, in my emotional state, deal with the decision. He warned us that if I did get pregnant, the chances of another ectopic were extremely high, and any pregnancy from that point on could be potentially fraught with complications.

We decided to leave it in God's hands. The grief was overwhelming to me, particularly when it came to being intimate, because it was a reminder of what would not be. I cried, and cried, and James held me, as we tried to make sense of it all. Needless to say, I was shocked to discover I was pregnant in late November. (Two and a half months after the miscarriage.) I was terrified. There was a part of me that was rejoicing, don't get me wrong. But the other ninety percent was just scared wordless. I remember just repeating the Kyrie Ellison over and over. "Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy. " I couldn't even form the words to pray for the baby, or myself. I was too scared.

So was Dr. H. The day I had the appointment, they did an immediate ultrasound, in office. I remember Dr. H, and A, the nurse, and myself, staring at the screen. (By some cruel twist, James couldn't be there- we couldn't get a babysitter for some reason, a
nd there was no way I was going to have all four of my kids in that exam room.) The tension in the room was palpable. I didn't realize I was holding my breath as he guided the ultrasound wand. There was the ovary, all normal. And then, there was the miracle. Baby was kicking and moving and flipping, right where he belonged, heart thumping mightily. And we all suddenly let out our collective breath, A. began to laugh softly, and the tears began to roll down my cheeks. Dr. H first words were, "I wish James could be here" and then "you guys defy all odds, don't you?" and then "oh thank goodness, everything is right where it belongs- see, the hand buds, the feet- the eyes, the heart?" I had this smile on my face as wide as could be…I just couldn't stop.

The rest of Josiah's pregnancy was so ridiculously normal, Dr. H and I laugh about it. I have always been somewhat high-risk- often tipping into high blood pressure issues towards the end and other things that have left me on bedrest for both Lorelei's and David's final month in utero. My blood pressure never once faltered. It was so normal that the nurses took to checking it twice (they all knew how I had been with other pregnancies) to make sure it was normal. I don't labor well. My body starts the process, but it has never once been able to finish the process unassisted. As with all my kids, I began to have contractions and they would not coalesce into an effective rhythm. With Josiah, I was basically laboring, to an extent, for a week and a half. The contractions would come together and get quite intense, but then would spread back out- every other day I was put on monitoring and a non-stress test performed to ensure that Josiah was doing all right.

On Wednesday (July 26th), they decided to induce. I was started on Pitocin at 9:10 am, my bag of waters was broken about 11:45, and he arrived at 2:34 p.m.

Our little miracle baby had a few surprises up his sleeve however. (And keep in mind that this is number five, too!) Things were moving slowly and steadily (too slow in my opinion- I was so ready to be done and hold him in my arms!) I finally got to 7 cm. I remember my labor nurse checking me (and there is another story I'll get to in a minute) and getting so upset! I said "no! I can't be just 7 cm! This hurts too much!" and then all of the sudden, something changed. I felt it. I tried to tell them. Ha! She leaned down to check again maybe a minute later and said to the nurses assistant with some surprise that I was now 9 cm. And then her face changed (so I'm told- I was in the throes of labor! *laughs*) She goes "this baby is going to deliver!" and he did. Just like that. I didn't push, I can't even explain what happened, just that my uterus took over and bam, there was his head, and another hard contraction and there was the rest of him. My labor nurse, Myra, delivered him! Dr. H wasn't even in the room! He walked in about 30 seconds later and everyone burst out laughing. There wasn't even a warming bed in the room for Josiah, no crash cart, nothing was ready. They thought they had another fifteen minutes! He was delivered on the bed, right out on to the blankets…it was hilarious. And he aced all the APGAR scores and was so very awake and bright eyed- he was the star of the ward with the nurses till we left. They just couldn't get over this little guy that was in such a hurry to get here and had to cause so much consternation and make Myra deliver him!

I just look back so amazed at the miracle that is Josiah. He is healthy and hearty and hasn't a thing wrong with him, defying all these odds that were against him. As I wonder with all my kids, I wonder what God has planned for his life, especially after all the things that occurred. I just can't get over the fact that he is here, and he is healthy. And wonderful. And so snuggle-able. And kiss-able. And so very Josiah.

And then there is Myra, my labor nurse. I have been so blessed to have both Dr. H and her care for me during labor for four of my five children. How we have managed that in this era of managed, parceled out care is beyond me- I guess I've just happened to be in labor on her normal shift every time, and Dr. H has been on call those days…whatever it is, it has been such a cool blessing, and such a history! To be known so well by them meant that I could just relax and do my part. The funny thing was, Myra had been teasing Dr. H (we tend to laugh a lot until the pain gets too bad) that it was high time she got to 'catch' one. (I am now both their record for delivering within the same family.) She was really teasing, not at all being serious- so it was quite funny when she did, in fact, get to catch! It happened so very fast- which I had been trying to tell them both would probably happen, but would they listen? *grins* I have never heard such laughter as it was when he walked in the room thirty seconds too late, just in time to deliver the placenta. He grinned and said "thanks for making me feel like a resident again! I got to deliver the placenta!"

What joy surrounded Josiah in his first minutes of life- we all could not stop laughing and getting a bit teary eyed at the miracle of him! This little guy has already changed lives, long before he was born. I amazed and grateful that I was chosen to be his mama.

Memoria.Arts

Category Archives: Endless gifts