Pitocin and Answered Prayers

Whoever said, “There’s no use crying over spilled milk” obviously never used a breast pump.

 In reality, I hadn’t truly been a breast pump person either. I had 3 kids in my first marriage, and all of those kiddos were formula fed babies. I struggled with each child for reasons of their own uniqueness; Mikey wanted immediate results and gave up the latch if he didn’t get the satisfaction, Chara was aggressive but was completely averse to the metallic taste that resulted from her ravenous hunger, and Analeigh was unfortunate that I simply had no supply due to a medicinal side effect. Then came Joshua… and his story begins long before the breast pump arrived.

I found out about Joshua in November of last year, shortly after Jimmy and I got married, and it reduced me to nothing but smiles and tears. I figured my time for having kids was over; there was too much to do with Mikey’s autism and therapies, Chara’s behavioral problems, then adding in work and graduate school. I was just plain exhausted. I really didn’t think that God would be blessing my family with any more kiddos…. And I wasn’t sure up until that time that I was ready for any more of those blessings either… there wasn’t enough coffee for another blessing from heaven. And still, to borrow a quote from a favorite movie, “Remember, remember the 5^th of November…” because that was the day that God surprised us and said, “Guess what?” with a positive sign on the pregnancy test.

I have heard it said: no pain, no gain. That could have been my pregnancy motto for months. I was probably so much of a complainer that I was virtually colicky to people who heard me at first. Trying to cope with the morning sickness, migraines, dizziness, and all the early aches and pains, only to end up with even more fun down the line that involved me leaving my job early and spending the better part of 2 months off my feet—it was a lot. I wasn’t enjoying being pregnant for the most part, aside from the solitary moments where Jimmy and I would watch my tummy move with excitement as we counted flutter kicks, or when we found out with no doubt that we were having a boy. I kept envying those women who had so much energy during pregnancy, those who were giggly and glowing and adorable in the latest trend of maternity clothes, as I rotated through maternity jeans and big t-shirts and struggled to roll over in bed, feeling like a defective walrus. Each night, I would cry out to God, either in exhaustion or despair, sometimes in joy, wondering why this was the way my journey was going. I couldn’t understand what He had in store for me; after all, me being on modified bedrest was not exactly a financial benefit for the family. It made for a lot more complications than we expected, and it caused some strain in our marriage and many unnecessary fights. Each time, we would get through it, but the stress of it all drove me to my knees…. Well, actually, it would drive me to a phone call to a best friend first, but eventually, it drove me to hardcore prayer, and very often.

Sunday, June 25^th, during our church service, the contractions started. The bags had been packed for weeks, and we were more than ready to get this show on the road. The kids had been joking about Mommy the Penguin for long enough that I was beyond ready and excited to get this baby boy out of my belly and into my arms. It took over 5 hours of intense contractions, 3-7 minute apart, walking the halls, bouncing on a yoga ball, and struggling to breathe as they got more intense, only to find out that with each contraction and each moment of pain, we had made no progress. We had come in at 4 cm and 80% effacement, and 5 hours later, were given the same exact numbers to our own detriment. With the laws of Ohio being what they are, and despite the contractions continuing, we were sent home to labor more until my water broke or until we reached our 39 week date. At that time, the doctor would be willing to induce, if we wished it so. It went without saying that at my next appointment, I virtually begged the doctor to schedule the induction. The contractions were still happening, though less frequent, but any hope of sleep and pain free movement of any kind were out of the question for the next few days. I counted the moments and attempted to sleep as often as I could to make the time pass. I took hot baths and listened to worship music, filling the air in my home with lavender and my heart and mind with prayer and faith that everything would be okay and go swiftly. I didn’t truly want to be induced—I had wanted to labor naturally, without any intervention, and enjoy the experience that I had desperately desired for my other three children as well…. I continued to pray that our son would come naturally and before the date of induction. God had other plans.

Friday morning at 4 am, I woke up before the alarm. I took my shower, straightened my hair, got dressed and ate something for breakfast—something small, as I had already been told I would be given Pitocin, and I anticipated getting sick during labor. Still noting that I would need the energy to birth my son, I insisted on a small peanut butter sandwich on wheat and a glass of soy milk so I would have something to work with and hopefully offset the side effects of the medicine. I woke Jimmy up at 4:50, slightly before the alarm, and he got up and immediately began documenting our big day. I was so grateful that I had looked a bit less haggard than I did the previous Sunday, because he snapped and clicked as I ate and waddled through the house, getting everything ready for the hospital. 

 

Eventually, we hit the road and arrived shortly after 6am. We didn’t expect to get sent up to the room right away, as we weren’t scheduled for induction until 7:30. However, labor and delivery was ready for us, and we went up to the third floor, both with excitement and, in my case, relief that it would be over soon. We took the bags and organized where everything should be. Then I got changed and the nurse got my IV fluids started, knowing I would need it before the Pitocin. Sure enough, 7:30 came around, and the Pitocin began. The nurses started everything slow; not knowing exactly what it meant, I noticed the number 2 on the scanner for the Pitocin, and then got hooked up to monitors, the blood pressure cuff, and waited for the contractions to begin.

 

And begin they did. The Pitocin kicked in within 45 minutes, and with each few contractions showing up on the monitor, the need for ice chips and Jimmy’s hand to squeeze was immense. Each time the nurses checked in, the number on the monitor went higher—first 4, then 6. It was around the 6 that I asked to be checked, as I was sure there was some progress being made, and I had a new concern. My back had begun to throb an intense amount of pressure, and the Pitocin was making me shaky; my entire body would twitch uncontrollably for short intervals of time, only to be met with the room spinning on top of it. The back pain was what threw me over the edge. When the nurse told me that I was between 5-6 cm and about 90% effaced, I released any plan of having a natural birth. I asked for the epidural to help me with the pain in my back. It wasn’t 10 minutes before the anesthesiologist made his way to the room and hoisted the bed, curled me into a ball, and I squeezed Jimmy’s hand for dear life as the medicine stung in the lower back and began to make me go numb. Chris, the amazing man he was, asked for specific information with the test dose, which made me thankful that he was so thorough in his job. Once I began to go numb, the bed was lowered back to the floor, and the lights were dimmed so I could rest a bit. The numbers on the Pitocin continued to rise in between contractions; now it was around 10, and it was officially time for me to lose my cookies. I told Jimmy to turn away so he wouldn’t get sick, and I lost whatever I had in my stomach from the until there was literally nothing left. There was a few more times that I couldn’t hold it back, and the only relief was that the ice chips had at least given me something to bring up, or it would have been horrific dry heaves and even more stomach pain. The twitching continued as well…. With nothing but exhaustion and fear that my body would never regain control, I turned on my spotify to a worship station, held my hands out, and begged God for relief. I knew that it was only a matter of time before my son would be born, but I was blessed that God allowed me to get some sleep in between the nurses checking on me. 

Around 1pm, my OB arrived in my room and broke my water. She told me that as soon as I finished dilating, which I was around 8 at the time, she would be back to deliver our son. Again, with anticipation, desire to stop twitching and sheer exhaustion, I turned my head to my pillow and allowed the music to enwrap me in peace. Around 3:30, she returned and told me that it was time.

It felt like it would be forever. The prep table was brought in, Jimmy and his mom were getting ready to take pictures and for the first glimpses of Joshua. I just laid waiting, hoping that the epidural wouldn’t wear off any more than it already had (as I was now feeling a lot of pressure) and that I would be able to push him out with ease; I dreaded hearing that he would get stuck or be too big and that I would need a C-section, so I continued to pray silently that the final step would go well. I can say that God answered my prayer with a resounding Yes. The nurse counted, my husband squeezed my hand, and my doctor told me “Breathe, and again.” It was on the 4^th big push that I could tell his head was almost completely out; the 5^th was the one where we heard him cry. It was only when my OB told me “On the next push, reach down and pull him up to you,” that I realized he was really here. I had never experienced such exhilaration as I reached my hands down to catch my son and pulled him up onto my chest. I heard his cry, and I sighed deep relief, with big tears and humongous smiles, as Jimmy kissed my head and got ready to cut the cord. He made it! He was here! And in that moment, we were informed of the incredible miracle that God had given us….

As Jimmy reached down to cut the cord, my OB held one of the biggest knots I had ever seen. She gawked at it, in shock that my son was alive in my arms instead of malnourished and in the NICU or stillborn and with us in complete despair. She was able to place about 2-3 fingers through the knot in the cord…. 

And there it was. Everything came into place: we hadn’t seen our son in ultrasound since our 32 week appointment, and the knot in his cord was never there at that time. Somewhere, in the 7 weeks that we waited for him to be born from that last time we saw him on screen, the knot developed. Me being put on bedrest, the sudden contractions with no progress, the intense pains that made me beg for the epidural—it all was part of God keeping my son alive. The monitor during labor told us that he wasn’t in distress, and would have indicated if something had gone wrong quickly enough to save his life. If I had the labor experience I had wanted, we may have never known that anything could have cost us his life. And still, God’s grace was big enough that our amazing son not only overcame the odds of such a horrific potential fate, but he amazed us even more with Joshua having perfect APGAR scores, and a very ravenous appetite, and a peaceful nature. 

 

With everything looking incredible through the night and into the next day, we were able to take our son home Saturday night. And Sunday morning, we walked into our church with our amazing miracle baby, having pastor pray over him and praising God that he had given us such an incredible miracle. It was incredible; when Pastor mentioned that the congregation was about to take communion, Joshua folded his hands and lay quiet in my arms. What was simply a reflex to any other observer was just confirmation to Jimmy and me: our son is a true blessing, one we could never have anticipated, and he has a definite purpose for being alive.

 
 

It has been only 5 days since I gave birth to my son. and I make the joke about spilled milk-- mostly because breastfeeding was a struggle; but I made the resolve to not give up on what is best for Joshua. Regardless of any obstacles, we decided that it was important to be obedient in providing for him and staying faithful, as God was faithful in our time of need. The best way I know to honor what God has done for our family is to continue to fight; each day, when the postpartum hormones get unbearable, and the kids are running around the house being disruptive to the type of quiet that a newborn would need, I see Joshua with open eyes, or the dimply smile, maintaining his peace and not being affected by it. I never knew that a newborn would be an example for me to learn and remember God’s peace. And yet, each time I look at him, when a storm hits our home, all I can think is “Peace, be still.” Something about this boy has changed the dynamic in our home. Jimmy and I have completely reconnected and begun becoming more dedicated to our prayers for each other, filling our home with worship, and trusting God completely, despite our crazy circumstances. I have taken to a whole new level of dedication that I never had with the other kiddos—my resolve to provide the best for Joshua, as well as learning to re-evaluate how to be the best mom I can be for my kids has filled my mind and my prayer life. I have begun to question things about my life and where God is directing my path; and with each question, I continue to hear “Peace, be still.” I no longer question why the storm is occurring. After going through the biggest storm that we could have ever imagined, watching how easily our son could have slipped from us, I don’t have to wonder if God is there. And even that, that assurance in a dark place, is a blessing. He chose to reveal his power and grace to us both, and give us something incredible. It speaks to my heart every time I look at my son, that I am blessed to be adopted into the kingdom by a father who has willingly sacrificed his own son and in the same amazing grace saved the life of mine. 

Beauty and the Beets

a beautiful day in ohio, with a gentle springtime zephyr and enough sunshine to brighten the day of any grumpy person, and I chose to buy beets.

It seemed like the perfect thing to do this morning, given the most recent circumstances in our home. Yesterday we spent cleaning, as a means of getting frustration out about fluctuating work hours and lack of movement thanks to the amazing giant bundle of baby lodged in my pelvis, causing me to look like a duck in ballet class as I walk from room to room. Jimmy and me had experienced a bit of a scare this weekend, which ended us up at the ER, only to be sent up to the maternity ward to monitor my contractions and baby Joshua's heartbeat. thankfully, labor wasn't progressing and I was able to go home. however, it didn't come without stipulations. I had already been put on afternoon rest by my doctor a few weeks back due to increasing stress levels (that was showing up in my vitals during each visit), and monitoring my gestational diabetes. knowing that another doctor appointment was coming up, it made me nervous about the most evil words that no mother of 3 (soon to be 4) wants to hear-- bed rest. I'm still hoping NOT to hear them, but again, in a day of panic, I opted to clean.

with the house smelling of fabuloso floor cleaner and fresh air from opened windows and drawn up curtains, I woke up this morning craving coffee. sadly, with no creamer in the house, I knew that shopping was going to be inevitable. still, it hadn't left my mind that I was not going to be able to return to work for another week, and that was drastically cutting into our monthly income. while I hate to admit that the system helps (primarily because I HATE being on the system), the cut to the food stamps a month ago hurt our budget for our growing family big time, especially with mikey needing such specific dietary assistance to decrease his aggression levels. even still, with the april month coming to a close, and both WIC and food stamps being exhausted for the moment (mind you, between the two, that's only about $100 a month), all I could think about was what I was going to make for dinner.

last night, post cleaning spree, and Himalayan salt bath to reduce stress and induce sleep, I did something else that I haven't in a while-- I picked up a book called Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and flipped to where I had left off, probably about 6 months ago, before graduate school returned to my calendar of chaos and my life revolved around doctors appointments, clients, and the intimate sound of 3 children fighting over the limited toys in the house. why this book? truthfully, i'm not sure. most of the books that I read are in research or sheer intrigue, with maybe 3 on my shelf being favorites that I will never get tired of, no matter how many times I read them-- The Time Traveler's Wife is one such example, that I will pick it up and flip to a random chapter just to smell the pages and remember the summer I first read it, as a previous military wife in Virginia suffering the big deployment. But I digress. I picked up this New York Times best seller a few years ago, intrigued by this family's journey to eat food that was home grown, considering that I am definitely not one with a green thumb, but also because I was going through a time when I felt that going green would truly be beneficial to my family. while I still believe that, it has been a very slow transition to get to where I would ultimately like to see us-- in a small but efficient house with a garden and a greenhouse, solar panels and rainwater collecting system, composting in the backyard and plants in the house to keep the air fresh and clean... it is taking more time than I anticipated, but then again, most things that are worth it end up being waited for.

chapter 3 of this book had me enamored, partially because of this woman's luscious descriptions of her family's journey into the love of asparagus (the entire chapter was about asparagus!), and the fact that my husband is a hardcore connoisseur of asparagus. his passion for this vegetable, green beans, and many others of his family's Kentucky tradition, is absolutely adorable as we go shopping together and I make a meek attempt to pick out a good batch, only to get a chuckle in response, as he says "i got this", picking the best batch in the entire store. regardless, reading all about asparagus gave me an idea for grocery shopping this week, making me think about only food that was native to ohio at this time of year, what was in season, and what would keep the budget down while still filling our refrigerator and pantry and stomachs with flavor and freshness.

With a starbucks java chip light to sip on-- now don't think I blew the budget for this indulgence. I only was able to abide in this extra because of points on a card that I had forgotten about-- I searched the vegetable section of the store, looking at prices, and also comparing to a list I had saved on my phone, giving me information as to what was native to ohio in the month of april. I knew that fruits would pretty much be off the list for another month or so, so aside from some bananas for the kids, I didn't bother with that. but it wasn't long before I had collected a giant bag of russet potatoes, carrots, green onions, then stopping at the root vegetables, only to find the delightful burgundy beets sitting on the shelf, calling out to my artist's eye for the bright color. I can't even begin to lie on this one-- I have never eaten a beat (up until that moment anyway), and I had heard mixed commentaries from friends about the taste of beets, either being too much of an earthy taste, or having a succulent sweetness when they are in season and perfectly ripe, bringing color and flavor to the table unlike any other root veggie. looking at the price, and noting that this wasn't to be the staple for the entire week, I decided to give it a shot, grabbing about 1 lb of fresh beets, tossing them into a plastic bag, and preparing a recipe in my mind that would make dinner wonderful.

I decided on a crock pot chicken, with potatoes, carrots, and of course, the beets. I also reasoned in my own head that the kids would complain about it (ana in particular), unless I managed to make them believe that the beets were purple potatoes. this is, of course, one of those lies that almost every parent and grandparent has told their kids in order to attempt to expand their palette... I can still hear the voice of my great-grandma Zu telling me that bananas were just white carrots, which I resented her for at the time, but now I can laugh as I think back on that memory. while I still cannot eat bananas in some circumstances, it was her tenacity for me to be healthy and happy about fresh fruit and amazing home cooked food that makes me willing to try the same on my own kids.

as I was sitting with jimmy in the living room with peeler and knife in hand, preparing my cookie sheet of one inch cut winter vegetables, I was completely thrown aback in enjoyment with the crimson stain on my hands of this burgundy root, smiling in anticipation as to how it would taste roasted when combined with the others, but also in the sheer fact that I was once again finding enjoyment in cooking. and it is this thought that changed my mood. for months, we had access to the extra-- we ordered pizzas, we made tacos, we had coffee in abundance in the cabinets, and offered the kids cheap processed foods simply to avoid a fight at mealtime. we did 30 minute meals, but getting the "best" at Kroger and taking little care to leftovers in the frig. I had processed cereals and snacks for breakfasts and lunches, and the only requirement for morning time was my coffee brewing quickly in the Keurig.  but as I sat here with my crimson stained hands and this delectable tray of veggies sitting in front of me, I couldn't help but be grateful for the simplicity in what was happening. I was cooking again for my family, excited about family dinner tonight, knowing that jimmy would have an amazing lunch for his exhausting day tomorrow; I was looking forward to the smell of the garlic butter and rosemary chicken filling the entire kitchen and wafting through the house, filling it with warmth that didn't involve my heater in the basement; I was looking forward to the taste of the earthy beets, and the joy that would come from the labor of making them.

the last few months have been hectic and a range of amazing to unbearable, with life's unexpected twists and shocking moments, or seconds of laughter that make you wonder if you have Depends in the house. but there is something to be said about my family-- we always seem to find a way through it. my husband is amazingly dedicated and has offered on countless days to pick up overtime to make sure that we have enough to get by, while still providing laughter and comforting hugs when they are desperately needed. my kids are of course still growing up, and will never lack for moments of immaturity, but even they have found ways to show that they can be flexible and take the tough days as they come, still finding ways to make each other happy, with tickles or a picture, or cheering each other on during a community activity. and then me.... I have found that my moments of innovation and creativity come when I am forced into them. if everything was simple and we never had to struggle for what we have, we wouldn't appreciate it, but it also wouldn't challenge me to make the best of what we have and truly know what it means to find joy in life. i'm grateful for my husband, more than I have ever realized since the day we said "I do"-- he has become even more of a rock than I ever anticipated, mostly because I'm typically prone to doing things myself. but his strength and his ability to help me learn to accept vulnerability and let him lead has helped me to be a better wife for him, and this in and of itself is an amazing gift. my kids, though challenging, continue to push me to pray hard and find peace when there doesn't seem to be any; they remind me every day to get out of my OCD clean ways, finding ways to tell me that the dirtier the feet, the happier the person. and it just so happens that they are right. as I look at the pink on my hands from a vegetable that is grown in dirt and darkness, I can't help but be grateful for the way that God provides us the opportunity to find faith and joy and beauty.... even if it is found in a pound of beets.

don't choose... cherish

this morning was the first of many that begins very early-- before the sun, before the children, before i'm ready to come out of the hibernation I created in my blankets kind of early. most definitely a before coffee early. possibly even before I have an appetite for coffee kind of early. i'm not sure why this morning had any particular significance to me, aside from how early I was pulled out of my happy dreams, but for some reason, it struck me as different. mikey was on spring break last week, so if there was ANY morning that should have had me questioning the difference of a particular Monday, that should have been it. maybe the temperature this morning set me off, but regardless of what it was that made me notice today was different, I noticed.

I noticed because I was anxious to give my husband that extra close hug this morning when he woke to his alarm, take in that last breath of night and just enjoy my head on his chest and his arm around me, feeling the world is perfect. I noticed because I took a bigger joy in creating a special breakfast for the kids this morning, and surprisingly took no offense when none of them were partaking in the blueberry bagel-- apparently I missed the part where none of them actually enjoy blueberries. I noticed as they were singing to each other, laughing, and enjoying their fellowship time over scrambled eggs with cheese and some fruit and a short glass of either milk or water. and a wave of sadness fell over me.

it is virtually shameful for any mother to admit that she has been busy-- too busy to read that chapter book at bedtime, too busy to piece together a costume for 50's Day of spirit week at the elementary school; too busy for bending down to give a big hug when I am typing a paper or attempting to vacuum the house, or do the dishes, or taking a moment to recover and breathe through the MMA sucker punches their newest little brother is giving my diaphragm from inside the womb. I am a very organized person-- at least, I am on the inside. it is getting that organization to the rest of the house and having the inability to do it on some days that completely drives me crazy. I like papers and bottles and post-its and markers, shoes and coats and accessories to all have a place-- and keys. WHY can I never find my keys?! but all of this-- the housework, the classes for grad school, the days that I spend primarily in the kitchen doing frozen meal prep, or out in the community doing 5 loads of laundry, grocery shopping, paying bills, and taking care of other errands that I would love to avoid-- it has kept me busy.

but this morning, she was watching strawberry shortcake in my lap, and her belly laugh made me laugh. her eyes were all lit up as she watched her favorite character dance, and she jumped off the couch to twirl around and imitate the grace and beauty she saw in each and every movement... and it made me want to cry at the captivating beauty of my youngest girl. it hit me harder when she gave me a pretty please when she asked me for a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich for lunch, so hard in fact that when she was finished, I offered her a cherry pineapple popsicle, just to watch her jaw hit the floor and to get that extra adorable squeezy hug she gives, with her foot up in a modern attitude, like she was going to jump on me, but settled to look like a ballerina instead.

and even now, as she is playing with her barbies in the toy room, and I can hear her voice speaking the different characters and I see her imagination come out in conversation... all I can think about it how much i'm going to miss her. My baby girl, my little Analeigh, my brunette and my brown eyed girl.... I missed out o so much of her special moments. I had no choice but to return to work when she was barely a month old; it tore my heart out to head out to work and watch my infant daughter in the arms of a friend or another sitter as I drove away... and now, almost 5 years later, i'm preparing for the moment that my bebelita is going to be walking into the double doors of school, skipping her way into a kindergarten classroom and lighting up the rest of the world with her Broadway personality.

I saw a post on facebook this morning, asking a red or blue pill question-- either choose to be 25 years younger and get a complete do-over, or be 5 years older and get $20 million dollars tax free.  and the truth of the matter is I could choose neither. I wouldn't give up a moment with my kids, watching them grow up; having days where I want to pull my own hair out are still moments that I do not want to forget, because it is the tough moments that are the glue between the happy photos in our photo albums. but I could not go back and have a chance to do it all over because there is no guarantee that I would ever end up with the same amazing children again, the ones who challenge me to grow and fight and pray and learn and take the energy out of me only to blast it back to me with little giggles and pig piles and at home movie nights snuggled on the couch with way too much popcorn. and to choose the other-- to be 5 years older and gain all that money-- not on your life! it kills me to see my baby girl getting ready to grace the halls of kindergarten-- to wake up one day and see her in 4th or 5th grade?? that kind of time is not worth all the money in the world.

I don't speak for all moms-- heck, I can't speak for any but me. but I do know that time is a gift. I don't have much time left before another baby blesses my home, and the sleepless nights and diaper changes and breast-or-bottle dilemma begins all over again and keeps me up at night, both to nurture my infant, and to sacrifice sleep just to watch him breathe. each and every day that I have been a mom, I have felt like God chose me for my kids. there are days I have asked God WHY he trusts me with so much (as some days are completely overwhelming)-- insert laugh here-- but each moment that I am blessed to hold them in my arms and read with them, snuggle with them, kiss their boo-boos, take them to church, eat sweets with them, drive them to the park and chase them around.... these moments are far too fleeting, and there are far too many that have been missed. I can't speak for everyone, but I can say that the choice between more money and my family is not something to choose.

I wish I could be home with my kids every single day, and have enough of an income to be blessed to do it. I wish there wasn't a complication between their dad and me (not my husband Jimmy), and that more time didn't have to be sacrificed between households. I wish I had the ability to cherish every single moment, without missing a single missing tooth, Christmas present, tummy bug, painted toe nails, giggle, soccer game, or even the dirty looks when they don't get their way. I have missed too much, and if there was a choice for anything, it would be to cherish what God has blessed me with, and never miss another moment.

that being said, my itty bitty pretty one and I are going to take our Monday siesta. THAT is definitely something I will miss!