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 5th 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 25th, 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 4th big push
that I could tell his head was almost completely out; the 5th 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.
