Well, it only took 363 days to get this post out. Grey got a blog almost entirly devoted to him and Sandman gets a post. (For now...) This will be an honest recounting of my pregnancy journey, his birth and the last twelve months because God did big things in me during that time. (And it will be therapeutic to finally write it out.)
It was December of 2011. After six months of having our house on the market and even longer trying to get pregnant again, we finally sold our house. Whew! Nearly averted bitterness on the house. Pregnancy, not so much. Infertility again? Not part of the plan. Boy oh boy. Remember those thoughts I talked about last post? The ones that make you glad no one reads minds? Had some of those. We found the greatest house and moved in 10 days before Christmas.
The moved about killed me. I could not recover. But we (read: Curtis) decided we'd move ourselves and save the money. :) Of course the thought crossed my mind that maybe I was pregnant, but like many struggling with infertility the "maybe I'm pregnant" thoughts come all the time. Like a venom that poisons an already frail heart. So I bitterly pushed them out. After all, I'd already been on my meds for over six months with no luck. Bitter me said: shocking. So, I couldn't do it anymore. It wasn't fair to Grey or our marriage. The burden was too heavy.
Christmas Eve I thought again, "I should probably take a test". But it wasn't until the 26th that I even mentioned it to Curtis. We bought a test and it was positive before I even finished going to the bathroom. Now that was shocking. I couldn't believe it! Real, true shock. We're talking a meds-free pregnancy people! Wow.
So happily ever after, right? Wrong. The most intense sickness settled in almost within days. This sickness laughed in the face of zofran. I was bedridden for a solid week and daily dependent on phenergan for 26 weeks. I went from running a half-marathon to laying on the couch most all day, every day. My dear mother did everything. Came as Curtis left, cared for Grey, made dinner -- everything! I laid on the couch for weeks and let the tv entertain Grey. Not my parenting style. I got really depressed and even angry. This was not part of the plan.
Here I am at 18 weeks. Sick as a dog!
Fast forward to August 17, 2012. It's Sanders birthday. I had the greatest delivery of all time. I guess this body was made to birth babies! Hard-labored for 45 minutes and pushed for 15 minutes. So quick, in fact, there was no family there. That's when the record-of-life scratched. No cries. One pitiful squeak. The nurses nearly rubbed his gray skin off trying to get him worked up.
I got maybe 30 seconds with him. Not part of the plan.
Under the lamp they took him, working even harder for a nice scream of irritation. Nothing. All I could hear is the delivery nurse paging the NICU team, nurses saying, "this should be happening. It's not. This should be happening. It's not." My mind was racing as the sweetest man, my doctor, finishes up on me saying, "Sarah, he's in good hands. He'll be fine. Don't worry."
But it was too late. Worry had fully set in and in a flash he was wheeled out in an incubator with Curtis running behind. Not part of the plan. Before long, I was totally alone in my nice, big delivery room. Called Curtis for an update. Voicemail. Called again. Voicemail. Repeat 10 times. Panic. He finally calls back 30 minutes later. They're holding him for observation and no answers yet. I'm wheeled to my room. Still alone. Family later arrives and Curtis comes to the room. It's dinner time now and he was born at 11:15A -- still no update from the doctor. Finally this NICU doctor comes in (who I've heard has since lost his job because of his bedside manor) and proceeds to get on a soapbox about having him early. (Like you plan these things.) This child would've come at 36 weeks had I not been kept overnight at the hospital. Turns out, Sanders will live. I had to actually interrupt his rant and ask. I was finally given permission to see him and off we went.
This was later that night after he was diagnosed with TTN and they decided he needed forced air. He was admitted to the NICU to stay. All hooked up. Not part of the plan!
This was the first time Grey saw his baby brother. Not the plan!
Sanders' birth could not have happened anymore opposite of my plans. Literally. No one plans to have a NICU baby or see their newborn hooked up to what feels like a million tubes. No one plans to have to ask a nurse if you can hold your child or have visiting hours or leave the hospital without your baby in your arms. Those just weren't even potential, within-the-realm-of-possibility thoughts.
That was the hardest, longest, scariest week of my life. While I was still at the hospital, we would go visit him for as long as possible. Then, then my body would force me to leave because I needed to eat or lay down. I would be completely exhausted and try to nap after lunch, but suddenly sit up overflowing with anxiety and have to see him right then. Not having him in the room was so very hard!
After three days I was discharged. Not part of the plan, God! Horrible, horrible day. I have never cried so hard in my life. Those hours overnight were the longest, hardest hours. It did not matter that he was in the very best care. He was not with me. Nine months in my belly bonding with this miracle and he was gone. We went up first thing in the morning and stayed at the hospital until dinner. My body screamed for mercy. I would have to go lay down in the van for relief. Fact: The body is not meant to be on the go that soon after delivery!
We finally brought Sanders home after a week and I pushed the whole multitude of emotions back. My baby was alive and home. I could hold him all I wanted without permission. The past week didn't matter. ...but it did.
I had lived my life for me. "These are my plans God: We'll get pregnant right away. Sell our house right away. Have a healthy baby we bring home right away." Me, me, me, me. My plans. Now get to blessing 'em, God! It's horrible, but that's the truth.
And look how gracious God was. We sold our house in His time. We got pregnant in His time. We brought Sanders home in His time. Don't you just want to slap the bratty me and say, "your behavior is selfish and so you'll do without." I hope so! But oh I'm so glad God didn't.
Sanders still struggled at home.
Six weeks after we brought him home, he ended up in the ER and was diagnosed with severe GERD. He took reflux meds three times a day for six months. Hard days. Whew. Reflux is hard!
Reflux cleared up and we discovered a cyst on his eye requiring surgery.
It was hard. Hard to take him back to the OR. Hard to see him go under anesthesia. His eyes looked so scared looking at me like, "help momma!" Hard. Hard. Hard.
And while not one of these things were a part of my plan for Sanders or me or my family, they were always a part of God's perfect plan. And that plan was perfect! Is perfect!
I have never been so emptied of myself. Completely void of answers. It was a whole new territory. Navigating the "momma-of-two-waters" is hard enough without all theses details. But, I needed those details to really see God, to really know God, trust God and ...surrender! The new nine letter curse word.
The calling from the ordinary into extraordinary.
My mind wants to see that calling and subsequent journey as beautiful fields full of gorgeous flowers at the peek of their bloom, boasting a fragrance so rich your senses can barely take it in. Like the "Sound of Music" scene. But it's not like that. It's a long, hard, dusty, dirt road that causes you to feel parched, taxing your body, mind and soul. Stretching your faith to extremes you never thought possible. But by God's grace, you make it through and you look back and see, the hills might be alive with the sound of music, but the hard, desert roads are alive with the power of God.
That is surrender. That's the place He is calling me to. Us to. Surrender to His plans and purposes that will include pain, trials, hurt. But, more than that, it will include Him. Walking along side Him. Immanuel -- God with us. That is extraordinary.
"And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know the suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us. (Here's the best part!) You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love for us in this way: while we were sinners Christ died for us." Romans 5:2-8
He knew I'd be bratty and selfish. That I'd have terrible thoughts when things don't go my way. And the list goes on for me. And you. But God. That is my Sanders' story. But God! ...rich in mercy, abounding in love!
"When I said, 'my foot is slipping' Your love, O Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, Your consolation brought joy to my soul." Psalm 94:18-19
