Thankfully, the "best case scenario" is what ended up playing out. Natural delivery. No D&C needed. No C-section needed. No uterine damage at all.
And I find it ironic that in the short amount of time Benjamin was with us, he was still able to give me a special little gift that neither of my other boys could - a natural delivery.
A painless natural delivery, at that!
It's always been so strange to be wheeled into an operating room, put to sleep from the waist down, and lie there while someone else delivers your child into the world without so much as a sneeze from you.
With Benjamin, at least I felt like I was involved somehow.
Jason and I fell back asleep until morning when we got to see Benjamin one last time. I did not want to let him go. I wanted to hold him forever and never give him back. I wanted to take him home with us.
But, I knew we couldn't, and so, as best as we could, we told him... Goodbye.
I was discharged that morning and had to face that awful hallway once again. It was longer this time. Walking all the way down the labor and delivery wing, past the rows of rooms where mommies and daddies and babies were kissing and cuddling, past the nursery where someone had the foresight to close the blinds... my feet grew heavy and I couldn't stop myself from crying the whole way.
"Leaving is hard, isn't it?" the new morning nurse said. I just nodded.
Down the elevator, to the car.
No infant car seat needed.
We drove off, without him, and that was that.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Meeting Benjamin
It was somewhere around 4 in the morning that the contractions woke me up. I grimaced through them for a long time, but around 5 I realized that they weren't letting up. It was like one solid contraction that never released and I figured it was time for some pain medicine. I called wonderful Nurse Cameron, who came to my room in moments. She kept the lights low and spoke in hushed tones, but Jason still woke up and joined me by my bed.
Not knowing what to expect from this whole ordeal, I'll be honest, I didn't even realize that what I was feeling was actually labor. For some reason, it didn't even click.
Until my water broke.
That that would happen had never even crossed my mind. But before I could even process that that's what happened, I felt something... else.
"What was that?" I asked the nurse, and was careful not to look down.
She simply nodded and confirmed. "That was the baby."
Wow. Just like that, and he was out. No pushing. No pain. No nothing.
We had told her beforehand that we would leave it to her discretion as to whether or not we should see our baby. At only 15 or so weeks gestation, there was a whole slew of possibilities as to how he could look. And no doubt Nurse Cameron had seen them all. So instead, I waited to follow her lead.
She let Jason cut the cord. A very fatherly thing to do, and I know it meant the world to him. And within a few moments, she placed our tiny baby on something vaguely resembling a potholder and presented him to us.
And that's when I saw the very hand of God.
He was perfect. As perfect as a child could be at that stage of development. Born at 5:20 a.m. on 4/30/10, Benjamin Spross Ryan was four inches long and weighed less than an ounce.
He had legs and arms and tiny webbed fingers and toes. His little head was round and his eyelids, which had never even opened, remained closed. On the side of his head were two little places where his ears would be and his nostrils were just taking shape on his teeny tiny nose. And he also had sweet little lips that I would never get to kiss...
Dear Benjamin,
It's hard to explain just what I was feeling as I looked down at you. I felt love, of course, but to put it so plainly somehow feels like it cheapens it. I felt loss. I felt grief. I felt anguish. I felt regret.
But mostly, I felt honored.
I felt honored because I feel like I got to catch a rare glimpse of God in action. Like He was in the middle of creating something - Life - and He pressed the Pause button so I could see.
Psalm 139 holds one of my favorite passages of all time.
I'm not the world's best knitter, but I've done enough knitting to know how important each individual stitch is. When I looked at you, I understood how God "knits us together in our mother's womb." It was as if God was knitting...and just ran out of yarn.
I've never felt so small, yet so significant as I did when I held you in my hands.
Daddy talked to you a lot. He talked to you as if you could hear every single word. He told you how much we love you and how much we're going to miss you. And me, the writer, just sat there in silence because no words would even come.
But I did take pictures. I took some of you, and Nurse Cameron took some of the three of us. They aren't the kind of pictures we'll ever post on Facebook or on a blog or share with just anyone. They're more special than that.
You're more special than that.
And while I thought of a million things to say to you, and nothing at all at the same time, there was one thing I knew I wouldn't be able to say for a long time - if ever...
Goodbye.
Not knowing what to expect from this whole ordeal, I'll be honest, I didn't even realize that what I was feeling was actually labor. For some reason, it didn't even click.
Until my water broke.
That that would happen had never even crossed my mind. But before I could even process that that's what happened, I felt something... else.
"What was that?" I asked the nurse, and was careful not to look down.
She simply nodded and confirmed. "That was the baby."
Wow. Just like that, and he was out. No pushing. No pain. No nothing.
We had told her beforehand that we would leave it to her discretion as to whether or not we should see our baby. At only 15 or so weeks gestation, there was a whole slew of possibilities as to how he could look. And no doubt Nurse Cameron had seen them all. So instead, I waited to follow her lead.
She let Jason cut the cord. A very fatherly thing to do, and I know it meant the world to him. And within a few moments, she placed our tiny baby on something vaguely resembling a potholder and presented him to us.
And that's when I saw the very hand of God.
He was perfect. As perfect as a child could be at that stage of development. Born at 5:20 a.m. on 4/30/10, Benjamin Spross Ryan was four inches long and weighed less than an ounce.
He had legs and arms and tiny webbed fingers and toes. His little head was round and his eyelids, which had never even opened, remained closed. On the side of his head were two little places where his ears would be and his nostrils were just taking shape on his teeny tiny nose. And he also had sweet little lips that I would never get to kiss...
Dear Benjamin,
It's hard to explain just what I was feeling as I looked down at you. I felt love, of course, but to put it so plainly somehow feels like it cheapens it. I felt loss. I felt grief. I felt anguish. I felt regret.
But mostly, I felt honored.
I felt honored because I feel like I got to catch a rare glimpse of God in action. Like He was in the middle of creating something - Life - and He pressed the Pause button so I could see.
Psalm 139 holds one of my favorite passages of all time.
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
16 your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
I'm not the world's best knitter, but I've done enough knitting to know how important each individual stitch is. When I looked at you, I understood how God "knits us together in our mother's womb." It was as if God was knitting...and just ran out of yarn.
I've never felt so small, yet so significant as I did when I held you in my hands.
Daddy talked to you a lot. He talked to you as if you could hear every single word. He told you how much we love you and how much we're going to miss you. And me, the writer, just sat there in silence because no words would even come.
But I did take pictures. I took some of you, and Nurse Cameron took some of the three of us. They aren't the kind of pictures we'll ever post on Facebook or on a blog or share with just anyone. They're more special than that.
You're more special than that.
And while I thought of a million things to say to you, and nothing at all at the same time, there was one thing I knew I wouldn't be able to say for a long time - if ever...
Goodbye.
Nurse Cameron
What happened at midnight that night is something I only know about because Jason told me about it later. But, it is one of the biggest blessings of the whole story.
My nurse was named Cameron, and I automatically liked her. She was so sensitive to the situation and treated me and Jason both with empathy and genuine care. She answered all of my questions honestly and accurately, and I never felt like I was a bother to her.
If the first round of Cytotec went well, she was to administer the second dose around midnight. Well, because I had opted for a sleeping pill earlier, I completely slept through that second dose.
Jason, however, awoke just enough to hear what was going on, but remained on his cot while she worked. He did listen though. And here's the gist of what he heard Nurse Cameron say to me as I slept -
Jason was very touched by that extra, special double-check from Nurse Cameron, and when he told me about it later, I was too. She could have come in my room, given me the meds and waltzed out without so much as a second thought. That was her job after all. Come in at midnight. Give me the drugs. But she didn't see her orders as a chance to do her job. She saw them as a matter of life and death.
There is always the chance God could come through with a last-minute miracle. But with two ultrasounds and Nurse Cameron's last-minute verification, I'll never have to second-guess what happened that night. God ended the life of our little boy. Not us. Not the nurses or the doctors. Not some evil killing drug.
God.
So thank you, Nurse Cameron, for knowing the difference between life and death, and making your rounds.
My nurse was named Cameron, and I automatically liked her. She was so sensitive to the situation and treated me and Jason both with empathy and genuine care. She answered all of my questions honestly and accurately, and I never felt like I was a bother to her.
If the first round of Cytotec went well, she was to administer the second dose around midnight. Well, because I had opted for a sleeping pill earlier, I completely slept through that second dose.
Jason, however, awoke just enough to hear what was going on, but remained on his cot while she worked. He did listen though. And here's the gist of what he heard Nurse Cameron say to me as I slept -
Now Sweetie, I know you've already had one dose of Cytotec earlier. And I know you've also had two ultrasounds also. But, because I'm the one giving you the drug this time, and because I know what this drug does, I'm just going to double-check everything once more for my own piece of mind.
[Here's where she put the Doppler on my stomach and listened for heartbeats.]
I can hear your heartbeat. [pause] And it sounds like that is in fact the only heartbeat I can find. I didn't expect to hear a fetal heartbeat. I just had to check anyway before I give you this drug. [she gives me the drug] Now call me if you need me or if the pain starts to get too bad...
Jason was very touched by that extra, special double-check from Nurse Cameron, and when he told me about it later, I was too. She could have come in my room, given me the meds and waltzed out without so much as a second thought. That was her job after all. Come in at midnight. Give me the drugs. But she didn't see her orders as a chance to do her job. She saw them as a matter of life and death.
There is always the chance God could come through with a last-minute miracle. But with two ultrasounds and Nurse Cameron's last-minute verification, I'll never have to second-guess what happened that night. God ended the life of our little boy. Not us. Not the nurses or the doctors. Not some evil killing drug.
God.
So thank you, Nurse Cameron, for knowing the difference between life and death, and making your rounds.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Naming our Baby
Dear Sweet Boy,
Sometime that evening, we decided to name you Benjamin. Your daddy and I have both always liked the name, but since it's one of the more popular names, we always put it aside. We prefer that our kids not be one of five other "Emilys" or "Jacobs" in their classroom at school.
But since you will never go to school, we can name you whatever we want.
And so we chose Benjamin.
And wondered what it would be like to meet you...
Sometime that evening, we decided to name you Benjamin. Your daddy and I have both always liked the name, but since it's one of the more popular names, we always put it aside. We prefer that our kids not be one of five other "Emilys" or "Jacobs" in their classroom at school.
But since you will never go to school, we can name you whatever we want.
And so we chose Benjamin.
And wondered what it would be like to meet you...
A Much-Needed Phone Call
In the midst of the waiting, Jason went home for a bit to get his glasses and let the dog out, so I checked my messages and found one from Jen - my college roommate, fellow dreamer, and one of my best friends.
All she really said was that she was wondering when I would be going to the hospital and that she loved me. But I could tell she was crying.
Just Monday, she and I spent a significant amount of time on the phone because she learned that one of her good (Christian) friends is getting divorced. And it tore her up. Even though we haven't lived in the same state in over ten years, we've had many of those types of conversations. When one of us hurts, the other truly hurts with her.
I cried with her when her sister-in-law miscarried several years ago. She cried with me when I miscarried the last time. We've mourned over everything from the divorces of family members and friends, to hurricanes, to deaths, to her husband's overseas deployments, to the fact that laundry is just never done.
And I knew that if I called her back, she would meet me right in the middle of my grief and stay there with me for as long as I wanted.
It was exactly what I needed.
I don't even really remember what we talked about during our thirty minute conversation that night. I just remember that we cried a lot, and we even laughed a lot and I hung up thinking that God is so good.
When we first met fifteen years ago, Jen and I both wrote each other off with quick, inaccurate judgments. She was a self-absorbed diva who loved the spotlight. I was a nerdy, judgmental snob who was too good for fun. But God shoved us together in extra curricular activities, classes, study groups and everything else and in a matter of days it seems, all of our stereotypes were washed away and the beginning of a life long friendship began.
Or, more accurately, I should say that we realized there was an element of truth to our first impressions after all, but loved each other anyway!
And I knew right then that it was for moments like these, when I was flat on my back in a hospital bed, hooked up to IVs, about to face life and death both at the same time, that God put our friendship in motion all those years ago.
I had great friends, a great family, a wonderful husband, and a God who loves me enough to comfort me personally.
Whatever the next few hours held, I knew I could get through them.
All she really said was that she was wondering when I would be going to the hospital and that she loved me. But I could tell she was crying.
Just Monday, she and I spent a significant amount of time on the phone because she learned that one of her good (Christian) friends is getting divorced. And it tore her up. Even though we haven't lived in the same state in over ten years, we've had many of those types of conversations. When one of us hurts, the other truly hurts with her.
I cried with her when her sister-in-law miscarried several years ago. She cried with me when I miscarried the last time. We've mourned over everything from the divorces of family members and friends, to hurricanes, to deaths, to her husband's overseas deployments, to the fact that laundry is just never done.
And I knew that if I called her back, she would meet me right in the middle of my grief and stay there with me for as long as I wanted.
It was exactly what I needed.
I don't even really remember what we talked about during our thirty minute conversation that night. I just remember that we cried a lot, and we even laughed a lot and I hung up thinking that God is so good.
When we first met fifteen years ago, Jen and I both wrote each other off with quick, inaccurate judgments. She was a self-absorbed diva who loved the spotlight. I was a nerdy, judgmental snob who was too good for fun. But God shoved us together in extra curricular activities, classes, study groups and everything else and in a matter of days it seems, all of our stereotypes were washed away and the beginning of a life long friendship began.
Or, more accurately, I should say that we realized there was an element of truth to our first impressions after all, but loved each other anyway!
And I knew right then that it was for moments like these, when I was flat on my back in a hospital bed, hooked up to IVs, about to face life and death both at the same time, that God put our friendship in motion all those years ago.
I had great friends, a great family, a wonderful husband, and a God who loves me enough to comfort me personally.
Whatever the next few hours held, I knew I could get through them.
Checking In
I've been to the hospital to have babies enough times to know how it works. Once you check in, they put you on a diet of ice chips until everything is over with.
Which is why I ate a huge chicken fried steak at Luby's before we checked in this time.
I know my body enough to know that the chances for me to get sick are a whole lot better on an empty stomach than on a full. This day was going to be miserable enough already. I did not want starvation to add to the drama.
A nurse admitted me at the front desk and led me to my room in the labor and delivery wing. We walked past the room I was in when Gideon was born. Past the room I was in when Canaan was born. All the way to the very end of the hallway.
As far away from the nursery as possible.
I guess they didn't want me to be able to hear the other mothers going through real labor. Or the echos of newborn cries eager for their first middle-of-the-night feedings. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted, so I opted for apathetic and settled into my room for the night.
The room which, not coincidentally, I'm sure, did not have a baby warmer in it.
Dr. Nguyen explained that several things could happen over the next few hours. First, he would give me a very mild dose of Cytotec. It is a drug that causes the uterus to contract and expel whatever contents are inside.
And yes, it is the same drug used to administer abortions.
Because of my previous C-sections, he wanted to start me off on the smallest dose possible to avoid any undue stress on my uterus. We wouldn't want to add uterine rupture to the mix, now would we? If my body responded well to that, a second double-dose would be administered at midnight and another around 6 am.
He explained that I could respond well, deliver, and be done with it. I could respond partially and still end up needing a D&C afterward. Or problems could arise and I could end up needing another C-section.
Let me tell you, I did not like not knowing what was going to happen at all. Delivery. D&C. C-section. Each option worse than the last, and no way to know what would happen except to accept the drugs and wait...
Which is why I ate a huge chicken fried steak at Luby's before we checked in this time.
I know my body enough to know that the chances for me to get sick are a whole lot better on an empty stomach than on a full. This day was going to be miserable enough already. I did not want starvation to add to the drama.
A nurse admitted me at the front desk and led me to my room in the labor and delivery wing. We walked past the room I was in when Gideon was born. Past the room I was in when Canaan was born. All the way to the very end of the hallway.
As far away from the nursery as possible.
I guess they didn't want me to be able to hear the other mothers going through real labor. Or the echos of newborn cries eager for their first middle-of-the-night feedings. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted, so I opted for apathetic and settled into my room for the night.
The room which, not coincidentally, I'm sure, did not have a baby warmer in it.
Dr. Nguyen explained that several things could happen over the next few hours. First, he would give me a very mild dose of Cytotec. It is a drug that causes the uterus to contract and expel whatever contents are inside.
And yes, it is the same drug used to administer abortions.
Because of my previous C-sections, he wanted to start me off on the smallest dose possible to avoid any undue stress on my uterus. We wouldn't want to add uterine rupture to the mix, now would we? If my body responded well to that, a second double-dose would be administered at midnight and another around 6 am.
He explained that I could respond well, deliver, and be done with it. I could respond partially and still end up needing a D&C afterward. Or problems could arise and I could end up needing another C-section.
Let me tell you, I did not like not knowing what was going to happen at all. Delivery. D&C. C-section. Each option worse than the last, and no way to know what would happen except to accept the drugs and wait...
I Will Carry You - Part 2
Dear Baby Boy,
I will never forget the past thirty minutes.
As soon as Nana came to get Gideon and Canaan, I jumped in the van with my keys, my phone, and my camera and drove to the park.
The last time I took pictures at the park, this is the kind of day I was having:
It was a gorgeous spring day and I took your brothers to the park to swing and play. Only, I couldn't sit still myself, and found myself swinging with them. The air was crisp. The sky was beautiful. And I remember feeling so much joy that I just had to take a photo mid-swing to remember how I felt with my head hung back and my feet stretched high as I swung up and down, up and down, looking up at the heavens and counting my blessings.
Today was a little different.
I went to the same swings, but seemed to do more rocking than actual swinging. All around me, kids were running and playing and moms were chasing and pushing and everyone else seemed to be having the kind of Park Day that I had the last time. And in the midst of it all, I played the song that Rhonda gave me earlier (I Will Carry You) and I cried as you and I swung slowly on the swings.
I wanted to go to the park today because it's something I always to for my boys. I take them swinging, and I push them and I tickle them each time the swing gets close, and I take their picture in the swing to remember how small and sweet they are because I know I'll forget some day... [Above: Gideon ~ 3 mos; Canaan ~ 3 mos]
And I'm not too happy about the fact that I'll never be able to push you in the swings like I did your brothers.
I know you're not really with me anymore. Your sweet little soul is already in Heaven and you've no doubt got swings and parks I can't even imagine. But for now, at least, your body is still with me.
So while I'll never get to give you a bath or help you learn to walk or tickle your tummy, I could at least swing with you before you go.
And like I always do, I took a picture so I wouldn't forget our afternoon at the park. Though I honestly don't think I'll forget it any time soon.
I will never forget the past thirty minutes.
As soon as Nana came to get Gideon and Canaan, I jumped in the van with my keys, my phone, and my camera and drove to the park.
The last time I took pictures at the park, this is the kind of day I was having:
It was a gorgeous spring day and I took your brothers to the park to swing and play. Only, I couldn't sit still myself, and found myself swinging with them. The air was crisp. The sky was beautiful. And I remember feeling so much joy that I just had to take a photo mid-swing to remember how I felt with my head hung back and my feet stretched high as I swung up and down, up and down, looking up at the heavens and counting my blessings.
Today was a little different.
I went to the same swings, but seemed to do more rocking than actual swinging. All around me, kids were running and playing and moms were chasing and pushing and everyone else seemed to be having the kind of Park Day that I had the last time. And in the midst of it all, I played the song that Rhonda gave me earlier (I Will Carry You) and I cried as you and I swung slowly on the swings.
I wanted to go to the park today because it's something I always to for my boys. I take them swinging, and I push them and I tickle them each time the swing gets close, and I take their picture in the swing to remember how small and sweet they are because I know I'll forget some day... [Above: Gideon ~ 3 mos; Canaan ~ 3 mos]And I'm not too happy about the fact that I'll never be able to push you in the swings like I did your brothers.
I know you're not really with me anymore. Your sweet little soul is already in Heaven and you've no doubt got swings and parks I can't even imagine. But for now, at least, your body is still with me.
So while I'll never get to give you a bath or help you learn to walk or tickle your tummy, I could at least swing with you before you go.
And like I always do, I took a picture so I wouldn't forget our afternoon at the park. Though I honestly don't think I'll forget it any time soon.
I Will Carry You - Part 1
Dear Sweet Boy,
I got an email from my friend, Rhonda, today. She sent me an iTunes song as a gift, and until I received it, I had no idea you could even buy someone a song and send it to them. What a unique idea.
But, what floored me even more was the song that she chose to send. It was I Will Carry You (Audrey's Song) by Selah. Rhonda said she'd heard it the week before and loved it, but did not know anyone it applied to. Suddenly, my situation came up, and she thought of the song again.
What she didn't know is that I've heard the song before. In fact, I came across Angie Smith's blog Bring the Rain the last time I miscarried, and spent hours reading the story of her sweet daughter, Audrey, who lived only a few hours after she was born. (Angie is Todd Smith's wife, who is a singer for Selah). The song is amazing, but her blog is gut-wrenching. Angie wrote a book (Also called I Will Carry You) chronicling her journey with little Audrey, and it just came out a few weeks ago. Ironically, I had it on my "books to buy" list, thinking I would read it and keep it to give away if I ever had a friend go through the loss of a child.
Then, yesterday happened.
And I thought about the book, but completely forgot about the song. But, God did not forget. He knew it would touch me, and He knew I needed to hear it again, and so He used Rhonda to remind me of it.
So as soon as Nana comes to get your brothers, we're listening to this song...
I got an email from my friend, Rhonda, today. She sent me an iTunes song as a gift, and until I received it, I had no idea you could even buy someone a song and send it to them. What a unique idea.
But, what floored me even more was the song that she chose to send. It was I Will Carry You (Audrey's Song) by Selah. Rhonda said she'd heard it the week before and loved it, but did not know anyone it applied to. Suddenly, my situation came up, and she thought of the song again.
What she didn't know is that I've heard the song before. In fact, I came across Angie Smith's blog Bring the Rain the last time I miscarried, and spent hours reading the story of her sweet daughter, Audrey, who lived only a few hours after she was born. (Angie is Todd Smith's wife, who is a singer for Selah). The song is amazing, but her blog is gut-wrenching. Angie wrote a book (Also called I Will Carry You) chronicling her journey with little Audrey, and it just came out a few weeks ago. Ironically, I had it on my "books to buy" list, thinking I would read it and keep it to give away if I ever had a friend go through the loss of a child.
Then, yesterday happened.
And I thought about the book, but completely forgot about the song. But, God did not forget. He knew it would touch me, and He knew I needed to hear it again, and so He used Rhonda to remind me of it.
So as soon as Nana comes to get your brothers, we're listening to this song...
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Untitled Hymn
Dear Little One,
As we left the hospital, Untitled Hymn was playing on the radio. I've always loved this song because it just shows how we need Jesus in every single stage and circumstance of our lives. But for some reason, I'd always thought the song ended with, "With your final breath, kiss the world goodbye..." Today as I heard it, I realized that it actually says, "with your final heartbeat..." It made me love the song even more.
Because you never had breath.
But you had a heartbeat.
And I'll never know when you had your final heartbeat. But God knows. And no doubt you know too. Because at that moment, you really did begin to live.
As we left the hospital, Untitled Hymn was playing on the radio. I've always loved this song because it just shows how we need Jesus in every single stage and circumstance of our lives. But for some reason, I'd always thought the song ended with, "With your final breath, kiss the world goodbye..." Today as I heard it, I realized that it actually says, "with your final heartbeat..." It made me love the song even more.
Because you never had breath.
But you had a heartbeat.
And I'll never know when you had your final heartbeat. But God knows. And no doubt you know too. Because at that moment, you really did begin to live.
Untitled Hymn
Artist: Chris Rice
Album: Run The Earth... Watch The sky
Weak and wounded sinner,
Lost and left to die,
O, raise your head for Love is passing by
Come to Jesus,
Come to Jesus,
Come to Jesus and live
Now your burden's lifted,
And carried far away,
And precious blood has washed away the stain... so
Sing to Jesus ,
Sing to Jesus ,
Sing to Jesus and live
And like a newborn baby,
Don't be afraid to crawl,
And remember when you walk sometimes we fall... so
Fall on Jesus,
Fall on Jesus,
Fall on Jesus and live
Sometimes the way is lonely,
And steep and filled with pain,
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain... then
Cry to Jesus,
Cry to Jesus,
Cry to Jesus and live
O, and when the love spills over,
And music fills the night,
And when you can't contain you joy inside... then
Dance for Jesus,
Dance for Jesus,
Dance for Jesus and live
And with your final heartbeat,
Kiss the world goodbye,
Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory's side... and
Fly to Jesus,
Fly to Jesus,
Fly to Jesus and live
Fly to Jesus,
Fly to Jesus,
Fly to Jesus and live
The Appointment - Part 2
Dear Little One,
Obviously, the initial news of losing you was a complete shock. It knocked the wind right out of us, and right now it feels like our breath will never come back. But I need to be honest about what I was thinking in those few moments (read: eternity) that we stared at your unmoving image on the ultrasound screen.
If one could have read my mind, no doubt they would have labeled me a bit bipolar, because it went something like this:
And on it went, while your heart remained firm in its decision not to beat, and the cold jelly seeped into my treacherous tummy. My womb was now a tomb, and I didn't like it one bit.
I tell you this because it explains my relationship with God. I don't understand Him all the time. I can't see the full picture of His plan. But I still love Him anyway. But this love I have is not because I've read about Him in the Bible. It's not because I know about God and Jesus and the Cross and Grace.
This kind of love doesn't come from reading Bible verses. It comes from my relationship with my Abba Father. I don't know about God. I know Him personally. And while I've never seen His face or been held in His arms, like I'm sure you have, Sweet Baby, I've still felt His love for over 25 years. And that's why I can trust in the midst of such tragedy.
Am I mad at God for taking you from me?
Honestly... No.
I remember when I was ten and my mom died, I thought the natural thing for me to do was to hate God. But I didn't. And I remember being so confused because I'd always heard of people losing someone to death and "hating God" for it. I thought that if I didn't hate God, maybe that meant I didn't love my mom as much as I should have.
I know now that's not the case.
God is God and I am not. He doesn't have to answer to me or explain Himself to me or ask my permission for anything. But because He is the very personification of LOVE, I can trust Him and love Him back even when I don't understand His ways.
After Dr. Nguyen turned off the machine and talked to us a few minutes, he gave us some time alone, and your Daddy and I just cried together. We talked about how we could both tell you were a boy, and I told him, "I was just so sure God was going to give us our 'perfect baby.' I was just so sure..."
And your daddy, who loves God just like I do and trusts Him even more, put it all into perspective. "Emily, He did," he said. "He did give us our perfect baby. Just think about it. He'll never get into trouble. He'll never disobey. He'll never have any regrets... He's already in Heaven, so in some ways he's already the most perfect of them all."
And I could see right away that he was right. God DID answer my prayer for a "perfect baby." Just not in the way I expected.
"The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21).
Obviously, the initial news of losing you was a complete shock. It knocked the wind right out of us, and right now it feels like our breath will never come back. But I need to be honest about what I was thinking in those few moments (read: eternity) that we stared at your unmoving image on the ultrasound screen.
If one could have read my mind, no doubt they would have labeled me a bit bipolar, because it went something like this:
No. No. Not again. This cannot be happening again. I am NOT losing another child.
God, I trust You.
I don't understand. This has to be a mistake.
I know Your ways are higher than my ways.
What about 10/10/10? God, we had a deal. I know You were listening. What happened? Were You just smirking during all of my prayers? Was the peace I felt just hogwash?
I know Your thoughts are not my thoughts. I know You. I trust You.
I don't understand. Why would I have to go through the entire first trimester only for nothing? It's not fair!
You have a reason for everything. You will bring good from this just like You have brought good from every other tragedy in my life. You love me. You know what You're doing.
What in the world are we going to tell Gideon? He is too young to be touched by death, and now, at 3 1/2 years old, he's already having a piece of his innocence stolen from him. It's not right.
We'll tell him that Your ways are best. That even when life is sad, we can trust You because You love us so much. That Your sovereignty is greater than Your mystery.
Please, let this be a mistake.
God, I trust you.
Let us wake up from this nightmare.
God, I trust you.
Why, God, why?
God I trust you.
But, why?
Trust.
Why?
Trust...
And on it went, while your heart remained firm in its decision not to beat, and the cold jelly seeped into my treacherous tummy. My womb was now a tomb, and I didn't like it one bit.
I tell you this because it explains my relationship with God. I don't understand Him all the time. I can't see the full picture of His plan. But I still love Him anyway. But this love I have is not because I've read about Him in the Bible. It's not because I know about God and Jesus and the Cross and Grace.
This kind of love doesn't come from reading Bible verses. It comes from my relationship with my Abba Father. I don't know about God. I know Him personally. And while I've never seen His face or been held in His arms, like I'm sure you have, Sweet Baby, I've still felt His love for over 25 years. And that's why I can trust in the midst of such tragedy.
Am I mad at God for taking you from me?
Honestly... No.
I remember when I was ten and my mom died, I thought the natural thing for me to do was to hate God. But I didn't. And I remember being so confused because I'd always heard of people losing someone to death and "hating God" for it. I thought that if I didn't hate God, maybe that meant I didn't love my mom as much as I should have.
I know now that's not the case.
God is God and I am not. He doesn't have to answer to me or explain Himself to me or ask my permission for anything. But because He is the very personification of LOVE, I can trust Him and love Him back even when I don't understand His ways.
After Dr. Nguyen turned off the machine and talked to us a few minutes, he gave us some time alone, and your Daddy and I just cried together. We talked about how we could both tell you were a boy, and I told him, "I was just so sure God was going to give us our 'perfect baby.' I was just so sure..."
And your daddy, who loves God just like I do and trusts Him even more, put it all into perspective. "Emily, He did," he said. "He did give us our perfect baby. Just think about it. He'll never get into trouble. He'll never disobey. He'll never have any regrets... He's already in Heaven, so in some ways he's already the most perfect of them all."
And I could see right away that he was right. God DID answer my prayer for a "perfect baby." Just not in the way I expected.
"The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21).
The Appointment
Dear Little One,
It started out as a very normal day. I dropped your brothers off at Grandma's house and then worked through lunch so I'd be able to leave at 1 for my 16-week checkup at Dr. Nguyen's office.
Your Daddy called me a few times that morning because he did not know if he would be able to come with me to the appointment or not. His friend, Bruce Brown, is in the hospital with a brain tumor and I believe they are going to operate soon. Daddy really wanted to visit him, but it looked like the only time he could go would be the same time as my appointment. I told him he should definitely go see Bruce. I wanted him to go see him; it was important. Besides, the appointment wasn't going to be a big deal. It was just a routine checkup to listen to your heartbeat, check my weight, and send me on my merry way.
Well, your Daddy has never missed a prenatal appointment yet, so he wasn't so sure about starting now. He said, "Are you sure it's going to be routine? You haven't had any problems that you haven't told me about, have you?" I assured him all was completely fine, there were absolutely no signs of any trouble, and the only thing I wanted to talk to the doctor about was getting a prescription for my nausea that for some reason hasn't subsided yet. He finally agreed and we left it at that.
Five minutes before I was going to leave, Daddy called me back and said it turns out, now wasn't a good time for Bruce to have visitors, so he'd go ahead and pick me up for my appointment.
God obviously had a HUGE, BIG, DIVINE hand in that one.
When Dr. Nguyen put the Dopplar to my tummy to listen for your heart, he just moved it around for a few seconds before suggesting we go to the ultrasound room. Your Daddy and I smiled at each other. We were going to get a sneak peak at you, just like we did last month, only this time we were hoping we'd be able to tell if you were a girl or boy. We were excited that we might get to know a few weeks earlier than expected.
We laughed and joked with Dr. Nguyen as we went to the room. All was happy and light and fun and no one was the wiser.
Then... your image appeared on screen.
And I knew.
You weren't moving. Baby, why aren't you moving? Mommy wants you to move!
And even though I knew, I still asked, "Is it moving?!"
Silence.
Dr. Nguyen pushed and poked and moved the magic little wand all over my belly, but you still never moved. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he put his hand on my knee and said, "Emily, I am so sorry, but I'm not finding a heartbeat."
And even though I knew, I cried when I heard him say it.
You were gone.
It started out as a very normal day. I dropped your brothers off at Grandma's house and then worked through lunch so I'd be able to leave at 1 for my 16-week checkup at Dr. Nguyen's office.
Your Daddy called me a few times that morning because he did not know if he would be able to come with me to the appointment or not. His friend, Bruce Brown, is in the hospital with a brain tumor and I believe they are going to operate soon. Daddy really wanted to visit him, but it looked like the only time he could go would be the same time as my appointment. I told him he should definitely go see Bruce. I wanted him to go see him; it was important. Besides, the appointment wasn't going to be a big deal. It was just a routine checkup to listen to your heartbeat, check my weight, and send me on my merry way.
Well, your Daddy has never missed a prenatal appointment yet, so he wasn't so sure about starting now. He said, "Are you sure it's going to be routine? You haven't had any problems that you haven't told me about, have you?" I assured him all was completely fine, there were absolutely no signs of any trouble, and the only thing I wanted to talk to the doctor about was getting a prescription for my nausea that for some reason hasn't subsided yet. He finally agreed and we left it at that.
Five minutes before I was going to leave, Daddy called me back and said it turns out, now wasn't a good time for Bruce to have visitors, so he'd go ahead and pick me up for my appointment.
God obviously had a HUGE, BIG, DIVINE hand in that one.
When Dr. Nguyen put the Dopplar to my tummy to listen for your heart, he just moved it around for a few seconds before suggesting we go to the ultrasound room. Your Daddy and I smiled at each other. We were going to get a sneak peak at you, just like we did last month, only this time we were hoping we'd be able to tell if you were a girl or boy. We were excited that we might get to know a few weeks earlier than expected.
We laughed and joked with Dr. Nguyen as we went to the room. All was happy and light and fun and no one was the wiser.
Then... your image appeared on screen.
And I knew.
You weren't moving. Baby, why aren't you moving? Mommy wants you to move!
And even though I knew, I still asked, "Is it moving?!"
Silence.
Dr. Nguyen pushed and poked and moved the magic little wand all over my belly, but you still never moved. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he put his hand on my knee and said, "Emily, I am so sorry, but I'm not finding a heartbeat."
And even though I knew, I cried when I heard him say it.
You were gone.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Second Trimester
Dear Little One,
We need to talk. It's officially the second trimester, and in case you haven't heard, the morning sickness is supposed to stop by now! :-) Mine has always gone from week 7 to week 14, but this time around we're in to week 15 and it seems to be getting worse. I have another doctor appointment next week, so I might just have to break down and finally ask for some anti-nausea medicine. Of course, I know that it is all worth it in the end, and being sick is just a small price to pay for the huge, huge blessing of being your mommy, but still...
You know, I was thinking. Both of your brothers have such distinct and different personalities, I cannot wait to see what yours will be! It is so amazing how God has created billions of people and each one is still unique. You'd think He'd run out of ideas by now! But He doesn't. Instead He molds us and shapes us stitch by stitch and trait by trait, and never duplicates His work.
I'd love to write more right now, but your brother, Canaan, is playing cars along my arms, so it makes for difficult typing! But know that I'm thinking about you all the time! We still have a ways to go, but already you're a part of our family and all of us just can't wait to meet you and have you here with us!
Love, Mommy
We need to talk. It's officially the second trimester, and in case you haven't heard, the morning sickness is supposed to stop by now! :-) Mine has always gone from week 7 to week 14, but this time around we're in to week 15 and it seems to be getting worse. I have another doctor appointment next week, so I might just have to break down and finally ask for some anti-nausea medicine. Of course, I know that it is all worth it in the end, and being sick is just a small price to pay for the huge, huge blessing of being your mommy, but still...
You know, I was thinking. Both of your brothers have such distinct and different personalities, I cannot wait to see what yours will be! It is so amazing how God has created billions of people and each one is still unique. You'd think He'd run out of ideas by now! But He doesn't. Instead He molds us and shapes us stitch by stitch and trait by trait, and never duplicates His work.
I'd love to write more right now, but your brother, Canaan, is playing cars along my arms, so it makes for difficult typing! But know that I'm thinking about you all the time! We still have a ways to go, but already you're a part of our family and all of us just can't wait to meet you and have you here with us!
Love, Mommy
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