35: The Week We Weren't Sure Would Be

On the morning of April 21st, we sat in my OB's waiting room making bets on whether or not our son would cooperate with the ultrasound specialist. 

Four weeks prior, we'd had a wonderful and monumental doctors visit in the life of expecting parents where we found out the gender of our child and watched closely as the specialist chased the little human we would come to call our son around my stomach, trying to catch him and get the necessary measurements. 

The three of us laughed as she tried (not without some effort and playfully frustrated grumbling) to take her measurements, snap photos, and point out different parts of his tiny body for us to see. It was incredible to witness, and I think it was hammered home a little more forcefully that day that we were indeed going to be parents. 

Adding to his stubbornness, he decided (no matter what we tried) not to roll over for her to get his spinal measurements, so we'd have to return in a month and hope he'd play nice. 

They called us back as we finished placing our bets and while I kept internally repeating the morning's mantra: "Show her your spine, show her your spine, show her your spine." She no more than placed the probe on my stomach and his spine, like something from a painting, was plastered perfectly on the screen. We all had a quick celebration before I watched the specialist's face change and heard her let out a quiet, "Oh."

Immediately, my antennae went up as I watched her eyes and asked her what she saw. All she could tell me was that my cervix was shorter than it should have been at that point in the pregnancy. I was 24 weeks pregnant at the time, so even though I didn't know what she was talking about, I knew it wasn't good and I knew having a baby at this point would have been dismal at best. 

Seeing my concern, she sadly told me she couldn't talk to me about the details and that I'd have to wait to see Doc to find out more. I slid off the table and into the bathroom to clean up and get changed. I allowed the tears, hot and weighted, to stream from my eyes until I was ready to exit the bathroom and go back into the waiting room, the place where we'd been laughing and joking just thirty minutes prior.

I couldn't look at the pictures the specialist had printed off for us of him. All that ran thru my mind was, "I might never meet him or hold him or feed him. I can't look at these pictures of something that might not be."

The twenty minute wait to be called back was nearly unbearable. Thru watery eyes, I nearly stared a fiery hole thru the door separating us from the examination rooms. Finally, my nurse's face appeared, I had my blood drawn for the routine glucose test and met Bo in a room where we waited for Doc to come in and talk us thru what it meant that I had a shortened cervix. In her professional and cautiously hopeful tone that I have come to covet in recent months, she told us that there was nothing we could do but monitor it...that there was no way to know for sure when this baby would come, only that there was a good possibility that he might. And for this control freak, that was damn near torture.

In somewhat of a numb stupor from a camp chair underneath our garage, I called my mom once we got home and told her the news as I stared out into the rainy abyss and watched tears pour down my face. It was the only time in my life I'd seen tears jump from my eyes due to the force behind them.

Every Friday for the next ten weeks, we would ride the hospital elevator past our OB's floor, up to the floor that housed the office of our high risk specialist in perinatology. Same routine every week: shirt up, topical ultrasound to check the baby, pants down, internal ultrasound to check the stability of my cervix, pants up, chat with Doc about what he saw, cry in the parking garage at the news, collect ourselves, send out the weekly text of updates to the saints who prayed us thru this season, and repeat it all again the following Friday. 

A daily dose of Progesterone to prevent early labor.

A twice-daily dose of Procardaia (a blood pressure med) to relax the muscles around my cervix in the hopes of preventing my water from prematurely breaking.

Modified bedrest for over a month for the same reasons. No chores. No bending over. No lifting. No standing up for more than a few minutes at a time. Leading worship (including preaching) sitting down.

2 steroid shots to prepare his lungs when it looked as though he would certainly be making his arrival in the coming days.

Every week, our high risk specialist would reiterate the milestones: 32 weeks, long term risks are minimized and 34 weeks, long term risks are usually eliminated. Anything beyond that, I'd say in unison with him week after week, "is great." 

And here I sit. On the night of the beginning of my 35th week of pregnancy. Stunned at the love and support and encouragement I have received from the aforementioned weekly-text-update saints, my congregations, our RIM Group, and any person who has uttered a prayer or positive thought on our behalf. 

The greatest saint of all (in my slightly biased book) is my husband who has attended every doctors appointment with me, has washed dishes and vacuumed floors and pulled countless loads of laundry out of the dryer over the past several weeks and never once complained, but instead continually asked me if I was okay or if I needed anything (or told me to sit down when I was doing too much...). Just when I was confident I could not love him more, this season of life has ensured that confidence was shattered.

I sit humbled. Amazed and rendered nearly speechless at the God to whom I prayed, "35 weeks. You're a big God, I can pray big prayers," for weeks on end. Unbelievably thankful for those who have loved and cared for and asked after and comforted and reassured us week after week. Drawn to and heartbroken for the moms or would-be moms whose stories did not end like mine and wanting to hug and pray and cry with every one of them.

My birthday is Thursday. In a very small act of love toward the women who must leave their children in NICUs and hospital beds night after night, I would love to be selfish and ask for a gift from you no matter how long it's been since we last connected. Would you please consider joining me in making a donation to the Ronald McDonald House, an organization that houses parents with children in the hospital at little to no cost so that they can stay close to them? Every bit helps. 

http://support.rmhc.org/site/PageNavigator/pw/Donation_Landing.html

Thanks for considering putting your resources toward this cause and thank you for reading a snippet of our pregnancy story. We are grateful for the countless ways we have experienced God's love and been reminded of God's presence thru many of you in the past several, several days.

"Grateful for another day" certainly has a whole new meaning these days. And I pray it's a meaning and a gratitude that continues to shape my life long after our child is born. Blessings to you and yours in the day ahead, friends.