Remembering Someone I Never Met

This month (October) is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  In 1988, President Ronald Reagan designated this special month proclaiming, "When a child loses his parent, they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, there isn’t a word to describe them."

In December of 2002, I found out for the very first time that I was pregnant.  I made this discovery on a whim while shopping with some girlfriends, who coaxed me into taking the pregnancy test right there in the store’s bathroom.  When I saw that it was positive, I was so excited.  But I didn’t know how to share the news with my husband.  I think I knew deep down that he would have wanted to be the first to know, rather than my friends.  They helped me come up with what we thought was a fun way to tell him . . . but unfortunately it didn’t soften the sting that he had missed out on being the first to know.  He was so disappointed that I found out without him.

I regret that, to this day.

Just a few weeks later, I began to experience some cramping and spotting.  Fear engulfed me.  Within 24 hours my husband and I found ourselves at a clinic (not my doctor’s office), having an ultrasound.  The sonographer didn’t say a word to us, but I could clearly see a tiny blob on the screen, surrounded by my womb.  That blob was my baby.  When the doctor called me later that day, he said it was too early to tell if I was going to miscarry.  It was pretty early in the pregnancy, and maybe that’s why they couldn’t find a heartbeat.

So we waited.  For several weeks I spotted, but there was no more cramping.  I tried to hold out hope that everything might be all right.  I had friends encouraging me to have faith, to “name it and claim it.”  So I tried.  And I prayed – hard.  I poured over the scriptures.  But the fear still engulfed me.  In a bit of irony, I had even put together a Christmas drama for our church, and I played the role of Mary.  It honestly felt like torture to have that balloon under my costume pretending to be pregnant, and to carry that little baby doll as if it were my child.

For Christmas my husband and I traveled to visit my family in Georgia.  Despite the instability of the pregnancy, we shared the news that we were expecting with the rest of the family by wrapping a note up as a present and letting my younger brother open it.  Everyone was excited right along with us.  But I remember that night explaining to my sister and my sister-in-law how things weren’t looking good.  And I remember crying in the shower the next morning, singing that song “You Are My Hiding Place.”  And weeping.

When we returned to our home in Colorado, I visited my doctor and had another ultrasound in his office.  My husband couldn’t come with me because of his job, so one of my best friends went with me.  I’ll never forget that day, and the doctor’s voice when he said, “Well, I’m sorry to give you this news around the holidays, but there’s nothing there.”  I felt like the world was literally crashing around me.  I walked around in a daze for the rest of the evening until my husband got home from work and I fell into his arms sobbing.

After that I didn’t really want to talk about it with anyone.  A wonderful woman from our church even came to visit me at our condo one day, but I hid in the bedroom while my husband told her that I didn’t feel like visiting.  I wish I could go back and change that day.  I think it would have helped me to open up to her.  Especially when my body actually completed the miscarriage at home two weeks after the doctor told me that nothing was there.

It was several years later before I truly began to heal.  I got pregnant again fairly quickly, and every day I was completely consumed with fear.  Terror.  I went back and forth between being angry at God and being angry at myself, thinking that either God was honestly cruel, or that it was my own fault I had miscarried.  I knew I was depressed and that I needed help.  But no one had the answers I craved.  So I began to ask God for help.  In between my bouts of hating myself and feeling rejected by God, I asked Him to show me someone who could help me. 

Eventually He brought a friend to mind.  She referred me to a wonderful couple who were lay counselors, and who ended up spending an entire day with me in 2005 (months after I had delivered two healthy children, my full-term daughter and my premature son). 

As we talked and prayed through my entire life, I dreaded the part where I would have to tell them about my miscarriage.  But they were very sensitive and let me take my time.  They led me through a time of conversing with God about those dark days.  They encouraged me to go back to that worst moment in my mind – that moment in the doctor’s office when I knew for sure that the baby was gone.  They told me to picture Jesus there with me.  Because HE WAS THERE.  When I did, what I saw was my wonderful Savior standing beside me, holding my baby.  I feel like this was the Lord’s way of telling me, “Yes, this baby was real.  But he’s with me now.  I’m taking care of him.”

If I am honest, there have been moments where I have doubted that vision.  I have doubted that my miscarriage was real, that there was truly a baby there.  But every time I do, the Lord quickly brings to mind the feeling I had when I first envisioned Him holding my sweet little one.  I cannot deny that experience, and I cannot deny that He spoke to me on that day about many, many things. 

It is painful for me to go back and relive these experiences as I tell this story.  But I feel compelled to share the Hope that God has given me in Christ.  And now I can say truthfully that I look forward to meeting that precious child in Heaven one day.  I like to think that he (or she) will meet me right at the gate.

You are my hiding place.

You always fill my heart
With songs of deliverance.
Whenever I am afraid,
I will trust in You.

I will trust in You.

Let the weak say
I am strong,
In the strength of the Lord.
I will trust in You.

7th Annual Prematurity Awareness Day

"Nov. 17 marks the 7th Annual Prematurity Awareness Day, a time when March of Dimes volunteers and parents draw attention to the crisis of premature birth (birth before 37 weeks gestation) and its toll on babies and families. Preterm birth is a serious health problem that costs the United States more than $26 billion annually. It is the leading cause of newborn death and babies who survive an early birth often face the risk of lifelong health challenges, such as breathing problems, mental retardation and others. Even babies born just a few weeks too soon (34-36 weeks gestation, also known as late preterm) have higher rates of death and disability than full-term babies." (http://www.marchofdimes.com/)

Below are some excerpts from a journal I was keeping for my son, Eli, when he was born premature at only 30 weeks gestation.

March 11, 2005 . . . Last night I went into preterm labor . . . It was totally unexpected, and there was really no warning whatsoever. Your dad and I had been watching TV around 9:45 p.m., and as soon as I stood up I knew something was seriously wrong. My water broke, and I was bleeding heavily. We called 911 right away . . . I was so scared, little one. I thought for sure we were going to lose you. I even thought that my life might be in danger. Once the paramedics arrived, it seemed like it took forever to get me on the stretcher and into the ambulance. They didn't want me to get up at all so they had to lift me. By the time we got to the hospital, I was starting to have mild contractions. The doctor came in to check me and did an ultrasound. When I heard your heartbeat pop up on those monitors, I was so relieved. We knew they'd have to do a c-section eventually because you were breech, but they gave me some medicine to try and slow down the labor. They also gave me a shot to help develop your lungs. As the hours went by, my contractions kept getting worse, and I knew you would be born soon. They started prepping me for the c-section around 4:00 a.m., and at 4:46 a.m. you were born. But I didn't get to see you for a long time. After I came out of the recovery room, they wheeled my bed into the NICU and let me look at you. You weighed 3 lbs and 1/2 oz, and you were 15 3/4 inches long. I couldn't hold you, but I could touch you. And I talked to you. When I said, "I love you," you opened your eyes for the very first time. It was amazing! The next time I got to see you was nearly 10 hours later when they had decided to move you to another hospital. Before they loaded your incubator up into the ambulance, they let me hold you. You were attached to all kinds of wires and machines . . . I cried when you left. When you got to the other hospital, they had to put you on a ventilator because the trip exhausted you.

Two days later . . . They have been giving you IV fluids and medicine to regulate your blood pressure. They took you off the ventilator today, and you're getting supplemental oxygen from a CPAP machine now. They have also been monitoring your heart, because there is a valve that needs to close. The nurses also give you a daily dose of caffeine to help remind your body to breathe and everything. Now that you're off the ventilator, we can finally hold you.

March 15, 2005 . . . They have put you under the photo-therapy lights for jaundice. I got to help feed you through your feeding tube today. Every day you are getting stronger. But it's hard not to watch your monitors all the time to make see if you're okay. All the numbers and beeps can be nerve-wracking.

The next week . . . I just love it when you open your eyes and look at me. We hold you constantly when we come to visit you every day in the hospital. I hate leaving you. I can't wait to bring you home.

Eli finally did get to come on April 17, 2005, after spending 5 weeks in the hospital. He remained on oxygen for 5 more weeks after that. But he overcame every problem, and today is a very healthy, strong, and extremely active 5 year old boy!

But some babies are not that fortunate. Let's remember them today, and do what we can to help all babies have the chance to be born healthy and full-term. Go to http://www.marchofdimes.com/ to see how you can help.

Eli on the ventilator

CPAP machine

Eli in the incubator

On oxygen, waiting to go home

Church Undercover

Today I'm sharing something my husband wrote for a blog that he's participating in. This tells the story of when our son was born, which proved to be a huge spiritual milestone in our lives....

"The other day I took my 4 yr old son, Eli to get a hair cut. While he was sitting in the chair we kept looking at each other in the mirror. He was being his typical self while enduring the scissors and clippers. He was being quiet, a little shy. As his eyes caught mine in the mirror he would give me this shy little smile that I have seen 100 times now. It was like this unspoken heart language we have saying “I love you dad, I love you son”. Being a dad is an amazing thing. In fact a regular thanksgiving prayer of mine is “Lord thank you for letting me be Reagan and Eli’s dad, help me to…..” I think that one the most important things any parent will ever do for his child is pray and intercede for them constantly. If there is any hope of me preparing my children for life, I cannot do it without prayer. In fact prayer was the very foundation of my son’s life.

I never will forget what I learned about prayer the day he was born. The night before, my wife and I were resting at home. We had just put our daughter to bed and were just enjoying some quiet time alone. It was late. Then it happened. My wife started bleeding very badly. We would come to find out later that her placenta had detached, and this caused her water to break. The only problem was that it was 10 weeks early. I admit that I was scared, but under God’s grace I was able to remain focused enough to call 911. Once the paramedics came, my immediate reaction then was to call a couple of people who I knew would absolutely drop everything they were doing and start praying for us immediately. We would come to find out later that my wife lost so much blood that she was just a fraction away from a transfusion. That was almost 5 years ago. My wife and Eli are fine now and I am grateful for it. However, the first 24 hrs of Eli’s life were uncertain, and the doctors could not give us 100% guarantee that he would live. Several things were wrong; the most crucial one was that his lungs had not had time to fully develop. They were giving him all kinds of medicine, asking my permission, explaining things to me but it was all numbing. Within 24 hrs things changed so much and kept changing. Perhaps the hardest decision I had to make was when we found out that the hospital we were at, their NICU was not able to give Eli the care he needed, and he needed to be transported to Children’s Hospital in Colorado Springs. Now, on top of everything else, my wife was going to be in one hospital and my son in another across town. How could I be there for both of them? How could I leave my wife behind? But at the same time, we did not want Eli to be alone his first night, especially given all the circumstances and uncertainty. So I painfully left my wife in the hands of the nurses and we both agreed that it was best for me to be with Eli. I can’t imagine what Jess went through that night. But it did not seem right for Eli to be all alone. We both wanted him to know we were there for him. My wife was allowed to hold Eli for about 60 seconds before they took him away in an ambulance to the other hospital. It would be days before I or anyone else would be able to hold him. I was barely allowed to touch him. I will never forget going to the hospital and walking in the unit after they had transported him and got him settled in. There was so much pain and discomfort in his face. There were so many tubes and IV’s in him. If he could have made any noise you could not have heard it.

There I was, sick babies all around me. All born too early, all struggling to grow and survive. However, in my own selfishness of the moment all I could see or think about was my son. I stood there quietly praying over my son, trying to be respectful of the noise limits in the room. When Eli’s nurse walked up she interrupted me and said, “you don’t have to pray so quietly.” And then she led us both in this intercession for my son, you would have had to have been completely deaf not to hear her. Even the next nurse on night shift turned out to be a fellow sister in Christ. She also prayed with me and for me and Eli. I would come to find out later her story and how she and the other nurses would daily walk over and pray for every child there. It was their mission, their calling.

There is a lot I remember about that time. But I want to point out a couple of specific things. First, I found out that the church exists in the NICU at Children’s Hospital in Colorado Springs, not because it was in a building. It was not even in a building as our culture defines church. The church existed because 2 or more of followers of Christ were present. Prayers and thanksgivings were being made to God, in Jesus’ name. There was fellowship among us and I was greatly encouraged and lifted up in my time of need. Ministry and service for God’s Kingdom was happening. It did not happen in some building decorated by pews, pulpits and steeples. It happened right where the need and opportunities were. Second, it is important to see that there was a group of nurses and other staff there, probably from different denominational backgrounds, but united. United and focused on one common purpose. To pray, in Jesus’ name, for the children and families of those in need. I can almost bet that most of the children and families probably will never know about this. Although I am sure that some do. But I wonder how God will reward their obedience. I wonder how many have been so touched or moved that their hearts are changed by our loving God forever, because of the love these ladies showed to them and their child. I wonder what the answered prayers look like. I also am aware that there are instances, unlike my own with Eli, where the child never leaves the hospital alive. I wonder how much pain has been healed in a grieving parent’s heart, because of the unseen things done by some faithful followers of Christ.

God’s word instructs us to pray for all people, to intercede on their behalf. I am grateful for those that prayed for my son that night. I am grateful for the people in my life that pray for me. I honored to pray for others. I hope you are too. I hope you have some people close to you that intercede for you on a regular basis. Prayer is a powerful tool we have in kingdom work, in being missionaries. It connects us to God. It helps us to grow close to Jesus and be able to follow His commands. It connects our hearts closer to others. It can happen any time, anywhere."

I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people. Ask God to help them; intercede on their behalf, and give thanks for them. 1 Tim. 2:1 (NLT)

Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. Col. 4:2 (NLT)

Pray in the Spirit at all times and on every occasion. Stay alert and be persistent in your prayers for all believers everywhere. Eph. 6:18 (NLT)