An attempt

I want to make an attempt, somehow, in putting into words the last week of my life.

I am starting this post on Saturday afternoon, not even twenty-four hours after I was able to finally leave the hospital and return to the home and family I love.

We'll have to see what day it is when I finally finish organizing the mass cacophony of thoughts and feelings and confusion and excitement and bewilderment and amazement swirling around in my still-recovering brain.

Please excuse this post if I jump around a bit. I'm sure you understand when I tell you that my memories of Elijah's first week of life aren't really in order for me. I often have trouble remembering what happened when. It has all blended together so much that there truly is no way to successfully navigate my thoughts in a logical order.

What I do know is that like so many other events in my life, particularly surrounding those in our journey to parenthood, this one challenged me and is still challenging me. It challenged my faith, my strength, my determination, my dreams. I am now out of the hospital, but I know I have a lot of healing still to do and much of it is not physical.

I'm sure by now, most of you have read of our little Elijah's introduction to the world. JB wrote this shortly after everything occurred. I really wanted him to do this as I knew we would forget so much if we didn't capture it right away. I truly can't add much to JB's explanation of the events when it comes to those moments prior to the c-section. His picture is nearly identical to the one in my mind.

I say this with all honesty: labor was not that bad. I especially want to say that for those of you who are reading our story and feeling scared about having a baby. Maybe you are pregnant for the first time now or hope to be in the future. Please don't let my story scare you. As JB has told me many times, "Wendi, in your case, everything that could go wrong, did." That being said, my difficulties were not prior to Elijah's birth. My difficulties came afterward.

Even though I was technically in labor for nearly twenty-four hours before Elijah made his grand entrance, with the help of an epidural, I felt like it was quite manageable. I was in control of my pain at all times. The hardest part was when they put in the Foley catheter to dilate my cervix. What was hard about this was not that the pain got intense. It was how quickly the pain got intense. I went from a nice 5 or 6 on that pain scale, breathing through contractions, not even feeling that I had to have pain medication at that point, to nearly a 10 within about two minutes. That creates some difficulty mentally as I did not have the opportunity to work my way up to more intense pain. However, even during the two hours or so between the catheter being placed and the epidural setting in, I was in control of the pain. I kept breathing, kept focusing, and truly did not feel like it was too much worse than my dry socket! That's the truth. While I didn't reach the finish line of natural labor (delivering the baby vaginally), I covered the rest of it, and I wouldn't fear it if I were to do it again. (Which I won't be -- I've been told that my body is not designed to vaginally birth a baby, and I've accepted that.)

The time also went fast. Pushing for three hours did not feel like three hours, mentally at least. My body took a beating of course which is why labor and the a Cesarean is not preferred. When they brought the bar out that I could basically hang on to push, I felt like I was making progress. I was doing everything they asked me to do. Sometimes doctors only come in for the grand finale. But Dr. G. was with me during so much of the delivery including nearly all of the pushing phase. I kept waiting for them to tell me the finish line was approaching.

At the one hour mark Dr. G. asked me if I knew how long she would let me push before we said it wouldn't be happening vaginally. JB cheated and held up three fingers behind her back. She was so impressed, and we all shared a laugh when I quickly answered correctly. I took a glance at the clock and made a mental note of how much time I had left before my time was up. I was determined to push just right, do whatever they asked, to get Elijah out.

It was disappointing when, at about the 2.5 hour mark, Dr. G. told me that despite my best efforts, it was not going to happen. In a way, I was glad for the bit of "c-section talk" JB and I had had when I was failing to dilate before the Foley catheter was put in. Elijah's heart rate had dropped a few times and I was still stuck at 3cm dilated. Dr. G. came in and said she was contemplating c-section if the Foley bulb didn't work its magic. JB and I sat and talked for a long while at this point. We prayed together. Dr. G. came back in and prayed with us. (How cool is that?) When she checked me again, the "magic" (aka God) had begun. I was progressing. And Elijah's heart rate was solid.

But now, here we were again, and this time, it didn't seem that prayer was going to change the fact that my darned pelvis was just too small to allow Elijah's head through. Go figure that this 6'3" Dutch girl doesn't have a big enough pelvis to get a baby out! Geesh. JB and I sat and talked in between contractions. He told me that, truly, I was pushing exactly like I should. He promised that he would be honest with me and tell me if there was anything I could have done differently. There just wasn't. In the end, it probably wasn't even the size of Elijah's head. It was the fact that my pelvis was not designed to have a baby of even average size, slide through.

I must digress here a moment to tell you how thankful I am for western medicine. Here's the truth of it. If I lived in another era or a third world country, I would most likely be dead right now. I'd push for days and eventually die. Or Elijah would be killed to save my life. Or we both would die. We are so amazingly blessed to live in a place where medicine is what it is. God has given these men and women such amazing knowledge. How amazing that we are able to be the recipients of that knowledge.

So back to my story, labor truly wasn't that bad. It wasn't. Getting prepped for the c-section was a bit nerve-wracking. As the anaesthesiologist pokes you in various places to see what you feel, you can't help but have this fear that they won't get you fully numb. That you will feel something. A part of me didn't want to be awake for the procedure. I just wanted to wake up and be told that it was all over.

JB had met and worked with Dr. S. on many occasions. He is a fabulous Christian man. He is not an OB, but he did an OB fellowship. We felt completely comfortable with him doing my surgery. There was some discussion as to whom they should have assist Dr. S on the surgery. Because JB works at the hospital, I had some rights in refusing or requesting who I would or would not want in the room. Of all the people that JB worked with, I had told him many months earlier that if one of his co-workers had to be present, I would want it to be Kacey C. Not only is she a female, but she is just a tremendous person and doctor. It just so happened that Kacey was on-call that day and was able to slip away from her other duties to be in on the surgery. Her voice was familiar and upbeat despite my droopiness. I was so blessed to have her there.

Kacey was given an option before the procedure. She could assist Dr. S on the surgery or she could be the doctor ready to handle the baby resuscitation that comes once the little guy emerges into the world. Kacey likes surgery and chose to be by Dr. S' side. Later, she would visit us in my room and tell us how glad she was that she made that choice. Dr. G was given the responsibility of baby resuscitation, and I'm sure Kacey was incredibly glad to not be the doctor trying to save the life of a child of a family she knew so well. Instead, Kacey was forced to field my questions while she stitched me up. She did her best to tell me that "they were working on him," and "that the best people were doing their jobs." Later she would admit to me how hard it was to do her job knowing that Elijah was in such distress while his mom lay helpless on the table.

It is at this point in the story that I truly have trouble thinking, talking, or writing about. I have played out the moments of Elijah's entrance over and over again in my mind. I have talked them through with Dr. G and JB many times. The hardest thing about Elijah doing so badly at birth for me is the fact that my mind is unable to answer this question: How would my faith have survived had Elijah not made it?

I plan to do a whole post on this in the near future so I'll refrain from diving too deeply right now. JB has told me that seeing a child with an apgar score of 1 at birth is not unusual. It happens. Baby comes out limp and is quickly brought around. The concerning thing was that his score at 5 minutes was only a 2! (10 is the highest.) I cannot imagine how agonizing that wait must have been for my amazing husband who was not the recipient of fog-inducing drugs as I was. I remember that Kacey was the closest person to me and despite my drug-induced state, I begged her for information. Everyone in that room knew our story. They knew this baby was nothing short of a miracle. How could God give us a miracle only to take it back again? And if he did take it back again, could I truly continue to believe in God?

I'd like to believe that the answer to that question is yes. I'd like to believe that I'd handle that like I'd handled other disappointing and disconcerting events in my life. I'd continue to trust the Lord. He is sovereign. He knows best. But the truth is, when I play out the story in the other direction, I am just not sure how I could have survived. How JB and I could have survived. I remember thinking of Isaac during those moments. I'd survive for him. But for no other reason.

Of course, the story didn't end that way. By ten minutes, Elijah was a 7. Soon after, a 9. JB has never had to intubate a newborn. Elijah was intubated but only for a few minutes. He was well enough to greet me in my room post-surgery.

Dr. G would admit later that, "Yes, I was incredibly scared there for a few moments." She'd be honest when telling us that it didn't appear that he was without oxygen for any period of time but that they could never know for sure. She said that if there were any issues, we'd see them in developmental delays in the next year of Elijah's life. But most likely, if anything, anything he "lost" would be something we'd never miss. If you are JB's son, what's 5 less IQ points, right? Ha!

But Elijah's birth was only the beginning of a series of faith-producing questions I would face over the course of the next week. Why couldn't I deliver naturally? Why did we have to face the scare of never meeting our son? Why did I have to have such intense post-surgery pain? Why an infection? Why the Ileus? Why me?

My husband was so integral in my dealing with these questions. He'd let me cry. He'd let me complain. But if I ever started to throw a pity party, he'd quickly tell me that he wasn't going to that party, and I wasn't going to go there either. Feeling sorry for yourself when you are down and out doesn't help anything. When trying to recover, you simply have to focus on the goal of recovery.

For me, recovery meant tough love from my husband. He'd stand there and watch me struggle to get in and out of bed. He'd off a shoulder to pull on, a hand to hold, but would refuse to do the work for me. He'd toss my breathing treatment onto my bed anytime he passed by. (Since I couldn't take deep breaths, they worried about pneumonia and this tiny contraption helped me to practice deep breathing in order to keep my lungs clear.) He'd ask me why I hadn't walked the floors during the last few hours. Each time I took a shower or completed a routine activity, he'd make me do more of it and him less. Sometimes I just wished he would tell me to sit there and he'd do everything. But in my heart I knew this was key to success.

I'm home now. And I have a lot more I want to write about and want to say and want to process. I'm able to blog more than I thought I would due to the fact that this rocker and laptop is one of the most comfortable places in my house for me to be. Right now, as I write this, Elijah is sleeping on our bed, surrounded by pillows, and I am waiting for him to eat. Other times I write with one hand as my other is holding him.

Elijah, has still not sunk in for me yet. A post on him and his inclusion into our family is still a ways away. He is still this tiny piece of life that doesn't feel real. Doesn't feel like he really exists. I remember feeling the same way about Isaac. When I work my way into believing he is real, I'll share my feelings on him and his very long arms and legs and fingers and toes.

For now, I'll leave you with this post as it is. I hope it followed some sort of intellectually logical progression. It's the best I can do for now. As always, more to come.