In Jan of 2000 we had moved to a new city. It felt like we had been waiting forever for that second little line to show up on the stick. Many trips had been made to the Dr.'s office to have a pregnancy test done and many done at home. The response from the Dr. was like a little knife to my heart every time, "I'm sorry honey, it's negative."
In June 2001, she finally came through the door with a smile on her face and my heart did a little skip. This time her news was the happiest I had heard in a long time! "You are pregnant!!!! Congratulations!"
I wanted to do a happy dance right there in her office, but it probably would have been rather like Kathrine Heigl in The Ugly Truth, so I restrained myself and waited till I left the office. (I imagine they have some hilarious security camera footage from the elevator though!) My first ultrasound on June 19 showed me to be 5 weeks along.
I was sent back to Regina to see the specialist once a month and had an appt with my local Dr. once a month as well. I was monitored through ultrasound and bloodwork. I did have some spotting early on around 10 weeks but it did not last long. I had no morning sickness whatsoever, thank God! I felt wonderful.
I enjoyed every moment of my pregnancy with her. We had decided early on that we did not want to find out if we were having a boy or girl. I wanted to have a surprise. We had a list of names as long as both of our arms put together. We slowly narrowed them down to about three choices for each sex. About a month or so before Jinaea was born, I had a dream about this little baby girl who had dark wavy hair. She was beautiful.
I was determined not to fear. I would not fear miscarriage. God had brought us this far and I would not give up on his miraculous power now. We continued praying the prayers in the supernatural childbirth book and speaking scripture over this little life that was growing inside me.
On Sept 11, 2001 I was about 4 months pregnant. I turned on the T.V. and found out, like everyone else in the world, that life would never be the same.
I sat glued to the T.V., tears pouring down my face as I wept for the lives that were lost that day and for their families. I imagine that pregnancy hormones played a part in it as well, but my tears continued for weeks as more and more was revealed of the tragedy that our brothers and sisters on the other side of the border were facing. There were many stories of women having babies in the weeks following or women who were pregnant, whose babies would never meet their daddies. It broke my heart to think of these women and men who had such big dreams for their futures and now that future was going to be so drastically different.
At the end of October of 2001 we moved to our current city and settled in. Greg had started a new career, self employed as a Farrier. We came here because the business opportunities were more abundant. We moved into a small two bedroom townhouse and began to prepare for our baby to join us.
About mid November I could wait no longer, I set up the baby's room. I remember going into the room often just to run my fingers over the soft blankets and make sure the little stuffed animals that were waiting in the crib were placed perfectly. I took out all the little clothes I had been storing since our other babies and washed them. I felt joy well up in my heart and tears in my eyes as I gently placed them into the empty drawers again.
December 2001, I was now 7 months pregnant. Yay, we made it this far with no trouble. Our baby was healthy and growing by the week. I was still seeing Dr. A in Regina, now every two weeks.
Little did we know our lives were about to change forever on Dec 12th. I will give you a brief write up here but will share the complete story on another entry. Greg had played floor hockey with a men's group on Dec 11th. When he came home that night, he was in severe pain to the point where he was having trouble breathing. We thought it was from his shoulder.
We made a trip to the emergency room where they told him it was probably muscle spasms and gave him an injection and sent us home. This was not the first time this had happened so the next day, when he was still in a lot of pain I insisted that we go back to the Dr and see what was going on.
Through the stress of the next few months, I could have very easily experienced complications with the pregnancy, but God protected our baby. I prayed so hard for my husband during those months, but also for our baby. I knew that I could not protect our baby in the way that it needed to be and so I prayed. I could not do this in my own strength, but He could.
Our baby was due Feb 16, 2002. I was supposed to deliver our baby in Regina and so we packed up and headed in to stay at our cousin's house until the baby came. I was as ready as I could be. I didn't know what life was going to look like in the future anymore, but I knew the One who held my future in His hands and I trusted him with all my heart, soul and strength. Don't get me wrong, there were moments that I was freaking out inside, but I knew that trust in Him was the only thing that was going to carry me through.
As the days continued passing by and no sign of our little one joining us yet, I was getting very impatient. I just wanted to hold our baby in my arms and see it's face. It was so hard to wait!!!
On Feb 25th I went to see Dr. A. and he told me they were going to induce me the next day. He did not feel our baby was in danger, however he did think it was best to deliver it as soon as possible. We went back to the house to get things ready and head to the hospital. We were waiting for the phone call to tell us what time to come in, but instead of telling us that, they called to tell us that I would not be getting induced the following day as planned.
I was so disappointed. I was in tears. The head of L&D had overruled my Dr. and said I could not come in. I was mad actually. There was nothing more I could do and so we settled in for another night hoping I would go into labor on my own. The next day I was to go back in and see Dr. A. He told us the same thing again, that we would be induced the following day. We headed back to the house to wait for the phone call the next morning. When they called and they told us the induction plan was canceled again. My Dr. had tried to convince the head of L&D that there was no concern that our baby was small, it would not need an incubator, but that he just wanted to deliver it A.S.A.P. to avoid any complications. I was now 9 days overdue and the head of L&D said that if by the 28th I had not gone into labor naturally, that he would let me come in for the induction.
Around 4 in the afternoon on the 26th (when I was in the middle of a pity party inside my heart and outside on my face too) we got a call from Dr. A again. He informed us that he had talked with a colleague back in our home town and that if we got there by 6p.m. they had agreed to induce me. We packed up and headed out! I still was praying that I would go into labor on my own and God is faithful. About half way home, my contractions started. We made it to the hospital and got settled into the room on L&D. The Dr. attending the birth was Dr. L. I was not sure what to expect because this was our first meeting. I had built myself up to being ready to give birth with a Dr. in attendance that I had been seeing for years and trusted. I was having difficulty switching that trust to this situation. It was a bit scary for me actually. They determined that as long as I was progressing at a rate they were comfortable with, they would not turn on the drip. I wish I had taken the time to make a birth plan and talk to more people about their birth experiences before I went in. I had been present at one birth previously, however it was different when I was the one on the bed. If you are reading this and are expecting a baby, particularly your first, please take the time to inform yourself. Talk openly with other women to find out what birth was like for them. Educate yourself and make decisions you feel comfortable with for your baby's birth. If you do this, things will feel more in control and you will have more confidence during your laboring hours and delivery. I would strongly suggest hiring a doula and I can recommend an absolutely wonderful one if you decide to go that route. I wish I had done so.
I did progress for the most part at a rate they were satisfied with and was handling the labor well. I took no pain med intervention and felt good about that. My mom had arrived at the hospital and was walking the halls with me, holding my hand and rubbing my back or getting me ice water. I was so glad to have her there because Greg could not handle all the walking or long periods of standing. (You will understand why in my post later on about his health) When I had been in labor about 20 hours, Dr. L. decided I was no longer progressing fast enough and turned on the drip. Now the labor quickly became much more intense. About half an hour before Jinaea was born, I conceded to the epidural. They called for the anesthetist, but he was in surgery and could not come for half an hour more. The nurse checked me at about 5:25p.m. and said I was about 8cm dilated. About ten minutes later I told her I felt like I needed to push. She said, "Oh no, you are not ready to push yet." I told her I couldn't stop it. She lifted the sheet and said, "Oh my!" She called for the Dr. I had not screamed or yelled or even moaned loudly up til this point in labor. I pushed once and her head was out. As it came out, I let a small scream out and the nurse beside me said, "Really Michelle. That is not necessary." I then did something that felt like a completely natural thing for me to do. I reached down to feel the baby's head, only to have my hand swatted away by the Dr. saying "Keep your hands out of here, that is unsanitary."
These are two of the things which I think maybe would have been different had I developed a clear birth plan and shared it with the Dr. when I got to the hospital. I also think that having a Doula there with me would have made a huge difference in my confidence in myself and my body's God given ability to birth.
One more push and she was out. They whisked her away and continued with me. I had to have 1 stitch and there was a little bit of problems with the placenta and bleeding a bit more than normal after. They did have some blood on hand just in case. "IT'S A GIRL" My heart melted.....I couldn't wait to see her and hold her.
Greg was the first one to be able to hold Jinaea. It was a beautiful thing to watch his heart be stolen by this perfect, tiny human being who was part him and part me. She was 8lbs. 1.5oz and 20.5in long. She was born at 5:34p.m. February 27, 2002.
Our miracle baby had arrived.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Trust...Pt 6
It is so amazing to be writing this out and remembering back to all the times God has seen us through trials and hard times. Sometimes I think we tend to forget all the miraculous things God has done and how much grace and mercy we have been given. We get so caught up in what is happening now, sometimes losing the focus of where our trust needs to be. He is our sanctuary that we need to run to. We need to abide in Him because if we do, the trials are not so hard. We have learned and grown throughout the years enough to be able to trust at the first sign of trouble, but that does not mean that the devil does not try to plant seeds of doubt. Our part is to resist.
I was back in hospital for 9 more days after the hemorrhaging. There was still a chance of me needing a blood transfusion if my hemoglobin did not come up quickly enough. I later learned that my step dad had offered to donate blood for me if I needed him to. That really meant a lot to me. I thought it was such a very loving gesture. There wasn't much else he could do for me, but he offered what he could. I love him for that. I spent my days eating iron rich food to try and bring my hemoglobin back up and resting. Each day brought a better report of my levels climbing back to normal. After about 5 days, I had enough balance that I could go to the washroom and shower by myself again. It was a very long haul for Greg as well. He spent as much time as he could with me between sleep and work. He was there by my side through it all. I am so thankful for him. He helped me so much through those days. Like my brother, he brushed my hair for me, helped me with daily routine things, prayed with me, read the Bible with me, entertained me, brought me yummy food, took me on many walks in the wheelchair to break up the hours. Toasted bagels with cream cheese became my favorite snack! We have some good "date" memories while I was there. He has continually loved me and supported me through many hard situations in life. I cannot imagine walking this road without him by my side.
Another person I need to mention on here is my mom. When I first went into the hospital and they had found the tumor, I did not want to be alone. My mom stayed with me as long as she could in the room and then when the nurses told her she could no longer be there, she slept in an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, just for me, in case I needed her. I love my mom lots, she has been there by my side through every difficult circumstance in my life, never waivering in her love. She has prayed me through a few near death experiences now! Sometime I want to get her to write about when I was a baby and almost died and I want to post it on here too. I was glad my close family was there with me when I was in that ER room, it brought me comfort. In those scary moments, I knew that should I die there in that room, (other than my brothers and "married in" parents) everyone I would have wanted to see in my last moments was right there with me.
I had many visitors throughout my time in the hospital and to each of you I say a big thank you! Being in the hospital, the days can get very, very long and it was so nice to have it broken up by company.
Dr. A came to see me on the second day after I came back to the hospital to discuss his plan with me.
He told me we needed to keep the bleeding under control for an extended period of time to ensure it would not start again. The medication that he suggested to do that with was called Lupron. It would put me in menopause for six months. I would receive one injection a month for six months. I asked him how long it would be until we could continue our dream for a family. He told me I needed to have 3 normal periods after my last injection before we should start trying again for a baby. (I am grateful to live in a province where I don't have to pay up front for medications. Each Lupron shot was somewhere around $348.00 according to my receipts. Yikes! Thank you province of Saskatchewan)
Well, each of the next six months I faithfully made my way to the drugstore to pick up my Lupron shot and then to my Dr.'s office to have Dr. A. administer it. (It has to be given in a "z" pattern...can you say OWWWW)
After the six months was up, it took me about a year before I had three normal periods. We initiated operation baby Dueck as soon as we could. It seemed it was taking forever for me to get pregnant. I was very frustrated at times, but trying to maintain a positive outlook knowing I just had to trust that it would happen in His timing. I confess I was not always happy and positive though! My friends around me were popping out babies left, right and center. There were young teen mom's around me having babies that they didn't even want, and here I wanted one so badly. I didn't understand.....
Let me back up for a moment. When I got out of the hospital after April died and back to regular life, it was such a whirlwind that I did not really take time to allow myself to grieve properly. I did not even know what that meant. I wish we had found a support group then because physical feelings and emotions would have made a lot more sense to me if we had. I had no idea what to do with the storm that was inside of me, I didn't know what it even was. I don't think I would have called it grief if you had asked me then. I just thought something was wrong with me and that I was turning into a horrible and somewhat crazy person.
I was happy for those around me having babies, but at the same time was jealous. I wanted someone to understand how terrible I felt. There was this huge emptiness inside of me that, according to those around us, we were just supposed to get over. I didn't want to leave my house, if I was in the mall or at church and someone was approaching with a baby, I had to turn away. I could not even look. If I heard a baby cry, it made me almost physically sick. I had to do some deep breathing and concentration to not vomit. I had dreams where I would see my dead baby. I thought I was going crazy. There was absolutely no way I could hold a baby, being near one made some sort of anxiety attack happen inside me. I was trying to figure out how a person who wanted a baby so badly was feeling all these things.
This was so opposite of the person I used to be and I didn't understand it at all. Before, if there was a baby around, I was usually holding it and it brought my heart so much joy. I didn't have anyone to talk me through this and tell me that what was happening was all normal. Well meaning people said all sorts of things to try to comfort or encourage us, but a lot of times it was insulting and hurtful.
They would say things like, "Well, you can always adopt." "At least you were spared from raising a handicapped child." "You'll have another." "God just wanted/needed your baby more in Heaven." "It was for the best anyway." None of it made sense to me, and none of these statements brought me any comfort.
This all was brought back to my memory as we sat in our grief support meeting at the beginning of this month. As the leader was talking, I began to have flashbacks of emotions and physical feelings. It all started to make sense to me. I was not horrible or crazy back then, I was grieving.
I started having anxiety attacks. I don't know exactly when they started but they grew so strong that I got to the point where I would have to pray myself to sleep. If Greg fell asleep before me, I would wake him because I couldn't stand to be "alone." He was so patient with me, fighting sleep and praying for me until I would fall asleep. He did not once tell me to get over it or leave him alone, he was just there right beside me for whatever I needed. (Although there were jokes from time to time about buying a rubber mallet to knock me over the head with some nights ;o) ) It got to the point where I had to sleep with my Bible under my pillow in order to get any rest. I didn't know how to fight this fear that seemed to be taking over my life.
A friend of mine had told me about a book called Supernatural Childbirth by Jackie Mize. She told me it had all kinds of wonderful prayers in the back of it that had really helped her through her struggles with getting pregnant. I finally got the book months later and in the back was a prayer to deal with fear. I think it took me about a year of praying that prayer before I felt strong again. I prayed the prayers in it every single night, I had them stored in my memory so that every time I started to doubt or felt fear coming against me, I knew exactly what to do. There is no doubt in my mind that God has delivered me from these attacks. I am so thankful for that. Fear really is torment, but it says in 2 Timothy 1:7 that God has not given me a spirit of fear. I knew that hsi fear did not belong in my life. 1 John 4:18 says "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear has torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love."
My love is not yet perfect! I have come a long way in being able to resist the spirit of fear when it tries to come on me, but I still continually need perfecting through Him.
About the end of April or beginning of May 2001 I got pregnant again. WOOHOO!!! Thank you Jesus!
Our miracle baby was on the way. My heart was so very full of joy and anticipation to see this miracle happen before our eyes.
Jerimiah 29:11 For I know the thoughts and plans I have for you says the Lord, plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.
I did not know what the future held for me, but I knew I could trust the One who did, no matter what.
The day that we found out, we went out for supper with friends of ours to surprise them with the news and celebrate. We ordered our food and told them we had a surprise for them. We told them our good news and Dawnell squealed with delight and ran around the table to give me a big hug. It was an awesome reaction. Barry had one of the biggest grins on his face and promptly said that it must have been due to the kiss he gave me on the cheek a few weeks ago, what a guy.
And so our journey of parenthood continued.
I was back in hospital for 9 more days after the hemorrhaging. There was still a chance of me needing a blood transfusion if my hemoglobin did not come up quickly enough. I later learned that my step dad had offered to donate blood for me if I needed him to. That really meant a lot to me. I thought it was such a very loving gesture. There wasn't much else he could do for me, but he offered what he could. I love him for that. I spent my days eating iron rich food to try and bring my hemoglobin back up and resting. Each day brought a better report of my levels climbing back to normal. After about 5 days, I had enough balance that I could go to the washroom and shower by myself again. It was a very long haul for Greg as well. He spent as much time as he could with me between sleep and work. He was there by my side through it all. I am so thankful for him. He helped me so much through those days. Like my brother, he brushed my hair for me, helped me with daily routine things, prayed with me, read the Bible with me, entertained me, brought me yummy food, took me on many walks in the wheelchair to break up the hours. Toasted bagels with cream cheese became my favorite snack! We have some good "date" memories while I was there. He has continually loved me and supported me through many hard situations in life. I cannot imagine walking this road without him by my side.
Another person I need to mention on here is my mom. When I first went into the hospital and they had found the tumor, I did not want to be alone. My mom stayed with me as long as she could in the room and then when the nurses told her she could no longer be there, she slept in an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, just for me, in case I needed her. I love my mom lots, she has been there by my side through every difficult circumstance in my life, never waivering in her love. She has prayed me through a few near death experiences now! Sometime I want to get her to write about when I was a baby and almost died and I want to post it on here too. I was glad my close family was there with me when I was in that ER room, it brought me comfort. In those scary moments, I knew that should I die there in that room, (other than my brothers and "married in" parents) everyone I would have wanted to see in my last moments was right there with me.
I had many visitors throughout my time in the hospital and to each of you I say a big thank you! Being in the hospital, the days can get very, very long and it was so nice to have it broken up by company.
Dr. A came to see me on the second day after I came back to the hospital to discuss his plan with me.
He told me we needed to keep the bleeding under control for an extended period of time to ensure it would not start again. The medication that he suggested to do that with was called Lupron. It would put me in menopause for six months. I would receive one injection a month for six months. I asked him how long it would be until we could continue our dream for a family. He told me I needed to have 3 normal periods after my last injection before we should start trying again for a baby. (I am grateful to live in a province where I don't have to pay up front for medications. Each Lupron shot was somewhere around $348.00 according to my receipts. Yikes! Thank you province of Saskatchewan)
Well, each of the next six months I faithfully made my way to the drugstore to pick up my Lupron shot and then to my Dr.'s office to have Dr. A. administer it. (It has to be given in a "z" pattern...can you say OWWWW)
After the six months was up, it took me about a year before I had three normal periods. We initiated operation baby Dueck as soon as we could. It seemed it was taking forever for me to get pregnant. I was very frustrated at times, but trying to maintain a positive outlook knowing I just had to trust that it would happen in His timing. I confess I was not always happy and positive though! My friends around me were popping out babies left, right and center. There were young teen mom's around me having babies that they didn't even want, and here I wanted one so badly. I didn't understand.....
Let me back up for a moment. When I got out of the hospital after April died and back to regular life, it was such a whirlwind that I did not really take time to allow myself to grieve properly. I did not even know what that meant. I wish we had found a support group then because physical feelings and emotions would have made a lot more sense to me if we had. I had no idea what to do with the storm that was inside of me, I didn't know what it even was. I don't think I would have called it grief if you had asked me then. I just thought something was wrong with me and that I was turning into a horrible and somewhat crazy person.
I was happy for those around me having babies, but at the same time was jealous. I wanted someone to understand how terrible I felt. There was this huge emptiness inside of me that, according to those around us, we were just supposed to get over. I didn't want to leave my house, if I was in the mall or at church and someone was approaching with a baby, I had to turn away. I could not even look. If I heard a baby cry, it made me almost physically sick. I had to do some deep breathing and concentration to not vomit. I had dreams where I would see my dead baby. I thought I was going crazy. There was absolutely no way I could hold a baby, being near one made some sort of anxiety attack happen inside me. I was trying to figure out how a person who wanted a baby so badly was feeling all these things.
This was so opposite of the person I used to be and I didn't understand it at all. Before, if there was a baby around, I was usually holding it and it brought my heart so much joy. I didn't have anyone to talk me through this and tell me that what was happening was all normal. Well meaning people said all sorts of things to try to comfort or encourage us, but a lot of times it was insulting and hurtful.
They would say things like, "Well, you can always adopt." "At least you were spared from raising a handicapped child." "You'll have another." "God just wanted/needed your baby more in Heaven." "It was for the best anyway." None of it made sense to me, and none of these statements brought me any comfort.
This all was brought back to my memory as we sat in our grief support meeting at the beginning of this month. As the leader was talking, I began to have flashbacks of emotions and physical feelings. It all started to make sense to me. I was not horrible or crazy back then, I was grieving.
I started having anxiety attacks. I don't know exactly when they started but they grew so strong that I got to the point where I would have to pray myself to sleep. If Greg fell asleep before me, I would wake him because I couldn't stand to be "alone." He was so patient with me, fighting sleep and praying for me until I would fall asleep. He did not once tell me to get over it or leave him alone, he was just there right beside me for whatever I needed. (Although there were jokes from time to time about buying a rubber mallet to knock me over the head with some nights ;o) ) It got to the point where I had to sleep with my Bible under my pillow in order to get any rest. I didn't know how to fight this fear that seemed to be taking over my life.
A friend of mine had told me about a book called Supernatural Childbirth by Jackie Mize. She told me it had all kinds of wonderful prayers in the back of it that had really helped her through her struggles with getting pregnant. I finally got the book months later and in the back was a prayer to deal with fear. I think it took me about a year of praying that prayer before I felt strong again. I prayed the prayers in it every single night, I had them stored in my memory so that every time I started to doubt or felt fear coming against me, I knew exactly what to do. There is no doubt in my mind that God has delivered me from these attacks. I am so thankful for that. Fear really is torment, but it says in 2 Timothy 1:7 that God has not given me a spirit of fear. I knew that hsi fear did not belong in my life. 1 John 4:18 says "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear has torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love."
My love is not yet perfect! I have come a long way in being able to resist the spirit of fear when it tries to come on me, but I still continually need perfecting through Him.
About the end of April or beginning of May 2001 I got pregnant again. WOOHOO!!! Thank you Jesus!
Our miracle baby was on the way. My heart was so very full of joy and anticipation to see this miracle happen before our eyes.
Jerimiah 29:11 For I know the thoughts and plans I have for you says the Lord, plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.
I did not know what the future held for me, but I knew I could trust the One who did, no matter what.
The day that we found out, we went out for supper with friends of ours to surprise them with the news and celebrate. We ordered our food and told them we had a surprise for them. We told them our good news and Dawnell squealed with delight and ran around the table to give me a big hug. It was an awesome reaction. Barry had one of the biggest grins on his face and promptly said that it must have been due to the kiss he gave me on the cheek a few weeks ago, what a guy.
And so our journey of parenthood continued.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Trust...Pt 5
Con't......part 5
Every time the nurses would come in to check me, they would massage my uterus, to try and make it shrink, by pushing on my stomach. Each time they did, more blood and the clots were now getting larger. I thought, man, how much more of this stuff can be in there! I guess my body was making them continually, trying to stop the bleeding on it's own.
They wanted to get a catheter started. This is not usually a problem. (Insert embarrassed face here) However, I had been bleeding so much and was being pumped so full of fluids, that I was too swollen and they could not get the tube in. There were about three nurses down at the bottom of my bed peering in my "under region" trying to find this elusive ureter. I promised them that I did not lose it on the ambulance ride in!
There was much pressing on my stomach, and many attempts but none of them worked. I was very uncomfortable to say the least, though it did bring some humor as we all laughed about how difficult this normally simple procedure was being. Finally Dr. A came through the door and within seconds it was in. Yay, I don't think I had ever been so grateful for a catheter.
I stared at the ceiling and listened to all the beeping, whooshing and movement around me. The oxygen hose kept moving so it was crooked on my face, the blood pressure cuff was going off every ten minutes or so.
The I.V. pump was working hard pushing fluids into both my arms, they were so cold from it running into my veins. I started to feel a lot more pressure again, this time more than ever. I started to sit up more so I could check if I was bleeding a lot again because everything felt very warm....the effort I exerted pushed out something warm that covered the bed from the top of my thighs almost to my knees. I looked down and the white sheet was getting redder by the moment. I lifted the sheet and saw the clot and fear came on me. I started to hyperventilate as my mom ran to the door to get the nurses. They all came running into the room and yelled loudly for Dr. A to come in. He must have been able to see the fear in my eyes because he came in the door, his eyes in contact with mine the whole time as he crossed the floor towards me. He put his hand on mine and said "Do not fear Michelle. God is with you. Do not fear."
So many times throughout my life, God has given me the message, "Peace, be still." In my humanity, I guess I still have not learned it completely even now. I try hard to trust completely, but I still fall short of that.
As soon as those words were out of his mouth, I felt another wave of peace come over me. I cannot thank God enough that he orchestrated all of this before one moment of my time here on earth came to be. Even in the last six months He has reminded me again and again whenever I start to lose my way, "Peace be still, I am here with you."
I was laying on the bed in the ER trying to wrap my mind around all that was happening and what it could have/might mean for my life and my family. Tears started to pour down my cheeks as I thought about how broken my parent's and my husband's hearts would be if I were to die. I don't know why the sorrow of that thought came so heavy on me but I literally felt weighed down by it. I wasn't scared to die because I knew exactly where I was going if I did. I knew that I would be in the arms of my Heavenly Father in the blink of an eye and dealing with sickness no more. I just so badly did not want to cause that kind of pain to the people I loved very dearly. Maybe the reason it was so heavy is because I was comparing it to how lost I knew I would feel if any of them died. Maybe it was silly of me to put those emotions onto them, but for whatever reason I did.
My mom had arrived at the hospital just before the whole catheter fiasco. I could see their pained expressions on the other side of the room. They gave me pitocin (for those of you who do not know what it is, it is a drug used to induce labor, or in my case, to induce contractions) by IV and by injection to try and shrink my uterus faster. Smaller uterus = less area to bleed from.
Side note: the Dr. informed my husband that there are two places on a woman's body from which she can bleed to death the fastest. Her head and her uterus. Greg says, "Phew, that cuts my chances of bleeding to death in half!" Only my husband....what a guy. Glad he can bring some laughter to situations that are heavy.
The pitocin kicked in very quickly and my goodness, was it intense pain. I had never been through childbirth before so I had no idea what to expect. I asked Greg to sing to me so that it would distract me from the pain. It worked for a little while. I remember hearing my mom praying hard and my dad praying, holding my hand and trying to use pressure points to relieve the pain. I coped for as long as I could on my own and then they brought me demerol and put it in my IV. I was out of it in no time. My body was still hurting a lot, but I could not make my mouth work to tell them I was still hurting. I felt like I was one of those people who is awake during surgery, in pain but no way to communicate it. The coming hours were brutal....
Dr. A. decided that the bleeding was under control enough for me to be moved to a ward for the night so the porter came to get me. My mom and dad said their goodbye's and promised they would be back the next day. The porter came to move me up to the ward. I was still not able to communicate and was very glad Greg stayed with me. I was hoping that in some way I could make him understand that I was hurting still. The porter started to wheel me through the doorway of my hospital room. The handle of the door came out making an h shape with the door. She did not notice that my arm was up on the rail of the bed as she pushed me through and skin of my arm became caught between the the handle and the rail. It took my brain a moment to register this crazy pain in my arm was different than the other pain and I cried out. Greg made a quick survey of the situation and noticed my arm was caught. The porter backed me up apologizing profusely. It has cut my arm and so she ran to get some gauze for me. She came back and taped it to my bleeding arm and with more apologies, left. (In the morning when the nurse came in to give me a sponge bath, she said I should have had it stitched it was that deep, but it was already healing so there was no point.)
Greg waited till I was settled into the room and then left to go home to our house and gather some things for us. His cousin's wife Wendy came to the hospital to be with me while Greg was gone. I have vague memories of her sitting in the chair. My cheeks are a little red thinking of what she must have witnessed that night. Delusional from the demerol, I was later told, I kept trying to pull out my IV's and the catheter. (I would have thought that with all the trouble they had getting it in, that I would have just left well enough alone!) I kept ripping off the oxygen hose and the blood pressure cuff. I am sure Wendy must have had her work cut out for her that night trying to convince me to stay in my bed. I felt like I had to pee and wanted to go to the washroom, but knew I couldn't with all this stuff on me. I remember the nurse trying to explain to me that I had the catheter and didn't need to get up to pee. I just knew I had to pee and didn't want to pee the bed.
By the time Greg got back to the hospital, they must have given me another dose of demerol thus making me calmer physically, but still unable to communicate the pain. I remember seeing Wendy sitting by the bed and then the next time I looked, it was Greg. The next morning, I thought I had been hallucinating and Wendy was never there. Greg told me she had been. Greg says I thrashed my head from side to side until about two in the morning. At that point he said he was starting to get frustrated because he had been praying and praying that God would ease the pain I was in with little to no difference. At about two, he says I spoke. He told me that I said, "Jesus please help me and take away my pain." Immediately I lay still and the pain seemed to be gone. He said he sat there not knowing what to say, all his prayers that he prayed and what it took was me asking for myself. I have no recollection of praying that night.
The next morning I woke up feeling very, very weak. I was still in pain but no longer was it from the contractions. My head was pounding like crazy because my iron was so low. The Dr. had written instructions for me to have iron shots for five days which left painful baseball size lumps at the injection sites in my hips. I was on Tylenol 3 for the pain, which didn't really help at all. The second night back in hospital, I was all but begging the nurse for some more Tylenol. Greg had gone home because he had to work in the morning and was already running on very little sleep. It had been 5 hours since my last dose and the headache was full force. The daytime nurse had been giving me the Tylenol every four hours if I needed it, but the night nurse apparently didn't think I needed it that often. This night would be a night my brother melted my heart with his love for me. My brother worked nights and called me a couple hours before he had to go into work. I was crying on the phone and explained why. He told me to ask the nurse again. I did and she still would not give me the Tylenol so he said he would be right down. Now my brother lives about 13 blocks if not more from the hospital. He did not have a car so he walked in record time to the hospital, an hour and a half before his shift at work, even though his work was in the opposite direction and he would not have much time. He had tears in his eyes as he hugged me when he walked in the room and then he went back out to find my nurse. He came and talked to my nurse politely and was able to convince her to give me the pain meds. He told me he loved me and he would be back when his shift was over. The next morning he came back as soon as he could and sat with me for the morning. I was so thankful to have him there when Greg couldn't be. We were not extremely close before this point (we had been closer as kids and then when the teenage years hit, look out!) but when one of us needed the others defense, there was not a moment's hesitation. He did all the things that morning that brothers don't usually have to do. He held my gown closed for me as he helped me to the washroom (the catheter was out), he held me upright on the toilet with his head turned and eyes closed so I could maintain my dignity. Most touching to my heart of all, he sat behind me on the bed and brushed my hair(which was about half way down my back) for me. Now normally this is no big feat, however with all my thrashing the nights before and the length of hair I had, I managed to create the biggest rat's nest ever and it was residing on the back of my head. He patiently brushed until there were no more tangles at all. I love my brother.......
To be continued in part 6.....(I promise, one more post and that should cover it!)
Every time the nurses would come in to check me, they would massage my uterus, to try and make it shrink, by pushing on my stomach. Each time they did, more blood and the clots were now getting larger. I thought, man, how much more of this stuff can be in there! I guess my body was making them continually, trying to stop the bleeding on it's own.
They wanted to get a catheter started. This is not usually a problem. (Insert embarrassed face here) However, I had been bleeding so much and was being pumped so full of fluids, that I was too swollen and they could not get the tube in. There were about three nurses down at the bottom of my bed peering in my "under region" trying to find this elusive ureter. I promised them that I did not lose it on the ambulance ride in!
There was much pressing on my stomach, and many attempts but none of them worked. I was very uncomfortable to say the least, though it did bring some humor as we all laughed about how difficult this normally simple procedure was being. Finally Dr. A came through the door and within seconds it was in. Yay, I don't think I had ever been so grateful for a catheter.
I stared at the ceiling and listened to all the beeping, whooshing and movement around me. The oxygen hose kept moving so it was crooked on my face, the blood pressure cuff was going off every ten minutes or so.
The I.V. pump was working hard pushing fluids into both my arms, they were so cold from it running into my veins. I started to feel a lot more pressure again, this time more than ever. I started to sit up more so I could check if I was bleeding a lot again because everything felt very warm....the effort I exerted pushed out something warm that covered the bed from the top of my thighs almost to my knees. I looked down and the white sheet was getting redder by the moment. I lifted the sheet and saw the clot and fear came on me. I started to hyperventilate as my mom ran to the door to get the nurses. They all came running into the room and yelled loudly for Dr. A to come in. He must have been able to see the fear in my eyes because he came in the door, his eyes in contact with mine the whole time as he crossed the floor towards me. He put his hand on mine and said "Do not fear Michelle. God is with you. Do not fear."
So many times throughout my life, God has given me the message, "Peace, be still." In my humanity, I guess I still have not learned it completely even now. I try hard to trust completely, but I still fall short of that.
As soon as those words were out of his mouth, I felt another wave of peace come over me. I cannot thank God enough that he orchestrated all of this before one moment of my time here on earth came to be. Even in the last six months He has reminded me again and again whenever I start to lose my way, "Peace be still, I am here with you."
I was laying on the bed in the ER trying to wrap my mind around all that was happening and what it could have/might mean for my life and my family. Tears started to pour down my cheeks as I thought about how broken my parent's and my husband's hearts would be if I were to die. I don't know why the sorrow of that thought came so heavy on me but I literally felt weighed down by it. I wasn't scared to die because I knew exactly where I was going if I did. I knew that I would be in the arms of my Heavenly Father in the blink of an eye and dealing with sickness no more. I just so badly did not want to cause that kind of pain to the people I loved very dearly. Maybe the reason it was so heavy is because I was comparing it to how lost I knew I would feel if any of them died. Maybe it was silly of me to put those emotions onto them, but for whatever reason I did.
My mom had arrived at the hospital just before the whole catheter fiasco. I could see their pained expressions on the other side of the room. They gave me pitocin (for those of you who do not know what it is, it is a drug used to induce labor, or in my case, to induce contractions) by IV and by injection to try and shrink my uterus faster. Smaller uterus = less area to bleed from.
Side note: the Dr. informed my husband that there are two places on a woman's body from which she can bleed to death the fastest. Her head and her uterus. Greg says, "Phew, that cuts my chances of bleeding to death in half!" Only my husband....what a guy. Glad he can bring some laughter to situations that are heavy.
The pitocin kicked in very quickly and my goodness, was it intense pain. I had never been through childbirth before so I had no idea what to expect. I asked Greg to sing to me so that it would distract me from the pain. It worked for a little while. I remember hearing my mom praying hard and my dad praying, holding my hand and trying to use pressure points to relieve the pain. I coped for as long as I could on my own and then they brought me demerol and put it in my IV. I was out of it in no time. My body was still hurting a lot, but I could not make my mouth work to tell them I was still hurting. I felt like I was one of those people who is awake during surgery, in pain but no way to communicate it. The coming hours were brutal....
Dr. A. decided that the bleeding was under control enough for me to be moved to a ward for the night so the porter came to get me. My mom and dad said their goodbye's and promised they would be back the next day. The porter came to move me up to the ward. I was still not able to communicate and was very glad Greg stayed with me. I was hoping that in some way I could make him understand that I was hurting still. The porter started to wheel me through the doorway of my hospital room. The handle of the door came out making an h shape with the door. She did not notice that my arm was up on the rail of the bed as she pushed me through and skin of my arm became caught between the the handle and the rail. It took my brain a moment to register this crazy pain in my arm was different than the other pain and I cried out. Greg made a quick survey of the situation and noticed my arm was caught. The porter backed me up apologizing profusely. It has cut my arm and so she ran to get some gauze for me. She came back and taped it to my bleeding arm and with more apologies, left. (In the morning when the nurse came in to give me a sponge bath, she said I should have had it stitched it was that deep, but it was already healing so there was no point.)
Greg waited till I was settled into the room and then left to go home to our house and gather some things for us. His cousin's wife Wendy came to the hospital to be with me while Greg was gone. I have vague memories of her sitting in the chair. My cheeks are a little red thinking of what she must have witnessed that night. Delusional from the demerol, I was later told, I kept trying to pull out my IV's and the catheter. (I would have thought that with all the trouble they had getting it in, that I would have just left well enough alone!) I kept ripping off the oxygen hose and the blood pressure cuff. I am sure Wendy must have had her work cut out for her that night trying to convince me to stay in my bed. I felt like I had to pee and wanted to go to the washroom, but knew I couldn't with all this stuff on me. I remember the nurse trying to explain to me that I had the catheter and didn't need to get up to pee. I just knew I had to pee and didn't want to pee the bed.
By the time Greg got back to the hospital, they must have given me another dose of demerol thus making me calmer physically, but still unable to communicate the pain. I remember seeing Wendy sitting by the bed and then the next time I looked, it was Greg. The next morning, I thought I had been hallucinating and Wendy was never there. Greg told me she had been. Greg says I thrashed my head from side to side until about two in the morning. At that point he said he was starting to get frustrated because he had been praying and praying that God would ease the pain I was in with little to no difference. At about two, he says I spoke. He told me that I said, "Jesus please help me and take away my pain." Immediately I lay still and the pain seemed to be gone. He said he sat there not knowing what to say, all his prayers that he prayed and what it took was me asking for myself. I have no recollection of praying that night.
The next morning I woke up feeling very, very weak. I was still in pain but no longer was it from the contractions. My head was pounding like crazy because my iron was so low. The Dr. had written instructions for me to have iron shots for five days which left painful baseball size lumps at the injection sites in my hips. I was on Tylenol 3 for the pain, which didn't really help at all. The second night back in hospital, I was all but begging the nurse for some more Tylenol. Greg had gone home because he had to work in the morning and was already running on very little sleep. It had been 5 hours since my last dose and the headache was full force. The daytime nurse had been giving me the Tylenol every four hours if I needed it, but the night nurse apparently didn't think I needed it that often. This night would be a night my brother melted my heart with his love for me. My brother worked nights and called me a couple hours before he had to go into work. I was crying on the phone and explained why. He told me to ask the nurse again. I did and she still would not give me the Tylenol so he said he would be right down. Now my brother lives about 13 blocks if not more from the hospital. He did not have a car so he walked in record time to the hospital, an hour and a half before his shift at work, even though his work was in the opposite direction and he would not have much time. He had tears in his eyes as he hugged me when he walked in the room and then he went back out to find my nurse. He came and talked to my nurse politely and was able to convince her to give me the pain meds. He told me he loved me and he would be back when his shift was over. The next morning he came back as soon as he could and sat with me for the morning. I was so thankful to have him there when Greg couldn't be. We were not extremely close before this point (we had been closer as kids and then when the teenage years hit, look out!) but when one of us needed the others defense, there was not a moment's hesitation. He did all the things that morning that brothers don't usually have to do. He held my gown closed for me as he helped me to the washroom (the catheter was out), he held me upright on the toilet with his head turned and eyes closed so I could maintain my dignity. Most touching to my heart of all, he sat behind me on the bed and brushed my hair(which was about half way down my back) for me. Now normally this is no big feat, however with all my thrashing the nights before and the length of hair I had, I managed to create the biggest rat's nest ever and it was residing on the back of my head. He patiently brushed until there were no more tangles at all. I love my brother.......
To be continued in part 6.....(I promise, one more post and that should cover it!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)