Feb. 7, 2007 - Back to the Journey
Christmas Eve 2006-
That morning, my 5th nephew had been born at home.
That night, I sat sitting on a hay bale in a barn, shivering. Our Church service had just taken place in that unlikely building with animals watching from pens behind the preaching pastor and the choir leading us in traditional Christmas carols accompanied by guitar. Toward the end, I started to feel that well-known and well-despised feeling. “God,” I prayed, “I’m sick of being sick.” Noticing my demeanor after the service, my pastor – who had that night preached his last sermon for our church – came over to ask if I was ok. Sure. I’m fine; third verse, same as the first.
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Medical events have been an ongoing part of my life for the last 10 years. I can remember back to when I was “well” but I can’t remember how that feels. The Lord has humbled me in my body - to rid me of the god of health and put Himself on the throne as the Healer of my life. He is the Great Physician but it has only been as a sick person that I have really appreciated how Great He is - and how this Physician was more interested in my spiritual well being than my physical well being.
By breaking my body, He has strengthened my soul.
The Lord asked me to write about this on my blog a long time ago. I started to but then the mundane and the trite, the self-focused and the self-serving took over. Well, you can’t really put God off for too long. My Jonah time was coming to an end and soon I found that writing held no pleasure for me and certain good friends of mine were calling me on my lack of proper focus. Thus the sabbatical I have taken from my writing these past few months, waiting on God’s instructions. Once again, He has asked me to share my story and, by it, His glory. If you haven’t read the introduction I wrote a year ago or if you don’t remember it, read it here first. Then come back and continue the story…
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God Begins to Show Me His Greatness
I knew I was in labor on a Sunday afternoon. It was December 12, 1999 - two weeks before my due date; just 14 months after a miscarriage sent my first child back to the Lord.
My faith had been weak that dreary October and the loneliness from my loss was crushing. Four days after my D&C, when my mom – who had driven 10 hours overnight to be with me when I awoke from my surgery – had left for home, I wrote this poem:
I have been alone many times in my life
but I have never felt as utterly lonely as I do now;
the only thing that was ever really truly mine
has been ripped away in
a pool of blood that carried a piece of my soul
that I will never get back.
My heart is broken, I am alone and
the world goes on around me saying
they hope I feel better and they're so sorry...
They don't understand the song I am caught in,
the movie I live in, except it is real
and I can't yell cut and start over
with a happier ending
or maybe a different story line -
even now I would put different players in this scene
because I never wanted it to be me
that was sad, so trapped, so alone
so humble and dependant on a God that I am mad at.
If you put the world in a room with me
I would still be alone
I didn’t realize that God was in the truest sense right there with me, holding me, caring for me and mourning my mourning. My uncertainty in my faith continued through my 2nd pregnancy. But on that Sunday, as powerful forces in my body went to work to bring my baby into this world, I was on the brink of miracles; of God revealing Himself to me in mighty ways. Sixteen hours later – on Monday morning, December 13th, after a beautiful un-medicated labor, my daughter Victoria entered the world outside my womb. Perfect pregnancy; perfect delivery.
When asked if they want a boy or a girl, most expectant parents will say they don’t care, as long as the baby is healthy. Without thought, we are speaking our limits on the experiences we want to go through in this life and, by that, closing ourselves off from the blessings God may have for us in our trials. I was one of those parents.
But Victoria was far from healthy.
Born in a small town in South Carolina, she was quickly taken by ambulance to the Medical University of South Carolina after tests revealed that the small bruises covering her body (petechiae) were due to a low platelet level; deadly low. A normal platelet level is in the hundreds of thousands; Victoria’s was 6,000 – the lowest they had ever treated. She arrived in the NICU where they immediately began more tests on her while I got settled into a postpartum room. They came and asked me for my platelets so they could transfuse her. In the meantime, they checked her for internal bleeding. As platelets are the body’s way of clotting the blood, an extremely low platelet count can cause the brain and other organs to spontaneously bleed. Victoria was especially vulnerable because of the squeezing of the head and body that accompanies a natural birth.
Miracle number one – no internal bleeding, no inter-cranial hemorrhaging.
Before transferring us to MUSC, the pediatrician had said he suspected a rare genetic incompatibility between my husband and me that had caused my body to attack my daughter’s platelets. Only genetic testing could confirm that, but in the meantime they treated her as if that was the problem. They did transfusion after transfusion, keeping her platelets up at healthy levels until my antibodies got out of her system and she was making platelets well enough on her own. They said she would probably be in the hospital for weeks.
One cannot help but be emotionally impacted by spending time in a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Tiny preemies and babies born with serious illnesses; babies needing round-the-clock medical care. At 7lb, 10oz, Victoria was a giant next to most of them. And, even if it were a few weeks, she would also spend less time in the hospital than most of them. Parents staying at a nearby Ronald McDonald house would visit their babies every day. Others, having had to go back to work after a month or two, would visit as often as they could. In light of the struggles of those babies and parents, it felt a selfish gesture when I got on my knees in my hospital room and asked God to let me take Victoria home soon. I didn't want my baby to have to stay in the hospital for weeks.
Miracle number two - Victoria started making her own platelets
with more vigor than they expected.
Just three days after she was born, having spent only one night more than I did in the hospital, they discharged her to home. It was December 16th - my birthday!
….up next: Losing $65,000 a year in income- overnight, and other challenges….
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