Even So, It Is Well With My Soul

Our Little Miracles!

Oliver, 5/5/12

Silas, 9/27/09

This is not a post I particularly want to write.  This post will probably not be too witty, or include any funny anecdotes at all, actually.  But it's something God has been putting on my heart lately and though I've been fighting it for several weeks, I guess I'll just go ahead and obey (things always go better when you listen to Him.  If you're wondering.)

If you didn't know, I actually have three children-- Silas and Oliver, here with us on earth, and our first baby, who is in heaven.  I found out I was pregnant in early October 2008, after trying for one month.  We were shocked and surprised and more than a little scared.  I remember the day I found out we went to an ISU football game (those were the "before kids" days when we had money, thus season tickets) and I just felt so... weird the whole day.  I couldn't wrap my brain around it, I didn't really want to talk or think about it-- I was excited but right from the get go, I was absolutely terrified and had a feeling that something was wrong.

As the weeks went on, I told only a few friends about the baby and continued on with life.  I continued to have a nagging feeling that things weren't right, but I tried to push that aside and think about having a baby in early June.  When I was about 8 weeks pregnant I started to have a pulsing pain on my left side.  It wasn't too bad at first-- for several days I just felt uncomfortable.  As time went on, however, it got worse.  I called my doctor and spoke with a nurse, and tried to explain that I was having periods of intense pain in one localized area.  I said, literally, "I really think there is something wrong-- could I please come in for an ultrasound?" The nurse dismissed me as a hypochondriac first-time mom, and told me to take a laxative.  (No joke, that's what she said.)  I hung up the phone feeling like maybe I *was* crazy-- after all, I'd never been pregnant before, what did I know? I wasn't having any bleeding, so I thought maybe she was right.

I woke up the next morning and the pain was still present.  I actually have a pretty high pain tolerance, so I ignored it and went on my usual 5 mile run before I left for work, where I was scheduled to teach in a local sixth grade classroom.  I remember during my run that every time my foot hit the ground, my left side ached and pulsed-- it felt hot to the touch, and was a little swollen.  Still, I finished my run and got ready for work.  As the morning went on the pain got worse and worse-- towards the end of the class I had to pull a stool over to myself and sit while I talked to the kids, which is something I never do-- I like to walk around and interact when I'm teaching.  When the class was over, I gathered my things and started towards my car.

Between the office where I signed out and the parking lot, the pain became so intense that I had to walk bent over, and I was having trouble breathing.  I got in my car and started to drive to Cedar Rapids, and I called my friend Amy to let her know I was in trouble.  The ironic thing is Amy was pregnant too-- due just a few days before me.  She had been there when I called my doctor about the pain, and she knew I didn't feel right about the pregnancy.  Amy started to cry and offered to come and get me.  I told Amy I would have my husband pick me up, and just to pray for me.  I then called Jamie, and told him something was very, very wrong, and he needed to come take me to the ER.  By this time I had pulled over and parked in the Touch of Class parking lot because I couldn't drive anymore.  I then called my doctor and told the nurse that I was having excruciating pain and I didn't know what to do.... and she proceeded to put me on hold for seven minutes.  It would have been longer, but I hung up and called back again.  This time, I got another nurse who told me I needed to go to the ER right away.  Jamie pulled up and lifted me into the truck, and we sped off to Mercy, where I was admitted right away and had an ultrasound within the hour.  The admitting doctor mentioned the possibility of an ectopic pregnancy.  I knew, instantly, that that was what was happening to me.

Sure enough, the ultrasound confirmed that the baby had implanted in my left fallopian tube, which had then burst.  I was bleeding internally to a great degree.  Jamie called my parents who came as soon as they could.  I was an emotional mess, crying because my baby had died and why had this happened? I didn't have any risk factors for ectopic pregnancy, it didn't make any sense to me.  I was rushed into surgery and the burst tube and my baby, no longer living, was removed.

Needless to say, I was devastated, and remained so for several months.  Yet the point of this story is not my sadness or anger or "why me?" attitude, though I did go through all these emotions for quite some time.  The point of this story is that God is good, and sovereign, and works all things together for good for those who love him.  What, you may ask, good can come from a baby dying and my fertility reduced by over 50%? What good can come from grief so deep I didn't know if I would ever find my way back out? Isaiah 55:8-9 tells us,
For my thoughts are not your thoughts, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

Several things have come to my attention recently.  My doula recently posted this article that hit home for me. I spent so much time angry with my former OBGYN and his staff that they refused to see me when I knew something was wrong.  Yet what if they had? I would have found out that yes, my pregnancy was a TRUE ectopic pregnancy (unlike some in the article) and I would have been pressured to have an abortion.  I thank God for protecting me from this decision.  Yes, I do believe it is better to have lost a tube than to have killed my baby.  Yes, my baby died anyway, but it was an act of God for a purpose.  I believe the purpose of my baby dying in the manner she did (in my heart I know she was a girl) was threefold.

One: My husband's mother died shortly after our baby.  It had been an absolute dream of hers to be a grandmother.  She could talk of almost nothing but us having a baby! When we told her, just days before she passed, about the baby in heaven, her eyes lit up and she said, "I get to be a grandma in heaven!" She was anxious for her pain to end (she had had a stroke and was now dying from cancer), and to be in heaven with Jesus, but the knowledge of a grandchild in heaven waiting for her, I believe, gave her a lot of peace in the very end.

Two: The circumstances of Oliver's conception and birth.  I now only have one fallopian tube (the right).  When I became pregnant with Oliver, we had an early ultrasound to establish due date (I have a very irregular cycle so I didn't really know when I'd ovulated).  The ultrasound tech was astonished to see that Oliver had in fact come from the left ovary.  By the grace of God, the egg that would be come little Oliver traveled alllll the way over to my right fallopian tube to become fertilized.  The tech told us she had read about such phenomenon, but had never seen it, nor known anyone who had seen it, in 15 years of doing ultrasounds. I believe that this happened to testify, tangibly, to the grace and power of God.  Oliver really and truly is a miracle.

Three: It changed my heart.  When my baby died, I got my first taste of what it actually means to yearn for heaven.  No, I didn't ever contemplate suicide or anything like that, but the pain I felt was actually a tool God used to shape and mold me into a more compassionate, caring person.  It also allowed me to truly understand, for the first time, that this world is not my home.  And to be very, very thankful for that.

To close this book (how do I always seem to write SO MUCH??? Sorry about that!), I hope this story encourages someone to know and truly believe that God's power and glory and knowledge are so much higher than our little brains can understand.  When I am in my darkest moments of grief for whatever reason, because of the experience of our first child, I now have peace and a deep understanding that God is in control, even if I don't like the circumstances or I can't quite see the good in the outcome yet.  I think this is best summed up by the words to one of my favorite hymns:

1. When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
   When sorrows like sea billows roll;
   Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
   It is well, it is well, with my soul.
   • Refrain:
     It is well, with my soul,
     It is well, it is well, with my soul.
2. Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
   Let this blest assurance control,
   That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
   And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
3. My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
   My sin, not in part but the whole,
   Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
   Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
4. For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
   If Jordan above me shall roll,
   No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
   Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
5. But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
   The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
   Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
   Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!
6. And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
   The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
   The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
   Even so, it is well with my soul.

Warning! Birth story! Placenta involved!

This past Sunday, May 5th, was my son Oliver's first birthday.  I seriously can't believe how fast the year went-- I really feel like it was just last week that I was bringing him home from the hospital.  Because I'm in a sappy, hormonal mood, I'm going to share a watered-down, PG version of his birth story (trust me, you don't want to hear the rated-R version.  Am I right, doula Bethany Gates?? :)

I went to bed on Friday, May 4th, feeling terrible-- crampy and exhausted. Looking back, I can now understand that I was having erratic contractions starting at about 11pm.  I was able to fall asleep for a few hours, until my water broke at 1:49 am.  I know this to be the exact time because I sat straight up in bed and looked at the clock.  I poked Jamie.  I kicked Jamie.  I pushed Jamie and yelled "WAKE UP MY WATER BROKE!" and he rolled over, moaning, "Nooo...." This actually is a better response than when my water broke with Silas.  Anyway, I got up and told him I was going to take a shower, because heaven knows I wasn't going to have hairy legs and greasy hair while I labored.

At this point my contractions were about 5 minutes apart, not very painful.  I took my shower (and yes, I shaved my legs in between contractions) while Jamie called his dad to come over and watch Silas.  Doug arrived around 3, and at 3:30 we went up to say goodbye to Silas.  We then headed down to the hospital, stopping 3 times for gum because I also wanted fresh breath.

I got to the hospital, where we met my doula and got checked in.  I had a little fight with the staff because I had called my favorite midwife to come in even though she wasn't on call-- they weren't very happy about that, but if there's one thing being in labor does for me it's take my filter off.  Elizabeth the amazing midwife (seriously, a superhero) made it in and I proceeded to labor for a total of about 18 hours.  AWESOME.

I'll skip over the next 12 hours or so.  Some highlights include triple-peaking contractions one minute apart for several hours, falling asleep on the birthing ball for 45 seconds in between said contractions, and scaring several U of I interns as I walked the halls moaning like a crazy woman.  For this birth, because I really, really, REALLY wanted a natural VBAC, I had done a lot of preparation and education.  Part of this included watching "The Business of Being Born." I distinctly remember watching several women make deep, guttural animal-like sounds during their labor and making fun of them.  Like those ridiculous sounds are really necessary. 

Well.  Not only are they necessary, they're involuntary.  I can only compare the noises coming from me to the sounds (I imagine) a dying wildebeest makes as it's being torn to shreds by hungry hyenas.  During this time the anesthesiologist came in to meet me, per VBAC policy at the hospital.  Here is where the grace of God is really evident.

I wanted as few interventions as possible-- I opted for a hep-lock instead of an IV (I would have not even had that if I could have), I expressly asked NOT to be checked until I felt like I wanted to push, and most importantly, I didn't want any form of pain medication.  This isn't because I wanted to be some hero or macho woman-- it's because I really truly believe that vaginal birth is best for baby and it has been shown that epidurals can slow down labors.  In the case of my VBAC, I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances of slowing down my labor and opening up the possibility of  another emergency C-section.
*Disclaimer: There are some instances when C-sections are medically necessary and what is absolutely best for mother and baby!

Anyway.  God's grace.
I'm perched on all fours on the bed, bellowing intermittently like one of the cows on my parent's farm, in pain that would have to be put at a 9 or 10, while the anesthesiologist talks to me about pain control options.  And yet, it never, ever, EVER occurred to me to have pain medication. The thought never entered my mind.  I do, however, remember peering at the anesthesiologist through my haze of pain and thinking, "That is one good-looking doctor.  I look like a birthing cow.  I don't care.  He should be on Grey's Anatomy."

As you can see, my thought process was a little disoriented.

Fast forward another few hours.  I'm pushing.  I've been pushing for 3 hours.  The kid is stuck on my pubic bone.  He crowns, he gets sucked back up.  This goes on for an hour.  The "ring of fire" is aptly named.  My midwife brought up the option of the vacuum- and I was at the point where I was telling anyone who would listen to JUST GET HIM OUT. I agree to the vacuum.  I had this wild daydream of my midwife bringing in a Dyson and sucking him out and we'd be all done and happy.  This is not what happened.  

Instead, what went from a small birth team (me and Jamie, doula, nurse, and midwife) went to a large teaching opportunity spectacle.  Since I was past the point of caring who saw what, I agreed to let the OB wielding the vacuum bring his interns.  Apparently I also agreed to let the Peds team bring theirs, too.  All of a sudden there were probably 25 people in the room, everyone talking to me, and I didn't know what was going on.  Someone with a thick accent kept talking to me and I didn't know what he was saying so I just nodded my head and kept pushing (anyone who's ever had a baby vaginally knows that this is pretty much involuntary-- if you need to push, you push.)

About 2 minutes after the vacuum entered the story, my sweet little Oliver made his way, finally, finally, into the room, upping the number of people from 25 to 26.  6 pounds, 13 ounces, 19 inches.  He cried, I cried, Jamie cried.  My baby boy was healthy, hungry, and had an enormously pointed head (that's what about 4 hours in the birth canal will do to ya).  I was so glad it was over.  But wait.... it wasn't.

As I had only experienced a C-section before, I wasn't too aware of the whole issue with the super fun thing called the placenta.  Apparently, it's supposed to make its appearance soon after the child is born.  Well, it didn't.  So we waited.  I was given, reluctantly, Pitocin, that devil drug.  It still didn't come out.  My midwife calmly and quietly spoke to me about the very real possibility that the placenta had attached to my C-section scar and if it had, I would need to have an emergency hysterectomy.

Wait. What? I just experienced one of the best moments of my life and now you're telling me I might not ever have another child? What is happening?

I had Jamie call my friend Trisha and start praying.  My midwife then told me what she was going to do to try to detach and remove the placenta.

OK-- this is where we veer into PG, maybe a little on the R side.  Stop reading, unless you're okay with that.

My midwife put on a glove and reached up to her elbow and pulled the thing out.  Amazingly, thankfully, it came out 100% intact.   So thankful-- and OUCH.  HOLY CRAP that hurt.  I can't think of anything to compare it to-- that's just painful.  Wish I had drugs for that.

Oliver's birth was one of the defining moments of my life.  Silas's birth was so quick (emergency C-section within 3 hours of labor starting, he was breech) and NOT how I wanted things to go, I kind of felt like Oliver's labor and birth were a redemption of sorts.  *Once again, disclaimer-- cannot be more thankful that Silas is healthy, perhaps his C-section was necessary and so glad that's an option, etc.  I wanted to really experience labor and birth and have that moment you see on "A Baby Story" where they hand the screaming child to the mother and she puts him on her chest and cries.  Despite all the craziness, I am so thankful that God allowed me to have those moments.  My children are such blessings from God-- worth every second of pain.  Even on this side of the womb.

Okay, this is entirely too long.  I'll stop now.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEET OLIVER!

Foreverandever... and ever, and ever, and ever

 Hey look! It's David Crowder!

My son has a "special song." He requests it every time we get in the car, and as soon as it's over he requests it again. As far as "special songs" go, he could have definitely picked a worse one: David Crowder Band's Foreverandever Etc.

I have probably heard this song no less than a thousand times in the last month. At the beginning of the song, there's a short whistling solo, and as soon as Silas hears it, his eyes light up and his little fingers go in the air (he has this weird dance move that involves pointing his index fingers in the air simultaneously, he got it from his Papa Tom) and he does his best to sing along (it's kind of fast so he really only knows the chorus).  It's so ridiculously adorable I can hardly stand it. 

And seriously, I can hardly stand it.

Yesterday we drove to the ENT, Donutland, and then to a park for a playdate before heading home.  We were probably in the car for 90 minutes.  The song is a little over 3 minutes long, so I estimate that yesterday I heard it approximately 28 times.  I am not kidding. 

Now, don't get me wrong-- I love David Crowder and his now defunct band.  I am what you could call a David Crowder fanatic.  Silas and Oliver both heard DCB music almost exclusively before they were born, and anytime I can't find anything on the radio I like (which is often) I almost always turn on DCB.  My very favorite songs (How He Loves, Thank You for Hearing Me-- a Sinead O'Connor cover, weirdly enough, and pretty much any hymn) are by DCB.  I think his lyrics are Biblically-based and spiritual, I think he is an amazing musician, and I even love his slightly-crazed-Hassidic-Jew-with-a-fro look he's got going on.  You can just tell the dude really doesn't care what anyone thinks, except Jesus.  I've seen him in concert 3 times and I love how the concerts are really, truly worship music-- there's very little stage production and pageantry is pretty much non-existent.  I am so, so glad that my kids dig DCB.

And I am so, so ready to move on to another song. 

However, on the way home yesterday, as I tried to shut the music off and just have some blessed silence for once while telling Silas the music needed to rest (I'm sure the CD is perilously close to death) as he yelled "SPECIAL SONG! MY SPECIAL SONG!!" at the top of his lungs, I sighed and hit the back button on my CD player to start the song over again.  I'm sure it was number 26 or 27, but for the first time that day I actually listened to the lyrics:

I'm finding everything I'll ever need
By giving up, gaining everything
Falling for You for eternity
Right here at Your feet, where I want to be
I am Yours

I have heard these words a million, gazillion, fafillion (to quote Ludacris) times, and they have spoken to me before. This time, however, God used them to remind me of Matthew 16:24-26: "Then Jesus said to His disciples, 'If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?'" (Have you ever read a blog that cites the Bible and Ludacris in the same paragraph? I bet not.) 

Sometimes I lose sight of the big picture-- I get caught up in ideas and plans and earthly, worldly stuff.  My latest obsession has been my future master suite addition (poor hubby).  I scour Pinterest and watch HGTV on the treadmill and dream of winning Publisher's Clearinghouse so I can add a ridiculous master suite onto my 125 year old farmhouse.  I think about my kids and their future-- what will we do for school? Am I qualified and able to homeschool? How will we afford college for them? (We won't, all that money is going to my master suite.  Just kidding.  Maybe.) I think about my husband and how hard he works and worry that he's not wearing sunscreen and he's going to get melanoma on his nose.

I'm finding everything I'll ever need

All of these things are fine and some are even good to ponder.  Planning and dreaming and working hard is fantastic, but it's all for naught if we lose sight of WHAT and WHO we're working for.  Yes, I do the things I do for my family.  But more important, I need to do them for Jesus.  I need to give up each of my tasks, ideas, plans, and dreams to Jesus.  That means everything-- my hopes and expectations for my kids.  My ideas and plans for myself.  And that can be really, really hard.  What if it's not God's plan that we have more children? What if it's God's plan that we leave this home that I dearly, dearly love and move somewhere far away from friends and family and our amazing church?

By giving up gaining everything

Maybe I'm hearing this song for infinity and beyond because God is trying to punch me in the face with the idea that I am not trusting him with EVERYTHING, big and small. I'm a DIY type of gal, and that can be really hard for me.  But I do believe in God's word and I do believe he's working all things together for good.  I suppose this will be an ongoing challenge for me. 

Falling for you for eternity

Right here at your feet

Where I want to be

I suppose that means we're not quite done with the special song...

I am Yours

Here's a link to a video of DCB performing said song live.  It's a little shaky but you can still hear it.  Also, he's playing a keytar, which is awesome.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_q_5oEKE-Nw