Infertility, Miscarriages & the NICU (Part 1)

Infertility.

I didn't think we'd have much trouble conceiving. My sisters had gotten pregnant, quite easily actually. After a few months of trying, my doctor said we needed to try a full 12 months before we would take any additional steps. The twelve months went by and we were sent to another clinic, a OBGyn clinic.

For someone struggling to get pregnant, an OBGyn clinic is a special kind of torture. There you sit with your empty womb surrounded by a room full of swollen bellies. It makes you wonder. Will I? Will I ever be the one sitting with a swollen belly?

They ran tests and did what they could, but it wasn't a good fit. I didn't like the nurses, and the nurses are who you see. We gave it a couple of months, but unsuccessful. We decided to move to the next step; an infertility clinic.

We had to wait four months for our appointment. While we waited, I prayed. I prayed God would allow us to get pregnant. I believed a family was something he wanted for us. I didn't know what that family would look like. Would we conceive? Would we adopt? We prayed. Our friends and family prayed.

Our appointment finally came. Blood was taken. Exams were given. Tests were run. Information was gathered. The doctor believed he could help! The doctor explained each of us had issues that made conceiving on our own difficult. We prepared for our first round of Artificial Insemination (AF).

We did the shots. Well, we tried to do the shots. I told my husband he was going to need to give the shots to me. After seeing him do a test run, I decided I needed to do it myself. However, the thought of giving myself a shot seemed just wrong. I had a total temper tantrum. I was mad. I was mad that I even had to give myself a shot. Why me? Why do I have to give myself a shot to try to get pregnant? We did it right. We waited for marriage. We were stable. Why weren't we getting pregnant. Why weren't we getting pregnant when it seemed like everyday there was a fourteen year old girl getting pregnant?....I finally calmed down enough to give myself the shot. It hardly hurt. I felt like a fool. What a scene I'd made and it didn't even hurt.

I took the hormones. If an OBGyn clinic is a special kind of torture for a woman dealing with infertility, hormones are a special kind of torture for her husband. Sometimes I felt like I didn't know if I was coming or going. I would bet a large sum that there were times my husband wished it was that I was going.

Finally, the day came for the procedure. Then the wait.
Wait to see if our prayers were answered.
Wait to see if our hopes were going to be fulfilled.

When the call came, I was at work. I was helping a friend open a salon. There I was sitting at the front desk with nothing but windows in front of me. I was on display and, I felt, completely exposed.

The nurse said I was pregnant, but....but?...but my hormone levels were low and the chance of miscarriage was high. I didn't know what or how to feel. Should I feel excited that I'm finally pregnant? Should I feel sadness that I may lose my baby?

I asked the nurse how I should feel. She said cautiously optimistic. She went on to explain that if my hormone levels were to double by my next appointment, there was a significantly increased chance that I would carry the pregnancy.

How was I to tell that news? How was I to call my husband and tell him that I was pregnant, but.

After calling my husband and explaining the situation, we decided to ask a few people to pray with us. To pray that God would cause my hormone levels to double. I called two dear friends and one of my sisters to join us in prayer. I asked them to pray for my numbers to double. I asked them to ask God to allow us to keep this pregnancy.

A few days later, I went to my next blood letting appointment (that's what I came to call them) and then waited for the call. What would I hear? Would I hear that even though I was able to get pregnant, I was going to lose the baby? Would I hear that my numbers did double and chances were good I would carry the pregnancy? When the nurse called, I was trying to stay positive. At least I can get pregnant, I thought, but did my numbers double?

I braced myself.

I wasn't prepared for what the nurse had to say.

My numbers didn't double...They quadrupled. Quadrupled! I could not believe it! Quadrupled?! The Lord hadn't answered my prayer to double my hormone level. No, He took it up a notch. Oh, me of little faith. It never even occurred to me to ask for more than I needed. It's hard to find the word to describe how I felt. That is to say how I felt emotionally. Physically I was sick to my stomach and I love every minute. I told myself if I felt sick, that must mean everything is progressing as it should.

My pregnancy did continue to progress. At 20 weeks we found out we were having a boy. At about 30 weeks, I found out I had gestational diabetes. I went to the appointments to learn how to deal with gestational diabetes. I followed the diet and did everything I was supposed to do.

At 34 weeks, in the middle of the night, I was jolted awake. I was wet. It wasn't clear to me if my water broke or if I had now lost bladder control.

By this time, my husband has chosen to sleep in the guest room (he said I was I snoring). Not sure of what to do, I went and woke him up and asked what we should do. We called the hospital. By this time I had mild menstrual cramp feelings. They told us to come in.

I think I was too naive to understand the situation. I felt a sense of excitement. I was going to have a baby! After all we'd done to get pregnant, I was going to have a baby! As I walked out the backdoor, I remember seeing the ground was wet. I said to my son, "it's raining the day you're born"! We quickly made our way to the hospital. They confirmed my water did break and I was going to stay in the hospital until our son was born.

Not only did they confirm that my water broke, but I was already dilated to seven. Labor continued to progress quickly. It progressed so fast that when I felt like I wanted to push, they told be to breathe through the contractions. My doctor had not yet arrived. Not pushing wasn't an option for me. So while the nurses were on the other side of the room, our son was born on the table. My husband wasn't sure what to do. It was all so sudden. It had only been three hours since my water broke. The nurses jumped into action. They swooped up our son and started to do all the post birth things they do. Then they swaddled him and gave him to my husband to bring to me. I kissed my son and nuzzled him. He was so tiny, but the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I wanted to hold him more than anything, but I couldn't. Because I was only 34 weeks, I was hooked up to monitors and IVs. Our son needed to go to the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). I told my husband to go with him, to stay with our son. My expectation was they'd examine our son and he'd come back.

Isn't that the way it's supposed to be, isn't it? You have a baby and he stays right there in your room. You care for him. You get to hear every little sound he makes. That's what I expected to happen. No one told me it wouldn't.

My doctor arrived in time to take care of all the post labor events. Then I waited. I waited for My husband and my son to come back. Eventually, only my husband came back. My son needed to stay in the NICU.

The NICU.

Exposed

In January, I attended a women's leadership retreat with women from my church. We use the retreat as a time to look at what the Lord has done, seek to see what he has for us, and to seek him as a team. We also have some time of teaching, time for us to be filled.

The teaching was great. There were functional skills taught that are helping us grow and develop as a team. There were also times for us to study and be fed. One of the exercises she had us do was read Luke 13:10-17. First we were to read it. Then we were to read it again and again, but from different view points. Here is the passage:

10 One Sabbath day as Jesus was teaching in a synagogue, 11 he saw a woman who had been crippled by an evil spirit. She had been bent double for eighteen years and was unable to stand up straight. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, "Woman, you are healed of your sickness!" 13 Then he touched her, and instantly she could stand straight. How she praised and thanked God! 14 But the leader in charge of the synagogue was indignant that Jesus had healed her on the Sabbath day. "There are six days of the week for working," he said to the crowd. "Come on those days to be healed, not on the Sabbath." 15 But the Lord replied, "You hypocrite! You work on the Sabbath day! Don't you untie your ox or your donkey from their stalls on the Sabbath and lead them out for water? 16 Wasn't it necessary for me, even on the Sabbath day, to free this dear woman from the bondage in which Satan has held her for eighteen years?"17 This shamed his enemies. And all the people rejoiced at the wonderful things he did.

I know I must have read this before. I mean, I took an Exposition of Luke class in college. I know I've read it before, but it never spoke to me like it did this time.


This wasn't the bleeding woman who pressed through the crowd to touch the fridge of Jesus' robe  (Luke 8:40-48). The wasn't the man whose friends lowered him through the roof (Mark 2:1-5). This woman was just at the synagogue on the Sabbath, doing her regular Sabbath activities. Maybe she didn't even see Jesus. She was "bent double". Think about it. How little could you see if you were bent double. Your view wouldn't be the world around you. It would be the ground. Considering how we see many other sick or ailed people treated, she was probably mostly ignored. If I were her, I would feel invisible to the world that, because I was bent, was practically invisible to me. BUT "Jesus saw her". She was NOT invisible to him. Not only did he see her, He went to her. He touched her. He healed her. 


When I read this passage from the view point of the woman, I realized that I felt invisible, that I was hiding. I'm generally a very open person. I'll share what's going on with me. What I realized was the reason I share so much of myself is because if I share a lot, people don't usually ask probing questions. They think it's all out there. That way, I get to control what is shared. Why was I, why do I feel the need to control what is shared? Why am I bending myself double? Am I afraid that I'll be left hung out, totally exposed?
At the end of the retreat, the teacher had us write a letter to ourselves and seal them in an envelope. She took the letter home and said she would mail them to us as she felt led. I received my letter last week.

Dear beloved of God, 

Remember how the Lord met you at this retreat. Even though you tried your best to hide, he still found you bent over in your tent [even more hidden]. He poked in His head and said, "My dear, dear daughter. I found you. I see you. You are not invisible." 

Remember my love for you is like a hurricane, you are a tree. Bending under the wave of my wind, love and mercy. Believe me when I say that I will lead you with my hand. Accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.

It's okay to hang exposed. I already know all of who you are and I love you. Come, sit with me. Sit knee to knee, toe to toe, brow to brow. Let me look into you. More importantly, look at how you are in my eye. My wonderfully made daughter, I have very special plans for us. I will be glorified and you will be blessed.

Remember who I am
Remember who and whose you are.

Holy Week

Holy Week. There have been years when Holy Week would just go by and all the sudden it was Easter. Those were years when I didn't take the time to enter into Jesus' last week. This year has been much different. There has been so much loss around me this year. I'm not suffering the recent loss of someone close to me, but I'm watching friends navigate their way through their very personal losses. Babies not living long enough to feel the embrace of their mother's loving arms. Children watching their parents succumb to cancer. A sister watching her brother lose his wife.

This year I have the opportunity to be apart of my church's Good Friday service called Forsaken. The character I play is one of many demons hell bent on removing hope, extinguishing life. There is a scene when the character of Eve (or humanity) is bond by strips of cloth representing her sin. We demons help to entangle her. Jesus enters the scene and we (demons) cower. Jesus begins to remove the cloth of Eve's sin from her and put them on himself. We demons get into the act and joyfully bind him.

At our first rehearsal, the man portraying Jesus wasn't able to be there, so our director stood in for him. When we came to the end of the scene, after we had bound her in the strips of cloth, she commented on the experience of being bond. When I left, I couldn't get that idea out of my head. You need to understand that I am a recovering control freak. If it were up to me, I would make plans and have the Lord just sign off on them (thankfully he doesn't). If anyone has the right to control anything it's Jesus, right? He lived a perfect life, is God's son. What I realized as I had never realized before was the trust (another one of my issues) he had in the Father. He trusted that the Lord knew what he was doing. He trusted even unto the point of being forsaken.

The last thing I want to do to someone in the midst of grief is blow sunshine at them. Grief is a process. A physically, spiritually, and emotionally painful process. Praying for them in their grief has brought me back to my own grief. Two and half years ago when my mom died, 6 years ago when I was having multiple miscarriages or eight years ago when we were struggling with infertility, I was not able to release my control. I wasn't able to trust enough that the Lord had (has!) a plan. My steely grip has loosened. I'm beginning to trust.