Part Two: My Own Little Miracle.

To catch up or refresh your memory here is Part 1.

Over the next few days, I felt such sadness. I had many talks with God. What was it he wanted from me? What did he see in me that told him I could handle this? Was he sure? Was this why I had been so compelled to get a degree in, gulp, school psychology?

The joy of my pregnancy started to ooze out. The excitement I had once felt was being replaced with a dullness, and a longing to go back to the time I was blissfully unaware. I crawled in bed one night and finally let it all out. I grieved for what I perceived I may never see my baby be able to do one day. And as I let each little thought go, a new one started to replace it. How was I so sure that if I had a healthy child, I would be guaranteed any of these things? There were no guarantees, no promises for easy walks through life. What if I was putting so much on what I wouldn't have, that I was missing out on what I did have? I still had a baby. I was pregnant. A pregnancy that had take me three years to achieve. What happened to the joy that used to bring me? I also couldn't help but remember Ruth's words, "every baby is a miracle."

As I thought of each little thing, I began to build on them, this base of acceptance I was creating. It was tiny and fragile, but it was better than the free-fall of thoughts that I had been in before.

A week trudged by slowly. I awoke with resolve and a scratchy throat the morning of the "big stick." I had spent my week reading up on the tests and some of the possibilities the tests were trying to either rule out or diagnose. But it still felt so foreign to me. I couldn't believe the woman responsible for teaching her patients about "denial" was swallowing a mighty dose of it herself.

We already knew we did not want to find out the sex of the baby. The ultrasound tech was brisk and business-like. She carefully explained what she was looking for, what measurements she was taking and what some of the "soft markers" for Down Syndrome were. But I could hardly hear her. I was so focused on needing to just see the baby. I verified for myself, head, torso, arms, fingers, legs and feet. After the baby performed numerous somersaults and flips for us, the radiologist came in to view for himself. He looked for the longest time before he spoke. He could not tell us definitively one way or the other, if he thought the baby had Down Syndrome, but he could say he didn't see any obvious signs of some of the other things we were concerned with.

He caught me off guard with his first question. "What do you plan to do if you find out this fetus has a medical condition such as Down Syndrome?" I was confused by what he was asking us. I sort of gave him a helpless look and said "nothing." We would just love this baby, I mean we already do." He then asked " Are you certain you want to have the amniocentesis? Do you know the risks to possibly aborting a perfectly healthy fetus, if I don't get a good stick with the needle?" Uhhhhhh... I stammered. By this time my throat was on fire, I was hot and tired of laying on my back and he wanted to quiz me?

Thank goodness Rick, who had remained silent to this point, stepped in. He said, "Does the risk of us having a baby with down syndrome outweigh the risk of it being healthy? And therefore the risk of the amnio is worth taking for the information we may get from it? What are the statistics and what do they mean? If you were us what would you do? And that is when the doctor said, "if it were me, since you have already decided to have this baby, why risk the amnio? I will still do it if you want me to. But I think you stand a better chance of aborting a perfectly healthy fetus, than you do of having a baby with down syndrome."

In that moment, my burning desire "to know," disappeared. Gone. I was completely and utterly at peace, with not knowing. I may still have been in denial, but I no longer felt burdened by the possibility of what was to come. It was a little surreal and its somewhat difficult to put into words. I just didn't feel compelled to know.

However, Dr. Johnson was not amused. For being 4'11 and all of 100 pounds, you did not want to see her get her dander up! Oh, I riled her up good. She paced, she sputtered, she threw a fit. Didn't I realize my afp test result was the LOWEST score she had ever seen? Hadn't I been told that? No, I calmly told her. "Yes," she repeated, "in all of my 17 years as an OB, yours was the lowest." Didn't we need to know?

I told her I only needed to know one thing, could she deliver a baby with down syndrome? Yes, she could and she had, twice before. And I think when she saw that I wasn't being swayed by her, she started to relax. She pulled up a chair and then noticed my flushed face. She felt my forehead and as she did I mentioned my throat. She took one look at it and took a throat culture. When the rapid result came back as positive for strep throat she came in and hugged me. Then she apologized. She had jumped to the conclusion I would want to know and admittedly, she realized, not knowing was okay to. She promised in the future she would have this talk with her patients BEFORE they went to have any tests done.

I don't know that Rick or I ever looked back after that visit. I had no more ultrasounds, no more tests. I just went back to having normal doctor appointments. We didn't even talk about it. Or share it with very many people. I don't think we were trying to hide anything, we just didn't know anything very concrete to tell anyone. I had also started to realize, this baby didn't deserve any less of me. So I went back to pouring myself into mothering this little person inside of me and in no time I was feeling the elation of kicks and somersaults again.

With my due date looming, May 14th, (Mother's Day) I went in May 10th for my last check-up. I had hit the uncomfortable phase finally and was having shooting pains from the pressure on my sciatic nerve. Dr. Johnson proposed an induction for the next day. She chuckled when I mentioned a birth plan and said "Murphy's Law tends to interfere quite a bit when it comes to plans and births." but she would follow my wishes to the best of her ability.

We arrived early for our induction. Dr. Johnson came in to break my water. She took the "crochet hook" instrument and proceeded to make the tiniest opening. I felt the warmth slowly trickle out and as I looked down I heard Dr. Johnson. Oh Sh@#! She exclaimed. Let me tell you, when your very kind and well-mannered doctor swears, you know two things... something just went wrong and your birth plan more than likely just flew out the window... to be continued...

(I am not intentionally dragging this out, but as fate would have it, I have a scratchy sore throat and cough and have been resting as much as possible :)

My Own Little Miracle. Part One

I loved our Gitzen Girl's post yesterday, HDG:Miracles Abound. She was doing her Hump Day Giveaway yesterday, (yeah, sorry, it was over yesterday) and in honor of Stellan our MckMiracle baby, she used this Albert Einstein quote on her canvas: "There are two ways to look at life. One is as though nothing is a miracle; the other is as though everything is." She asked us to leave a comment about "a small miracle in your life that you are going to appreciate today." It brought me right back to the first time I really started paying attention to miracles.

The first time I ever heard someone say that "all babies are miracles" was when I was newly pregnant with Nolan. Her name was Ruth and she was the charge nurse at the psychiatric hospital I worked at, in Idaho. She had five children and only worked a couple of 12 hour shifts a week. She was of short stature, soft spoken, and had a pleasant, if quiet nature. I always felt like the ward was "under control" as much as possible for a psych ward, when she was on duty. When she heard the news that I was newly pregnant she smiled and said "they're gifts from God, every one of them." Please take very special care of that "miracle" inside.

Miracle? I thought. Hmmmm, I wasn't sure a baby qualified as the kind of miracle that I was accustomed to. She may have sensed my skepticism, so she went on. "Every day, thousands of cells are growing inside. Its all planned out and carefully orchestrated. The cells grow and divide and start to make tissue and bones, organs and parts. Just think about how millions of things have to go right every day, in the making of a healthy baby. Yep, every baby is a miracle." She smiled and walked away.

The first half of my pregnancy flew by. I felt good, was able to work all day and my doctor's appointments went well. With plans for an early departure back to Minnesota for Christmas I went in for my blood work for my pre-natal tests. I had THE BEST doctor who worked at the same hospital I did. I knew her in more ways than just a typical doctor patient relationship usually allows. Sara, or Dr. Johnson, was a gem. She made her patients feel like family first, patients second.

And I trusted her care and guidance. I didn't question her use of pre-natal tests. So the blood work was drawn and they would call with the results. As I recall, 9 years ago, the standard test was called the triple screen and looked for early detection of things like neural tube defects or Down Syndrome.

December 9th, 1999, I got the call at work. Mib was calling, Dr. Johnson's nurse. Why is it that the first thing people say when they are delivering less than desirable news is "don't be alarmed" which only serves to instantly alarm you? "Don't be alarmed," she said "but your alpha-fetal-protein test results are low, lower than we'd like to see. We have gone ahead and scheduled you for an ultrasound and an amniocentesis next week."

I could hardly keep my composure. But I was so not going to lose it standing in front of the seclusion room! I just wanted to get home. My mind was reeling with what this all meant. I felt sick to my stomach and sucker-punched. I cycled between thinking it was a fluke, to believing that I should start getting myself prepared for the worst, while realizing I had no idea what the worst could possibly be.  To be continued...

Dear Colton's future wife...

When Colton tells you one day that "meatloaf" has chocolate spread over the top of it, could you just go along with him?  Oh, and nod your head when he tells you his mother made it with ham? I've stood on my head so many times trying to get the boys to try various dishes I make for supper.   Colton has always had an aversion to meat.  But I am learning that if you give a dish a creative name,  like "sugar-and-chocolate-covered-no-thats-not-meat-underneath-surprise-loaf," you stand half a chance that they will take a bite.  So what if he only heard the "ham" part of the hamburger.  And I can get by with calling brown sugar and ketchup "chocolate."  Please, future wife, forgive me. 

The little turkey ate 4 pieces and swears its his favorite meal EVER.  It was such a hit, just wait till you see what we're having tomorrow night...  "hey-thats-not-tuna, noodle casserole,  with yep- those-are-green-skittles-inside."  Genius, I tell ya.  I'm thinking I may have to write a cookbook!  

Stellan

MckMama just twittered that Stellan has been extubated and they are slowly waking him up and that she is just about to post.

I have to admit, I thought of becoming a Twit. Or a Tweeter. You know, sign up for Twitter. I saw Oprah do it last week, after Ashton Kutcher's big 1,000,000 plus following caught her attention. But, I'm just reluctant. I'm just not sure I want to have one more thing that I follow and update and read and take in. But I'll refrain from saying anything too critical about something I know so little about. So if and when I do decide to join in, I won't have to eat my words, or tweets, or what have you.

How about you? Do you twitter? If so, care to share with me what exactly I am missing out on?

Prayers for Stellan.

I'm proclaiming today "Stellan day."  As of 10:30 Monday night as I write this he is scheduled for surgery early Tuesday morning.  He is going to have an ablation done to his heart.  And MckMama really explains in great detail the intricacies of this delicate heart procedure.  I would encourage you to click the button on my sidebar for the latest news on Stellan and all of MckMama's explanation.

This scheduling of this surgery could change between now and tomorrow in the morning, but I'll update if that is the case.  Either way I know MckMama would appreciate any positive thoughts or prayers for Stellan today.  

UPDATE #1

I took this directly from MckMama's twitter feed: 

Stellan is sedated and intubated (he's on the ventilator, which is breathing for him), will be heading into surgery any minute now.  Its 7:21 am Tuesday morning, and she posted this 50 minutes prior.  

Update #2 As of 8:26 am MckMama's post reflects that Stellan is in surgery now and that someone will continue to update her site. The surgery will take about 3 hours.




Update #3 @ 10:50 am: MckMama's twitter feed:

Yes it's been over three hours, no I haven't heard any update at all. 17 minutes ago


Update #4 @ 11:30: MckMama's twitter feed:

A bit of news trickled back to me: there is a lot of fluid in Stellan's lungs and tissues. 2 minutes ago


Update # 5 at 1:16 pm: MckMama's twitter feed:


I'm going to work on a post now about all the details regarding how it went. It was a complicated situation and Dr. A did the best he could. less than a minute ago
They will extubate him a bit later. He needed a blood transfusion earlier and he's still finishing that up. He looks so sweet and peaceful. about a minute ago
Stellan made it through!!! I am with him now in recovery. They are going to leave him under for a while, since the procedure took so long. 3 minutes ago

Caught in-between.

Catch it Colton...



Oops.

Following in Daddy's baseball-pitcher- footsteps?  Like son...

... like father.


Colton, way to wink!!  


Watching for cars...


Ready for take-off...


... catching some "air."  




I suspect with the promise of warmer weather there may be an abundance of posts like these.  It takes awhile for all things sun-drenched, warm and green to feel like every day news.  I am still enchanted with the chattering birds which are noticeably everywhere these days.  

The boys haven't quite figured out what to wear.  The sun is warmer each day, but the air is still on the cool side.  So Colton still reaches for his winter coat, boots and hat, although I've convinced him mittens are entirely unnecessary.  While Nolan, is quicker to shed winter gear for as little clothing as possible.  It takes some convincing that it isn't truly barefoot weather yet.  It seems we're in between, boots and flip-flops.  Coats and shorts.  Somedays spring, and somedays just crossing our fingers for no April snow.  

I've been so caught up in the shifting weather gears that a fairly major event slipped by somewhat unnoticed.  The unofficial word is that the Red River, "peaked" is the term they are using, last week.  At an unassuming level of 34 feet, it just stopped rising.  Its been fluctuating between 33 and 34 so they haven't really used the word "crest."  And for all the absent fanfare that has come along with this event, one other word getting  tossed about with more frequency is the word,"recovery phase."   So while we haven't supposedly "crested," we aren't offically in "recovery" phase either.  Yeah, a little in-between.

For the most part?   In-between is feeling okay.  Its a bridge to the other side, with the prize of summer waiting as its reward.  I am mostly happy hanging in-between.  With one exception.

Dakota, is very visibly in-between as well.  Eating and not.  Playful and slow.  Ears that perk up with recognition when we come home.  Eyes that stare vacantly when coming out of the all too often deep sleep she is in.  Clearly, sadly, in-between.  

Sunshiny day

  

There is beauty in simplicity.  

Today was really simple.  

And beautiful.  

The sun shined.  

An unknown but loud rock singer offered his rendition of "Living on a Prayer," in our driveway.  

The wind blew.  

But piggyback rides were in order anyway.  

The bikes, scooters and toys are still in hibernation in another location.  

But fun and amusement were had by all. 

Some days, when the sun shines, its all there for the taking.  

You don't contemplate anything.  

You just be.  

Outside.  

In the sun.  

And say a quick prayer for those who aren't outside with you.  

There is beauty in simplicity.  Today was really simple.  And beautiful.  The sun shined.