Perspective

 

In July of 2003, I became pregnant for the second time.

Sweet Pea was 6 months old and I was in shock.

I remember the nurse telling me that yes, I was very much pregnant.

Me:  I don't think so.  I have a 6 month old.

Nurse:  Ok.  But you are still pregnant.

Me:  But I am breastfeeding.  You aren't supposed to get pregnant while breastfeeding!

Nurse:  Well, actually you can . . . and you are!

I had no idea how far along I was, so they scheduled me for an ultrasound.

The Lumberjack, who took this news better than I did, stood by my side while holding Sweet Pea.

I remember watching the little bean as the technician took measurements and made notes.

The tech, who was usually quite friendly, was extremely quiet.

"Have you had any pain?"

"No."

"Hmmm . . . any bleeding?"

"No."

Then she led us to a room and told us to wait for the nurse.

"Something is wrong."  I told my husband.

"I'm sure everything is fine." He said and patted my leg.

Interruption:  I am usually giving my husband a hard time on this blog.  But in truth, he is very supportive and loving and I would be lost without him.  Even if he thinks I have chest hair.

The nurse walked in.

She was cold and unfriendly.

Nurse:  There is something wrong with your baby.  We are going to send you to a high-risk doctor.

Me:  What is wrong?

Nurse:  I can't say.  But I made you an appointment in three days.

She can't say!?  What's up with that?

Me:  Please tell me what's wrong.

Nurse:  I can't.  Just go and see this doctor.

We left.

I was extremely upset.

The Lumberjack was upset.

And now we had to wait three days until we found out what could be wrong.

True . . . I didn't know this baby even existed a few weeks earlier.  But the moment you find out your pregnant, no matter how far along you are, that baby is yours and you would do anything to make sure he or she was healthy and safe.

And that baby was mine and I did not want to lose my baby.

As the three days started to pass, I was a basket case.

I called to try to talk to the nurse again.

She was annoyed at me and my wailing.

Finally, she gave me some information:

"I can't tell you what is wrong, but you are most likely going to miscarry any day or you will be advised to terminate this pregnancy."

"Advised to terminate?  What is wrong?  Can I please talk to the doctor?"

"No.  Just see the high risk doctor."

I was beginning to dislike this nurse.

My mom works at a doctor's office and she was sharing my trials with a doctor who works with her.

He called my OB, and finally, my OB called me:

"Well, yes, there is something wrong with the shape of your baby.  This baby most likely won't survive.  But go and see the high risk doctor."

So, I had to wait.

We were living with my parents at the time.

We had just bought our current house and we were in the process of gutting it.

My mom called me right before her lunch break.

Mom:  How are you doing?

Me:  (Wailing) Not good.

Mom:  Do you want me to bring you lunch?

Me:  Yes.

Mom:  How about a Big Mac meal?

Me:  Yes.

My mom knows me too well.

She came and we visited, but I still had to endure those 3 days of worry, fear, and what-if's.

I spent a lot of time in prayer.

A lot.

Our pastor recently shared a verse from the book of Daniel.  This is from the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  The three of them refused to worship the king, and he is threatening to throw them into the fiery furnace.  This is their response:

"O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this manner.  If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king.  But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3: 16-18)

God was getting me to a point in my life where I needed to trust him, no matter what happened.

Even if my baby was okay.

Even if my baby would die.

I needed to trust Him.

Finally, the day came when we were to see the high risk doctor.

First, we had to get an ultrasound.  The technician told us that she could not tell us anything she was seeing, and we would need to hear results from the doctor.

She performed the ultrasound and left.

Finally, the doctor came in.

He sat in his chair and looked at the reports.

He looked up and said, "I can't even see what your doctor was concerned about.  This baby is perfectly healthy and fine!"

At that moment, I truly felt the power of God.

God loves me.

God heard me.

God took care of my baby.

I still thank God for this miracle whenever I see my precious girl, who was born months later.

A few of you have shared recently that you have lost babies or children in your lives.

I cannot imagine the pain that you must have from that.

I don't know why sad things happen.

I don't always understand how God chooses to work.

But I know that he loves us.

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give away and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea . . .

Be still, and know that I am God."

(Psalms 46:1, 2, and 10)