No news is good news often times. The scary thing for me is how quickly things can change. I have one of the happiest moments of my life, our gender reveal party for my 30th where friends and family are rejoicing with us for FINALLY beating infertility where I literally cry out of sheer happiness, and just 12 days later I'm holding a piece of paper with my daughter's footprints crying out of the deepest grief I've even known. All this in just 12 days. We still have a long way to go till 24 weeks and 24 weeks is a horrible time to deliver a baby; that's just our short term goal and hope.
I have a huge picture above my couch of Darren and I walking down the stairs out to our get-away-car after our wedding reception. It's one of my favorite pictures because it captures pure joy. We are not "posing" or "trying to look good" we are just purely 100% happy and the photographer caught it. I felt this same way about the moment my little world found out about Brinly and Jude. I love this picture and find it beautiful in the sense it's so authentic- it's beautiful because it's real, it's us experiencing pure/true happiness caught in a moment. I have gotten so many emails, texts, phone calls, visitors with the same question: How are you doing?
Before I answer, I have to deeper explain the question to "how is Jude doing?" I talked about it in my last post. Basically I feel like my sweet, perfect, healthy baby is in the middle of Iraq and all I can do is watch and hope and pray he survives. He is flawless but his environment is hostile. My body is not a wonderful place for him to be, but its his best bet.
Now, how are I doing?
The short answer: If a 1 was the day I lost Brinly and a 10 was the day of our gender reveal party, I am 3. I will stay that way until I reach viability. If nothing changes (no labor/infection), every day will remain a 3 as I have to fight off my own demons of fear and worry that haunt me often when I am left to my own thoughts.
The longer answer: 2 Corinthians 4:7-9
7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8 We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.
I refuse to fall into depression. I am fully aware the world is full of pain and that followers of Christ are not exempt from suffering. I am pressed on every side but I am NOT crushed. I am perplexed beyond imagination but I am NOT in despair. I feel so persecuted-but I know I am not alone. I have never been more struck down and heartbroken in my life, but I am NOT destroyed.
I am so grateful that there is an end-date to this horrible path. March 31 is Jude's full term due date. No matter what happens, this fire will be over by then. So many people who are suffering with an illness, a bad marriage, a financial crisis, etc. have no clue when it will end.
Obviously I'm not doing "bump updates" or pictures of my stomach-it's too hard to celebrate something so fragile. BUT, I have a sweet story. The night after getting home from the hospital, I was laying my own bed, talking to Darren about surrogacy as an option. Although the doctors are convinced this has nothing to do with my body, I like to plan ahead. Surrogacy sounds so nice because I'm terrified of pregnancy now that I've know the cruelest side effects it can bring-Darren tried to remind me that we are "not at that point" yet but I couldn't shake it-then I felt it again, a big strong kick from inside my body. It was almost like sweet Jude was like "um, hello, I'm right here, I can hear you!!" I loved it. It snapped me back into reality. I have a live and healthy son in my stomach. Surrogacy is more of something we would consider if God-forbid something happens to Jude. Darren is right. In this moment, we are not there- and little Jude's strong kick reminded me of what I am fighting for. "Where there is life there is hope."In fact, in these long moments alone on bed rest, I often get lost in the haunting thoughts of flashbacks to that hospital room. Or when my water broke. I become paralyzed with fear of the deep, dark, scary unknown that lies ahead for me and this little boy. I can handle the boredom, it's the deep reality of the grave situation I am in, it's the little white box I can see at the top of my closet with Brinly's blanket and pictures, it's the twinges and the bleeding that can drive me to insanity and sadness-but his kicks? They are random, but they are so life giving to me. They bring me back to hope. They make me feel insane love. They remind me why we chose to fight instead of terminate. They also make me more scared-how alive he is makes it even scarier that he is at great risk.
Tomorrow is my first check up. They will check for infection. They will try to determine why I continue to bleed (although they didn't have a clear idea last week when I left and nothing has increased/decreased). They will look at Jude (I'm so begging for a 3d picture of him). I'm a little nervous we might discover something bad, but have accepted the fact that they cannot do anything else to help us till Dec 9.
Lastly, it I have to try to acknowledge the amazing amount of encouraging emails, funny gifts, and meals people have blessed us with:
So many people sent flowers the first week and then Pat, our amazing secretary at UHS worked with other teachers to make me a hilarious and fun gift basket which included a Netflix account, all kinds of tasty treats, magazines, hand puppet tattoos, coloring books; special thanks to Stephanie Evans for the pumpkin bread and Hello Kitty coloring book at the hospital, and to Marg and Hanan and her for visiting me all the way out in Beaverton. Kristen Franz sent me a beautiful necklace, Allysa Dillon sent me the sweetest card with a giving key necklace, Caroline and the book "I Will Carry You", and so many sweet words of love and encouragement. People are bringing us a meal every other day and it's been such a blessing. Also a huge shout out to Tricia Shiply (co-worker who brought me an amazing meal yesterday) because she told me I was looking chubby and pointed to my stomach (music to my ears, highlight of my boring day Tricia:). And for anyone I skipped, I thank you too. These little notes, messages, gifts, meals remind me we are not alone and how Christ continues to remind me, through you all, that He is still here too.
