For whatever reason I was feeling down. It probably had something to do with the fact that I wasn't getting as much sleep as I needed, but I think it was a need for me to spend some quiet time with the Lord. After Derek left for work, I read my bible for a bit and turned on some worship music. One of my favorite worship songs ( I don't know if it's really categorized as a worship song, but it always has been one for me), "Carried to the Table" by Leeland. A peaceful calm came in the room, and I was ready for the day ahead.
My mom came to keep me company. We watched tv, talked, laughed, generally enjoying each other's company. We played the Disney version of Scene It. After lunch we decided to watch a movie. About 10 minutes into the movie I suddenly felt lightheaded and my head hurt all at the same time. And then I felt a contraction.
I was a little annoyed with the onset of the contractions. Unfortunately they are a horrible "side effect" of PROM. I got up to use the restroom, hoping that it would help alleviate the contractions. After getting back into bed I laid down and tried to breath through each one.
Things got blurry at this point for me. My sense of time was completely thrown off, so my recollection of the timeline of events might be confusing.
I remember the phone ringing and it was my doctors office returning one of my phone calls (I had called them earlier in the day to update them about my condition); my mom told them what was going on and that I'd call them back.
My mom started calling and texting friends to ask them to pray for me.
The contractions weren't stopping, no matter how calm I tried to be, patiently breathing through each one. With each one that started again, I began to get more and more concerned. Finally I asked my mom to call Derek and tell him to come; I didn't want to start thinking negatively, but I knew that if our daughter was going to be born I'd never be able to forgive myself if I didn't let Derek know and he somehow missed the birth.
Derek was on his way. My mom called my dad and asked him to come.
My mom was waving lavender oil under my nose and massaging magnesium oil all over me (magnesium oil can help stop contractions). The contractions were really painful.
The nurses kept coming in to check on me. I asked them if there was something they could do, but there wasn't.
Derek arrived and it felt so good to see him. He held my hand and worked hard to help me through each contraction. He turned on peaceful music and whispered prayers for me to hear. At one point I remember telling him that the music that was playing wasn't really helping, and I asked him to turn on worship music instead. The first song that came on was "Carried to the Table".
My dad came and began praying over me and the baby.
One of the nurses came in. I asked her if I could hear the baby's heartbeat; I needed to know that she was okay.
When the nurse found the baby's heartbeat I got scared; it sounded fast. I looked at Derek and said "it's too fast, she's not okay". Everyone tried to assure me that she was alright, it was good that we could hear her heart beating.
I was literally surrounded with prayer and comfort.
The contractions were getting more and more intense, and I was having a hard time handling the pain as well as the emotions. There's a big difference between being in labor when you're full term and ready to meet your baby; it's another experience when you're very preterm and not ready to meet your baby. It felt like I was fighting the labor, willing it to stop.
I tried getting into different positions to help ease the pain, but nothing was helping. Finally I asked if I could get something for the pain. I was hoping that if the pain could ease up long enough for me to catch my breath and focus on relaxing, maybe they would stop.
The nurse put a shot of something into my IV. A minute later I got drowsy, but not sleepy and started to feel better. I laid on my side, Derek still holding my hand. He opened my bible and started reading different verses to me. My mom and dad left the room to talk with Derek's dad who had also come.
I was feeling like I was coming down from a hill that was swarming with buzzing bugs. Derek's peaceful voice broke through with the encouraging scriptures. I clung to them, believing them, proclaiming them within my heart.
The contractions continued, but with the help of the pain medication I was able to breath through a couple of them. But I was disappointed that the contractions were still coming. I kept praying "God, please, please make them stop. It's not time yet. She's not ready to come out yet. Just a few more days, please."
Then a big contraction hit and I opened my eyes. I remember gripping Derek's hand and asking him when the contraction was over "why aren't they stopping?". He looked back at me and said everything would be okay.
Then I felt the thing that I'd been dreading since the first time I'd felt real contractions at the hospital; I felt like I needed to push. The nurses had already told me that they'd wait and hope that the contractions would stop, but if I felt the urge to push, they'd just let my body do what it needed to do.
I started crying and told Derek that I needed to push. Just then my mom and a nurse came back and Derek told them. I was crying and trying to breath calmly at the same time.
The doctor came in and checked to see if I had dialated. I was praying that I was just mistakenly paranoid and that I hadn't felt the urge. I kept praying that this nightmare would end.
The doctor calmly told me that I was 10 centimeters dialated. I just started weeping and crying out to God.
I could see Derek looking down and I knew his heart was breaking. My mom started crying as she held my hand and told me everything was going to be okay.
The baby was coming now.
This couldn't possibly be happening, it was all a really really bad nightmare. Please God, no. Not now. We had tried so hard to be hopeful, to believe that God could do the impossible. I knew that He was big enough, that nothing was too much for Him to handle. Please God, please. We were only at 22 weeks and 1 day, we needed to at lease make it to 23 weeks and 4 days. Please just make it all stop, keep her in there Lord. Please God, please.
I can honestly say that the idea that my baby really could die had not crossed my mind. I knew it was a possibility, but I was clinging to the hope and belief that God could save her. I had talked to people who had gone through similar situations and their baby's had survived. My story was going to end on a hopeful note. This was not part of the plan.
To say I was distraught is an understatement.
My doctor came over to my side and held my shoulders. She looked at me with love and compassion in her eyes and said so clearly, "You've fought for her as long as you could. Now it's time for her to come out. It's going to be alright. Okay?" I will always be so thankful that God provided an amazing doctor for us during this whole ordeal.
A NICU doctor came in and prepared the warming station. She came over and explained to us that at 22 weeks it was unlikely that there would be much they could do to sustain her life. They would check her and let us know what her odds were, but ultimately it would be up to us to make the decision as to wether or not the doctors would try to save the baby.
A few minutes later, I pushed twice, and Zuri Rose was born. She didn't cry. The room was silent as we all held our breathes, waiting for the doctor to asses her and tell us if our little baby had a chance if they tried to sustain her, or if it would just hurt her more.
Immediately I began praying that the doctor would feel that Zuri had a chance at survival. I felt so helpless just lying there waiting.
My mom stood next to the doctor, watching her tiny granddaughter and praying for a miracle. The doctor looked at us and said that she was just too little. Derek and I cried.
The doctor brought Zuri over and placed her in my arms. The snowstorm of emotions swirling inside of me was so overwhelming.
I'd been here before, fresh out of labor holding my newborn, experiencing the surge of hormones that would make me naturally bond with my child. But this was different.
I was happy and devastated at the same time. She was here, my little girl. This little person who had shared my body for weeks, she was here. I was overwhelmed with love for her. She was so beautiful.
The pains of afterbirth came and I remember recalling something I'd read, that with subsequent births those pains could be worse than with a first baby. They weren't kidding, this hurts. I shut my eyes from the pain. Someone told me to just look at my baby.
She was so tiny. Derek and I marveled at her. She looked so much like her big brother; same long limbs, same nose, same soft and round cheeks, same little pouty lips. She was perfect.
She gasped for air and the sight of her fighting for life took my breath away. Derek looked at my doctor with tears in his eyes and asked, "are you sure there isn't anything they can do?". That's when I saw that my doctor was crying as well. She shook her head and said it would only cause Zuri more pain.
My mom went to get my dad and father in law.
Derek held his little girl. He sang "Jesus Loves Me" to her. This sweet little girl that he had waited for, prayed for (he had been hoping for a girl from the moment we found out I was pregnant), she was here and in his arms.
My mom got to hold her and tell her how much she loved her. My dad got to hold her. Derek's dad held her. Then she was given back to me. (Later in the evening Derek's mom and brother got a chance to meet Zuri as well)
Those precious, fleeting moments will always mean so much to me. I had been afraid of what it would be like to see my underdeveloped baby. But now that she was here in my arms the fear was replaced with awe as I marveled at the amazing work of God's hand. This wasn't just a premature baby, this was the little girl that God had so graciously allowed me to be the mere vessel that sustained her life for those 22 weeks; but He so clearly had been the one to knit her together, piece by beautiful piece.
As I held my little one, all I could do was tell her that I loved her so much, I was so sorry, and that everything would be okay. My mind flashed to that scene from "Steal Magnolias" when Sally Fields expresses how honored she felt to be there when her daughter's life began as well as when it ended. I'd always thought the words were beautiful, but now they meant something different. It was indeed a privilege, but I didn't want it.
All of this happened in such a short span of time, it's kind of crazy to recall all of it and remember that we only had about five minutes with Zuri.
And then she was gone.
I will always love you, my sweet Zuri Rose. Your father and I chose your name because we knew, long before we even saw you, that you would encompass beauty in so many ways; that's what your name means, beautiful. I'm so thankful for the time that we got to have together, those precious moments will always be so beautiful to me. Your sweet little face brought me joy and motherly pride in a moment that was filled with so many emotions, but I will always feel so blessed to have been able to be there when you took your first and your last breath. Even though it was so hard to let you go, it truly was a beautiful moment when I knew that you were with the Messiah. The first thing your little eyes got to see was Him, and that beautiful thought has brought me comfort in the weeks and months since we parted on this side. I will always miss you. My heart will always ache because you're not here. I look forward to the day when we can be together again, when I can hold you and kiss you. It will be a beautiful day.
Beautifully written Aria. My heart goes out to you and your family. I love you.
ReplyDeletePsalm 128:2New International Version (NIV)
2 You will eat the fruit of your labor;
blessings and prosperity will be yours.