Gratitude

Do you remember those flip-phones that came with the plan?  It wasn't really that long ago, but it was long enough ago to make me feel old; and it was long enough ago to make things difficult for us at times because we didn't think we needed a SmartPhone (smart phone?  Smart Phone?  Smartphone?  I don't even know how to spell this).

My husband was gone, getting the oil changed and the tires rotated and the brake pads replaced (get this stuff done when you're 7 months pregnant so you're not scrambling while someone's at the hospital 2.5 hours away from home).  I was sobbing and lonely and schoolchildren were being murdered far away and my cell phone battery was dying and I didn't know what to do.

I was alone and strapped to a hospital bed and things were beeping and blinking and I had to pee.

I really wanted my Mommy and she was hours away and I couldn't even call her because my cellphone battery was dying.

I pressed the NURSE button on my television remote control (just taking a chance here because I'd already realized that technology wasn't going to see me through this by itself). A voice coming from a vague space to my left answered.  "Yes," it said, this disembodied deliverance.

"I need to use the phone and I don't know how," I responded, directing my voice to the left. The only thing in that direction was a sonogram screen and a cabinet door, but who am I to argue?

"Someone will be with you shortly," the voice responded.

I did not feel comforted.

I waited.

There was a knock on the door and my nurse came in.

"Hi, Mrs. Shea.  I'm Laurie."

"Hi."

"How are you this afternoon?" she asked brightly.

I began to cry again.  I cried because it was afternoon, and I didn't realize that the day was passing so quickly.  If it was afternoon, than my daughter should be out of school and we should be talking about her day, and I was missing her.  How was I?  Not well at all!  I missed my husband, I needed my daughter, I was aching for my Mom, I wanted my sister by my side so badly.  I was 33 years old and I felt like I was 13.  I felt like a little girl who was lost without her family.

Laurie offered to call my family for me, but she saw that my phone battery was dying.  She asked if I had my charger with me; I didn't.  The hospital phone only takes credit cards and I didn't bring my purse in the hospital with me, so it was wherever my husband was.

Laurie left the room and came back with her personal cellphone.  She told me to call whomever I needed to call and she'd be back in 30 minutes.

I called my sister, who told me she was already on her way.  I called my dad, and he said the same thing.

I called my mom.  Her voice is so amazing.  She's a perfect Southern Lady with perfect Southern manners and gentility.  I don't remember what we said, but I remember that I felt stronger after talking to her; I felt emboldened by her generosity.

Laurie came back.  She and I chatted for a few minutes about her kids and her church and my job.  She asked me if she could pray with me.  And so we did.  And then she left to see her other patients.  And I was alone again.

And all of a sudden, I felt something.

Gratitude.

I felt so grateful to be right where I was right at that moment.

What?!

It's true.  At that moment, I would not have traded life with anyone.

"I was sitting in a hospital room all by myself, waiting for a nurse.  Two and a half hours away from home, my husband was driving away from me to pick up our daughter.  My parents and my grandmother and my sister and her family were six hours away.
I was alone and scared, clutching an outdated cellphone with a dying battery, watching the breaking news of a school shooting in Connecticut."

And I didn't want to move from that spot.  I can't explain it; but I knew that I was right where I needed to be.

And then there was a knock on the door and I saw two little white shoes moving beneath the curtain.  They stopped.

"Look who it is!" I heard my husband say.

The curtain was shoved dramatically aside.  "Mommy?" my beautiful daughter demanded.  "What are you doing?  Where's my brother?"

Gratitude.

Not only had my husband driven so far and done so much just to bring me our daughter, but he'd also reminded her of the brother that was coming.

I looked up at my husband and I gazed into his face.  He was tired.  It showed in the creases of his eyes and mouth.  He was only 29 years old and he already needed a break.  But I also saw a fierceness and a protectiveness.  I saw strength and love.  He bent over my bed and he kissed me.  It was passionate and sincere.  It's so strange to think about, but the previous August we celebrated our 5 year anniversary.  Our 5 Year Anniversary Of Knowing Each Other.  We'd only met five years ago and here we were, fighting together for the life of our second child.

This was an answer to the prayers.  The answer wasn't spontaneous healing of an infant.  The answer was a change in perspective.

My whole life I'd been praying that God would change the world around me.

My whole life I'd been ignoring what he was telling me.

He won't change the world; that's why He gave us free will to make our own choices.

He will change us.  He will change how we perceive what comes our way.  He will change how we react, if we allow Him to.  

We shouldn't just react to the world around us; we should change the world from within.

Dear Santa, I Really Do Believe

I left work in a rush, late as usual, to pick up my daughter from the church.  My husband's youth group was having their Christmas Party that night.  She was enjoying herself immensely, playing Foosball and eating too many ginger-chocolate-chip-sprinkled-whoopee-pie cookies.  The Good Mother in me cringed inside because this would be the second night in a row she'd had a bunch of sweets at a Christmas Party.  The Fun Mommy in me was excited she was enjoying her Christmas.  I'm sure the two will always be at war.
Close to 9pm, I decided we needed to leave.  The kids begged us to stay as Bob, one of my husband's Core Team members, left the room and came back in wearing a Santa hat and dragging a giant blue bag over his shoulder.  He flung the bag down on the ground and bellowed, "MERRY CHRISTMAS TO THE SHEAS!!!"
Inside the bag were many many packages of diapers.  Attached to the diapers, as well as scattered around in the blue bag, were envelopes for greeting cards.  My daughter began to be sleepy and cranky, so I thanked everyone and we left.  She went to bed fairly easily that night and I started opening the envelopes.
Lovely Christmas Cards and New Baby Congratulations Cards, all filled with well-wishes and promises for prayers...  as well as cash, checks, and gift cards for gas, groceries, and our favorite restaurants.
I was alone when I opened these envelopes and felt the sweetness coming out of each one.  My husband was still at church, waiting on the last parents to pick up their children so he could begin to clean up after the party.  I sat on the couch, my giant belly aching and my lower back protesting.  I kind of teared up a bit.  I didn't even know all of these people.  Some woman who's name I had never heard before gave us a $100 gift card to Shell Station so we could afford all the upcoming out-of-town hospital visits.  Altogether, there was over $1000 in cash, gift cards, and diapers.
Only three days later, I was in my hospital room all by myself.  I was scared.  
There was a knock on the door.  I got excited; I thought it was my husband returning with my daughter.  But it wasn't.  It was a florist with a delivery.

The card attached says, "Congratulations.  We love you and we'll miss you.  Merry Christmas."  It was from my employees.  This gorgeous bouquet would follow my family from hospital room to hospital room to hotel over the next two weeks.  It would be our good luck charm and our Christmas Tree.
By the next day, my husband had returned with my daughter.  My sister and her husband and their two kids were there; as well as my Dad and my Grammy and my Mom.  It was the first time in many years we'd all been together in the days before Christmas.
We'd been told that there wasn't any room in the NICU so we'd have to wait another day to deliver.  The immediate benefit of that news nugget was that I could eat, since I'd not eaten anything in 26 hours.  By the time we found out, though, the hospital breakfast boat had long since sailed.  So my husband went below decks to scrounge for food.  He came back 30 minutes later with the Queen's Bounty.  A yogurt parfait with berries and granola, a sausage biscuit with gravy and ketchup for me to choose my preference, a cranberry and orange scone, and a decaf pumpkin spice latte.  He had also found time to swing by the hospital gift shop and pick up these:

His 'n' Hers Christmas Coffee Mugs.  Guess which is His and which is Hers...
In the midst of chaos and fear, my husband found time for giving and laughter.  With the family and our favorite nurse gathered around me in my bed, he presented me with these mugs.  So silly and so perfect.

A Case of the Mondays

"Let's take the bus," my husband said.
"No.  I want to walk.  It's just a few blocks," and I began walking.  Swiftly, as if getting there faster could change something, I wobbled across the parking lot.  The pain was probably intense and acute, but my brain was buzzing and I didn't feel anything physical.  It was as if the logical part of my brain detached itself from the rest of things so that I could manage it all.  I took my phone out of my pocket and called my store.  It's a reflex, almost, with me, to call my job the minute something goes wrong in my life.  That's always been true.
Sara answered the phone and I updated her on the situation and asked to speak to our boss.
A few words about my boss...  He's so amazing.  On the day I'm narrating for you, I'd worked with this guy maybe three times.  We'd only just met.  He didn't know anything about me, really, other than I was very pregnant and not very productive.  He's a man's man, like Ernest Hemingway crossed with Clark Kent and Peter Steele.  On this day he was clinically supportive, like Johnny Bravo mixed with Angela Lansbury.
"I'm walking to the hospital right now.  Either we're delivering today or they'll send me home and put me on bedrest.  Anyway, I won't be back until February,"  I said.  And then, because I'm paranoid about putting people out, I said, "I'm really sorry."
Of course, he brushed it off and wasn't upset by it.  Then again, it was only Monday.  The start of a week can be filled with possibilities!
Then I called my Mom and told her to come right now (from six hours away).
We walked into the hospital lobby and I teetered over to the Guest Services Desk.
"Hi," I smiled (it probably looked ghastly, more like a grimace).  "Can you tell me--"
"Take the elevator to your left.  Go up to the third floor."  The woman behind the desk didn't let me finish.
"How do you--"
She cocked an eyebrow at me.
Oh.  Of course.

And all of a sudden I remembered the day my daughter was born.  As I hobbled to the elevators, gripping my husband's hand, my mind was slammed into the same moment three years before.  A different hospital, our own city, nothing alarming, a scheduled c-section for a baby girl two weeks overdue.  On that day, I strode confidantly to the registration desk and tossed my hair back.  I winked at the woman drinking her coffee and said, "I'm here to have a baby!"  My brother-in-law was filming the moment, my pregnant sister and her six year old daughter were jubilant.  My parents were excited, my grandmother was there, my husband was blushingly nervous.  It was everything a birth day should be.

But this day was not.  We were far from home, a week before Christmas, our daughter was 2 1/2 hours away in school and the rest of our family was in different states.  We had no idea what would happen next and we didn't know what was wrong with our son.
Our son!
Low on amniotic fluid with an uncertain chromosomal future, he waited.  Two heart defects detected and other problems pending, he waited.  Lifted up in prayer and worn down by a faulty umbilical cord, he waited.
I told the nurses at the admitting desk that there had been a mistake and those silly women didn't believe me.  They rang for the head nurse on the floor who came to speak with us.  And (this is the craziest thing I may have ever said), I told the head nurse that we couldn't deliver that day because my daughter was in school and I didn't have anything to read.  As I said that nutty bit, I remembered that my husband's car needed the brakes fixed.  We had taken my car for the trip because it had just been serviced, but my car wouldn't hold the car seats.  The car seats!!  We didn't have a car seat for our son yet!  My friend had only ordered it for me four days ago and two of those days fell on the weekend!  The weekend!!  We were supposed to go to the Penance Mass before the weekend!  The Penance Mass!!  It was tonight!  Tonight!!  We have to pick our daughter up from school!  Our daughter!!  I had to spank her this morning!  OHMYGODIHITMYKIDTODAY!
I began to panic.

***A span of time in which many things happened that I don't remember because my husband will take over and take charge and get everything done when I lose my mind.***

I may have blacked out, I'm not sure.  What I remember next is this:  I was sitting in the giant leather chair in my room in Labor & Delivery, wearing only a hospital gown.  My  husband was standing in front of me, stroking my hair. 
I sobbed.  I put my arms around his waist.
"I can't do this without you," I blubbed.
"Yes, you can."
"Don't leave."
"I have to.  I have to get our daughter.  You will want her."
"I know."
"If I don't leave soon, I'll get stuck in traffic. The sooner I leave the sooner I'll be back, and I'll have our daughter, and everything will be fine."
We kissed.
He left.
I crawled into the bed and pulled the sheets and blanket up.  I looked around.  I began to cry again.
Then I stopped and I reached for my phone, sitting on the rolling tray where my husband left it for me.  I sent one text message to three people.  Those three people would forward my message to friends and a chain of phone calls and text messages would weave all over the country until hundreds of people were praying for us (or even just sending positive thoughts our way, because you don't have to be a Christian to want a positive outcome for someone you care about).  I wasn't aware of all of that at the time, though.

I was sitting in a hospital room all by myself, waiting for a nurse.  Two and a half hours away from home, my husband was driving away from me to pick up our daughter.  My parents and my grandmother and my sister and her family were six hours away.
I was alone and scared, clutching an outdated cellphone with a dying battery, watching the breaking news of a school shooting in Connecticut.

The Clarity of Last Moments

My husband and my daughter walked down to the mailbox.  I wanted to go, but the pain wouldn't let me walk that far.  So I trudged up the stairs to our apartment.  Really, it was like swimming uphill through molasses wearing heavy boots those last few weeks.  I plunked some ice into a glass and added water, slurping it down while looking out the window.  It was such a pretty afternoon, late in the day, the last Sunday I had off before Christmas.  

Suddenly, I was hit with a sense of urgency to DO something!  Anything!  Right now!  Spontaneous fun!

I threw on a sweater, grabbed my purse, shoved on my shoes, and rushed out the door, down the stairs and I hopped into the car.  (The whole process actually took about 10 minutes since I was moving so slowly.)  I drove to the mailbox and saw my husband and daughter at the neighborhood playground.  They saw me and walked over to the car.

"Get in," I said with a smile.  My husband looked warily at me.  He hadn't seen me smile in months.

"What's going on?  Where are we going?" he asked.

"I-C-E C-R-E-A-M."

"Okay!" He laughed.

We pulled up in front of my favorite ice cream shop and our daughter screamed from the backseat:  "YAY!!  MOMMY'S FAVORITE ICE CREAM AND MY FAVORITE ICE CREAM!  That's why you're my best friend!"

She and I had peppermint Christmas ice cream and my husband had this spicy sweet chocolate chili thing.  After, I realized that I was actually hungry.  So we decided to dine at the shady Chinese place next door to the antique store that is adjacent to my favorite ice cream shop.  (It's an eclectic part of town.)  And by "we decided" I mean that I was 8 months pregnant and thought soy sauce would be a great chaser to peppermint Christmas ice cream and my husband loves me enough to not disagree.

After eating bad Chinese food, we drove around the neighborhoods in that part of town that have big houses with residents that can afford big electricity bills that reflect extravagant Christmas light displays.

A few words about Christmas...  I celebrate everything about Christmas.  I like Santa Christmas.  I like Retail Christmas.  I like Jesus Christmas.  I especially love Advent.  I love the colors (gold, silver, red, and green for Santa Christmas; burgundy, navy and money -- yes, money is a color -- of Retail Christmas; brown for Jesus Christmas; pink and purple for Advent), the sounds (Jingle Bells, Dickens read aloud, register chimes and annoying pop music, carols, hymns, and silent prayers), the sights (random coniferous with red velvet bows, twinkling lights, gaudy tinsel, warm candles, Grandmas in unfortunate holiday sweater vests, muted colors of painted Nativity faces), the feelings.  I was looking forward to this Christmas, our last as a family of three.  My next appointment with the Maternal-Fetal Medical Institute at the University Research Hospital was the next day and I was going to ask for a note to get me out of work for the last two weeks of my pregnancy (moving around was getting unbearable at the time when my mobility was most needed).  I'd be home to do so many Christmasy things with my husband and daughter, even though I wouldn't be able to go out much.

We drove home, singing "O Christmas Tree" and "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," my daughter's favorites.  I don't remember putting her to bed that night or if I had a snack before bed.

I remember the next morning.  We were running late.  The hospital that was treating me/us was 2 1/2 hours away and my first of three appointments that day was at 10am.  I spanked my daughter that morning.  I hate that part.  I cringe at the memory.  I will never get over it.  She was in a cranky mood, having woken up for awhile in the middle of the night and still being sleepy.  She was being cranky and mean to us.  She slapped her dad.  She doesn't normally behave that way, and we don't allow it.  I didn't want to spank her.  God knows she didn't want to be spanked.  After we dropped her off at school, I cried a bit on the way to the hospital.  It didn't seem right:  being scared and sad at the same time.  She was okay, though.  She gave me a hug and a kiss and told me she loved me before we left her at school.

I settled in for the non-stress test once we got to the hospital.  I loved that test.  You sit in a warm easy chair with your feet propped up, blanket draped over you, soft felt straps holding the two monitors in place on your belly.  You're given a cup of iced water to drink and music plays softly.  All you have to do is push a button every time you feel your baby move.  So I sat there and pushed a button intermittently and talked to my husband about a Christmas party we'd gone to over the past weekend, while Ray Coniff's Christmas CD played in the background.  I fell asleep for a few minutes.  When I woke up, he was playing with his phone.

"Did it look to you like he has a cleft palate?"  I asked him.  We'd had a detailed ultrasound first.  They looked at his heart, stomach, bowels, and kidneys; the places that had given cause for concern.

"I don't know," he answered.

The nurse came back and took off my blanket and straps.  She asked us to wait in the hallway.  The ultrasound technician came out of a room and said:

"Your baby has very low amniotic fluid and we'll need to deliver immediately."

"What?"  I think that's what I said.  I may have said something unintelligible or I may have used foul language.  Or maybe that's what was said, but my husband said it.

"Congratulations!" that stupid woman said.  "You get your baby today."

"But... it's too early."

"Well, that's just what the doctor said.  You have to do it today or he may not make it," she said haughtily.  "Go over to Labor & Delivery and they'll get you started."  And she started to walk away!

"Wait," my husband called after her.  "We had amniocentesis a couple weeks ago and never heard back from Genetics.  What were the results?"

The ultrasound technician walked down the hall to the Genetics office and came back 15 minutes later.  (I don't actually know if it was 15 minutes, but that's what it felt like.)

"The results were inconclusive," she said in an oddly decisive tone.