Miracle

I have felt for the past while that I should write a detailed post about the ordeal I underwent during the delivery of our baby. On January 4th, I checked in to the hospital with Marc to have a scheduled c-section to deliver our fourth child, Eliza Ann.




After a completely normal pre-op and receiving my spinal, my doctor, assisted by another OB, began the section. Once they had cut through the skin, they realized that there was a problem. There was clear fluid in the peritoneal space where there should not have been fluid. They quickly saw why: my uterus had ruptured (they believe it happened while I was on the OR table) and Eliza was outside in the area of my bladder. I heard my doctor say, "Get the NICU" in a tone of voice a parent never wants to hear when delivering a baby. Thankfully, Eliza was delivered quickly by the skilled hands of my doctor and her silence was replaced by a weak cry that grew stronger and stronger. Once it was determined that Eliza was out of danger my doctor looked around the sheet to tell me that my uterus had ruptured, that I should not do this again, and to please reconsider tying my tubes right then. Marc and I looked at each other and knew that this was the course we needed to take. The sewing me back together then began. It took much longer than any other of my previous two sections as the doctors worked to repair my uterus, tie my tubes, and sew the rest of me back together. Finally, I was in the recovery room with Marc and Eliza. My nurse was vigilantly watching over me while I was able to cuddle with our sweet little girl.




My nurse turned out to be a guardian angel. She began to notice that something was not quite right with my coloring and there seemed to be more bleeding than is considered normal. When she knew that something was not "quite right" with me she called my doctor back to come and look at me. When he came in and saw the amount of bleeding that I was having his face turned a funny shade of white and he informed Marc and I that I would need a hysterectomy right then. There was a flurry of paperwork, Eliza was whisked away to the nursery and I made a weak attempt to call my friends who were taking care of our children to let them know that there was a change in plans for the evening. (I had planned almost every moment of the day and had thought that our older three children would be able to come visit Eliza and me that evening. It's almost amusing the way we make plans in life and then life happens and changes our plans!) I also called my parents to tell them what was going to happen, but by the time I began talking to them I was in a strange sort of delirium and things begin to get sketchy from there. I do remember being wheeled downstairs to another OR and then asking if I would have to have a tube placed down my throat. The last thing I remember was the black mask coming to cover my face. During my emergent hysterectomy my doctor knew something was wrong. He said that everything he would touch inside of my body would either bleed or bruise. I had to receive blood transfusions during my surgery and during recovery (a total of 14 units) as well as plasma, and platelets because of the severity of what was occurring in my body. To the best of my doctors' knowledge, when my uterus ruptured, fluid from my uterus entered my bloodstream which caused my blood to start to attack the foreign "invader." This sent my body into a condition known as DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation). (To read more about amniotic fluid embolism, AFE, visit http://afefund.com/background.htm and to read about DIC, visit http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000573.htm). The hysterectomy took several hours during which time Dr. Hennessey called Marc from the OR to tell him that things were not going well. When Dr. Hennessey realized he could do nothing more for me, he decided to insert two separate drain lines into my abdomen, close me up and pray for the best even though he did not believe that I would survive. About an hour after my surgery the doctors informed Marc that I had about fifteen more minutes before I would die. I cannot imagine what he felt in that moment. Dr. Hennessey spent the night in the hospital in order to monitor my condition. Marc and his boss gave me another blessing following the surgery and many prayers were offered on my behalf. After my hemoglobin levels dropped dangerously low and the doctors waited for my body to begin bleeding out, a miracle happened. I don't know how it happened, but that seems to be the nature of God's miracles. I remember waking up in the ICU intermittently hearing Marc talking to me, then my mom and dad. My brother came, followed by my in-laws and some of my dearest friends. I would wake up to doctors and nurses performing various tests and taking different readings on my condition. I would also wake up to vivid thoughts of family, my future and God. Those two days in the ICU were spiritual as I prayed and was prayed over. It was a surreal experience to simply lie there unable to move and barely able to communicate.








When the time finally came to leave the ICU, I was scared to have to learn how to move on my own again. The ride from the first floor to the second floor postpartum section was rough, but at long last I was able to hold my darling baby and be with our other children as well.








It has been a long road to recovery, but I am beating the doctors' predictions. I know it is due to the faith and prayers of my family and friends. Miracles are real. They are wrought by faith in Jesus Christ. I feel that everyone who was involved in my care, or who prayed or fasted for me has a stake in this miracle. I don't know that I fully understand why I was blessed with this miracle, but I do know that my heart overflows with gratitude for it every time I look at my husband and children. I know that heaven must be a wonderful place, and I would love to be with my Father in Heaven, but I could not bear to leave my family here. I have a feeling that I pleaded with Father to allow me to stay here and I am so thankful he answered that prayer.

Remembrance and Gratitude

Today we started a new tradition with our family: We decided to make some treats and cards and take them to our local fire and police stations to thank them for their selfless service. This idea was not our own, but one when Marc and I heard about it, knew we had to do. This past week has allowed us several opportunities to teach our children about what happened and what we felt on September 11th, 2001. I have shed tears telling my three children about that day and what I witnessed watching the live newscast while attending BYU. This morning I had them watch as a news station showed the same images that I watched that fateful morning. I am glad that my children know what happened that day and I will remind them on every anniversary of the heroes of that day. That is why we visited our fire and police stations today. As most ran to get away from the chaos, they ran toward the doomed towers hoping to save anyone left inside. My appreciation for their acts of heroism increases as the years pass. Our son told us that when they discussed September 11th as a class there were several people who had no clue why this day was important to remember. What a terrible disservice those parents are doing for their children. If we do not remember what happened that day, there is no chance of understanding much of what is happening in our country today. Our family will remember, and we will do so in a spirit of reverence for the lives that were lost and in gratitude for those serve selflessly. REMEMBER

Pregnancy Then and Now

This pregnancy is turning out to be different from the last few. For one, when I was pregnant with Emma-Kate, I worried constantly about how I would be able to take care of my other two little children when and if I had to go on bed rest again. That thought absolutely consumed me as Marc was headed out to the desert toward the end of my second trimester and I would be left with a two and four-year-old. Not to mention it was a pretty dangerous deployment and my nerves were an absolute mess! My anxiety level was over the top and when I was placed on bed rest I worried about having another preemie in the NICU, an experience I did not want to repeat. Aside from those worries, I'm sure there were more, whether real or perceived, that made me a complete basket case! This time around has been so different. I am receiving weekly shots of progesterone to hopefully ward off any preterm labor, and I am working out about four times a week. The first few months were anything from easy (I was more ill than during any of my previous pregnancies) but that is past and I am gaining weight right on target. My worries are different, my greatest fear being the loss of the baby. Maybe this is heightened because of the loss of my sister-in-law of their baby in May. That was a difficult time for them and their family a reminder to all of us of the fragility of life and the importance of family. Emma-Kate has become attached to the baby in my belly and volunteers to say every prayer we have as a family to pray that the baby will be healthy and "hurry up and grow so she can be ready to be born." It is one of the cutest things I have ever experienced. Her enthusiasm for this little baby combined with my fear makes me anxious at times, but overall I feel a lot of peace. Emotionally I feel better than I have in years. Physically, I am still trying to gain back some of the endurance I lost while on my hiatus from the gym this summer. I have my ups and downs, but I am so happy to be having another little girl. Now if we could only agree on a name......

Preparing soil

So my better part of yesterday was spent in our yard preparing the ground for our vegetable garden. It's kind of funny because the area we chose to use has been completely dead for about a year and because we didn't want to dig up any remaining grass, we dug up the dead area hoping that something will actually grow there. We did add peat moss and compost which we are hoping and praying will make our vegetables grow. The other funny thing about this garden we are attempting is that I swore off gardening after experiencing lackluster success last year in the planting arena. In fact, even the flowers I planted in my front landscaping didn't work out. My reason for a hiatus was that I have done it for the past three years with minimal success. I did get some pretty good green beans and tomatoes the first year I planted, and herbs seem to be something that even a black thumb cannot ruin, but last year in spite of all of my plants growing and flowering beautifully, they produced nada. So this year, after publicly announcing that I was finished with vegetable gardening, my dear husband read an article in the Ensign about gardening and decided that it was VERY important that we give it a go this year so that we can learn to "work the land" in case we ever have to depend upon ourselves for food. (A very scary thought and all the more reason to bulk up on food storage!) My initial reaction was one of not only disbelief, but dread in knowing I would be the one with the most responsibility for the garden. I admit to complaining, but secretly I was a little excited about trying to garden on a larger scale than I have before. The soil had to be prepared, and as we are not owners of a fancy rototiller, nor do we know anyone who is, we had to use our handy shovel to turn over all of the dirt in our 12x15 foot garden. There were roots to contend with from the pine trees that were cut down last year which were hard to pull out. (There were so many that my garbage can is filled with them.) There were also chunks of cement and actual bricks that had to be pulled out. All of the backbreaking work of preparing the soil for our plants allowed me to reflect on the parable of the sower and the seeds that were planted. When we read this in Gospel Doctrine I was struck by realization that it was the condition of the soil that caused results in the parable. The seed was the same wherever it was planted, it was only that soil that had been prepared, creating optimal growing conditions that allowed the seed to grow and produce fruit. I wondered after the lesson about the condition of my soil.....have I taken out the things in my life that would prevent and even prohibit me from receiving the full blessings of the Gospel? What entangling roots are there that I need to take out? Just as the roots in my backyard were difficult to pull out, surely the casting aside of bad habits requires hard work and valiant effort. Just because things are the "right" thing to do does not mean they should or will be easy. Sometimes we think that our path in doing what the Lord expects of us should be unhindered from difficulty. This is not always, if ever the case. The Lord said only that He would "prepare a way." He did not say that way would be free from difficulty. I am glad to have had the past few days to "work the land" of our little vegetable garden. While we are far from seeing any kind of harvest, I believe the effort of this undertaking will teach us important temporal as well as spiritual lessons. Meanwhile, I will pray over our garden and have faith that our daily efforts will be fruitful.

"What debt of gratitude is mine"

This was a week to remember....and there are some things that I am feeling especially grateful for as I review the events. In addition to John feeling so much better and having the infection under control, having Marc with us relieved so much of the burden of this trial. Being able to share the burden of caring for John and still taking care of the girls and our home brought peace to my mind and heart. I was simply grateful to have him with me to listen to me cry, to hug me, to have him comfort John, and especially to make me laugh. He drew silly pictures on the whiteboard in the hospital room, played with the medical equipment in the room (he checked to make sure my ears were clear), and joked about a myriad of other things which lightened the mood considerably. I was so glad when he arrived each day to the hospital. The first day he arrived, he should have been arriving elsewhere on a trip for work. Once the doctor decided to send John over to the hospital to admit him to the ER there for further testing, I was on the phone to Marc, who in turn called his work seeking approval to cancel the trip. He was in line to board the plane when I called him and we narrowly missed him turning off his phone. Yes, I am thankful for the miracles in my life.

John is doing much better now, and will see a specialist in the near future regarding his kidney/ureter. There are so many bumps in this road of life, and sometimes upon reflecting the bump that we have just been over we realize that it was a bit scarier than we thought it to be at the time. I know that it is only because of Jesus Christ and the faith that we place in Him that we are able to weather these storms. He carried me through this past week and I feel indebted to Him for His "tender mercies" that attended our family this week. We may not know why we pass through the trials that we do, but He knows all things and will work so that all these things will work together for our good.