Anger.

Shock.  Sadness.  Confusion.  Fear.  Acceptance.

The first time we dealt with clubfoot, I felt all of those emotions.  Not necessarily in that order, and sometimes I would go back and forth before moving onto the next feeling.  The second time we found out about having a baby with clubfoot, I felt all of those emotions plus one more:

Anger.

Pure, raw, soul-consuming anger.

It wasn't an emotion I expected to have, and I wasn't prepared for the intensity of it.

I started to feel it after my appointment that day.  At the time, it revolved mainly around the idea, "This isn't fair.  It isn't fair that my baby has to go through this."

That night, when I found out that Dr. Cummiskey had had to close his practice and we would be finding a new orthopedic doctor, it turned to anger.  Rage.  An intense emotion that I am not proud of, and really don't want to admit.  But it has been so real and so extreme that I have to share it in case there is someone else out there that is feeling it. I don't want them to think they are alone.

I was angry about so many things.  I was angry that I had spent more than the first half of my pregnancy feeling so sick.  I had just started feeling somewhat better the week of my ultrasound.  Then we found out about the baby's foot, and it was like the focus of my pregnancy went from getting through the pregnancy sickness to dealing with the clubfoot.  Wasn't I supposed to have some time of joy during all of this?  I felt like all the joy had been sucked out of me.  Gosh, I hate acknowledging that.  I hate it!  But its the truth.

I was angry that the one comfort that I had always had (that if we had another clubfoot baby, we knew the doctor and the way he did treatment) had been stripped from me.  I felt horribly guilty feeling angry that he was no longer practicing because of how it affected ME (trust me, I felt so much sadness for him and his family).  But my anger really became very intense after finding out that we needed a new doctor.  Suddenly, the bit of calmness I felt underneath the pain was totally taken away and I was left feeling lost and abandoned.

When we found out we needed a new doctor, I asked for a referral to see the perinatologist that had been there when we looked at Oliver's ultrasound.  I really hadn't intended to see him this time, as I was sure that this baby's foot was indeed turned and the only thing the perinatologist could do at this point was confirm that's what the ultrasound looked like.  But I thought he might have an idea of who we could see, so I asked for an appointment.  I was able to get in quickly to see him, so the week after my first ultrasound I went to see Dr. Wheeler.

My ultrasound and midwife appointment was on a Friday.  That Sunday, we were surrounded in prayer and prayed for a miraculous healing.  My appointment with Dr. Wheeler was that Thursday.  I thought and prayed, "Great, he can do an ultrasound, and how cool would it be if God did heal our baby on Sunday?! We'll be able to go back this weekend and give God all the glory for this.  God, I have got this figured out!  Just do Your part, cos I've got the rest planned.  Sounds good, ok?"

Well, it certainly didn't work out that way.  I went to the appointment and sure enough, the baby's foot still looked turned.  Dr. Wheeler was very nice to talk to, and said how good it was that this looked to be an isolated clubfoot and not associated with any other major condition.  I have to admit, I would not want his job.  The things he and his staff must see and have to tell expectant mothers would be awful.  I'm sure to him, clubfoot is very mild compared to other things they deal with.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any answers for us.  Just that they were referring people down to Indianapolis to either St. Vincent's Peyton Manning's Children's Hospital or Riley Children's Hospital.  Dr. Cummiskey had very recently closed his practice, so he didn't yet have any doctor's name that he knew of that he could recommend.  He gave me a website to look at, and said if it was his child, he would go to Riley.  He said the doctors there are very, very good and he would feel confident in their care.  I left feeling somewhat relieved that he believed there would be a competant doctor in the state, but a bit frustrated that I was still going to be the one researching and deciding everything.

I spent SO MUCH time researching.  Hours every day and night before bed.  I was barely sleeping. I was so mad that I was having to do this.  I contacted various people asking for their help and opinions on doctors.  I felt an enormous burden of finding the perfect doctor for our baby.  It seemed so unfair to have to take this on while dealing with the already tumultuous hormones that come with being pregnant.

During all of this, I struggled with praying.  I knew in my heart and in my head that God hadn't abandoned me, that He was holding me in His arms and crying with me.  But my mind kept saying, "Fine, God, if You are sad about this too, then FIX IT.  You can do it.  Why don't you?!"  I was not ok with the idea of my child being used as a way to reach more people for Christ.  I was not okay with my baby going through so much pain for any "purpose" or "reason" that was unknown to me.  I was angry.  I felt like stomping my feet and shaking my fist and screaming at God.  I knew he could handle my tantrums, and that's exactly what it felt like I was having.  My prayers were often short and consisted of, "God forgive me for having such a closed heart right now.  But I'm angry.  And you know that so I'm not even going to try to pretend I'm not.  You know what I want you to do.  Just get me through this mess."

I was angry at other people, too.  I totally acknowledged that it was anger coming from me because of the place that I was in.  It wasn't anyone else's fault.  But I quickly realized there were certain people that I just couldn't talk to about this.  Having people tell me over and over again how okay it was because it was "just clubfoot" made me want to bury them six feet under.  Having people tell me I should be thankful because it could be so much worse made me feel like my anger and sadness was unjustified.  Of course I realized how blessed we are.  My goodness, I have had some very close friends lose their babies to horrible situations at very, very young ages. In no way did I feel like my situation was close to theirs.  I knew it could be worse.  I didn't need to be reminded of that.  Having people tell me that we had already been through it so it would be easier made me realize that people truly didn't understand what we had been through.  How could they? That wasn't their fault.  But my reaction was anger.

I became angry when I would see other pregnant mothers talk about going to their ultrasound and all they cared about was whether it was  boy or girl. Part of me wanted to scream, "Yeah, well I hope you find out because our boys didn't cooperate the first time!!! And by the way, I'll be praying that that is the only big news you find out that day!"  I would be resentful when every other pregnant mother I saw post on facebook about their ultrasound was posting positive news.  Its not like I wanted them to have bad news.  Goodness no.  It wasn't that at all.  I was just jealous (ugh, another horrible emotion) that they were all getting good reports and I hadn't. I also felt jealous of the moms who waited until their baby was born to find out the sex.  With all of our babies we had decided to find out at the ultrasound.  This time we had talked about waiting but decided not to, but I said that if we have one more baby I definitely want to wait.  Well, now that we had two boys with this condition and one girl without, I felt like I'd never get the chance.  I knew I'd always want to find out about the feet before the birth, so I feel like that will always tell me.  I know it isn't for sure, but still.  Its hard.  I felt no sympathy for pregnant mothers complaining about aches and pains because, well, their aches and pains were gong to go away after their pregnancy.  My baby was going to just begin his when mine were ending.

I realized that my reactions to other people were illogical, and I felt badly about them.  I still do.  I love my friends and family dearly and never want them to feel like they did anything "wrong" during this time.  I take complete ownership for my anger and resentment.  I realize now that I had unrealistic expectations of how other people would react.  It wasn't fair of me to place the burden onto them of knowing exactly what I needed to hear.  I was turning for comfort in all the wrong places.

Because I could see the way that I was reacting to people, I didn't really want to reach out to anyone.  I desperately wanted people to reach out to me and ask me about things, but I didn't feel comfortable being the one bringing it up.  I began to feel very withdrawn.  Even the everyday stuff that I would normally have posted on facebook, I began to second guess and keep to myself.  I'm sure that no one else really noticed, because I still did post quite a bit.  But it was rarely about the stuff I was really feeling.  I didn't want to become one of those people that post every single day how they were barely hanging on by a thread.  Overall, I was keeping it together.  But there was always this enormous weight hanging over me.

One Wednesday night shortly after we had received the news I went to service at church.  Again, I could barely worship as I just cried my way through every song.  I kept listening to the words thinking, "How can our God do all of these wonderful things, but put me through this?  How can I feel so alone when I know He is there?"  I felt like I was being put through some sort of "test" and that I was failing miserably.  I wasn't rejoicing in my trials.  I wasn't singing praise to God because of all I knew He could do.  Instead I was angry, so so angry.  I doubted that He would do anything miraculous for us.  Satan was really working overtime in my head.  He had me convinced of what a horrible Christian I was for not living up to the scripture that I believed to be true.  What kind of Christian was I for doubting my God?  Why was I having all of these horrible human emotions when I knew in the end everything would be ok because it was in God's hands?  I must not have much "real faith", I heard over and over in my head. 

I went to the alter that night and sobbed.  A sweet friend from our church came up and prayed with me and just let me cry.  I told her how angry I was that we were given this to handle.  I told her how God must be so disappointed in me for reacting this way.  She told me that I needed to let myself grieve.  That I needed to let myself grieve what I thought we were going to have with this baby and what we were now going to go through.  Having someone else give me "permission" to do this helped so much. Grief was exactly what I  was going through, but I didn't feel like I deserved to go through it.  My baby was going to be okay, after all.  This was treatable.  But oh, how my heart did grieve all that I knew he would experience.

The anger held on and continued for far longer than I expected or like to admit.  It has now been more than two months since we found out about the baby's foot and just within the last few weeks I haven't felt so consumed by this ugly emotion.  I can see God working on me.  I can feel myself moving on into another phase of emotions.  Its not getting easier, but its changing.  There are lessons God has taught me during this that I needed to learn, and am still learning.

People often tell me that I am stronger than I know.  I can't say I believe that right now.  I feel like the anger is an ugly side of myself that they must not know about when they say things like this. They say that God doesn't give us more than we can handle.  I used to say that as well.  But I can't say that I agree.  After the loss of her child, a dear friend of mine has also said she doesn't agree with this.  I truly believe the same thing as she does, and it is this.  God does in fact give us more than we can handle, so that we lean on Him.  If I could handle all of this, I wouldn't be falling to my knees, literally, crying out to Him.  I wouldn't be turning off my text messages and my phone and turning to Him if I could handle this, or if the comfort I could get from those close to me was enough.  I feel like He has given me much more than I can handle, so I can learn to trust Him to handle it instead.

I'll admit it has taken everything in me to publish this post and to publicly acknowledge any of these feelings.  I would much rather just keep them to myself.  I would much rather keep the pain and the bitterness and the anger in a place where no one else can see them.  They are such private, raw, ugly emotions that I would rather not share.  I don't want people to think I am doing well because I am able to tell others about these feelings.  I'm doing it because I have to believe that someone else out there will benefit from this.  Maybe another clubfoot parent.  Maybe someone else entirely.  I may never know, and that is okay.  I just pray that being transparent helps someone.