July 31st was our consultation with Dr. Kayes, a pediatric orthopedic doctor at the Peyton Manning Children's Hospital at St. Vincent's Hospital in Indianapolis. It felt like we had been waiting so long to talk to someone. I was a nervous wreck before the appointment, but could not wait to get down there and meet him.
Up until about the week before, I had plans to go by myself. That made me sad, as I already felt so lonely and overwhelmed by this choice, but it made sense. Jay didn't need to take any time off of work that wasn't necessary. However, after talking with Jay more about Oliver's feet, he decided to take the afternoon off and we would take Oliver with us to see if the doctor would look at Oliver's feet also. We weren't asking him to diagnose anything, but just wanted his opinion. If he felt like something was wrong, we would come back for an appointment just for Oliver. I prayed that he would tell us Oliver's feet looked good and that wasn't necessary.
I barely slept the night before the appointment. I wasn't exactly sleeping much lately anyway, so that wasn't unusual. Stress was really taking a toll. The morning of our appointment, I took Oliver to his speech therapy and then dropped off Lucy with my mother-in-law. Thanks to lovely pregnancy hormones I was so sad to drop her off. I usually don't spend a lot of time away from her and I hated to leave her for the day.
Oliver and I came home and got Jay and headed to Indianapolis. We had plenty of time which was nice since I wasn't exactly sure where we were going. Once we got closer to the hospital, I realized I had been down there before (in college). The hospital campus is pretty big but I recognized exactly where we were. Thankfully there was a parking garage directly across from the entrance we were supposed to use, and the orthopedic office was right inside of that entrance. Very, very easy.
We waited f.o.r.e.v.e.r. Or at least it felt that way. A friend of mine texted to see how our appointment went, and I vented about how we were still waiting. We were in the waiting room almost an hour (we got there a little early, so probably 45 minutes past our appointment time) before we got called back. I understand that doctors get behind, especially by that time in the afternoon, but I was such a nervous wreck that it was driving me nuts. Plus, my back and my hips and everything else were hurting from the long drive down. Cue the pregnancy crankiness. Thankfully they had some pretty cool video games in the waiting area that Oliver enjoyed playing.
We finally got called back and the nurse asked us some basic questions. Oliver was already starting to get wound up being in the room and climbing up and down on the exam table. I could feel my stress level rising and I was just praying he wasn't going to be completely crazy during our talk with the doctor. We had explained to him how important this was and that we needed to be able to talk to the doctor. We even let him bring in his Nintendo 3DS to hopefully keep him occupied.
Finally Dr. Kayes came in. We introduced ourselves, and Oliver, and said that he was our first clubfoot child. Oliver was sitting on the exam table with his shoes off, and right away Dr. Kayes started making conversation with Oliver and moving his feet around. I kind of held my breath to see what he said. After playing with them some more, he said Oliver's feet looked great! I think Jay and I both let out a sigh of relief. I explained that he hadn't seen a doctor for awhile so we were hoping to hear that. He had Oliver stand up and turn around and said although his right foot was a little tighter than his left that they looked great. He was amazed by Oliver's treatment (no tenotomy, very early release from braces, etc) and asked a lot of questions about that. He even looked at Jay's foot (Jay was wearing sandals) and asked a couple of questions about what we knew about his surgery and treatment as well.
Even though we had to wait awhile for our appointment, I felt like Dr. Kayes made sure that we had plenty of time with him. He apologized that we had to make such a drive to get to him, and I kind of laughed and said, "Well, its either here to you or to St. Louis to see Dr. Dobbs...this is much closer." I explained that I had been in touch with Dr. Dobbs, and Dr. Kayes said he had a couple of patients that he has actually sent to St. Louis to Dr. Dobbs for a second opinion. He said he doesn't hesitate to get in touch with him if there is ever a situation where he feels he could use Dr. Dobbs' expertise. He acknowledged that Dr. Dobbs is a clubfoot expert, and I thought it was great that he utilizes him when necessary. Dr. Kayes was very humble, and kind. He asked several times what other questions we had, and how he could help us feel comfortable with what to expect at this point. I told him about how Oliver had KAFO braces, and asked if he ever used them. He said no, not really, because of the long-term benefits of the bar and boots. That brace is really the Ponseti standard, so I understand why he uses that. I asked if we could get the Dobbs bar (which is hinged and the baby can move his feet independently instead of always together like with the solid bar), and he said we could. That was good to hear. He asked how we knew about the bar and boots if Oliver had used KAFO braces. I had to laugh a little and say, "well, the Internet." If he only knew how many hours upon hours I had spent researching!
During all of this, Oliver was much more...social, than I expected. That's one way to put it. He kept going up to Dr. Kayes and saying, "Hey! Look at my game, look at this level!" and showing him something on his 3DS. I wanted to crawl under my chair, and drag Oliver with me. But Dr. Kayes took it all in stride. He would smile and even ask Oliver, "Oh yeah? Let me see that again." He was so nice and easy-going with Oliver that it really put me at ease.
The treatment Dr. Kayes described was pretty much exactly what I expected. He said just to give him a call after the baby is born, and we'll set up appointments. The first cast will go on a week or two after he is born; whenever I feel up to making the trip. We'll change out casts once a week for several weeks until the feet are positioned correctly. There's a good chance Max will need a tenotomy, but I'm still praying we can avoid that like Oliver did. If he does need it, it'll be an in-office procedure and not in an operating room. I was relieved to hear that. A final cast will go on after that and stay on approximately 3 weeks. After that Max will start wearing the bar and boots brace. The first three months of brace wear will be 23 hours a day, 7 days a week. After the first three months, we will slowly wean him down: one month 20-22 hours, one month 18-20 hours, one month 16-18 hours and one month 14-16 hours. Eventually he'll get down to just wearing them at bedtime until he is about 4 years old. That is the part that I really struggle with. I can't imagine having a child in braces at bedtime for that long when Oliver was done so early. But I can't let myself go there. Not yet. Max isn't even born yet; I can't let myself imagine him as a toddler in braces at bedtime.
I left the appointment feeling much, much better than I expected. I'll admit, I went in with a "this guy is going to need to impress me" attitude. I really looked at the appointment as something to check off my list to say I had looked at all of our "local" options before deciding that we needed to see Dr. Dobbs in St. Louis. How we were going to afford to get there, I didn't know. How we were going to arrange childcare, I had no idea. But I didn't expect to like Dr. Kayes, to be really honest. I was surprised at how much I liked him and felt at ease with him. Jay and I both felt comfortable with him, and I was so glad that Jay had been part of that day's appointment. I needed his input.
I left the appointment feeling like a slight weight had been lifted. Finally, we had a doctor. I still had this nagging feeling that I wished we could be making the trip to St. Louis. I really liked Dr. Dobbs, and I knew he was one of the very best. But logistically, this made so much more sense. And if we ever feel like we need some extra help or attention, we know we can go to St. Louis.
After the appointment, I was able to meet up with a friend who lived in Indianapolis and had a bunch of nursing and baby stuff for me. We had actually never met in person before despite being in touch pretty much daily on facebook, text messages, etc. Amal was so super sweet to wait for us during our appointment. It was lovely to meet her, and I hope that during some of our many other appointments we will be able to see her again.
The drive home was exhausting. Physically I was in a lot of pain...Jay had gone into work at 2:30 that morning and worked 8 hours before leaving so, understandably, I did the majority of the driving that day. I called both of my parents to let them know how our appointment had gone, but I wasn't as talkative as I normally would have been because I was just so drained. It seemed like two months worth of stress, exhaustion, and anxiety had caught up to me. We had hoped to make it home in time for Oliver to get to play in his soccer game, but we definitely did not. I couldn't wait to pick up our Lucy girl and just get home.
I went to bed that night with somewhat of a clear mind for the first time in awhile. I posted this as my facebook status:
An
exhausting day, both mentally and physically. But a very good one. I'm
so thankful for all the prayers and messages we received today. I feel
so much relief that today is over! Two months ago I was devastated with
the news we had just received and for the first time since then I am
going to bed with some peace of mind. Thank you Lord.
I expected to wake up the next day and feel so much better. But to be honest, the next day I felt awful. Physically, I was exhausted and hurting all over. It was like I was forcing myself to just move and take one step after another. Mentally it was like all I could think was very basic thoughts about what needed to be done and paid attention to in that very moment. The kids and I got through the day with me functioning on a very basic "need to do it" level. I think the stress, anxiety, build-up, fatigue, and worry of the past two months had left me stripped of everything. I wanted to feel relieved and happy about the day before but felt very numb. It had all certainly taken its toll.
Showing posts with label prayers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayers. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
The Second Time We Found Out...May 31, 2013
So far, most of the posts on this blog have been emotional to write (especially the one about Oliver's first casting...I haven't been able to read it since I wrote/published it). They have been just far enough in the past that I've had time to feel, process, and put all the complex emotions into words that actually make sense.
Now I'm to the point of writing about what we are currently going through. At first, it was hard for me not to just jump right into this stage and write about it. However, as time as gone on, I've been a bit anxious about writing these. The emotions I'm feeling are still so raw. They are still so open and fresh, and oftentimes, ugly. I'm not always proud of how I'm handling things. Oftentimes I want to hide to myself, no matter how lonely it is, because I fear how others will view how I'm handling our situation. But I'm going to do my best to just put it out there in hopes that I can help someone else along the way who may also be having these feelings. And someday, I'll be able to look back and see how far I have come.
Friday, May 31, 2013. I had my ultrasound appt early that afternoon, and Jay took a half day to go with me. We took both kids with us, which turned out to be much easier than I expected. I was a total bundle of nerves on the way there. The peace that I remember feeling before Lucy's ultrasound was not with me that day. I still didn't expect that we would find out anything was wrong, but gosh I was so anxious.
They called us back to the room, and the ultrasound tech did all of the necessary measurements. She asked if we knew boy or girl and we said we didn't know for sure but that we wanted to find out if possible. After she did the measurements she let me get up and go to the bathroom; I had drank so much water on the way there that I was miserable! I came back and she finished the scan. It was really sweet having the kids with us. Oliver sat in the chair next to me and held my hand. Jay stood next to me holding Lucy and she kept pointing to the screen and waving and saying, "Baby!" At first, baby had its legs tight together and wasn't letting us see anything. I couldn't believe it! Thankfully, the baby moved, and the tech pointed between the legs and said, "See that there? It's a little boy!" I looked at Oliver and said, "Did you hear that? It's a boy! You're having a brother!" I wish we had gotten a video or picture of his face. He totally lit up and gasped and said, "A little brother?!?" It was precious!
Everything was looking good on the baby. I asked to see his feet, and explained that Oliver had been born with clubfoot so we were very curious to see about this little guy. She got a good look at one foot and we could tell it was fine. What a relief! Then she got a view of the other foot. My heart completely fell.
It was turned. I knew it. I can't even remember exactly what I said or did. I think I just sighed and said, "Ah. Yeah, its turned in." I looked at Jay and tried to smile, and I had to hold it together because the kids were still with us. The ultrasound tech asked where we had had our ultrasounds done with Oliver and I told her. The baby was positioned with his foot pressed up against the side of my uterus, so she had me turn this way and that, all over the place, to try to get him to move and kick his foot out. He sort of did, but he stayed pretty much set in one place. I told her that the foot looked exactly like how Oliver's had looked on his ultrasounds. Instead of the foot bones extending straight out from the leg, they were turned inwards. I really didn't even need her to tell us what she thought, I knew as soon as I saw it.
Honestly, it didn't even seem real. It seemed absolutely impossible that I was laying on this table, having an ultrasound, and seeing another clubfoot. This couldn't be my baby. I had already seen this...right? Had already been through this? I really couldn't let myself comprehend it just yet.
The ultrasound tech printed off some pictures for us (none of his clubfoot, which I really wish I had) and led me to a room to wait for my midwife. I was scheduled for an appt with her after my ultrasound. I think at one point, Jay asked me if I was ok because I had tears in my eyes, but I was just trying to hold it together for the kids. I have no idea how well I did because its such a blur. He took the kids out of the office and kept them busy so I could have an easier appointment. I was thankful because I couldn't hold it together much longer.
I sat in the room and looked at his pictures and just cried. The nurse, whom I just adore, came in and said something like, "Not what you were hoping for? I've been thinking about you all day." For some reason, at first I thought maybe she thought I was crying because we found out we were having a boy and I was upset about that. I have no idea why my mind went there! I could barely talk but said something about one foot being turned in. She gave me a hug and did what she needed to do. She gave me another hug before she left.
I had to wait awhile for my midwife to come in. I grabbed my phone and realized I had reception. I sat there, desperately wanting to reach out to someone, but not really wanting anyone to respond. At least not directly. I don't know, it was weird. I have a small group of mom friends that I chat with online and they knew I had my appointment that day. I sent out a quick message: "One foot looks like clubfoot. Will update more after my appointment with Kori (midwife). Trying not to fall apart over here." That's all I could get out. As I waited for my midwife, I went back and forth between sobbing and then getting myself together. I kept hoping she would come in while I was in between sob sessions, and looking back I have no idea if I was crying or not when she came in.
Kori came in and hugged me. She knew this wasn't what I wanted. She was so, so sweet. I kept rambling, saying the same things over and over, as if I could convince myself how okay this was. I would say things like ,"It'll be fine. Its only one foot. It'll be fine." And, "I mean, the first time we went through this we didn't know what to expect. Now we know the doctor we're going to, we know the treatments, its not so overwhelming." Over and over I would repeat myself. And I just cried. Oh how my heart was breaking. It just didn't seem fair that my precious baby was going to go through all of the pain that Oliver did. I don't know how long I spent talking, but it seemed like forever. Probably close to 45 minutes. I was thinking I would have a regular appointment, with listening to the heart tones and everything, but at the end Kori told me since we had had the ultrasound they had all of that information and measurements and she really didn't need to do anything more. Part of me felt badly, then, because I had really taken up so much of her time! I was, and still am, so very thankful for how she handled that appointment. Just letting me talk and cry and process. The whole thing was so completely different and opposite from how my OB appointment went after finding out about Oliver's feet. She encouraged me to just take the time I needed and not feel the need to tell everyone. That was really nice to hear, because I have a tendency to need to update people whether I feel like it or not.
I got myself together, and went to find Jay and the kids. When we got in the van, I actually turned my phone off completely...something I rarely ever do. But I knew that if people started to text me or even leave me messages on facebook, I would feel the need to respond, and I just couldn't yet. Jay and I took the kids to the mall and walked around for awhile and got something to eat. We tried to act normal and happy, and spent time talking about having another little boy. On the way home we stopped and got a couple of blue balloons to take pictures of the kids with. I had no desire to do a gender reveal party at that point, but wanted something a little fun for them.
I finally turned my phone on and called my mom. I told her the good news that we had been able to find out we were having a boy! She asked about his feet, and I had to take a big breath before I could answer. She said, "Oh, are they turned in?" She knew before I could even say anything. I said "One is." and my voice just cracked. Tears streamed down my face. We talked for awhile, and she reminded me that God would take care of our little boy. Then she said, "And He'll take care of you, too." That still makes me cry to think of that. Its true, and I knew it, but I needed to hear someone say it.
We got home and we tried to get some pictures of the kids with their balloons. I was totally impatient with them, which wasn't fair, but I was really struggling. I really hadn't had the time to even digest the news we had received and desperately needed to. After finally getting some pictures, we got things ready for Oliver to spend the night at Jay's parents' house (which he often does on Friday nights) and we headed over there.
I finally checked my text messages and saw that a couple of people had asked how my appointment with. I started out my replies by sending the picture of the kids and saying, "Its a boy!" Then I told a select few very close friends and family members about his feet. I really couldn't even write it without crying, so I kept things brief. I just couldn't believe this was happening. One friend replied saying she was sorry, but that I knew the baby would be ok. I realized at that point that I needed to stay distanced the rest of the night from telling people. I was not ready to hear from anyone else that things were going to be ok. I was in a very vulnerable place and in order to not be upset, I really needed to guard myself. It wasn't anyone else's fault, it was entirely just the place that I found myself in.
Later that night, I was getting ready for bed and checking my phone when I saw I had a message from my midwife. Any shred of holding myself together was about to be lost. At my appointment that day, I had told her how Oliver's orthopedic doctor had switched to a different hospital towards the end of Oliver's treatments, and she had asked what his name was. My midwife's mother happened to work at the hospital Dr. Cummiskey was now at, so she wrote down his name so she could ask her if she knew him. Apparently, that evening my midwife had talked to her mom. She found out that Dr. Cummiskey was very ill, and had recently had to shut down his practice.
I felt a whole surge of emotions flood me again. Just like how I can put myself exactly back to that time when we saw his foot on the ultrasound, I can put myself exactly back in my bathroom when I learned that our doctor wasn't going to be our doctor anymore. It was devastating. I had to re-read her message several times to really believe that I was seeing this. I said some extremely choice words at this point and just started sobbing. Jay came in, and assuming I was upset about the baby's foot, just held me for awhile. I was finally able to tell him about Dr. Cummiskey, and tried to make it seem like all would be ok. But I really felt like everything was crumbling. It was unfair that our baby had clubfoot. Really, really unfair. But ever since Oliver, I had always found comfort in the fact that we had an amazing doctor that we trusted and we knew could treat this condition. That small bit of knowledge and comfort got me through that afternoon after our appointment. And then...it was just stripped away. I was crushed. I was overwhelmed. And I was angry. That was an emotion I was not prepared for. It was an emotion that would overwhelm me in the coming weeks and one that I really had to work through. Anger is a powerful and strong emotion.
That night before I fell asleep I sent a message to my dear friend, one who I often lean on when I need prayer. I could barely write anything, I was so upset, but I told her I was in a rough place and needed her prayers. That the last bit of comfort I had left was now gone and that Dr. Cummiskey needed our prayers too. My heart was broken for him and his family. She replied with sweet, uplifting messages that helped me get through the darkness of that night. She told me that she was not accepting the diagnosis and was praying complete healing over our son. To be honest, that completely took me aback. I had not even thought to pray like that. I was just so overwhelmed, hurt, confused, and angry that the idea of it not happening, or the possibility of a healing before his birth, had not entered my mind. While I still struggle to pray this way, I am so very thankful that she was praying for me when I myself was unable to pray. Having a loyal friend and trusted prayer partner in life is a precious gift from God. The night I cried myself to sleep, so overwhelmed with emotion that I could barely think straight.
Over the weekend we tried to celebrate another baby boy being added to our family. We went to dinner Saturday night, and did putt-putt with the kids. Jay's parents met up with us and we did some shopping for the baby, which was so fun. But I just felt this heavy burden on my shoulders the entire time. We were in Babies R Us and I could barely hold it together when I saw an adorable tiny set of boy shoes. What baby needs shoes anyway, right?! But knowing that our son wouldn't be able to wear them because he would have a cast covering his entire leg when he was just a week old was enough to make me crumble. Every tiny sleeper that had feet, or a zipper, or only snapped down one leg was like a slap in the face of what we wouldn't be able to have. My emotions were still so very raw. So selfish. So illogical. We were back to buying clothes based on how they would work with casts and braces. This was my life, again. This. Wasn't. Fair.
Sunday morning I was supposed to work in the nursery at church, but a dear friend of mine switched with me so that I could be in service. I knew I needed it, but it was so hard. That service was, without a doubt, the hardest one I have ever sat through. Worship is usually a very uplifting time for me. I can raise my hands in praise and glory to the God I know I serve. But that Sunday it felt like I had dead weights on my arms. I couldn't even sing. I literally just stood there in a daze and wiped the tears that fell. The night before I had gathered every bit of strength in me and posted in our church's prayer group about the baby's foot and asked for prayers. I had zero desire to do it. I really didn't want anyone knowing. But I knew we needed prayers. Our baby needed prayers, and I needed to reach out no matter how much I didn't want to.
I'm so thankful for our church family. They were there with hugs and uplifting words that didn't make me feel like my emotions were stupid or wrong. I didn't feel like I needed to act like I was okay when I was dying inside. I have no idea what was preached on that day. I was in my own world of hurt. I just remember being so angry during worship. I knew that God could do all of these wonderful and miraculous things, and I felt totally forgotten by him. I thought about how Oliver's healing had been a tool for us to tell others about God, and honestly at that moment I had zero desire to have another one of my children used that way. I'm so ashamed to admit that. But its true. "Pick someone else's child," I thought. "Pick me. Use me. But WHY put this tiny, innocent baby through pain???" I screamed angry thoughts in my head that morning to God, and asked Him to forgive my ugliness. I knew I was having a tantrum with Him, but oh I was so angry.
During alter call, we went up front to pray for our baby. A friend of mine who leads worship came down off the stage to pray for us. To be honest, I was surprised because I hadn't gotten to talk directly to her. My friend wrapped me in her arms and I just sobbed. I was somewhat embarrassed to totally lose it on her, and in front of others. I felt other people come around me, and I was able to somewhat (barely) collect myself. My friend (whose father is our pastor) asked if she could annoint my stomach and pray. Of course I was fine with that. Her prayer was powerful, and she prayed for a miraculous healing over our baby's foot. Again, someone was able to pray for a healing that I myself wasn't able to pray. I will forever be grateful for those who stepped in for me and prayed when I couldn't. I had no idea until later who all was with us praying, when I asked Jay who had come around us. It meant so much and those people in particular really have a special place in my heart. I needed those people's strength and prayers just to keep my head up and my feet walking. I have rarely, if ever, felt such a burden that it felt like physical weight holding me down. There were others that I wished would have been there surrounding us as well, but I knew they were praying regardless. Like I said, my emotions were very selfish at this point.
The upcoming weeks and months would bring about a lot of feelings and even more tears. Some days I wondered when I would ever stop crying. My joy was completely stripped for a time, and its still not where I would like it to be. Sleep came in spurts and was restless, and still is. Its been almost exactly two months since we found out and I have yet to make it through a Sunday morning service without crying. I know God is working on me. I am starting to see some transformation in my own life that would not have happened without this process. I'm desperately trying to cling to an end vision where the pain is not so intense. I pray that someday in the not-so-distant future I'll be able to tell my testimony and I know this will play a HUGE part in that. I know that this is the hardest trial I have been through so far, and the most that I have ever wrestled with God. I truly can't wait until I have climbed out of the valley and can stand on the mountaintop and say, "My God is always faithful, for He has brought me from there to HERE!"
Now I'm to the point of writing about what we are currently going through. At first, it was hard for me not to just jump right into this stage and write about it. However, as time as gone on, I've been a bit anxious about writing these. The emotions I'm feeling are still so raw. They are still so open and fresh, and oftentimes, ugly. I'm not always proud of how I'm handling things. Oftentimes I want to hide to myself, no matter how lonely it is, because I fear how others will view how I'm handling our situation. But I'm going to do my best to just put it out there in hopes that I can help someone else along the way who may also be having these feelings. And someday, I'll be able to look back and see how far I have come.
Friday, May 31, 2013. I had my ultrasound appt early that afternoon, and Jay took a half day to go with me. We took both kids with us, which turned out to be much easier than I expected. I was a total bundle of nerves on the way there. The peace that I remember feeling before Lucy's ultrasound was not with me that day. I still didn't expect that we would find out anything was wrong, but gosh I was so anxious.
They called us back to the room, and the ultrasound tech did all of the necessary measurements. She asked if we knew boy or girl and we said we didn't know for sure but that we wanted to find out if possible. After she did the measurements she let me get up and go to the bathroom; I had drank so much water on the way there that I was miserable! I came back and she finished the scan. It was really sweet having the kids with us. Oliver sat in the chair next to me and held my hand. Jay stood next to me holding Lucy and she kept pointing to the screen and waving and saying, "Baby!" At first, baby had its legs tight together and wasn't letting us see anything. I couldn't believe it! Thankfully, the baby moved, and the tech pointed between the legs and said, "See that there? It's a little boy!" I looked at Oliver and said, "Did you hear that? It's a boy! You're having a brother!" I wish we had gotten a video or picture of his face. He totally lit up and gasped and said, "A little brother?!?" It was precious!
Everything was looking good on the baby. I asked to see his feet, and explained that Oliver had been born with clubfoot so we were very curious to see about this little guy. She got a good look at one foot and we could tell it was fine. What a relief! Then she got a view of the other foot. My heart completely fell.
It was turned. I knew it. I can't even remember exactly what I said or did. I think I just sighed and said, "Ah. Yeah, its turned in." I looked at Jay and tried to smile, and I had to hold it together because the kids were still with us. The ultrasound tech asked where we had had our ultrasounds done with Oliver and I told her. The baby was positioned with his foot pressed up against the side of my uterus, so she had me turn this way and that, all over the place, to try to get him to move and kick his foot out. He sort of did, but he stayed pretty much set in one place. I told her that the foot looked exactly like how Oliver's had looked on his ultrasounds. Instead of the foot bones extending straight out from the leg, they were turned inwards. I really didn't even need her to tell us what she thought, I knew as soon as I saw it.
Honestly, it didn't even seem real. It seemed absolutely impossible that I was laying on this table, having an ultrasound, and seeing another clubfoot. This couldn't be my baby. I had already seen this...right? Had already been through this? I really couldn't let myself comprehend it just yet.
The ultrasound tech printed off some pictures for us (none of his clubfoot, which I really wish I had) and led me to a room to wait for my midwife. I was scheduled for an appt with her after my ultrasound. I think at one point, Jay asked me if I was ok because I had tears in my eyes, but I was just trying to hold it together for the kids. I have no idea how well I did because its such a blur. He took the kids out of the office and kept them busy so I could have an easier appointment. I was thankful because I couldn't hold it together much longer.
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| Sweet baby boy. His profile reminds me of Oliver. |
I sat in the room and looked at his pictures and just cried. The nurse, whom I just adore, came in and said something like, "Not what you were hoping for? I've been thinking about you all day." For some reason, at first I thought maybe she thought I was crying because we found out we were having a boy and I was upset about that. I have no idea why my mind went there! I could barely talk but said something about one foot being turned in. She gave me a hug and did what she needed to do. She gave me another hug before she left.
I had to wait awhile for my midwife to come in. I grabbed my phone and realized I had reception. I sat there, desperately wanting to reach out to someone, but not really wanting anyone to respond. At least not directly. I don't know, it was weird. I have a small group of mom friends that I chat with online and they knew I had my appointment that day. I sent out a quick message: "One foot looks like clubfoot. Will update more after my appointment with Kori (midwife). Trying not to fall apart over here." That's all I could get out. As I waited for my midwife, I went back and forth between sobbing and then getting myself together. I kept hoping she would come in while I was in between sob sessions, and looking back I have no idea if I was crying or not when she came in.
Kori came in and hugged me. She knew this wasn't what I wanted. She was so, so sweet. I kept rambling, saying the same things over and over, as if I could convince myself how okay this was. I would say things like ,"It'll be fine. Its only one foot. It'll be fine." And, "I mean, the first time we went through this we didn't know what to expect. Now we know the doctor we're going to, we know the treatments, its not so overwhelming." Over and over I would repeat myself. And I just cried. Oh how my heart was breaking. It just didn't seem fair that my precious baby was going to go through all of the pain that Oliver did. I don't know how long I spent talking, but it seemed like forever. Probably close to 45 minutes. I was thinking I would have a regular appointment, with listening to the heart tones and everything, but at the end Kori told me since we had had the ultrasound they had all of that information and measurements and she really didn't need to do anything more. Part of me felt badly, then, because I had really taken up so much of her time! I was, and still am, so very thankful for how she handled that appointment. Just letting me talk and cry and process. The whole thing was so completely different and opposite from how my OB appointment went after finding out about Oliver's feet. She encouraged me to just take the time I needed and not feel the need to tell everyone. That was really nice to hear, because I have a tendency to need to update people whether I feel like it or not.
I got myself together, and went to find Jay and the kids. When we got in the van, I actually turned my phone off completely...something I rarely ever do. But I knew that if people started to text me or even leave me messages on facebook, I would feel the need to respond, and I just couldn't yet. Jay and I took the kids to the mall and walked around for awhile and got something to eat. We tried to act normal and happy, and spent time talking about having another little boy. On the way home we stopped and got a couple of blue balloons to take pictures of the kids with. I had no desire to do a gender reveal party at that point, but wanted something a little fun for them.
I finally turned my phone on and called my mom. I told her the good news that we had been able to find out we were having a boy! She asked about his feet, and I had to take a big breath before I could answer. She said, "Oh, are they turned in?" She knew before I could even say anything. I said "One is." and my voice just cracked. Tears streamed down my face. We talked for awhile, and she reminded me that God would take care of our little boy. Then she said, "And He'll take care of you, too." That still makes me cry to think of that. Its true, and I knew it, but I needed to hear someone say it.
We got home and we tried to get some pictures of the kids with their balloons. I was totally impatient with them, which wasn't fair, but I was really struggling. I really hadn't had the time to even digest the news we had received and desperately needed to. After finally getting some pictures, we got things ready for Oliver to spend the night at Jay's parents' house (which he often does on Friday nights) and we headed over there.
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| Getting pictures with these two is always interesting. (Notice Oliver standing on one leg?!) They are pretty excited about getting a baby brother!! |
I finally checked my text messages and saw that a couple of people had asked how my appointment with. I started out my replies by sending the picture of the kids and saying, "Its a boy!" Then I told a select few very close friends and family members about his feet. I really couldn't even write it without crying, so I kept things brief. I just couldn't believe this was happening. One friend replied saying she was sorry, but that I knew the baby would be ok. I realized at that point that I needed to stay distanced the rest of the night from telling people. I was not ready to hear from anyone else that things were going to be ok. I was in a very vulnerable place and in order to not be upset, I really needed to guard myself. It wasn't anyone else's fault, it was entirely just the place that I found myself in.
Later that night, I was getting ready for bed and checking my phone when I saw I had a message from my midwife. Any shred of holding myself together was about to be lost. At my appointment that day, I had told her how Oliver's orthopedic doctor had switched to a different hospital towards the end of Oliver's treatments, and she had asked what his name was. My midwife's mother happened to work at the hospital Dr. Cummiskey was now at, so she wrote down his name so she could ask her if she knew him. Apparently, that evening my midwife had talked to her mom. She found out that Dr. Cummiskey was very ill, and had recently had to shut down his practice.
I felt a whole surge of emotions flood me again. Just like how I can put myself exactly back to that time when we saw his foot on the ultrasound, I can put myself exactly back in my bathroom when I learned that our doctor wasn't going to be our doctor anymore. It was devastating. I had to re-read her message several times to really believe that I was seeing this. I said some extremely choice words at this point and just started sobbing. Jay came in, and assuming I was upset about the baby's foot, just held me for awhile. I was finally able to tell him about Dr. Cummiskey, and tried to make it seem like all would be ok. But I really felt like everything was crumbling. It was unfair that our baby had clubfoot. Really, really unfair. But ever since Oliver, I had always found comfort in the fact that we had an amazing doctor that we trusted and we knew could treat this condition. That small bit of knowledge and comfort got me through that afternoon after our appointment. And then...it was just stripped away. I was crushed. I was overwhelmed. And I was angry. That was an emotion I was not prepared for. It was an emotion that would overwhelm me in the coming weeks and one that I really had to work through. Anger is a powerful and strong emotion.
That night before I fell asleep I sent a message to my dear friend, one who I often lean on when I need prayer. I could barely write anything, I was so upset, but I told her I was in a rough place and needed her prayers. That the last bit of comfort I had left was now gone and that Dr. Cummiskey needed our prayers too. My heart was broken for him and his family. She replied with sweet, uplifting messages that helped me get through the darkness of that night. She told me that she was not accepting the diagnosis and was praying complete healing over our son. To be honest, that completely took me aback. I had not even thought to pray like that. I was just so overwhelmed, hurt, confused, and angry that the idea of it not happening, or the possibility of a healing before his birth, had not entered my mind. While I still struggle to pray this way, I am so very thankful that she was praying for me when I myself was unable to pray. Having a loyal friend and trusted prayer partner in life is a precious gift from God. The night I cried myself to sleep, so overwhelmed with emotion that I could barely think straight.
Over the weekend we tried to celebrate another baby boy being added to our family. We went to dinner Saturday night, and did putt-putt with the kids. Jay's parents met up with us and we did some shopping for the baby, which was so fun. But I just felt this heavy burden on my shoulders the entire time. We were in Babies R Us and I could barely hold it together when I saw an adorable tiny set of boy shoes. What baby needs shoes anyway, right?! But knowing that our son wouldn't be able to wear them because he would have a cast covering his entire leg when he was just a week old was enough to make me crumble. Every tiny sleeper that had feet, or a zipper, or only snapped down one leg was like a slap in the face of what we wouldn't be able to have. My emotions were still so very raw. So selfish. So illogical. We were back to buying clothes based on how they would work with casts and braces. This was my life, again. This. Wasn't. Fair.
Sunday morning I was supposed to work in the nursery at church, but a dear friend of mine switched with me so that I could be in service. I knew I needed it, but it was so hard. That service was, without a doubt, the hardest one I have ever sat through. Worship is usually a very uplifting time for me. I can raise my hands in praise and glory to the God I know I serve. But that Sunday it felt like I had dead weights on my arms. I couldn't even sing. I literally just stood there in a daze and wiped the tears that fell. The night before I had gathered every bit of strength in me and posted in our church's prayer group about the baby's foot and asked for prayers. I had zero desire to do it. I really didn't want anyone knowing. But I knew we needed prayers. Our baby needed prayers, and I needed to reach out no matter how much I didn't want to.
I'm so thankful for our church family. They were there with hugs and uplifting words that didn't make me feel like my emotions were stupid or wrong. I didn't feel like I needed to act like I was okay when I was dying inside. I have no idea what was preached on that day. I was in my own world of hurt. I just remember being so angry during worship. I knew that God could do all of these wonderful and miraculous things, and I felt totally forgotten by him. I thought about how Oliver's healing had been a tool for us to tell others about God, and honestly at that moment I had zero desire to have another one of my children used that way. I'm so ashamed to admit that. But its true. "Pick someone else's child," I thought. "Pick me. Use me. But WHY put this tiny, innocent baby through pain???" I screamed angry thoughts in my head that morning to God, and asked Him to forgive my ugliness. I knew I was having a tantrum with Him, but oh I was so angry.
During alter call, we went up front to pray for our baby. A friend of mine who leads worship came down off the stage to pray for us. To be honest, I was surprised because I hadn't gotten to talk directly to her. My friend wrapped me in her arms and I just sobbed. I was somewhat embarrassed to totally lose it on her, and in front of others. I felt other people come around me, and I was able to somewhat (barely) collect myself. My friend (whose father is our pastor) asked if she could annoint my stomach and pray. Of course I was fine with that. Her prayer was powerful, and she prayed for a miraculous healing over our baby's foot. Again, someone was able to pray for a healing that I myself wasn't able to pray. I will forever be grateful for those who stepped in for me and prayed when I couldn't. I had no idea until later who all was with us praying, when I asked Jay who had come around us. It meant so much and those people in particular really have a special place in my heart. I needed those people's strength and prayers just to keep my head up and my feet walking. I have rarely, if ever, felt such a burden that it felt like physical weight holding me down. There were others that I wished would have been there surrounding us as well, but I knew they were praying regardless. Like I said, my emotions were very selfish at this point.
The upcoming weeks and months would bring about a lot of feelings and even more tears. Some days I wondered when I would ever stop crying. My joy was completely stripped for a time, and its still not where I would like it to be. Sleep came in spurts and was restless, and still is. Its been almost exactly two months since we found out and I have yet to make it through a Sunday morning service without crying. I know God is working on me. I am starting to see some transformation in my own life that would not have happened without this process. I'm desperately trying to cling to an end vision where the pain is not so intense. I pray that someday in the not-so-distant future I'll be able to tell my testimony and I know this will play a HUGE part in that. I know that this is the hardest trial I have been through so far, and the most that I have ever wrestled with God. I truly can't wait until I have climbed out of the valley and can stand on the mountaintop and say, "My God is always faithful, for He has brought me from there to HERE!"
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| 24 weeks pregnant. This was taken the week after our ultrasound. I was trying to smile on the outside, but on the inside I was completely devastated. |
Monday, July 29, 2013
Baby #3..Anxiously Waiting
Our first two children, Oliver and Lucy, are just over three years apart. We had hoped to have them more a little closer together, but it took six months to get pregnant with Lucy. I knew that I wanted less space between Lucy and the next one, but had never really thought for sure how much space.
Lucy was pretty much exclusively breastfeeding for 9 1/2 months. She had some solids here and there after six months, but it didn't become part of her regular diet until after nine months. I tried, but she just had no interest! She also did not sleep more than 3 hours at a time until 8-9 months, so I was nursing very consistently. My cycle did not return until she was exactly 11 months old, and so until that point I hadn't really given a lot of thought as to when we would have another child.
Once it became a possibility that we could get pregnant again, we talked more about when we wanted another child. The pressure of trying to conceive Lucy was so extremely hard for me that I knew I didn't want that again. I didn't want to wait until one particular month when I knew that was exactly when I would want to get pregnant and then not have it happen and be disappointed. So we decided to just let things go and see what happened. I wasn't tracking my cycles to try to get pregnant, and we weren't actively avoiding it either. (Except for one month, when I realized if we got pregnant then, I would be due on my birthday, which is the day after Jay's birthday, and about a week before Oliver's. I really preferred not to have another August birthday!) I knew that having children closer together could be tough, but I was okay with that.
I had four cycles before getting pregnant with baby #3. They were very irregular, and if I hadn't learned so much about my fertility when we were trying to conceive with Lucy, I would have had no idea when anything was going on during those cycles. The fifth cycle when we did conceive was also very irregular. When I'm pregnant, I immediately start showing symptoms. The same thing happened this time. I took several early tests that were negative because I took them too soon, but I was just so sure I was pregnant. Finally, 35 days into my cycle, I got a positive test. It was mid-January, 2013. According to my last menstrual cycle, I was 5 weeks pregnant, but I knew I had ovulated late and was only 4 weeks. (An early ultrasound with my midwife confirmed that I was right with how far along I was.)
The pregnancy was strange. My early symptoms (middle of the night sickness, breast tenderness, aversion to smells) coincided exactly with Oliver's pregnancy. I told Jay right away that I was saying this one was a boy. Then, for about two weeks, all of my symptoms disappeared. It was during these two weeks that I got my positive test. I was pretty worried for awhile that things may not be going well because of the lack of symptoms. Oh, how I spoke too soon. I ended up being so sick for more than half of the pregnancy, which was more like Lucy's pregnancy. With our first two pregnancies, we told everyone right away. This time, we decided to wait awhile. I really wanted to make sure that things were ok with the baby, and just wanted to keep this to ourselves for awhile before telling all of our friends and family.
My first appointment was in early February. By that point I was feeling nauseated a lot and didn't have a big appetite. I was still feeling like this pregnancy was a lot like Oliver's, and in the back of my mind I wondered if in fact this baby was a boy, if we would deal with clubfoot again. But I never really even considered it a possibility at that point. I just thought if we do deal with it, then at least we'll know exactly who to go to and what to expect. We decided to tell our families on Valentine's Day, which was a fun surprise.
Just like in Lucy's pregnancy, I struggled with how to pray for this baby. I had said in the past, "If Oliver's struggles brought one person to know Jesus Christ, then it was worth it, and I'd do it all over again." But to be honest, when faced with the reality that maybe we would have to do it all over again, I wasn't so firm in my statement. Not so much because of my own emotion of it all (although that certain played into it), but because I knew how incredibly painful it would be for the baby. My prayers would be all over the place..."God, I'm trying to just trust in Your plan. Please don't let this baby have clubfoot. But if it does, we will use it for Your glory. If it does, please let it bring someone to know you. But please don't let it happen. But I'll trust you if it does. I'm just putting this in Your hands, Lord. But You know my heart. Please don't let it be." Yeah, completely and totally disorganized.
I could really feel Satan working on me at times during the pregnancy. There was one particular Wednesday night service when our pastor was talking about faith and miracles, and mentioned Oliver's healing. It was right after that that I started feeling so guilty about wanting another "normal" non-clubfoot baby. I started thinking, "Wow, how selfish of me for wanting that. I mean, if we had another baby who could be an example of God's grace, how could I be praying against that?" I have to say, it is astounding to me how Satan knows our weaknesses and uses them against us. I had to quickly take those thoughts captive and shut them out. God knew my heart. He knew I wasn't being selfish praying for my child to not have clubfoot. I just had to believe that as well.
At the very end of April, I had a quick ultrasound just to see if we could tell the sex of the baby. I had really hoped to find out because I wanted to have a gender reveal party for this baby. I thought great, have an ultrasound to see the sex before we have our big ultrasound. That way, if the baby does have clubfoot, we won't know right away and can just be excited about baby being a boy or a girl.
Well. Remember how we couldn't tell for sure with Oliver because the cord was laying right between his legs? Yeah. The SAME THING happened this time!!!! I couldn't freaking believe it. My midwife turned on the ultrasound and we looked at his profile and everything, and then she turned it away to see if she could see anything. She kind of laughed and said, "Ok, you have to see this." and turned the screen back toward us. She pointed and said, "You see this? Leg. Cord. Leg. The umbilical cord is laying right between the legs." I just had to laugh. Are you kidding me?! At that point, it was almost a joke that surely baby had to be a boy since Oliver had done the same thing. But seriously, why the heck couldn't we tell?! Pretty much every other person I know has been able to see on their ultrasound the first time whether they are having a boy or a girl. I was a day away from 19 weeks, so plenty far along. It was both frustrating and humorous. So the gender reveal party was postponed. I had to text everyone later and say that perhaps we would have it next month, because baby was very uncooperative!! During that ultrasound I tried to peak a little at his feet, but didn't really look too hard. From what I saw, I thought one of them looked fine, but honestly I didn't really want to know just yet.
So the countdown until my big ultrasound continued. I would be just past 23 weeks when we had that. Jay was going to go and we would end up taking both kids with us. In the meantime, I just prayed. I prayed that God would give me peace about the whole situation. I prayed that he knew my heart and to forgive me if I was praying against His plan, but to please not make us go through this again. Part of me really resented the fact that I couldn't just be excited about an ultrasound, but instead spent the beginning half of every pregnancy worrying. It didn't seem "fair". I really appreciated everyone else who prayed for us during that time as well. They all seemed confident that we wouldn't have to go through it again, and I clung to that hope. I was both looking forward to and totally dreading May 31.
Lucy was pretty much exclusively breastfeeding for 9 1/2 months. She had some solids here and there after six months, but it didn't become part of her regular diet until after nine months. I tried, but she just had no interest! She also did not sleep more than 3 hours at a time until 8-9 months, so I was nursing very consistently. My cycle did not return until she was exactly 11 months old, and so until that point I hadn't really given a lot of thought as to when we would have another child.
Once it became a possibility that we could get pregnant again, we talked more about when we wanted another child. The pressure of trying to conceive Lucy was so extremely hard for me that I knew I didn't want that again. I didn't want to wait until one particular month when I knew that was exactly when I would want to get pregnant and then not have it happen and be disappointed. So we decided to just let things go and see what happened. I wasn't tracking my cycles to try to get pregnant, and we weren't actively avoiding it either. (Except for one month, when I realized if we got pregnant then, I would be due on my birthday, which is the day after Jay's birthday, and about a week before Oliver's. I really preferred not to have another August birthday!) I knew that having children closer together could be tough, but I was okay with that.
I had four cycles before getting pregnant with baby #3. They were very irregular, and if I hadn't learned so much about my fertility when we were trying to conceive with Lucy, I would have had no idea when anything was going on during those cycles. The fifth cycle when we did conceive was also very irregular. When I'm pregnant, I immediately start showing symptoms. The same thing happened this time. I took several early tests that were negative because I took them too soon, but I was just so sure I was pregnant. Finally, 35 days into my cycle, I got a positive test. It was mid-January, 2013. According to my last menstrual cycle, I was 5 weeks pregnant, but I knew I had ovulated late and was only 4 weeks. (An early ultrasound with my midwife confirmed that I was right with how far along I was.)
The pregnancy was strange. My early symptoms (middle of the night sickness, breast tenderness, aversion to smells) coincided exactly with Oliver's pregnancy. I told Jay right away that I was saying this one was a boy. Then, for about two weeks, all of my symptoms disappeared. It was during these two weeks that I got my positive test. I was pretty worried for awhile that things may not be going well because of the lack of symptoms. Oh, how I spoke too soon. I ended up being so sick for more than half of the pregnancy, which was more like Lucy's pregnancy. With our first two pregnancies, we told everyone right away. This time, we decided to wait awhile. I really wanted to make sure that things were ok with the baby, and just wanted to keep this to ourselves for awhile before telling all of our friends and family.
My first appointment was in early February. By that point I was feeling nauseated a lot and didn't have a big appetite. I was still feeling like this pregnancy was a lot like Oliver's, and in the back of my mind I wondered if in fact this baby was a boy, if we would deal with clubfoot again. But I never really even considered it a possibility at that point. I just thought if we do deal with it, then at least we'll know exactly who to go to and what to expect. We decided to tell our families on Valentine's Day, which was a fun surprise.
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| Announcing baby #3! This picture makes me laugh. Oliver is happy, as usual, and Lucy's looking unimpressed, as usual. :-) |
Just like in Lucy's pregnancy, I struggled with how to pray for this baby. I had said in the past, "If Oliver's struggles brought one person to know Jesus Christ, then it was worth it, and I'd do it all over again." But to be honest, when faced with the reality that maybe we would have to do it all over again, I wasn't so firm in my statement. Not so much because of my own emotion of it all (although that certain played into it), but because I knew how incredibly painful it would be for the baby. My prayers would be all over the place..."God, I'm trying to just trust in Your plan. Please don't let this baby have clubfoot. But if it does, we will use it for Your glory. If it does, please let it bring someone to know you. But please don't let it happen. But I'll trust you if it does. I'm just putting this in Your hands, Lord. But You know my heart. Please don't let it be." Yeah, completely and totally disorganized.
I could really feel Satan working on me at times during the pregnancy. There was one particular Wednesday night service when our pastor was talking about faith and miracles, and mentioned Oliver's healing. It was right after that that I started feeling so guilty about wanting another "normal" non-clubfoot baby. I started thinking, "Wow, how selfish of me for wanting that. I mean, if we had another baby who could be an example of God's grace, how could I be praying against that?" I have to say, it is astounding to me how Satan knows our weaknesses and uses them against us. I had to quickly take those thoughts captive and shut them out. God knew my heart. He knew I wasn't being selfish praying for my child to not have clubfoot. I just had to believe that as well.
At the very end of April, I had a quick ultrasound just to see if we could tell the sex of the baby. I had really hoped to find out because I wanted to have a gender reveal party for this baby. I thought great, have an ultrasound to see the sex before we have our big ultrasound. That way, if the baby does have clubfoot, we won't know right away and can just be excited about baby being a boy or a girl.
Well. Remember how we couldn't tell for sure with Oliver because the cord was laying right between his legs? Yeah. The SAME THING happened this time!!!! I couldn't freaking believe it. My midwife turned on the ultrasound and we looked at his profile and everything, and then she turned it away to see if she could see anything. She kind of laughed and said, "Ok, you have to see this." and turned the screen back toward us. She pointed and said, "You see this? Leg. Cord. Leg. The umbilical cord is laying right between the legs." I just had to laugh. Are you kidding me?! At that point, it was almost a joke that surely baby had to be a boy since Oliver had done the same thing. But seriously, why the heck couldn't we tell?! Pretty much every other person I know has been able to see on their ultrasound the first time whether they are having a boy or a girl. I was a day away from 19 weeks, so plenty far along. It was both frustrating and humorous. So the gender reveal party was postponed. I had to text everyone later and say that perhaps we would have it next month, because baby was very uncooperative!! During that ultrasound I tried to peak a little at his feet, but didn't really look too hard. From what I saw, I thought one of them looked fine, but honestly I didn't really want to know just yet.
So the countdown until my big ultrasound continued. I would be just past 23 weeks when we had that. Jay was going to go and we would end up taking both kids with us. In the meantime, I just prayed. I prayed that God would give me peace about the whole situation. I prayed that he knew my heart and to forgive me if I was praying against His plan, but to please not make us go through this again. Part of me really resented the fact that I couldn't just be excited about an ultrasound, but instead spent the beginning half of every pregnancy worrying. It didn't seem "fair". I really appreciated everyone else who prayed for us during that time as well. They all seemed confident that we wouldn't have to go through it again, and I clung to that hope. I was both looking forward to and totally dreading May 31.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Baby #2...A Little Girl with Straight Feet
I remember the first time Jay and I really talked about having another baby (as in seriously, "hey we should think about this soon") was actually on the way to Oliver's last orthopedic appointment. Oliver was almost 21 months old, and was quite a handful as a toddler. I love that child dearly but boy has he always kept us so, so busy!
Getting pregnant with Oliver was very easy, and I assumed it would be the second time also. We decided to wait until just after Oliver's second birthday to start trying, and I was shocked when it didn't happen right away. In fact, it took us six months to conceive our second child. Six long, difficult months. When all you want is a child, each passing month, week, day can seem agonizing at times. I'm not saying this to be dramatic; it truly can be heartbreaking. I can now look back and see how much my faith grew during this period of time. All I could do was pray and lean on God to give us a child in His perfect timing.
Oliver was almost two and a half when we finally found out we were expecting another baby. I was so excited and relieved. We were excited to tell everyone as soon as we could. I was only 3 weeks and 2 days pregnant when I got a positive test.
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| Positive!! I think I took about 10 of these tests...it just seemed too good to be true! |
Oliver's pregnancy was relatively easy. I was very nauseated for the first 10 weeks but rarely threw up. With Lucy's pregnancy, the vomiting started before I even got my positive test. I was very sick until about halfway through my pregnancy and it was exhausting. The two pregnancies seemed so very different, and I had a strong feeling this one was a little girl. (But remember my strong feeling about Oliver being a girl, too? Yeah. I didn't put too much stock into my "gut feelings".)
One thing I did feel very strongly about was that our baby would not have clubfeet. I can't explain it, exactly. But I was perfectly at peace about it, and had been since before we even got pregnant again. I remember telling Jay that I didn't think we would go through it again, that I really believed that wasn't part of God's plan for us. When we first found out about Oliver's feet during my pregnancy, we were kinda going to church, kinda not. We hadn't found a church to really call "home" yet. Shortly after that ultrasound, we actively started going to church again and I really felt like we had been able to use Oliver's healing as a testimony. I felt like we had walked down that road, used it for God's glory, and our life was moving on to even better things. It almost makes me sad to think back on how optimistic I was then. I really had no idea what life held for us. I wouldn't know until May 2013 when baby #3 showed another clubfoot.
I struggled with how to pray for our second baby. I mean, I could see how God had used Oliver's situation in such glorious ways. We found a church family and grew in our faith so much. I had no choice but to rely on God to get me through some of those very difficult times. We were able to tell people about God's healing powers and use Oliver as an example. What an amazing opportunity and blessing. If baby #2 could do the same, how could I pray for us not to go through clubfeet again? If baby #2 had clubfoot and could reach someone for Christ, how could I pray against that? It truly was hard. I would lay hands on my stomach and pray for God's will to be done. I knew that God knew my heart. He knew I didn't want to go through this again. But I trusted His plan.
On our way to our ultrasound in May 2011, I felt very peaceful about the whole thing. I really hoped we would find out the baby's sex and prayed that the baby would have straight feet. Oliver and my mom went with me and Jay to the scan.
At our ultrasound, our baby was laying in a funny position which made it hard to see much. The baby was laying transverse (sideways), bent at the waist with the feet up by the head. It was hard to see both the feet and between the legs ;) but we were finally able to get a pretty good look at the sex. We were having a girl!! I wasn't surprised at all. The ultrasound tech didn't really want to say for sure, but showed us what she was looking at and agreed that it did look like a girl. I felt like she was just confirming something I already knew. I asked the tech how the baby's feet looked, and explained that our son had been born with clubfoot. Baby girl moved around some, and it was hard to get a good look but from what we could all see, her feet looked perfect. What an amazing blessing. I breathed a sigh of relief.
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| Baby girl looking right at the camera. You can actually see the lense of her eye! Her hands were up by her face, right under her chin. |
We went back two months later for a second ultrasound to double-check everything. This time, baby girl was breech, sitting on her feet. It was hard, again, to get a good look, but from what we could see everything looked good. It was a relief, but I wasn't surprised a bit. For that second ultrasound, a dear friend of mine went with us. I was excited to have her along to see our little baby, and knew that if in fact something did show up, I would want her to be there with us. Having her there to hear the good news was wonderful as well. I felt like we could finally say, for sure, "We are having a baby girl with perfectly straight feet."
Towards the end of Lucy's pregnancy, I switched from my OB to a midwife in order to have the supported natural birth that I desired. My midwife knew about Oliver's feet, as did my doula and of course our families. I went into labor with Lucy on my due date, and she was born early the next morning. I remember everyone laughing as she let our her first cry because it sounded so...girly. Oh how I loved her already. I remember being so thankful for so many things...that I was able to go into labor naturally (not induced), that I was supported and loved during my labor and natural birth (not bullied or pressured into any unwanted interventions or medications), that she was born on exactly the day God had planned for her (not one that I picked), and that she and I were both healthy. I was so overwhelmed with emotions. I first asked, "Is she still a girl?" Yes, she was. "Are her feet ok?" Yes. Yes, they were. It meant a lot to me that the people in the room with me (my midwife and doula, along with my mom and Jay) knew how special it was for us to see Lucy's perfect feet.
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| Me giving Lucy her first bath when she was several hours old. It was very special for me to be a part of this since I wasn't even able to see Oliver get his. |
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| Oh sweet little feet. |
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| Lucy's first outfit...a sleeper with feet! And a hair bow of course :) |
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| Lucy's going home outfit, complete with tiny, little shoes. |
Lucy's newborn days were not easy. Most people have no idea how much I struggled adjusting to two children. It was very, very tough. We had an extremely rough start to breastfeeding (I didn't breastfeed Oliver so this was new to me) and she was a very high needs baby. Jay had just started working third shift two weeks before she was born. Taking care of both kids at night by myself (Oliver was waking up at least once a night at that time) was tough and I became extremely exhausted. My postpartum recovery was slow and painful. I tried to rush back into "normal" life and didn't really respect that special time after birth where a mother and baby should just get to know one another. Lesson learned! I swore that with our next baby I would take much more time to just rest. I would not be on the go constantly. I would do what needed to be done because life obviously has to continue, but I wouldn't be on the go so much.
Despite all of our struggles, I truly appreciated having a baby that did not have clubfeet. I loved being able to give her baths, or have her get in the bath with me (especially during those rough breastfeeding sessions). I would sit and just rub her legs and feet and look at her. I remember when she was 8 days old being so thankful that we weren't on our way to have casts put on those precious little legs. I loved putting little socks on her, and dressed her in outfits with cute little leggings. Her feet were so small that most shoes didn't fit her, but I would occasionally put some on her just because I could. I could hold her on my chest and let her curl up easily. I would just sit and think, *This* is what its like to have a "normal" baby. There was something so simple, yet so sweet, about enjoying my baby just as she was. No casts. No braces. No heartache about all she was enduring. We had so much to be thankful for. Lucy was, and continues to be, such a blessing to us. I adore that little girl.
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| Heading home as a family of 4. Daddy, Lucy (about 13 hours), Oliver (3 years), and Mommy. |
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| Lucy and me, Easter 2013. |
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| Lucy, almost 20 months old. This little sweetie has taught me so much about myself and being a mother. |
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Tiny Baby in Leg Casts
It was definitely an adjustment seeing Oliver in casts. He was so tiny (he was only 6 lbs 14 oz when he was born) and his casts felt so big. When I was out with him, I would often get questions and stares from strangers. Thankfully no one ever said anything rude (I've heard from other clubfoot parents who have some horror stories). But its still felt so strange to have anyone say, "Oh, what a sweet baby. Oh gosh, why does he have casts on his legs?!" When I had the chance to actually explain to them what was going on, they were always surprised that the casts were not, in fact, a result of foot surgery but instead a series of castings that would hopefully correct his feet without surgery.
One part of Oliver's treatment that was unique and that we will not experience with Max is that each week I had to soak off his plaster casts at home. I have recently found out that this is not recommended, and the doctors I have spoken with do not have parents do this. It is because they want as small of a window of time in between casts as possible to prevent the feet from turning back in. I completely understand this, but I have to admit I'm a little sad. It was always so nice to have that one night a week with baby Oliver and his "free" feet and legs.
The first night I had to soak off his casts was a complete disaster. Jay was working nights, and Oliver was two weeks old. I really had no idea what I was doing...I had read some suggestions and the nurse had told me a few ideas but it was so awkward! I was paranoid because his umbilical cord "stump" was still on and I was trying not to get it wet. I thought doing it in the kitchen sink would be best. Um, no! Our sink was small and I couldn't get him in a comfortable position. I got out a bucket that fit well into our sink and put water in it, along with some vinegar because that was supposed to help soften the casts. (This was the only time I used vinegar. I didn't think it worked that well and it smell was just too strong for me!) So here I am, trying to hold a 2 week old infant in a bucket of water, up to the top of his thighs without getting his belly button wet. Ha! He screamed, I cried, and it took close to two hours!! We were both soaked by the end. I started unwrapping his casts at the top and worked my way down. By the time I got close to his feet I could just slip the bottom "foot" part off. I have never felt such relief as when I was able to get those casts off! I cried seeing his precious little feet again.
That first night of no casts I spent so much time just looking at his feet and legs and touching them. The doctor had warned us that his feet might be especially sensitive, since they weren't used to any stimulation, but Oliver never really seemed to experience this. As soon as I got his casts off, I wrapped him in a towel and he curled right up on my chest. I sat with him in the recliner in his room for over an hour just loving my little boy.
The second casting was emotional as well. I really, really dreaded that appointment again. His feet looked so different, and so good, that I hated that they were going to be covered up again. I just wanted to have a "normal" experience of a baby without casts. He felt so much smaller without his casts on and I started to feel like I was really missing out on so much of having a newborn. Just the little things really bothered me, like not being able to give him a normal bath and having to really watch what kind of clothes we bought for him to make sure they would fit over his casts.
He seemed to be in a lot of pain with the second castings also. The doctor did some stretches with him and he cried during those. That night went better than our first night, though, and each week seemed to get easier and easier. Well, as easy as it can get when your infant is in casts. Sometimes I hate saying its "easier". I don't want people to think it isn't as big of a deal as it really is. Its all relative.
One thing that did get easier each week was being able to soak off the casts. I just now remembered that Jay was home for one of the weeks of soaking them off, and he videotaped it. I haven't watched it since we filmed that, so I will have to try to get that out sometime and watch it. After that first time of attempting the kitchen sink, I said forget it and just got in the bathtub with him and did it that way. By this time I was pretty much healed from childbirth and didn't mind getting in the tub in a bathing suit to unwrap the plaster. I remember one week I was unwrapping his casts and I noticed blood on them. I immediately started checking everywhere to see where he could possibly be bleeding. I was freaking out that he was hurt somewhere. It took me a couple of minutes to notice the cut on my finger and realize it was MY blood! The plaster could occasionally be sharp as I unwrapped it and I cut my fingers a few times over the weeks. Of course being in the water made it look much worse than it really was. I actually grew to really enjoy those nights of getting his casts off. I always tried to stop unwrapping them once I got to his foot so I could slip that part off and keep it. I have a whole bag full of little Oliver foot casts and cast wrappings.
Its hard to remember each casting appointment because they were just a way of life for awhile. I do remember one particularly great appointment for him. The nurse was so happy when she saw his feet before the doctor came in. No one usually said too much about his feet, just that they were looking good. This time you could tell Nurse Deb was really surprised and excited with how great they looked. When she came back in with Dr. Cummiskey it was like she couldn't wait for him to see them. He kept saying how great they looked, and it made my heart soar to know that all we were going through was worth it. During that casting, Oliver was crying, and I just kept whispering, "Its ok, baby, its ok" and Dr. Cummiskey said, "Oh Oliver, its beyond ok! Your feet are looking amazing! Seriously, we rarely see this much progress this fast. I am just in shock." At that appointment, we thought we might only need one more set of casts. I was SO excited. It turned out he needed two more sets, and even though it was disappointing at the time, I am now able to look back and really see how awesome his progress was.
October 30, 2008. Oliver was just over two months old, and we were thrilled at that day's appointment to learn that he didn't need any more casts. His last two sets of casts had stayed on for two weeks each. The doctor hadn't told us for sure when he would be done, and we had gone in prepared for another set. Dr. Cummiskey was so pleased that he decided Oliver was done with casts and would not need a tenotomy. That was the biggest relief. Most children (I have read as many as 80%, sometimes more) need this surgery once they are done with castings. We had prepared ourselves for the possibility of it. Basically they cut the baby's achilles tendon to release the foot, then cast it again while it heals. I was so, so relieved that Oliver didn't need it. Dr. Cummiskey commented again with how great Oliver's feet had responded to treatment. All I could say was, "God is good."
Oliver had several days in between casts and braces. Again, this is not something we will experience with Max as the doctors I have spoken to want as little time between casts and the brace. Also, the brace that Oliver went into (KAFO...knee, ankle, foot, orthodics) is a brace that I have not seen used again. Of all the clubfoot parents I have talked to and the doctors I have spoken with lately, they all use a bar and boots system. I'll talk more about Oliver's braces in another post.
It was hard to believe we were done with casts. It seemed like we had just started, and we were so used to going to these appointments. I was so proud of our little boy, and so so relieved to be done with this part of his treatment.
One incredible thing was how quickly Oliver met milestones even with his casts on. We were at his one month well check-up, and the doctor put him on his belly to see how he did. The doctor told us that he might experience some delays because of the casts, and to not be concerned if it took him a bit longer to do things like roll over. Right after he said this, Oliver rolled from his belly to his back! We had to laugh, and at first thought it might have just been an "accident." But no. Oliver proved us all wrong, and at just one month old was rolling over like crazy. Especially for first time moms, it can become an obsession if your baby isn't meeting milestones right on time. I was so glad to have one less thing to be worried about at that time.
One part of Oliver's treatment that was unique and that we will not experience with Max is that each week I had to soak off his plaster casts at home. I have recently found out that this is not recommended, and the doctors I have spoken with do not have parents do this. It is because they want as small of a window of time in between casts as possible to prevent the feet from turning back in. I completely understand this, but I have to admit I'm a little sad. It was always so nice to have that one night a week with baby Oliver and his "free" feet and legs.
The first night I had to soak off his casts was a complete disaster. Jay was working nights, and Oliver was two weeks old. I really had no idea what I was doing...I had read some suggestions and the nurse had told me a few ideas but it was so awkward! I was paranoid because his umbilical cord "stump" was still on and I was trying not to get it wet. I thought doing it in the kitchen sink would be best. Um, no! Our sink was small and I couldn't get him in a comfortable position. I got out a bucket that fit well into our sink and put water in it, along with some vinegar because that was supposed to help soften the casts. (This was the only time I used vinegar. I didn't think it worked that well and it smell was just too strong for me!) So here I am, trying to hold a 2 week old infant in a bucket of water, up to the top of his thighs without getting his belly button wet. Ha! He screamed, I cried, and it took close to two hours!! We were both soaked by the end. I started unwrapping his casts at the top and worked my way down. By the time I got close to his feet I could just slip the bottom "foot" part off. I have never felt such relief as when I was able to get those casts off! I cried seeing his precious little feet again.
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| After our first night of soaking off his casts. AMAZING progress! I have recently found out that most doctors do not recommend parents soak the casts off the night before a new cast is put on because of the risk of losing progress, so I am especially grateful that Oliver did so well. I really looked forward to our one "free" night a week of loving on his little legs and feet. |
That first night of no casts I spent so much time just looking at his feet and legs and touching them. The doctor had warned us that his feet might be especially sensitive, since they weren't used to any stimulation, but Oliver never really seemed to experience this. As soon as I got his casts off, I wrapped him in a towel and he curled right up on my chest. I sat with him in the recliner in his room for over an hour just loving my little boy.
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| On our way to get his second casts put on. Funny, once they were on it was hard to remember them ever being off. They quickly became part of our new "normal." |
The second casting was emotional as well. I really, really dreaded that appointment again. His feet looked so different, and so good, that I hated that they were going to be covered up again. I just wanted to have a "normal" experience of a baby without casts. He felt so much smaller without his casts on and I started to feel like I was really missing out on so much of having a newborn. Just the little things really bothered me, like not being able to give him a normal bath and having to really watch what kind of clothes we bought for him to make sure they would fit over his casts.
He seemed to be in a lot of pain with the second castings also. The doctor did some stretches with him and he cried during those. That night went better than our first night, though, and each week seemed to get easier and easier. Well, as easy as it can get when your infant is in casts. Sometimes I hate saying its "easier". I don't want people to think it isn't as big of a deal as it really is. Its all relative.
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| PJs that did not have feet, and snapped all the way down both legs, became a staple of Oliver's wardrobe. This was his second set of casts. |
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Grandpa holding a tiny Oliver.
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| For whatever reason, this set of casts did not go up as high on his legs as some of his earlier ones. Its kind of hard to tell at the angle of this photo but with each casting, his feet were set at a different degree according to the Ponseti method of treatment. |
One thing that did get easier each week was being able to soak off the casts. I just now remembered that Jay was home for one of the weeks of soaking them off, and he videotaped it. I haven't watched it since we filmed that, so I will have to try to get that out sometime and watch it. After that first time of attempting the kitchen sink, I said forget it and just got in the bathtub with him and did it that way. By this time I was pretty much healed from childbirth and didn't mind getting in the tub in a bathing suit to unwrap the plaster. I remember one week I was unwrapping his casts and I noticed blood on them. I immediately started checking everywhere to see where he could possibly be bleeding. I was freaking out that he was hurt somewhere. It took me a couple of minutes to notice the cut on my finger and realize it was MY blood! The plaster could occasionally be sharp as I unwrapped it and I cut my fingers a few times over the weeks. Of course being in the water made it look much worse than it really was. I actually grew to really enjoy those nights of getting his casts off. I always tried to stop unwrapping them once I got to his foot so I could slip that part off and keep it. I have a whole bag full of little Oliver foot casts and cast wrappings.
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| This was the second night I soaked his casts off. He had been in casts for two weeks at this point. It never ceased to amaze me the difference in his feet and how quickly it happened. |
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| On our way for more casts again. The better his feet looked the more I hated having to cover them in casts. They began to look so normal! |
Its hard to remember each casting appointment because they were just a way of life for awhile. I do remember one particularly great appointment for him. The nurse was so happy when she saw his feet before the doctor came in. No one usually said too much about his feet, just that they were looking good. This time you could tell Nurse Deb was really surprised and excited with how great they looked. When she came back in with Dr. Cummiskey it was like she couldn't wait for him to see them. He kept saying how great they looked, and it made my heart soar to know that all we were going through was worth it. During that casting, Oliver was crying, and I just kept whispering, "Its ok, baby, its ok" and Dr. Cummiskey said, "Oh Oliver, its beyond ok! Your feet are looking amazing! Seriously, we rarely see this much progress this fast. I am just in shock." At that appointment, we thought we might only need one more set of casts. I was SO excited. It turned out he needed two more sets, and even though it was disappointing at the time, I am now able to look back and really see how awesome his progress was.
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| After three weeks of casts. I remember worrying that his feet were "over"corrected this time, but it was all just part of the process. The next morning Dr. Cummiskey was thrilled with how they looked. |
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| I've always loved this picture of little Oliver. This was a very good appointment for him! |
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| October 29, 2008. I didn't realize it at the time, but I had just soaked off his last set of casts! We were expecting one more set and got exciting news the next morning. |
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| Such an exciting day! Oliver was *DONE* with casts earlier than expected!! It was the day before Halloween, so I celebrated by putting some adorable pumpkin socks on him. |
Oliver had several days in between casts and braces. Again, this is not something we will experience with Max as the doctors I have spoken to want as little time between casts and the brace. Also, the brace that Oliver went into (KAFO...knee, ankle, foot, orthodics) is a brace that I have not seen used again. Of all the clubfoot parents I have talked to and the doctors I have spoken with lately, they all use a bar and boots system. I'll talk more about Oliver's braces in another post.
It was hard to believe we were done with casts. It seemed like we had just started, and we were so used to going to these appointments. I was so proud of our little boy, and so so relieved to be done with this part of his treatment.
One incredible thing was how quickly Oliver met milestones even with his casts on. We were at his one month well check-up, and the doctor put him on his belly to see how he did. The doctor told us that he might experience some delays because of the casts, and to not be concerned if it took him a bit longer to do things like roll over. Right after he said this, Oliver rolled from his belly to his back! We had to laugh, and at first thought it might have just been an "accident." But no. Oliver proved us all wrong, and at just one month old was rolling over like crazy. Especially for first time moms, it can become an obsession if your baby isn't meeting milestones right on time. I was so glad to have one less thing to be worried about at that time.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Oliver's First Casting
Oliver was born on Tuesday, August 26, 2008 at 5:17 pm. His birth was quite an experience in itself, as I was induced almost 3 weeks before my due date for PIH (pregnancy induced hypertension). I have never felt so in love as when Dr. Davis laid that precious little baby boy on my chest.
I remember that the nurses asked us shortly after he was born if we knew about his feet. We told them we did, and I remember my heart breaking just a little bit that God had not miraculously straightened his feet already. I wasn't so much upset as I was more just resigning to the fact that we would indeed be going through all the treatments we had learned about. I remember silently asking God, "Why didn't you answer my prayers?" and in that moment was one of the only times I have very clearly felt God answer my question so immediately. It was like in my mind I heard, "Be still, new mother. I have answered them, just not as you have expected." I'll never forget that. I looked around, almost expecting that someone else had heard it as well. God spoke directly to my heart in that moment and gave me a peace about the upcoming months.
Our first week with Oliver was wonderful. I spent a lot of time just staring at his feet, thinking about how perfect they looked to me despite knowing that, actually, they weren't. They would need to be changed, to be fixed. That's hard for a new mother to go through. Everyone feels like their baby is just perfect, and to know that they have to be fixed is heart breaking. I remember telling Jay that a part of me (the emotional, illogical, newly postpartum mama part) didn't want Oliver to go through the castings because I didn't want him changed. He was my perfect, precious little baby and I didn't want them changing anything about him. But I knew that for him to have the best quality of life, this is what needed to be done. Without treatments, he would never really be able to walk. That's such a horrible realization.
Oliver was 8 days old when he had his first casts put on. Jay was working second shift then, and had just gone back to work after being off for a week with us. The night before Oliver's first casting was extremely hard. I remember holding him and just sobbing because I was so scared of what the next day would bring. During our prenatal appt with Dr. Cummiskey, our orthopedic doctor, he had told us as much as he could about what to expect, but there's really no way to prepare yourself for your newborn to be put in full leg casts. I wondered how I would possibly give him a bath. How I would hold him on my chest when he couldn't curl up on me any more the way babies like to sleep. I put him in several different footy PJ sleepers that evening just because I didn't know if he'd ever really be able to wear them again. I prayed over my baby boy that he wouldn't be in too much pain. I felt so sick to my stomach the whole evening, and didn't sleep much that night. Before bed I sent this email to a friend...
The first casting was by far the worst. Its hard to even think about. Dr. Cummiskey came in and said that Oliver's feet were very typical looking for bilateral clubfoot. Oliver laid on the doctor's table with Dr. Cummiskey on his stool in front of him. I stood to his side, leaning over Oliver and talking to him. Jay stood behind me, and rubbed my back. The doctor later told us he would never forget the way our family interacted during these appointments...Jay supporting me, me supporting Oliver. When Dr. Cummiskey took Oliver's foot and turned it before setting that first cast...oh my gosh. I thought I was going to vomit and pass out all at the same time. It was horrific. I couldn't believe a doctor could turn a baby's foot like that without breaking it. Oliver's screams from that pain haunted me. The way he grabbed at me, like he was begging me to rescue him from the pain...it wasn't long before I couldn't tell anymore if it was his tears or mine on his face. It seemed to take forever but it wasn't long before they were ready for the second foot. I just kept telling Oliver over and over that it is ok, Mommy is here, it'll be over soon, that I love him. I would remind him to take a breath, because he was just red and silent crying after awhile, as if he could possibly understand what I was saying.
It was finally over and my little boy's legs were completely covered in plaster. The nurse picked him up and kissed him and handed him to me, saying to take our time and cuddle him before putting him back in his carseat. I felt like my heart was in a million pieces. Nurse Deb told us the proper dosage for Tylenol that we could give him (which, for an 8 day old, is next to nothing) to help ease the pain. She even told us that most infants have not yet developed the ability to cry tears, but that Oliver was in a lot of pain and to expect a possibly rough night. When people tell me that at least Oliver's treatment was done as a newborn and he won't ever remember it, I wish they could possibly understand what we went through that first casting appointment. He may never remember, but I absolutely will never forget. His pain was very real, and very difficult to experience. For everyone.
Our first night was tough. We spent most of the time in bed cuddling. I cried, a lot. It seemed so unfair that our baby was going through this. I just wanted to cuddle him and it was so awkward. He would wake up screaming and I felt so helpless. I sent this message to some friends later that night:
Until that night, Oliver had slept some in a bassinet by our bed, and we had spent many nights in the recliner holding him. We hadn't really settled on the idea of bedsharing just yet, but neither Jay or I wanted him in his crib in his room. That night when Jay got home from work, I was laying in bed with him and just said, "Please...is it ok if he sleeps here with us tonight? He's in so much pain." Of course Jay didn't mind, and for the next 2.5 years Oliver slept with us. :) We couldn't stand the thought of him waking up in pain by himself. We used to get a lot of grief from people about bedsharing and I would just say, "You don't understand what we've been through. He needs to be close to us."
When I think of baby Max (due this September) and his clubfoot, it is the first casting that makes me the most upset. Thinking of the pain Oliver went through is enough to bring me to tears in an instant, and it's devastating to know that we will go through this again with another child. I know it gets better and the end result is so worth it. But I'm basically being asked to relive the worst day of my life. I'm still searching for some peace with the whole thing. I'm getting there, and God is carrying me when I don't feel like I can carry myself.
I remember that the nurses asked us shortly after he was born if we knew about his feet. We told them we did, and I remember my heart breaking just a little bit that God had not miraculously straightened his feet already. I wasn't so much upset as I was more just resigning to the fact that we would indeed be going through all the treatments we had learned about. I remember silently asking God, "Why didn't you answer my prayers?" and in that moment was one of the only times I have very clearly felt God answer my question so immediately. It was like in my mind I heard, "Be still, new mother. I have answered them, just not as you have expected." I'll never forget that. I looked around, almost expecting that someone else had heard it as well. God spoke directly to my heart in that moment and gave me a peace about the upcoming months.
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| Oliver in the hospital bassinet. My perfect, precious baby. |
Our first week with Oliver was wonderful. I spent a lot of time just staring at his feet, thinking about how perfect they looked to me despite knowing that, actually, they weren't. They would need to be changed, to be fixed. That's hard for a new mother to go through. Everyone feels like their baby is just perfect, and to know that they have to be fixed is heart breaking. I remember telling Jay that a part of me (the emotional, illogical, newly postpartum mama part) didn't want Oliver to go through the castings because I didn't want him changed. He was my perfect, precious little baby and I didn't want them changing anything about him. But I knew that for him to have the best quality of life, this is what needed to be done. Without treatments, he would never really be able to walk. That's such a horrible realization.
Oliver was 8 days old when he had his first casts put on. Jay was working second shift then, and had just gone back to work after being off for a week with us. The night before Oliver's first casting was extremely hard. I remember holding him and just sobbing because I was so scared of what the next day would bring. During our prenatal appt with Dr. Cummiskey, our orthopedic doctor, he had told us as much as he could about what to expect, but there's really no way to prepare yourself for your newborn to be put in full leg casts. I wondered how I would possibly give him a bath. How I would hold him on my chest when he couldn't curl up on me any more the way babies like to sleep. I put him in several different footy PJ sleepers that evening just because I didn't know if he'd ever really be able to wear them again. I prayed over my baby boy that he wouldn't be in too much pain. I felt so sick to my stomach the whole evening, and didn't sleep much that night. Before bed I sent this email to a friend...
"Oliver's appt is at 11 Wednesday morning with the foot specialist..
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| Oliver the night before his first casting. |
I'm so thankful that I took lots of pictures of Oliver's feet before and after each casting. Especially the first one. Its hard to believe what his little feet looked like then, and how quickly they changed. He was so tiny, and those casts looked so big.
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| On our way to his first appointment. His orthopedic doctor was only about 30 minutes away.
The first casting appointment was by far the hardest. We sat in the waiting room, and I held Oliver, dreading our name being called. I wanted it over with, and I didn't want it to begin, all at the same time.
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| I remember purposely holding him on my chest like this, as I knew I wouldn't be able to very easily after his casts were on. |
It was finally over and my little boy's legs were completely covered in plaster. The nurse picked him up and kissed him and handed him to me, saying to take our time and cuddle him before putting him back in his carseat. I felt like my heart was in a million pieces. Nurse Deb told us the proper dosage for Tylenol that we could give him (which, for an 8 day old, is next to nothing) to help ease the pain. She even told us that most infants have not yet developed the ability to cry tears, but that Oliver was in a lot of pain and to expect a possibly rough night. When people tell me that at least Oliver's treatment was done as a newborn and he won't ever remember it, I wish they could possibly understand what we went through that first casting appointment. He may never remember, but I absolutely will never forget. His pain was very real, and very difficult to experience. For everyone.
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| If I remember correctly, these first casts weighed about half a pound total. Seems like such a small amount, but he felt so much heavier with these on. |
Our first night was tough. We spent most of the time in bed cuddling. I cried, a lot. It seemed so unfair that our baby was going through this. I just wanted to cuddle him and it was so awkward. He would wake up screaming and I felt so helpless. I sent this message to some friends later that night:
"They [the casts] cover most of his feet and legs. He feels so heavy now. He sleeps
for a bit and then wakes up crying inconsolably. Nothing I do can help
he is in pain and doesn't know why. We were able to give him a little
bit of baby tylenol so i'm hoping that kicks in soon. He cried his
first real tears today when he was crying at the dr. Broke my heart.
Jay could barely stand to leave for work. Its going to be a long night."
Until that night, Oliver had slept some in a bassinet by our bed, and we had spent many nights in the recliner holding him. We hadn't really settled on the idea of bedsharing just yet, but neither Jay or I wanted him in his crib in his room. That night when Jay got home from work, I was laying in bed with him and just said, "Please...is it ok if he sleeps here with us tonight? He's in so much pain." Of course Jay didn't mind, and for the next 2.5 years Oliver slept with us. :) We couldn't stand the thought of him waking up in pain by himself. We used to get a lot of grief from people about bedsharing and I would just say, "You don't understand what we've been through. He needs to be close to us."
When I think of baby Max (due this September) and his clubfoot, it is the first casting that makes me the most upset. Thinking of the pain Oliver went through is enough to bring me to tears in an instant, and it's devastating to know that we will go through this again with another child. I know it gets better and the end result is so worth it. But I'm basically being asked to relive the worst day of my life. I'm still searching for some peace with the whole thing. I'm getting there, and God is carrying me when I don't feel like I can carry myself.
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