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 pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. 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.
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.
 |
| 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.
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