What Has Changed, or The Evolution of Being, part VI

I prayed. I prayed and I prayed and I prayed.

And you know what? God was with me.

He was with me when my doctor held me as I sobbed on his shoulder and told me how sorry he was. How he didn't know what on earth happened.

He was with me when at the hospital registration desk and the woman handed me the box of tissues that would go with us throughout the night and next day. As she carefully escorted us to a private waiting room, got us water, snacks and allowed us to cry alone.

He was with me when the ultrasound tech in the hospital told us about her four lost babies and gently reminded us to always be grateful for the ones we had at home.

He was with me when the Labor and Delivery nurse led us to our room and settled me in while my husband drove the 30 minutes home to get us some things to make it through the night.

He was with me when she told me about her lost baby and that God would be with me. When she quietly told me that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

He was with me when the head nurse/grief counselor came to discuss our "options". When she advised us that through her miscarriages, it always helped her to hold the baby and be able to say good-bye.

He was with me when the pain started to become so great that I called in the night nurse and she gave me medication to "help me forget". And she held my hand while I cried.

He was with me when I pushed and cried and shook silently in the dark. As I tried not to wake my sleeping husband so he wouldn't have to experience the trauma of the birth of his dead son.

He was with me as I sobbed when I called the nurse back in to tell her that it was over. As she told me everything was going to be okay.

He was with me as my husband and I named our baby Thomas Jacob. So I would always remember that the biggest doubters become the most steadfast believers.

He was with me as the doctor wheeled me into surgery to remove the placenta. As she told me it would be all over soon and I would be okay.

He was with me when I woke up screaming that I couldn't breathe. As my new day nurse comforted me and told me that when she lost her baby, she didn't feel peace until she held him and said good-bye.

He was with me when they told me that our baby boy had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and it was nothing that I had done wrong.

He was with me as the nurse brought my one ounce baby boy to me in a miniature little blanket so I could see his tiny face, touch his miniscule hand, and say good-bye.

I prayed and He was with me.

What Has Changed, or The Evolution of Being, part V

Right now, looking back, there are so many good things that came from that tragedy that it's hard to feel anything but peace about what happened. Of course, I would much rather be typing this saying that I'm in my sixth month of pregnancy, happily looking forward to his arrival. But God
promises to make everything work together for the good of those who love him. And in this case, he has.

That day though, that horrible, awful, no-good, very bad day... that day, I didn't see how anything could be worse than what I was going through right then. I had gone in for my regular bi-weekly check-up. It was my 15th week and everything was supposed to be smooth sailing from there-on out.

But they couldn't find the heartbeat.

Not with the sonar, not with the ultrasound. So then I had to come back that night when the ultrasound tech was in because it was possible the baby was just in a weird position.

I can't describe how terrified I was during that drive home. Trying not to cry in front of the two 3-year-olds in my back seat. Calling my husband and telling him about the appointment and how terrified I was that something was wrong. And I prayed.

He assured me everything would be fine, and I prayed, but it wasn't. Everything was so very wrong.

We went to the doctor’s office that night, our boys with my best friend for the evening. And I prayed.

I knew when I saw a straight line roll across the screen instead of that beautiful, jumpy, jagged line indicating the heartbeat that had been there every time before, our baby was gone. And I prayed.

It was over. My dreams were dead.

And I prayed.


But it wasn't over. My baby was "gone", but not gone. I had no idea what was still to come that terrible night.

First, my husband insisted on a second opinion. And I prayed. We headed over to the hospital next door for another ultrasound. And I prayed. Then, when everything was confirmed, we had to go to Labor and Delivery. And I prayed.

Oh God, I was going to have to give birth to my dead baby.

And I prayed.

The horror of that reality took mere seconds to sink in and I was outraged. And I prayed. They can suck a living infant out of its mother’s womb as she chooses, but I had to go into labor and give birth to my dead baby?!? And I prayed. They wouldn't allow me to have a V-BAC with my full-term infants, but they would allow me to give birth to my dead baby?!? And I prayed.

That night and for the days to come, I went through the grief cycle a hundred times. And I prayed. Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, acceptance... then back to shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, acceptance... over... and over... and over. And I prayed.

They led me to our Labor and Delivery room and explained exactly how the whole thing would work. And I prayed. They would insert two pills into my vagina that would start labor. And I prayed. Then, they would introduce Pitosin through an IV drip. And I prayed. It could take between six and 48 hours for everything to finish. And I prayed.

My prayers went like this;

"Oh God. Please take this from me."

"Oh God. Get us through this. Give us your strength. Give us your peace."

"Oh God. Please. I can't do this."

"Oh God. How am I going to tell the boys?"

"Oh God. How can I explain to my babies that this baby is gone?"

"Oh God. Please take this from me."

Eventually, I couldn't pray that much anymore, I was simply weeping too hard and my prayers changed to a mantra.

"God is with me.”

“God is. With me.”

“God Is. With me."

Throughout that night, as the labor started and the pain was increasing, I prayed.

As my husband and I discussed a name for the baby, I prayed.

As we talked about whether or not we wanted to see the baby, I prayed.

As he cried and asked me why this would happen, I prayed.

As I cried and told him that God has a plan, I prayed.

As I cried and sang praises to God, I prayed.

As our safe little world tumbled down around us, I prayed.

"God Is. With me."

What Has Changed, or the Evolution of Being, part IV

We discovered in October that I was pregnant with our third child and that same month, I decided to start my own business as a Mary Kay Independent Beauty Consultant. The plan was for me to work to build my own business before the baby came so I could quit
my job for good in June.

The HR Manager pulled me into her office one Monday morning in November and I knew it was time. As she recited her spiel about them eliminating my position, no longer doing events, not having a place for me, and so on and so forth, my heart was pounding.

Excitement flooded through me! This was what I had been praying for, hoping for, begging for! I waved good-bye to all my friends and former co-workers, cleaned out my desk, and walked out
the front door for the last time with a smile on my face. It was time for me to live!

Little did I know. I wasn't as ready to "live" as I thought. The pregnancy had so many complications. I had to be extremely careful with myself. No lifting, no stress, daily progesterone injections, weekly blood tests, and bi-weekly doctors visits.

Then my back went out the Saturday before Thanksgiving.

My boys and I moved in with my dad for that week so he could help me when I could barely get out of bed. And depression set in.

My back slowly healed, but that was followed by one illness after another. By January, I was so depressed; I was barely getting out of bed.

I had stopped pursuing my Mary Kay career completely. I was scared to move.

I stopped talking to God, stopped talking to my husband, and began hiding from my children again. Although I was still going to see Robin every week, I stopped telling her everything. I didn't admit to the depression, the overwhelming sadness, disappointment and fear. And then my greatest fear came to reality.

The one thing that I thought I would never be able to
survive happened. We lost the baby.

---to be continued---

What Has Changed, or the Evolution of Being, part III

I'm sure this all sounds extremely dramatic, maybe overly so, and if you've never hit rock-bottom, you are probably shaking your head and thinking "Drama queen".

There were times when I heard people talking about things like this and I thought the same thing. But rock-bottom is a very real place. And you don't have to be a drug-addict or schizo to get there.

Rock-bottom is when you smack into that road sign of life where you have two choices. You can't keep moving straight ahead on the path you've been going on, you must choose to turn. One path leads you back, to the troubles of the past, where you give up and end it all. The other leads you
forward to whatever the future might bring if you choose to stand up, dust yourself off, and take one step forward.

That Saturday in May, I made a choice to turn my life around and stop allowing others to make all the choices for me.

Robin's ability to listen and support me and give me strength for the past ten months has made her more than therapist to me. She is my confidante and I trust her more than most.

Over the next six months from that day in May, my home life did not get easier.

Neither did my job. In fact, things got worse at work - so many changes in the company. People were being fired or quitting on a regular basis. I was traveling at least once a month and struggling to keep up with planning, publishing, advertising, and executing these events. There were new people hired into my department all the time and it was a challenge to find my place among them. I was criticized for my honesty, berated for laughing, and chastised for selling. But I kept succeeding.

The managers seemed to be doing everything they could to make my job impossible, but I did it. I kept moving forward. I worked hard and I pulled off one event after another.

Every week, without fail, I went in to see Robin. Every week, without fail, she listened to the craziness that was my life, lifted my spirits, taught me to change negative thoughts into positive, and sent me out to do more, work harder, and be better.

By September, I knew for sure that my time with the company was coming to an end. I wasn't sure when, but I knew that it would happen.

And when that day came, I was ready.

---to be continued---

What Has Changed, or the Evolution of Being, part II

In my most desperate times (and many not-so-desperate times), I have always reached out to the one constant in my life.

God.

This time was no different, but this time, something inside me said I needed someone to talk to. Not just my ever-faithful and loving heavenly Father, but someone that could sit across me in a room, look me in the eye, hear about all the awful and wonderful things going on and listen.

I needed someone who would just listen. Listen to my failures and my successes. Listen to my fears and anxiety. Listen to me cry and laugh and allow me to voice all the crazy thoughts in my head.

But who was this person and how on earth would I find them?

Google.

Yes, Google. I opened up my husband’s ever present laptop on my bed. I sat up and Googled.

(Incidentally, that's a word now. It's really in the dictionary. To Google. A verb.)

I Googled "therapists". And that day, I found Robin, the woman that would save my life.

---to be continued---

What Has Changed, or the Evolution of Being, part I

In May of 2011, I wanted to die.

With a demanding career taking up more than its fair share of my time, energy, and emotions, the time spent at home was not with my husband and kids, but in failing to catch up on dishes, laundry, vacuuming and other mundane household tasks. For me, time became my enemy. I was fighting the clock constantly, trying to schedule all of the events and travel for work as well as all the requirements of family. I tried to tell myself, "I'll sleep when I'm dead", and I wanted to die.

I knew that I couldn't give up because I love my children more than life and I refused to leave them without a mother. I lost my mother at 24, when she had been there for the most important years of my life. She was able to help plan my wedding and teach me as a 22-year-old baby, how to care for my own brand-new baby. Losing her, even as an adult, taught me that having a mother who loves you helps give you a sense of balance and well-being. I could not take that away from my children - and I definitely wasn't going to take it away on purpose to leave them wondering if I had ever loved them at all.

For nearly two years, I had begged God to allow me to be fired from this company that was sucking the life out of me. I pleaded with him to let me find a way to stay at home with my kids because my heart was dying without them. Every day on that interminable 40 minute drive to work, I would pray for God to wrap his arms around me and protect me through that day. To keep my husband and children safe on their journeys. And if firing wasn't in his plan that day, to help me find favor in the eyes of my managers so I wouldn't be berated and undermined.

It was not in God's plan to have me fired. Not at that time, not for what seemed like forever. Throughout the four years I spent with that company, he had me promoted. Over and over and over again. Moved up and up and then to a brand new department. Doing things that I had only dreamed of doing. (sidebar: I had been an Admin Assistant or in Customer Service since I was 18 and had always dreamed of being an Events Coordinator) God took this dreadful company and created my dream job there and dropped me right into it.

Then he proceeded to teach me several very hard, but very important lessons. And then came that Saturday in May 2011. The day I truly wanted to die. Like most Saturdays during this time, (at least the Saturdays when I wasn't traveling) I was laying in my bed trying to hide from everyone and everything. Trying desperately to ignore the devastation in my home and my heart. And then my boys came to my bedroom door. I don't remember now what they were asking for, but I know that I yelled at them. I did that too often during those times and this time was nothing different. I'm sure they were asking for something pretty simple, like a snack or to play a game with me or to go outside, but for me, they might as well have been asking for me to lasso the moon. Such tasks seemed monumentally challenging and going outside and facing the world was simply not an option.

They did what they usually did when I yelled at them, they lowered their heads and walked away down the hall. This time though, that broke my already cracked and bleeding heart. As I watched my 9 and 3-year-old sons walk down that hallway, I started to cry. No. Not just cry. I wept. I mourned the loss of love, peace, and happiness in my home. I thought, what difference would it make if I was gone? How could they possibly be worse off without me than they are rightwith me here? How can I go on as broken as I am right now?

At that moment, everything changed within me. I was scared. For them, for me, for my poor husband who had been putting up with this crazy woman that used to be his vibrant, beautiful wife. How could I have sunk this far? How did I let it get this bad? In that moment of awakening, I made a choice. I decided I wanted a different life. I was tired of being afraid. I was always afraid. And I reached out for help.

----to be continued---