Seeing the forest through the trees

I haven’t written (well, more accurately, posted) anything in over a month. As I look back on some of the posts since I started this journey 9 months ago, I feel like it happened to someone else. I read the heartbreaking news of the loss of a twin. The rollercoaster of emotions regarding baby A and baby B. The questioning of what determines life, the facing of fears, the necessary goodbyes. I found myself in tears reading some of the posts, recalling the anxiety and fear deep in my soul when the words were first written.

I have a friend that used to always remind me how important it is to see the forest through the trees. Basically meaning that when we are so focused on the details, on the specifics at hand, we forget the big picture. Now, re-reading the blog, I can see that that’s exactly what happened to me. As I got deeper into the pregnancy, the drama surrounding each ultrasound and the fear of the unknown, made me focus on the details. On the exact size of baby B, on the level of fluid around baby A’s heart, on the likelihood that I would need surgery. I was holding my breath from ultrasound to weekly ultrasound. And the more I focused on the details (and what the internet had to say), the more I became anxious. Full of worry.

Many of the posts are an attempt to release that anxiety, to trust God with the results, and I was often able to do so but the moment I began to focus on the details, I would once again get weighed down with apprehension.

The term ‘full-circle’ came to mind as I read the early posts. It was interesting to see that when I sat down today to write, the main things that I wanted to express were the ideas written, ironically, in a post from August – before most of the drama had unfolded. I think it sums up how I feel now – a whirlwind of 4 months later. It’s about perspective and here is an excerpt…

Sometimes a little perspective is all you need to bring yourself out of fear, depression or self pity. Perspective means ‘the ability to perceive things in their actual interrelations.’ The danger of losing perspective is that you see your experiences in relation to YOU, to YOUR life. And that’s not reality. It feels like reality, but it’s not.

When I first heard about TRAP syndrome, I read that this rare condition happens to 1 in 350,000 women. It came after a week of crazy not-so-good-news and I thought, “What in the world is going on? Why is this happening to us?”

I was then reminded of the promise that God gives us – the promise not to spare us from pain, but to comfort us in the midst of it. I was reminded of, and humbled by, situations of people I know and love around the world. Rather than being 1 in 350,000 women with a rare pregnancy condition, I could be 1 of 7 - the number of people in the world who go to bed hungry. Mia could be 1 of 50 – the number of American children that are homeless each year.

A little perspective reminded me that my blessings far outweigh the challenges in my life. That I don’t have any reason to complain. To ask for prayer? Yes. To complain? No. I was talking to Paul about this and he said the best way to keep your perspective is to be thankful. He’s right; it’s hard to complain, be in self pity, or be depressed when you look around you and see all the gifts you have been given. When you begin to count your blessings.

I don’t think I could ever count that high.

Seeing each ‘tree’ as an obstacle made me start to doubt the purpose of this journey. I lost perspective, I didn’t see the bigger picture. As I tried to navigate through the trees, I nearly forgot about the forest altogether. In reality, we have been through a beautiful journey – one that has grown Paul and I closer together, one that has given us a new appreciation for life and the sanctity of it, and one that has refocused our trust on God. Not on the internet, modern medicine, or ourselves. I am surrounded by blessings and have another incredible one right around the corner.

Summer is coming.

And with all the warmth that Summer brings. With the promise of new life. With the promise of new growth for all of us.

I can’t wait.

Dear Summer Marie,

You are due to arrive in 8 weeks. For months, I prayed that you would not come early – that you would remain in my tummy for as long as possible. Now, I can barely wait to meet you! These 8 weeks seem to be going so slowly and I secretly hope you come just a bit early.

For so long you were my baby a. A part of a pair. You represented so many things to your daddy and I. And so much about you has been wrapped in question marks. Questions about your health, your viability, your future.

We named you early – mainly so that we could pray for you by name. Summer Marie. I love your name and everything it represents. Your aunt helped us see the spiritual implication of naming you Summer when are due to be born in the middle of winter. Maybe God’s favorite season in our life is when we grow and learn the most – that’s his summer. And this season of our life, awaiting your arrival, was certainly a season of growth for us.

As I left the hospital today after seeing you in a final ultrasound, I began reminiscing about the last 6 months. Wow, what a rollercoaster! There have been so many things about you in question. And yet, you have always been a constant.

Every week, as we frantically measured and calculated the images on the ultrasound, you were there. Pumping your little heart. Kicking your little feet. A reminder of life in the midst of loss. A reminder of hope in the midst of the unknown. Even now, you are constantly there. I feel your hiccoughs. Your kicks. Your summersaults. Thank you.

I wonder what you would have been saying throughout this time if you could speak. Would you say, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Or would you simply and silently continue doing what you were created to do…grow, develop, live.

As I get closer to meeting you, I feel a certain anticipation. I felt it with your sister Mia too but this is different. I feel like I owe you something. Like I owe you my complete devotion because it has been split up until now. Like I owe you my gratitude because you fought so hard -and did- beat the odds. I know that what I owe you, what any parent owes their child, is unconditional love.

A phrase in a popular song right now always makes me think of you:

I will love you for you – not for what you have done or who you will become.

That is my promise to you. My promise that no matter what the answers to the questions are about you, we will love you for you. We will teach you. We will guide you.

I enjoy hearing the stories of when my mom was pregnant with me, the details surrounding my first few days of life and how exciting it was for my mom and dad to have a baby girl. I know one day, we will have those conversations. Where you will learn about the details surrounding my pregnancy with you. About the day I found out I was pregnant and how over the next several weeks I bought over 20 pregnancy tests just to be sure. I will show you the pictures of when we told the rest of the family by putting a shirt on Mia that said “Big Sister 2 Be”. And how I was sick for 3 months straight and what TRAP sequence is. You will learn about Cayden Marie and see her ultrasound picture. I will tell you how scary it was but how hearing your little heartbeat each week gave me the strength to keep moving forward.

I have heard parents say that they don’t know how they can love a second child as much as they do their first. And while I always understood that notion because of the fierce love I have for Mia, I am also keenly aware of how God opens our hearts to be able love without limitation. And that kind of love is meant to be given away.

I can’t wait to share that love with you.

I already love you with all of my heart.

See you soon baby girl,
love mommy.

8 weeks and a letter

32 weeks down, 8 weeks to go. Those numbers are significant when compared to the first numbers I was given. 70% chance of preterm labor. 20% chance of survival rate for baby A without surgery. Goal of 28 weeks.

We have beat each of those statistics; no preterm labor so far, Summer is healthy and growing, and I have passed the initial goal of 28 weeks by over a month now. Wow. Thank you, God.

I saw Summer on the ultrasound today and felt excitement to meet her and have her be part of our family. They showed me a 4D picture of her (yes, 4D) and I have to say it was actually kind of cute! She looks like she has chubby little cheeks and a perfect little nose. She yawned at us as if bored with yet another ultrasound peeking in on her snug little cocoon.

After the ultrasound, the technician left to speak to the doctor and came back to tell me that I do not need any more ultrasounds and don’t need to come to their office anymore. I can go back to my regular OB and spend the last 8 weeks of my pregnancy as a ‘normal’ pregnancy!

As I left, I felt lighter (not an easy thing to feel when you are 8 months pregnant!), but I felt as if a weight was lifted off my shoulders that I didn’t realize I was still carrying. I began to think about baby Summer. I am finally able to think 100% about her. And only her. To get the infant clothes sizes 0-3 months out of the basement. To put batteries in the baby swing and figure out how long to take for maternity leave.

I found myself talking to her, as I have so many times throughout the last several months. I was telling her things that I wanted her to know - about this journey, how excited her big sister is to meet her, how her daddy and I feel about her.

I decided it’s time to write her a letter.

I wrote her sister a goodbye letter.

Now it’s time to write Summer a welcome letter.

The Point

A few years ago, I saw a Grey’s Anatomy about a pregnant woman who fell and broke her arm. In true Greys’ fashion, she had not only broken her arm but the fall had caused her to lose the baby as well. There was a scene of the doctors watching this woman and her husband as they examined her new cast amidst smiles and laughter. Just before the doctor went in to tell them that they had lost the baby, a nurse said, wait. Give them a few more moments of happiness before you shatter their world. And so the next few minutes were spent watching this happy couple thinking everything was right in the world, complete with dramatic music that, on its own, would probably be enough to make you cry. The next scene was this woman, in labor, working so hard through the physical pain and yet knowing that the outcome would be her stillborn child.

I watched this years before I ever got pregnant with Mia. Yet I thought about it for weeks to come. I just couldn’t believe that you would have to actually give birth, go through the pain of labor and give birth to your stillborn child. It just seemed like adding insult to injury to me. I don’t know how I thought they would get the baby out otherwise, I had never thought about it before, but I was just so surprised that she had to go through all that pain and for what. To go home from the hospital empty handed. To walk into her nursery and know that for at least a year, there would be no infant lying in that crib. No baby dripping in pink or blue.

When I told Paul about it, thinking he would be as appalled as I was about the injustice of it all and the seemingly pointless suffering they went through, he just shrugged it off as another overly dramatic storyline of Greys. He’s not a big fan. Ok, that might be an understatement.

But these stories are real. They happen. To people we know. I have heard from so many people about how they delivered their baby knowing they had already lost her. Or delivered knowing that he would only live a few days. And what took me by surprise was that there is no bitterness in these stories. They all seem to have an underlying sentiment of gratefulness. Of being thankful for the opportunity to have the baby. To meet the baby. Even to just have the privilege of carrying the baby.

The last several weeks I have been wondering what the point of the journey is. I feel like I am being prepared for something. But for what? I think I am starting to see some of the possibilities of purpose.

I went to an event tonight with Joni Eareckson Tada (a quadriplegic from a diving accident who started the non profit Joni and Friends which serves people with disabilities and their families all across the world). Paul used to work at her organization and is now on the board. As we were talking, she said that one of the things about going through a cancer scare was how it brought her closer to her husband. She lamented about the challenges of suffering but stated that it is in those times that the splashovers from Heaven are seen. Meaning, that is when God is closest to us. It’s when we get a taste of him, his mercy, and his grace. We sang a song that goes “This is my story, this is my song. Praising my savior all the day long” and she stated that our life is our story but the point is God’s story being told through our lives. I think she’s right.

If suffering is what brings us closest to God, then it is in suffering that we can most closely know who God is – and if our goal is to be more like him (like Jesus), then, right there, is a good reason to go through suffering. The things that we go through develop character traits that, if processed correctly, can replicate the character of God. We can become more compassionate, loving, accepting, humorous. All traits of God’s.

I recently received an email from my brother that said thank God for God’s Hands. That’s it, I thought, that’s the point.

The point is Gods Hands. His hands that guide, that mold, that protect, that heal. It’s the whole idea about life being more about the journey than the destination. And just like the stories I have heard from other moms and dads who lost their babies, they are not asking what was the point. They are thankful, grateful for the time they had with their baby. Even if it was just for 9 months in mommy’s tummy. There is learning in that. There is suffering in that. And suffering is what brings about compassion and healing. Not just for ourselves but so that we can share it with those in our lives that will inevitably go through suffering too.

Just like when riding the roller coaster, it’s not about the end. It’s about the whole track. The scary parts. The parts that allow you to catch your breath. And the comfort of knowing that you are strapped in. Held. By God’s hands. Its exhilarating.

And what changes is you. Is me. The shaping that takes place. The learning that takes place. The walls that come down or the thick skin that is grown. That’s what’s important. Those changes are what grow us, develop us and make us the people we become. But we have to accept it – the whole thing. We have to accept the path. And we have to accept the changes. If we don’t, we protect ourselves with a layer of resentment which quickly turns into bitterness. Cynicism. That is certainly not the point of suffering.

It can be painful to accept the process of change in you. But it’s worth it. I think that’s why the moms and dads I have heard from are free from anger. From resentment. From bitterness. They have accepted it. Sure there are questions that they still have but there is also an underlying peace. They are choosing to rest in God’s hands.

Thank God for God’s Hands.

I couldn’t agree more.

Maybe these journeys are in preparation for something else. Maybe they’re not. Maybe it’s just to become a little more like our Creator - a little more sympathetic to those that miscarry, a little more compassionate to those that cannot get pregnant, a little more thankful for the family members we have already.

A way for God to tell His story through us. And His story is one of love, compassion, mercy, grace, and power. As our stories unfold and we allow his hands to mold them into his story, these are qualities that we begin to reflect. We start to share them with the people in our lives. And we all begin to live with more love, more power, more intention than ever before. It changes us, our interactions, our purpose.

That’s a good enough reason for me to go through a journey of any kind.

Dr Jekyll / Mr. Hyde

I told Paul recently that I feel like I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. That either I will go into preterm labor, or it will be a dramatic delivery, or that there will be something wrong with Summer. When he asked why, I explained that it doesn’t make sense to go through all of this drama – which has actually only been theoretical - without an actual dramatic result. If I had never had an ultrasound, never knew about the twins, never heard about TRAP, or the possible complications…the outcome would be the same. I would still go on to deliver whenever I deliver and have the baby that I’m going to have. So what is the point of the last 6 months?

I have been trying to figure this out. Trying to reconcile the ‘why’ of it all. Is it just to add some flavor to my life? Was it to start a blog and connect with other who have been through something similar? Is is just because that’s life and life happens?

It’s like I am being torn in 2 different directions. What I know is not reconciling with what I feel. It’s the same division of heartstrings that were being pulled before- half of them excited to see Summer and half of them sad to lose Cayden.

Today’s appointment was great. I saw Summer, she is doing great – even saw her face in the 3D ultrasound (which, truth be told, are kind of freaky looking). The fluid pocket on her brain has disappeared. Her arm and leg bones are measuring perfectly. Her little hands are opening and closing and she was already sucking her thumb. She even had the hiccoughs – I had been wondering how she can kick me so frequently! Now I know why!

So the angel on one shoulder tells me to feel so thankful. I dodged a bullet! The drama is over! The fear and anxiety is relieved. I am now in my 3rd trimester and everything is looking good for the next few months! Great! But there is a nagging voice on my other shoulder…

Why do I feel so…hesitant? Why can I not accept the good news and forget about the last several months? Why did I ask the technician to show me baby b? And when she couldn’t find her, why did that make me sad? Like something was over? And then when she finally did find her, why did my eyes fill with tears that I quickly wiped away before anyone saw them?

It’s because…I don’t get it. I still don’t get it. What was the point? Why go through all of that for nothing? Of course it’s great that it is nothing but…I still don’t get it. I don’t understand the purpose. And of course I feel terrible for feeling that way since it makes me feel like I’m ungrateful for the good news. Which of course I’m not! I just feel like this journey was preparing us for something…for the procedure I didn’t have, or the burial we won’t have, or the preterm baby that we won’t have (hopefully). Again, I’m thankful that we won’t have these things, that has been the prayer the whole time, but I feel like I’ve been preparing…but for what?

It’s just a weird feeling. Like standing at the edge of a cliff with all the adrenalin rushing through you, ready to take the jump because you have a parachute and you are ready, but when you look down you realize… you are on flat land. There is no cliff. Phew… right? But what do you do with that adrenalin? With all the preparations you have made? I guess you try to figure out the lessons to learn….and I just don’t know what that is yet.

So I ask you, what do you think the point is?

What is the point of so much drama, fear, anxiety, sleepless nights, cumbersome prayers if everything was going to turn out ok anyways? (I feel bad even writing those words – like I am totally unappreciative but…)

Is there a point? A purpose?

Is it preparation for something that I might deal with in the future? A way to help others who have gone through it? Simply one of lifes events that I can choose to grow closer to God through?

Or is it that just life; bad things happen and hopefully, by God’s grace, you can dodge some of the tragedy – is that just the way it is?

I’m not asking why we lost Cayden. I can accept that. I’m just trying to navigate through the purpose of the journey.

Lights

I have flown hundreds of times in my life. And yet, every time the flight attendant explains the safety components, I put down my book and listen. I can explain how to buckle the seatbelt, blow up the life vest, put on the oxygen mask (and always to yourself first before helping another), and the other handful of explanations he gives and yet I still feel like I should listen. Not so much because I will learn something new, but because I feel like I am being disrespectful if I don’t pay attention. Do I think he will give me better treatment in the event of a plane crash because I listened to him? No, I’m pretty sure that if there is a plane crash, much of these safety tips won’t really matter… However, I did learn something new today.

On the lifejackets, there is a little blinking light. I don’t know if that’s a new thing or the first time I have ever heard them say it. Either way, it was a minor detail that I had never caught before. It immediately gave me the image of being lost in the ocean, in the midst of the big black sea at night and yet the tiny flashing light can be seen from miles around – including by the rescue boat.

One of my biggest fears is being lost in the ocean, hence the reason I am not interested in ever taking a cruise. And this fear is of course tied to my fear of sharks. And yes, both of them are irrational. (Although, I should point out that when in Florida last week, I read an article about a recent scuba diver who came up to the surface only to realize that he was alone. In the ocean. With the sharks. And that the tour boat that he was with had left without him. Just like the movie Open Water. So….it does happen).

I think the basis of that kind of fear (besides the obvious) is the being alone. The complete isolation that encompasses you. With or without a life jacket, you are alone. But that light - it dramatically increases the chances of being rescued. As I was thinking about that, we began our treck on the runway as we prepared for takeoff. It was early in the morning and there was a heavy fog. Visibility was not great but on that runway all I saw were lights. Blinking lights, guiding lights. It made me feel confident about our safety even without visibility.

It also made me think of all of you. In your own way, as Paul and I have been navigating this journey blindly, you each have been little beacons of light to us through your beautiful messages of encouragement, by sharing your own stories and wisdom, and of helping provide ideas for each step of the way. It’s like you have been those lights on the runway helping us stay focused as we keep going to weekly ultrasounds. Or maybe we are the ones wearing the lifejackets in the big sea of the unknown and you guys see the blinking S.O.S. lights and reach out to us to lend a hand, a word of encouragement. A laugh.

I have received lots of good questions from many of you. Here is an attempt to answer some of them…

TRAP Sequence and Baby B
Any negative effect that may have happened due to TRAP sequence, has already happened. Baby b is still there, growing but slowly. With your encouragement and insight, we did name her, Cayden Marie, and are thinking of ways to commemorate her after she is born. Thanks for all your great ideas!

Labor and delivery
I may still go into preterm labor but it will be because I am/was a twin pregnancy – not so much because of the TRAP diagnosis. And the reason I would deliver early would be because the amount of placenta providing nutrients to Summer is compromised simply because baby b is still attached. FYI baby b is attached to Summer through the placenta (not baby to baby.)

I have another ultrasound Wednesday and then begin my 3rd trimester soon! Seems like the longest pregnancy in the history of all pregnancies but I can see the end in sight and am looking forward to that! To meeting Summer, to having the unknown answered.

One thing that keeps me going is that every morning, Mia kisses my tummy and says baby ‘ummer’.

Well…she might also be saying baby elmo….we’re not quite sure!

Memories

Mia had her first haircut yesterday. She’s almost 2 but her hair grew slowly. It was short in the front and long in the back and was starting to look like a mullet. It was time to put stop to that. So Grandma cut a little bit off in the back – no more mullet. She (my mother in law) asked me if I wanted to save her hair. Part of me wanted to say yes. Actually I did say yes initially. But then as I thought about it, I realized that there was no point.

The reason I said yes was that I wanted to want to save it. I felt like I was supposed to save it – like it was the mom-thing to do. I was supposed to save it, put it in a cute little frame, and immediately transfer it into her completely filled out baby book once I got home. Except, that that would never happen. It would go into a zip lock bag, sit in my suitcase until I had time to unpack (which on average is about a week after I have returned home from a trip), and then end up in some drawer in my bathroom until I found it a few months later and put it in a pile of other items that have every intention of eventually making it into Mia’s baby book that I haven’t started yet. Yes, she’s 2 and I haven’t started it yet.

So with that realization and with my 2 sister-in-laws admission that they didn’t save their baby’s hair either, I threw the hair away before the haircut was even completed.

That’s not to say I’m not sentimental. In fact, I’m a little too sentimental and I save everything. But the problem is I’m not organized enough to actually put all this stuff in a special place. So it all ends up in a pile. I have programs from every funeral and wedding I have ever been to. I have movie tickets from nearly all the movies Paul and I went to the 1st year we started dating. I even have my 8th grade graduation t-shirt with the names of all my classmates on it! Why? Is it because I might find the time to scrapbook one day? Or what if Mia might want to wear that t-shirt from 1994?

Ideally I would have scrapbooks and photo albums and journals with the memorabilia complete with commentary on the dates, times, people and purpose. But that will never happen. However, the point behind keeping these items for me is the same point as it is for the Type A mother and creative scrapbooker that I will never be – to keep the memory alive. To be able to look at the wedding program and remember how the pastor said the wrong name in the ceremony and how my dad wore his sunglasses through the whole thing. To look at the seashells and remember the romantic date that Paul took me on at the beach. To be able to look at the hair and remember when Mia was 2 and in the bathtub in Florida with her mullet that was begging to be cut off. It’s all about keeping the memory alive.

Of course we don’t need that to remember – but we need it to remember to remember. In other words, if we don’t have that visual reminder, sometimes we forget to reflect and take time to think about these past memories. We miss out on the enjoyment of reliving them or even on learning from them now that we are seeing them with hindsight.

When I first learned about TRAP and that we had lost Cayden, I researched all the medical info I could. But eventually I just got to the point of wanting to hear real stories about it - not from medical journals. I started searching out blogs until I found a few that had the stories of people that had been through TRAP deliveries. Most of them ended up with pre-term labor and the delivery of at least 1 stillborn baby. I was most intrigued with the photos of the acardiac twin. Of their baby b’s. Though they were malformed and didn’t look like babies, there were photos taken of them. With baby hats on, a small body wrapped in a baby blanket, with booties if there was a foot to put a bootie on. I could see how special these photos were to the parents. So I asked Paul to call our good friend and photographer, Jeremy (www.studiothisis.com) and ask him to be ‘on-call’ so to speak. This was when we figured that we would be delivering both babies early. I wanted pictures of Cayden. I wanted that memory.

We have now learned that baby b is growing slowly enough not to cause high risk for pre-term labor, and that she will be delivered with the placenta – as part of it. Recognizable as baby b (a mass of tissue different than the placenta), but not something that would be given a burial. Therefore, not something that will have pictures taken of.

So today I spent some time talking with my sister-in-law about how to commemorate Cayden. I have been feeling lately like there must be something special that I can do. Some initial research provided ideas such as hanging a special ornament at Christmas, or planting something in her name, etc. But nothing I’ve read seems quite right. I think I understand now why people get tattoos in honor of someone – it’s so permanent, and so undeniable that it seems almost ceremonious. Reverent. Funny to use that word when I can name many people who think tattoos are the opposite of reverent. But when you think about it this way, it’s hard to disagree. I have a friend who lost her mom as a child and she has a teardrop on her wrist with her mom’s initials. I think that’s beautiful. I can see how that makes her feel like her mom is always there with her. And my friend who lost her baby – her tattoo is so full of symbolism that I’m sure when she looks at it she feels every emotion that eventually ends with the hope and promise that she’ll see him again. There is comfort in that.

I’m not really interested in getting a tattoo but I am interested in hearing other ideas of ways to remember Cayden. Something special. Simple yet special. To be that reminder of a beautiful girl waiting for me in heaven. Something that I can touch or see or think of when I look at Summer and get tears in my eyes imagining her twin sister. Or maybe something special for Summer to 'know' of her sister.

Maybe something to just help provide comfort during the first month after their birth.

I didn’t think I would need that until today when the tears, once again, came out of nowhere as we talked about delivering Summer.

And Cayden.

If you have any ideas or thoughts, I'd love to hear them.

And, once again, thanks for all your words of encouragement, prayers and thoughts!

Into the Beautiful

On the day that I found out that baby b, Cayden, had died, I remember driving out of the hospital lot in sort of a stunned silence. It was before I knew they were girls, had ever heard of TRAP, or even imagined that things would not continue normally. All I knew was that I had two babies and lost one. I called Paul and told him. I went to my parents to pick Mia up and told them. As I was driving home from there, I remember being stopped at a train. I looked down at the seat next to me and picked up the ultrasound picture – it showed both babies. I turned on the radio because the silence of my thoughts was just too much. The first song that came on had a chorus with the words….

"Take me into the beautiful."

As I looked at that ultrasound and saw the twins and heard that phrase repeated in the song, the tears finally came. I immediately had the image of my baby being brought into the beautiful, into heaven. Running into the arms of her Creator. Of her heavenly maker. And it was beautiful. Heartbreaking but beautiful.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I had a dream last night that I was having another routine ultrasound. I was laying there, belly exposed, jabbering away about something unimportant and irrelevant. Until I caught the look in the technician’s eyes as she searched the screen. It took me a few moments too long to recognize that my biggest fear was being realized. I too looked at the screen and saw the beautiful shadow of my baby. Laying perfectly still. Too still. I saw her profile, her chest, her belly and her legs. And there, where the pumping heart should be, typically the most re-assuring piece of information on the screen, was pure stillness. Blackness.

In the next scene, I was driving out of the parking garage listening to the static of the radio get clearer and clearer as I reached ground level. Then, as I pulled out of the garage and into the light, the radio station picked up the signal and I heard that familiar song again. Take me into the beautiful. And this time, Cayden was there to greet Summer into heaven.

I woke up feeling very disturbed. Anxious. Spooked. It was one of those dreams that was a little too real. Like when you dream that your husband was mean to you and you wake up hurt. And you stay mad at him even though you know it was just a dream. But it was just so real that the feelings linger. That’s how this was. I woke up and laid there with my hands on my belly waiting for the kicks of reassurance and for my heart rate to steady. Once both happened, I had to mentally replace my panic with the truth.

It was a dream. Summer is alive and doing great. It was just a dream. Only 4 months to go and this will all settle down. It was just a dream.

And dreams aren’t real. But they do represent real things. Real feelings. Real ideas. Real fears. And I happen to be an excellent dream interpreter. Well, I think so anyways. And I think Paul would agree. (Although when I just asked him if he thought so he laughed and said ‘it’s always entertaining’. Hmm.) Either way, I also love what Sigmund Freud has to say about dream interpretation. In fact, that’s where my love affair with dreams began – high school English class.

My teacher was very unique and somewhat off center and I think that’s what made him so interesting. (He was also the only teacher in my entire educational career that ever sent me and a friend to the Deans office for talking during class. Maybe that’s why I think he’s off center.). Anyways, he was an interesting teacher so the topics he taught on were interesting and one of those topics was Freud and dream interpretation. I really became interested in why we dream what we dream. Of course much of it has to do with what’s going on in our lives, what inputs we’ve had lately (ie what we have seen, read or talked about), and our subconscious.

Whether or not I actually know how to interpret a dream with any accuracy, this last dream was easy to decipher…

Recently, my sister in law gave me the book Heaven Is for Real. It’s about a boy who died in surgery, went to Heaven and then lived to tell about it. He was only 4 and much of the stuff he began to describe in the months after his surgery made it clear that he couldn’t have made it up. (If you’re going to read the book, you can skip to the next paragraph so that I don’t ruin a part for you). One of those things was meeting a sister he never knew he had. Here's an excerpt...

One day Colton said, “Mommy, I have 2 sisters. You had a baby die in your tummy, didn’t you?”

“Who told you I had a baby die in my tummy?” Sonja said, her tone serious.

“She did, Mommy. She said she died in your tummy.”

Sonja slid off the couch and knelt in front of Colton. I knew what my wife must be feeling. Losing that baby was the most painful event of her life. We explained it to Cassie, she was older. But we hadn’t told Colton, judging the topic a bit beyond a 4 yr olds capacity to understand.

“What was her name?”

“She doesn’t have a name. You guys didn’t name her.”

How did he know that?

“You’re right Colton,” Sonja said. “We didn’t even know she was a she.”

Then Colton said something that still rings in my ears:
“Yeah, she just can’t wait for you and daddy to get to heaven.”

When Colton left the room, the tears spilled over. We had wanted to believe that our unborn child had gone to heaven. Though the Bible is largely silent on this point, we had accepted it in faith. But now we had an eyewitness; a daughter we never met was eagerly waiting for us in eternity.” (Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo)

Wow. That’s amazing. Makes you think about so many things – miscarriage, abortions, heaven. It’s obviously why I dreamed about Summer going to heaven and meeting her sister.

Sometimes the phrases we use about death and loss are clichés. But most of them are still true. We just don’t like to hear them because they don’t really make us feel better. He’s in a better place. She’s shining down on you. He’s your guardian angel (ok, that one might not be true, I’m not sure it says anywhere that WE turn into angels when we die). But one thing that we should not consider a cliché is the idea, or the reality rather, of Heaven.

Heaven is not a romanticized place that we tell kids that their pet hamster went to. Saying that the baby you lost is up in heaven is not just a sweet idea to make you feel better. It’s the truth. It is very much a reality. Like the title of the book says, Heaven is for Real.

Heaven is very real.

And I can honestly say that Cayden is in heaven with Ethan. And Tiffany. And Virginia. And Abigail. And your 11 embryos. And all the other babies that you’ve all told me about that were never named.

And they are there together with Jesus. And even as our arms long to hold them, and we feel as though we have been robbed of our babies, we know deep down that they are in arms even more loving than our own.

They have been taken from us, yes.

But, they have been taken into the beautiful.

Picture Perfect

It’s Wednesday and I spent the morning running errands and keeping busy prior to my doctors appointment. All the while I was keeping track of the movement in my belly. Ensuring that it was constant. That I could feel her twirl and kick and spin. My plan was to be able to confidently go into my appointment knowing that the heart beat would be there. And it was. In fact, the appointment itself was encouraging.

Baby b is there but just kind of in the background - not growing, not getting smaller. Summer is doing well and the high risk doctors said I don’t necessarily need to see them every week if my regular doc would take me back. That I would continue with them for ultrasounds but see my regular doctor for prenatal visits. However, they warned, it’s possible that your regular doctor won’t want to take you back because of how complicated this pregnancy started out as.

That kind of sums up this whole pregnancy – being somewhere in the middle. Not being totally high risk anymore but not low risk either. Not quite out of the woods but not quite in imminent danger either. The fluid on the brain could be this or that or it could be nothing. I’m just somewhere in the middle. And that’s a hard place to be. In fact, God himself even says not to be in the middle. Not to be on both sides of the fence. Pick a side and go with it. That’s better than just being lukewarm.

In these situations I can’t even pick a ‘side’ because I have been placed in the middle. But here, in the middle, I can choose what to focus on. And instead of focusing on what might be, I need to focus on what is. What I know to be already true. Not what the possibilities are but what is real today. Right now.

At this moment. Today, I have a husband. A daughter. Am pregnant. Have a job. A family. And way too much more to list. Those are things I can focus on.

A friend told me recently that she lost a twin. And at the unexpected times, that twin surfaces in her heart. When she sees her daughter dancing in front of the mirror – she thinks of the twin there. That’s what the 2 of them would have looked like together. When she sees her 2 boys and her daughter in the rear view mirror, she thinks of the twin and what it would have been like. But she also said something encouraging – when she sees her family portrait, it’s picture perfect. It’s just as it should be - nothing is missing.

That sentiment really touched me somewhere deep inside. It was that reminder that while the what could have been’s and the what should have beens can be so powerful in our minds, the WHAT IS, is what matters. It’s what counts. It’s what’s real.

My family portrait, if and when we have Summer, will look exactly as it should look.

My family portrait right now; me, Paul and Mia, looks exactly as it should.

Because it's what is.

And it's picture perfect.

Headlights

Life’s a journey, not a destination – that’s a line from an Aerosmith song that I loved in high school. (Ok fine, I still love it.) It’s also a common sentiment – that the journey we are on is what counts, not so much reaching the destination. Of course, that is a bit of a cliché and kind of devalues the goal in mind. But it does remind us that the changes that take place in us on the journey are important. Are irreplaceable.

But truth be told, we are a society that focuses on the destination. On getting from point A to point B. Sometimes literally, as in when sitting in traffic, point B really IS our only goal. But even within personal goals – getting a certain degree, a certain job, achieving something specific etc; these are all point B’s in our life that we work so hard to get to. For some of these things, the journey IS the best part. Take College for example – hands down, the best part of college for me was the journey. Those 4 years in Iowa City - meeting lifelong friends, creating memories that will literally last me a life time, and becoming much of the person I am today (which includes making some major mistakes – but it’s all part of who I am now). Oh, and learning a thing or two as well. Go Hawkeyes.

But in other situations, point B becomes more important to us than the journey. Grad school often becomes about that degree. The job that comes with it. The promised life of fortune and success. Or marriage – it has the expectation of a lifetime of love and happiness. Or having a baby; if we can just attain these goals... but no one told you that the journey included such hard work and sacrifice. For grad school, marriage and parenting. And when too much focus is put on point B, we are just setting ourselves up for disappointment. What if you don’t get a job offer after grad school and are left with nothing but debt? Or your marriage is way harder than you expected? Or you can’t ever get pregnant? Then what? Then you become riddled with bitterness because point B, and all it’s heightened it up to be, failed you.

But what about the times that we don’t know even what point B is? It’s one thing to know what your goal is and fail to achieve it (often by no fault of our own), but it’s another thing to not even know what you are heading towards. How can we enjoy this journey of life if we don’t know where we are going? But I think there ARE times in our lives when we don’t know where we are going. And that’s a hard place to be. Not only do we want to know what point B is so that we can get there, but we also want to know the exact distance, how long its going to take, how much it’s going to cost and what the weather is like there. We want the details.

Unfortunately, God doesn’t work that way. I say unfortunately but I’m sure God would say ‘fortunately.’ (if I can speak for God, which I probably shouldn’t). God doesn’t always show us the whole path. He doesn’t give us a nicely lit map. But he does give us His words. His promises. There are some Bible verses that I grew up learning but never really thought about. I mean really thought about. One of those is a song as well (I can’t read the verse without humming the tune...)

Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

It’s simple. It’s powerful. And the imagery is actually pretty cool. It makes me think of a cold, dark, fall night. No lights outside. But I have a lantern. A little lamp that I can hold at my feet. And it gives me just enough light to take my next step. And the next one. And the one after that. Eventually, this light has provided guidance for my entire path. From A to B. It’s all I need. Like headlights.

“Headlights have the purpose of illuminating the road ahead during periods of low visibility, such as darkness or precipitation.” (Wikipedia)

Isn’t that what God’s light (ie directions and guidance) is for? Especially during times of low visibility, when we are blind with sorrow, confusion, pain, bitterness, anger or whatever other emotion we all have felt? And during times of precipitation – when the storms of life are pouring down on us? Unemployment, illness, pregnancy woes, and so much more? Sometimes I not only want to be in a car with bright headlights but I even want to put on one of those helmets that literally has a light shining out of it, like miners have. Seriously! I might look strange but at least I would be able to see where I’m going! One of my favorite authors reminds me that we don't need to see the whole path...

It’s like driving a car. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” You don’t have to see where you are going, you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet in front of you.” (Bird by Bird, Anne Lamont)

Sometimes we know what point B is. We see it in the distance. Like Las Vegas – all lit up and beckoning us. And it provides that goal to work towards. Like a North star. But sometimes, all we have in the darkness are headlights – just enough light to get us safely to the next step. And while it’s sufficient, it takes faith. It takes trust.

“The most direct route between point A and point B on your life journey is the path of unwavering trust in Me.” (Jesus Calling Devotional)

By going off track, creating my own path lighted with my ideas, I’ll just be taking the long way. And it’s not the scenic route. Trust me, I’ve taken it many times before. But that verse, that quiet verse that speaks about lighting our path. It’s something to take note of. It’s worth holding onto that lantern in the middle of a world that can be so filled with darkness. It’s comforting to know that there is just enough light for my next steps. And that my footing will be secure on that path because He is leading. And I know He’s not going to lead me down the wrong path.

We don’t want to go overboard on either the journey or the destination. A little balance, a little focus on what’s important is needed. But maybe the focus shouldn’t be on either of those. Maybe its just on the next step.

Right now Paul and I don’t know what our point B is. But we know that we are on a lighted path. The whole thing isn’t lit up; just enough to keep moving forward. Sometimes slowly, but the speed is not important anyways. In times of low visibility and precipitation, slowly is probably best. It’s probably the only way that we will be able to learn from this part of the journey. By slowly but surely, taking one step at a time. By allowing God to light our path with his promises. Not focusing on point B. Or even the journey. But just on the next step.

God’s Word, His promises – they are my miner’s hat.

They are my lantern.

They are my headlights.

Life Out Loud

When we hear about people in the public eye being exposed for some character flaw, we immediately pass judgment. How could they do that? How could they live a lie like that? We shake our heads and snub our noses. But if those flaws are exposed by they themselves, if there is no attempt to hide them, we seem to be more sympathetic to them.

It’s easy to choose to expose just one part of your life. To offer that part up, even in complete vulnerability, as long as the other parts remain protected. We can show weakness in 1 area but that’s all. However, I have been feeling lately like that is also like living a lie. It’s like the Pastor who counsels people on the freedom of life with God but then is addicted to gambling (or whatever else) behind closed doors.

That’s kind of how I have felt lately. I decided to make my blog public because selfishly, I wanted prayer. And then it became healing for me to write. And then I started to hear about how it was helping other people. All reasons I continue to write about my pregnancy. But it’s just a portion. Just a sliver of my life.

The events of the last 20 weeks have really allowed me to dissect certain parts of my thought processes, my inner workings, and have brought me to a place of peace. Of trust. Of awareness. But perhaps only within that sliver. And if it seems like I have learned these lessons in their entirety, nothing could be further from the truth.

I was in the car today, driving with tears streaming down my face. I was angry. I was hurt. And I was pregnant (translated: emotional). And I had the fleeting thought that I needed to write down my emotions because that helps me sort them. And just as quickly, the next thought was but not in the blog, this one is for my private journal. But that struck a chord in my soul. It was like God saying, Why? Why is this private? This is real. This is life. This is what you are saying that you want to share. So share it.

Ok. So here goes.

I got in a fight with Paul today. I guess I should say that I might have been a bit stressed because it’s Wednesday (ie ultrasound day). And I’m pregnant which means I cry easily. And I cry easily anyways. And I might have been a tad emotional. So I may have instigated it. Especially when you compare my husband who is possibly the most level headed, easy going, non reactive, person you have ever met. And as marriage would have it, that is one of the things I love most about him. And the thing that drives me crazy. All at the same time.

I guess you need some background info. I never found this to be pertinent information so I have never shared it; it really never had anything to do with the pregnancy. But since this blog has become bigger than my pregnancy, here is some context for the last 20 weeks…

On July 12th, we got home from Sweden. We were energized. Excited about what we experienced there and ready for the next step in our lives whatever that might be.

On July 13th, Paul found out that he was laid off from his job. One of his favorite jobs that he has ever had. One that matched perfectly with his unique personality, gifts and passions. He was the Pastor for 150 adults with developmental disabilities, and that position, along with 33 others, were let go in a 2nd round of company layoffs. (It’s a great non-profit that we continue to pray for as they deal with their financial struggles). Ok, crushing blow but we still had the wave of energy that we were riding from Sweden. We knew it would be fine.

On July 15th, we found out that baby B was growing, had doubled in size and I was a high risk pregnancy and possibly on my way to surgery. The wave of energy was starting to lose its momentum a little bit but we knew there must be a plan here somewhere. God always has a plan…right?

On July 19th, we found out that the employees laid off do not qualify for unemployment because of the certain status this particular non profit holds. (Something I still don’t quite understand but try not to think about otherwise the seeds of bitterness start to embed in my soul.). The unemployment would have been how we would afford the temporary insurance coverage for my high risk pregnancy and weekly ultrasounds. Ok, now the wave was not only losing momentum but starting to crash down.

Fast forward to September 7, 2011.

Paul and I have a fight. Which, in our relationship means, I say something sassy and unnecessary. Paul raises his voice. I start to cry. I know, totally lame and anticlimactic. But what was the fight about, you ask? Hmm. I think it might have been about the fact that he had my computer and wasn’t answering his phone. And then it turned into not taking some free time we had today to look for a job. And then somehow we got to when his last speeding ticket was…?? Not sure how that happened.

Ok, so maybe it’s more helpful to figure out what the fight was really about. Which rarely has to do with the words that are flying around in an argument. And I think this one had to do with a sense of panic that has been building in me over the last week. A culmination of this wave collapsing on itself. On us. If you’ve ever been caught in an undertow you know the strength of it, and how hard it can be to get out of it. It seems the more you struggle, the weaker you get. That’s how I felt today.

I have a really cool devotional book that is written from God’s perspective – it takes scripture and phrases it as if God is speaking directly to you. I try to read it every morning. Well, everyday is more accurate. Actually, I have it by my bedside table to read 1st thing but by the time I see it, I am already running late and I throw it in my purse to read when I get to work. But then I don’t think about it until I am back home and see it in my purse when I am digging for my phone. And it ends up back by my bedside table for me to read before I go to bed. A terrible habit I know. But I can still say that I read it every day.

So today, I came home and saw it. I just had this feeling that God was saying ‘you should have read this in the morning…there’s something good in it specifically for you’. And of course, there was.

Trust in me with all your heart, and I will make your paths straight. The farther you roam along paths of unbelief, the harder it is to remember I am with you. Anxious thoughts branch off into all directions, taking you farther and farther from awareness of my presence. Trust in me. This simple act of faith will keep you walking along straight paths.

Ahh. There it is. Maybe if I had read that, I would have remembered that there is a plan. There is a path that we are on. In the past, I have written about how I want peace and how I finally figured out how to have peace regarding my pregnancy. I have written about how I want to trust in Gods presence and have figured out how to do so in the pregnancy. And just yesterday, I wrote about having awareness and how I have learned to foster that. Well, unfortunately, I didn’t learn these lessons enough to extend them into my whole life. Only in the sliver of life I have been sharing about. The sliver that is my complicated pregnancy. It’s a big sliver, but it’s not the whole picture. And I see now that there is no point in applying a lesson learned to only a piece of your life.

It’s like learning how to ride your bike on the grass but not on the concrete. What’s the point? Inevitably on your ride, you are going to encounter both terrains so you need to learn how to ride regardless of the kind of ground you are riding upon.

Just like I need to learn how to apply that peace, that awareness, that trust in God to all areas of my life including this phase in our lives of uncertainly. Not just my pregnancy. Otherwise I am like that person that looks in the mirror, walks away and forgets what he looks like. Would you believe that is also from the Bible (can you tell I’m married to a pastor!)? It’s in a verse that basically says, if you listen to or read what’s in the Bible but then don’t follow through on it (ie. do what it says, let it translate into your life), then it’s like looking in the mirror and walking away and forgetting what you look like. What’s the point of looking in the mirror then? We’ve got to apply what we learn. To our whole life – not just the convenient or easier parts.

So I guess I am trying to be intentional about living out loud. I guess that’s really the only way to live anyways. It’s not just about sharing those parts that we are comfortable with. Or that we have control of. Sometimes it’s about asking others to go into the water with us, and letting others in as we learn to apply what we are learning to all areas of our lives. And share the joy as we ride the wave together. Or to catch us when we crash into the shore. And who knows, if Cayden means of the sea, maybe she is riding these crazy waves with us; our very own guardian angel.

Oh and yes, Paul and I made up.

The Unexpected

It’s amazing how the unexpected hits you and literally takes your breath away. Or makes your heart skip a beat. Or stops you in your tracks. There are the obvious times that this happens – the phone call about the car accident, or news about the cancer cells you were convinced you had beat, or hearing that the perfect couple is getting divorced. Those are almost so unexpected that you have a sense of dread that it might be coming.

Meaning, you are not expecting it but you know it could happen at any time so in a sense, you at least have an awareness of the possibility.

But then there are the not so obvious unexpected moments. Like when you come home from a long day at work and your husband has a beautiful gourmet dinner waiting for you. Or when you have been told that you will never be able to get pregnant and then those 2 pink lines show up, clear as day. Or when your ex-boyfriend walks into the restaurant and your heart jumps into your throat and your cheeks flush red. And you don’t know if you are more surprised at seeing him or at your physical reaction.

These are the unexpected moments that you don’t even have an awareness about – they aren’t even on your radar as a possibility and so they catch you off guard.

I was in Boston this weekend with Paul and my in-laws and had one of these moments. It was almost a slow motion type of experience. Waiting for the bus at the Boston airport on Labor day weekend, suffice it to say there was a lot of noise, crowds, and offending smells. People scurrying determinedly dragging their rolling suitcases, cabs honking and tailgating, and busses letting out bursts of air as they pressurized each time they stopped and started again. As we waited amidst the black exhaust coming from each vehicle that passed us, I clutched Mia as my most important piece of luggage. Our bus finally came, and we scrambled over to it, along with 50 other people, counting our pieces of baggage as we walked. Then, as we came to a halt waiting for the people on the bus to get off, I saw a beautiful little girl stepping down, holding her mom’s hand. Then the mom half turned towards the bus and I realized her other hand was holding that of another child. And this one was just as beautiful as the first.

In fact, they had the same face.

Identical twins.

And all of a sudden the noise stopped. The smell of exhaust ceased and the constant movement around me became slow motion. I found myself watching them in amazement as they hurriedly walked towards their next destination. In that split second, before the noise came back and I was pressured to get on the bus by the waiting line behind me, my heart skipped a beat. My breath was taken away. I was stopped in my tracks. Just as quickly as the slow motion of the moment came upon me, it vanished. I looked at Paul wide eyed to see if he saw them. He did. I don’t know what expression I had on my face but it was enough for my mother in law to turn around and say, “It’s ok.”

On the bus, I started to process. I was so surprised by my reaction. It’s not that surprising to see identical twins, so just like with the reaction of seeing an ex at a restaurant, I was more surprised by how I reacted to it than to actually seeing them. I had a lump in my throat – which just means that the tears were armed and ready to be fired but there is a wall holding them in until given the go ahead. Being as I was on the bus, I let the wall remain erected until the tears were able to be swallowed away.

Why did I have tears anyways?! I thought to myself.

I felt a familiar ache somewhere deep in my heart. It was the kind of ache of something missing. Of what could have been. Maybe what should have been. Like how the working mother feels when told about her baby’s first steps. Or first words. Or when her baby calls her nanny ‘mommy.’ The ache that tells you that you are missing out on something significant but there is nothing you can do about it.

Where is this ache coming from?

Alongside that ache, was this feeling of utter surprise. The kind you don’t recover from right away because it had such a physical reaction in your body. Something that literally makes your endocrine system shoot out different hormones than usual, or makes your circulatory system actually change the pace of your breath or speed of your heartbeat – those things require some mental processing as well.

What is this reaction I am having?! Haven’t I already dealt with all this?

Maybe not. Maybe I dealt with losing a baby. Maybe I dealt with saying goodbye to Cayden. But maybe there is more there. Even though it’s just an idea, just a concept, just a dream, it still has power. Identical twins. I prayed for twins. And as I wrote in my last post, verbalizing that desire really made it stronger, gave it a voice. Weird to think something like that is such a strong desire of my heart. I mean seriously, one kid at a time is enough to deal with! But it’s not about me having those identical twins – its about them having each other. That’s the part of twins that I absolutely am in love with. That connection. That bond. There is nothing like it. Siblings come close. But it’s not quite the same.

I have a friend with triplets. And she told me once, “I figured out what my problem is. I hate the triplets.” As I started laughing at her clearly exaggerated comment, she went on to explain that she loves them each individually but as a unit of 3, they are a nightmare. I love that. It makes me think that there is something special about those 3 boys – an inseparable bond that they will have for life. A secret code that only they can understand.

Part of me (and I'm sure many of you) wants to say be thankful for the one you have. Or, why would anyone pray for twins, do you know how much work that is? Or I thought you were over the drama? I thought you dealt with all this already?

*Sigh.* Me too. And that’s why I was so surprised at my reaction.

But figuring out why you have strong reactions to something is important. It’s your body’s way of telling you that there is something there. Feelings that need to be dissected and understood. Most often, if you don’t take the time to dissect them and see what the real underlying meaning is, you will misinterpret. And that can be dangerous. You might think that you are still in love with your ex because of the reaction you had to seeing him. Most likely, however, it’s just a reliving of the past. It’s a memory of what was. But your reaction can also show you that you miss that. That excitement, that intensity. And you can use that awareness to work on bettering your own marriage.

It tells you what your hearts desires are. If you have strong reaction to seeing your high school bully – the feelings aren’t hatred (at its root). They are actually showing your hearts desire of wanting love and acceptance and how painful it is to be treated with the opposite. If you have a strong reaction to seeing you spouse talking with another woman, it doesn’t mean you don’t trust your spouse. It might mean that your hearts’ need is to feel more security in your relationship.

That’s the thing about writing. About journaling, prayer or meditation. It brings you to a certain sense of awareness. Awareness about your feelings, your thoughts. While this is a great benefit to you personally, it’s also exhausting.

There’s something to be said about living life unaware. Sort of a the “ignorance is bliss” idea.

Since it doesn't seem like I get to live in that kind of ignorant bliss (mainly because I over think everything!), I tried to see where the tears, the ache, and the reaction came from. I guess the awareness was that my heart really does have a longing for twins. That's where the tears came from. It’s weird. It’s uncommon. I know. But I think the ache in my heart was for Summer, as she was the one who was going to be missing out on what could have been. Missing out on that bond with her sister.

I do have to say that it made me smile. Seeing the twin girls, each holding one of mommy’s hands. It made me smile. I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t even sad. I just had a strong reaction to coming so close to having something, a desire in my heart realized.

One that may or may not not ever come to fruition. And that’s ok. I got on that bus and hugged Mia a little tighter. Felt Summer kicking and realized that the path my life is on still has a long way to go.
And it’s exciting. And its exhausting.

And that sometimes, being stopped in your tracks isn’t all that bad.

A Little Clarity in the Clouds

So it’s been 7 days since my ultrasound and today was the first day I looked up ‘fluid on the brain’ on the internet. Before you judge, remember 7 days is a long time – especially for me! I lasted that long partly because I have been so busy lately and partly because I was purposely trying not to look it up.

But now, the secret is out. I looked it up. But to tell you the truth, I’m not that concerned. Even though I broke down at 7 days and looked it up the internet, I think those extra days helped me be ok with whatever the outcome.

I have heard myself say a few times this week, 'I’m over it.' Not out of cynicism or resignation but out of genuine peace. Meaning, I am over the stress, over the drama, over the fear and anxiety. And I am just ok with whatever.

As a matter of fact, I was kind of annoyed when the doctor told me what the fluid might mean at birth – I wanted to say, 'let’s deal with what’s happening in utero, and then at the birth we’ll deal with what happens there.'

Choroid Plexus Cyst. That’s what my the official label is for the fluid on Summer’s brain. And like I said in my previous post, it could be nothing. In fact, they think that there are many of us walking around with these fluid pockets on the brain. On the other hand it can be indicative of Trisomy 18 or Trisomy 21. But only 1% have that chance. And that’s only if there are other rare conditions in the pregnancy. Like identical twins. Or TRAP sequence.

Hmm.

But still, I have heard so many encouraging stories of other people who were given that diagnosis, even with twins, and there were no other issues in addition to the fluid. So I’m not too worried. Not much I can do about it anyways.

Another reason that I’m sort of ‘over it’ I think has to do with writing Baby b, Cayden, a letter. Many people have asked me if it made a difference to see her on the ultrasound last week after writing her a goodbye letter. And yes, it did make a difference. In fact, I had no idea it would make as much of a difference as it did or I would have done it earlier. It’s funny how that works. How hindsight is 20/20 (or at least a little clearer hopefully!). But I wonder if we really can do things differently much of the time. Or if we do in fact have to go through the process of certain things in order to come to a place of peace.

When we decided to name her and write her a goodbye letter, we just wanted some closure on the constant worrying. I wanted to focus on Summer and start to get excited about having another baby. Something that has been prevented with all the drama surrounding this pregnancy. But I had no idea how effective that letter would be.

When Paul and I were in premarital counseling, our pastor told us how important it was to verbalize our feelings. That sometimes, by not giving words or a voice to our feelings, it prevents us from actually moving forward. In a way, it stunts our personal growth. (Maybe that’s why I’m so tall – I never stop talking!)

But I have really found that to be true. And my husband, (who is not one to use more words than necessary to get a point across), would also agree that even though it might be a challenge for him to find the appropriate words to describe what he is feeling, once he finds those words, there is freedom in them. Freedom from what, I’m not sure. I guess freedom from emotions needing an escape route. Freedom from confusion. Assigning words to feelings provides clarity.

When we named Cayden Marie and wrote her a goodbye letter, each word in the letter carried a lot of weight. Each word was heavy with emotion. When I began writing the letter, I felt frustration and sadness. By the end, I felt gratefulness and peace.

What I didn’t realize until the last ultrasound when I saw baby b on the screen, was that those words literally CARRIED MY emotion. They were more than just words; each one represented my emotions. Even took that emotion. The words of that letter relieved me of much of the frustration and sadness and allowed me to feel gratefulness and peace.

So when I saw baby b on the ultrasound, I didn’t see Cayden Marie. My little Cayden is in heaven. What I saw instead was Summer. And next to Summer, a mass of cells that was growing slowly enough to allow me a few more weeks of calm. Of gratefulness.

Even now, until I started writing this post, I didn’t realize how this past week has had an underlying sense of gratefulness. But it’s true, I have felt particularly thankful since the ultrasound. I think that feeling is what allowed me to not look up fluid on the brain. I was just thankful for so many things, I didn’t want to ruin it. Thankful for Cayden. For baby b’s slow growth. For Mia. For Summer. Every time I get heartburn, feel her foot lodged underneath my rib, or can’t sleep because I’m having pregnancy hot flashes – it makes me thankful. For support from family and friends. For all your prayers.

Prayer is a funny thing. It’s hard to understand it. Why pray if God knows what we feel and think anyways? Well, maybe it’s not so much for HIM to hear the prayers, as it is for US to figure out what we really are praying for. What we are really feeling. Maybe there is a reason He tells us to do that. Maybe because He knows us, and He knows it’s what we need to do to continue our personal growth. You know, because He created us and all.

All I know is that if I didn’t start writing frequently, I would be a bundled mess of emotions. I would cry at commercials rather than the real reason I was sad and get upset about traffic jams rather than the real reason I was upset. Writing and prayer have been that clarifying agent for me. (Though I do still cry at commercials and I do still hate traffic jams.)

The 7 days I waited before looking up Choroid Plexus gave me some time to just bask in the blessings I have. So that while reading about the realm of possibilities regarding the fluid, I was able to remain grounded in reality. That, coupled with giving a voice to my feelings through the words of each blog post, has provided me with clarity. A sense of calm.

And even a sense of anticipation.

For the first time since seeing those 2 pink lines on a pregnancy test 5 months ago, I think the front-running emotion I feel is finally excitement about having another baby. Another baby girl. I’m ready to take out Mia’s infant clothes and begin preparing to bring a 2nd child into our home.

The shadows of doubt seem to have dissipated. The cloud around the whole pregnancy has thinned. We can see, or better yet feel, clearly now. We are ready. We are thankful.

Though the season is coming to an end, Paul and I are finally ready for Summer.

Facing your Fears

There are normal fears like spiders and snakes. And irrational fears like sharks in the lake (which I had all while growing up swimming in Lake Michigan). And then there are real fears – the kind that keep you up at night (although truth be told, I have had nightmares about sharks).

These fears usually have to do with loss.

When I got married, my biggest fear was losing Paul. To a car accident or some other tragic event.
When I got pregnant with Mia, my biggest fear was not hearing a heartbeat at an ultrasound.
Once I had Mia, my biggest fear was losing her to some tragic event like choking, kidnapping, or a fall.

I think as you get older, your fears become more real because your world becomes smaller. You start to hear these tragic events happening to friends of friends, and then in your group of friends, and then to your own family. And you realize that you are closer to the possibility of these fears becoming a reality than you ever imagined.

As kids, we are fearless. Not a care in the world. We feel safe. We feel protected. I felt this way all the way through college - one of the reasons behind some not-so-smart decision making! I think I felt this way up until I got married. Then I started to feel this fear of loss. It was as if now I have my own things; my husband, my child, my family. Things too precious to me to imagine losing. And I wanted to protect them.
But I started to hear stories of loss and started to know people personally who went through these losses.

*My friend lost her 3 year old to an act of violence. He was ripped right out of her life. That traumatized me. Really made me lose faith in humanity.
*My mom just told me about a friend’s husband who was killed in a car accident leaving her behind with a 2 yr old and 6 month old twins. Her life changed forever, in an instant.
*And now, after sharing my story, I have heard so many heartbreaking stories of loss. Of moms who lost their babies at 23, 26 or 32 weeks. Of delivering a still born. Of burying a 1 month old.

These are real stories. They are stories that become a measurement in life – life before the loss and life after the loss.

But we can't hide from our fears. In fact, there is something to be said for facing your fears head on. I have seen this on so many talk shows – of people confronting their fears of clowns, snakes, heights or whatever. Many therapists say that it works when done correctly. I think its because you figure what it is you are afraid of exactly and see your life as it can be after that fear.

So before my ultrasound on Friday, I decided to see what I was so anxious about. And it was that I wouldn’t hear Summer’s heartbeat. That the technician would move the ultrasound wand around and around on my belly and not find a heartbeat. That the baby would be lying still. Too still. My gut reaction was to shake that idea out of my head. But I decided to allow myself to ride that train of thought a bit further. Ok, no heartbeat. What would I do? How would I tell Paul? What would it be like to come home and know that this journey had ended?
And then… How long would it take to get pregnant again? When would we be ready? After thinking those last 2 thoughts I realized…life goes on. Even in my thought process, I eventually came to how do we move on?

And that’s life. We press on. We move on. We keep going. Maybe through tears. Maybe through screams of pain but we still do it. We breathe. We walk. One foot in front of the other. It’s what my friend who lost her child does daily, sometimes she has to force herself to breath from minute to minute I’m sure, but she gets up. Makes breakfast. Keeps going.

Once I sort of walked down that path of no heartbeat, I realized that it wouldn’t be the end of my world. It would be tragic. And horrible. But it wouldn’t be the end. And it could be worse. It can always be worse.

Don’t misunderstand; I’m not saying that we would get over it and move on. Not that simply anyways….but in a messy, tear-filled, pain-filled, brokenhearted way, we WOULD incorporate it into our lives …and move on.
It’s what we are made to do.

I didn’t have to face the fear. Summer had a heartbeat. But there are so many people who face their greatest fear everyday. Losing a spouse. A best friend. A child. And there are terrible ways that these events happen. The world is not a safe place and we are not exempt from these tragedies. But we can’t live in paralyzing fear of them either. It doesn’t work because then we are not living; we are hiding.

I can’t protect my family. I can’t ensure that no one will hurt Mia. That Paul won’t get in a car accident or that Summer will have a heart beat next week. I don’t have control of those things. God does but He doesn’t promise that he will protect us from losses either. God promises to be with us. To carry us through the pain. Through the loss. That’s just how it is. And the sooner I can accept that and give Paul, Mia and Summer back to God instead of trying to hold them in my own protective custody, the sooner I can rest in the trust that His presence is all I need.

“My Presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” Ex 33:14

And that Presence cancels out the fears, comforts during the times of loss, and provides the peace in spite of the circumstances.

If I have to come face to face with my fears, I sure am glad that I don’t have to do it alone.

Update

Today's appointment was a laboring 3 hours long...

We'll start with the good news...
Baby b continues to grow slowly enough that she is not causing harm to Summer. In fact, my risk for pre-term labor has gone waaaaay down! The cardiologist came in and checked every detail of Summer's heart for 45 minutes - everything looked good. Summer was squirming around quite a bit so she does want me to come back at 28 weeks for another fetal echocardiogram but everything looked good so far - no stress, no fluid, no signs of heart failure.

Then the doctor came in and did a level II ultrasound checking all the other details on Summer - her hands, her toes, every organ, every bone. It's amazing all the things you can see nowadays. For the most part, she looks great. She is measuring at 20 weeks which is exactly where she should be.

And the roller coaster continues....the doctor did find a pocket of fluid on Summer's brain. This could mean anything and could mean nothing all at the same time. It is a sign for several trisomies including Trisomy 18 which pretty much means she would not live past 24 hours after delivery. That's worst case scenario. There are typically other markers for Trisomy 18 - one of them is having heart issues which Summer does not have. The other ones will be assessed around 30 weeks. The pocket of fluid could be a sign of other other trisomies too but it could also be something that disappears on its own - so of course the later is the prayer request. It has nothing to do with brain function itself (ie doesn't cause brain damage) and is more indicative of a trisomy. (FYI a trisomy is when there is a 3rd chromosome in your cells where there should only be two. For example, Down syndrome is also called Trisomy 21 because individuals with Down syndrome have 3 copies of the 21st chromosome in each of their cells instead of 2.)

So...good news overall! Thanks for your prayers and your support! Keep them coming! :) While we are still riding the roller coaster, we are feeling good about where we are headed!

love jenni and paul

D.U.I.

I’m not cynical or even sarcastic when I say that I wasn’t surprised when the doctor told me at the ultrasound that they were looking for chromosomal anomalies. That I have a 10% higher chance that Summer will have some type of disability. As opposed to the .01% chance that I would have had otherwise (if they weren’t identical twins and if TRAP wasn’t an issue).

I wasn’t surprised because I wasn’t bracing myself for the news.

It’s kind of like a drunk driving accident. The statistics show that the person with alcohol in their system, is typically the one who walks away from the accident unscathed. Apparently it’s attributed to the slower reaction time that this person has – they don’t brace themselves for the collision and their body absorbs the impact instead of resists it. And somehow, that prevents them from the most fatal of injuries.

That’s kind of how I feel. I have been bracing myself every week to hear Summers heart, to see baby b, for the possibility of the surgery etc. And all it has done is create a brittle framework for my soul. One easily crushed by any bad news. I think that’s where anxiety comes from – bracing yourself for the bad news while at the same time hoping with all your might for the good news. The opposing emotions just create a volcano ready to erupt.

I have really been trying to learn the art of that peace, that rest that I have written about in the past. To not brace myself. To not expect the bad news. Or the good news for that matter. But instead, to pray for the good news, and rest in the peace that that is all I can do and the rest is out of my hands.

So when they starting naming various trisomies, conditions, and possibilities, I didn’t start crying. I didn’t feel nauseous. I just paused, prayed, and listened. Admittedly, I probably was a bit in shock and my mind might have allowed me a few moments to not process the information in an effort to protect myself.

Maybe because of my profession or maybe because of the conscious effort to keep my emotions in check, my rational mind took over. And I started asking questions...

What are the most common trisomies? Are they the kind that is compatible with life or the kind that means I will lose her a few days into her life? Is there thickening of the nuchol folds in her neck or any holes in her heart, both of which are indicative of Down syndrome? Are there any indications that her hands or feet are malformed, both signs of Trisomy 13? What is the biggest concern we are facing?

Truth be told, I was more comfortable with this topic than all the other ones we have been faced with up to now. Maybe because it’s what I do on a daily basis – work with families and individuals touched by disabilities. It’s something we consider a privilege to do. I knew what questions to ask, what things to consider, and what emotions to expect.

But in the background, I felt God saying to me “just because this is your arena, doesn’t mean you don’t still need me. My peace. My rest. My control.” And that’s so true. Just 1 week after saying I give up, I give it to you, God because there is nothing I can do, I was ready to take the reins back again. I thought, ok, this part I can handle. This part I know more about and can figure out on my own. But I have done that enough times to know that the end result is coming back to the same place. The same place of exhaustion, confusion, lack of peace. So why continue to go in circles?

I need to deliberately give back those reins. To just sit at His feet and thank him for being in control. For reminding me that there is no need for me to try and do it on my own when the very One who created Summer is watching her every move. Is aware of her every chromosome and has created her exactly as she should be. How can I compete with that? Why would I want to?

So I’m trying not to brace myself. And to not resist the trials because I know they are going to come. I’m going to get drunk on the peace from God that will allow me to absorb the impact of life. It doesn’t mean I will walk away unscathed, unscarred or unhurt. In fact, I will probably feel all of those things, but they won’t be fatal injuries.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:1-4

Faith in Numbers

The first time I felt Mia kick, I was 20 weeks pregnant and reading a book in bed. Paul was in Canada on a fishing trip and I noticed a fluttering in my stomach. Like butterflies. I didn’t think much of it and then it got stronger, and I put my hand on my stomach, right over my belly button and sure enough was given one strong kick. I called Paul and told him and while I’m sure he was excited about it, I don’t think he really understood how exciting it was until he was able to put his hand on my belly and feel it himself.

At about 30 weeks, the doctor told me that I should feel around 10 kicks every hour. And that if there was a long time without feeling kicking, to call him. My mom laughed when she heard that and said it’s amazing that we all survived without the knowledge that they have now.

I felt Summer kick this week. It was just a little tiny ‘bump’. But it was her. And it made me smile. It was as if she was just reminding me that she’s there, she’s focusing on growing, and, well maybe it was also her letting me know that I shouldn’t have had that cup of coffee that morning. (I almost always drink decaf, I swear!) Because I get to see her weekly on the ultrasounds, I see what a feisty little thing she is already -constantly twirling and squirming and kicking her tiny little arms and legs.

But then…I didn’t feel her for a few days. And I got nervous. And then started to panic. And then…looked it up on the internet. Yea, you’d think I would have learned my lesson about that by now. As I was getting ready to call the doctor, I felt her kick again. Relieved, I put the phone down.

But right alongside her kick, was God nudging my heart.

Really? You are going to put your faith in the number of kicks? Haven’t I shown you that I will carry you through this? Whatever the outcome?

Humbled, I began to think about how often I do that. And it always seems to be a numbers game. Yes, I thank God for providing a job but I still find comfort in watching my savings grow, or get stressed when we dip into it. Yes, I believe that God will protect me and yet get anxious as I read the statistics that threaten my unborn child. There seems to be a point of just a little more, or just a little less, and then I will be safe. But that is never the case. Just look at how many people have their hope in the stock market. I was shocked when I read about how many suicides there have been after stock market crashes. It’s truly heartbreaking – and it’s because they had their faith, their hope, in the numbers.

I should have known better. God doesn’t work like we would expect Him to. In fact, the Bible is full of stories of Him doing things the opposite way that we would do it. David and Goliath. The walls of Jericho. These are all stories of overcoming the odds that can only be attributed to God. One of my favorites is the story of Gideon.

Gideon, the man God called a mighty warrior even as he was hiding out, was scared of his enemies. God finally convinced Gideon to assemble an army of Israelites to face their enemy. I am sure Gideon was pleased and surprised when 32,000 men responded to his battle cry. I imagine the strength of their numbers was a comfort to this less than confident soldier.
And then God told him to cut the army down in size. Then cut it again. God cut the army's numbers from 32,000 down to just 300. Contrast that with the enemy troops described as "thick as locusts." I can only imagine what Gideon was feeling. He had to think that more was better, that surely having a large army to count on was a good idea. But God had his own plan. And sure enough, they won the battle.

Hmm. Point taken. Sometimes I feel like “Ok God, I get it. Can we take a break from the life lessons for a few days?” I mean is it really necessary to turn everything into a teachable moment? Everything?

As the child in this relationship, I have that perspective. But as a parent, I realize that it is my job to take advantage of every teachable moment with Mia. Because that’s how she will learn to develop the character traits I want her to have – compassion, kindness, goodness. It’s how she will learn what is appropriate and what is not. It’s how I can guide her on the path to becoming the woman she is created to be. And I do it because I love her. I love her too much to let her grow up without any guidance.

So why would God, my very Creator, be any different? Didn’t He create the model of parent/child? Of course He is going to use every teachable moment to help me become the woman He created me to be. In fact, that’s His only goal with me. For me to get to know Him better by drawing close to Him in my every life situation - both the good and the bad.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I am too exhausted to follow thru on a teachable moment with Mia and I might let it pass. Truth be told, it can be exhausting to utilize every single one that comes up. So my human nature thinks, God can’t you just give me a break? Aren’t you tired of teaching me something all the time?

But he is not going to get tired of teaching me – He IS patience. He is not going to give me a break because he knows it’s not what’s best for me. Where I fail as a parent, He never will. Does he bring these troubles upon us? I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem to rescue us from all of them either. But thankfully, he doesn’t sit back and watch us struggle through them alone. He carries us through, provides the strength, the comfort, and the place of rest.

I will continue to count Summer’s kicks but I won’t put my faith in them. And as I gear up for an ultrasound this Friday, complete with a fetal echocardiogram, I am trying to remain wrapped in His peace. Knowing that that’s the only place I can put my faith – not in numbers and not in medicine. I thank God for every kick. And thank Him for using all the teachable moments in this situation.

It just means that, He loves me too much to leave me the way I am.

And I’m ok with that.