You're invited to the new blog!

Thank you for being followers of this blog about my pregnancy with Summer. I can't believe she is already two years old! I was recently having an ultrasound for my current pregnancy and was flooded with the memories of the weekly ultrasounds we underwent with Summer and Cayden.

It made me think of each of you and all your prayers that carried us through that time of uncertainty.

Summer is the kind of blessing in our lives we couldn't not have imagined. So thank YOU!

I wanted to let you know that I have switched blog addresses and would love to have you follow me over on that one!

The new blog is about...
*our adventures as a family (with 2 little girls and a 3rd one on the way in June!)
*navigating being a Pastors Wife
*learning to become authentic -scandalous as that may be sometimes...
*disability issues
*and whatever else pops into my head at 3am that makes me want to get up and write!

The new address is www.notapastorswife.com.

Hope to *see* you there!

xo,
Jenni

Summer is finally here!

Who would have thought doing your taxes would bring you down memory lane? As Paul and I were going through our medical bills, adding up the mileage of our weekly ultrasounds and checking the dates, we saw the notes I had made in my calendar after each appointment.

Pregnant!
Twins!
Ultrasound with Dr.
Heartbeat?
Ultrasound with high risk dr.
Baby b.
TRAP?!
And so on.

So surreal to see all of those notes again and it reminded me that I haven't written in a while. Many of you have said I left you hanging, so here is a long overdue update!

There is a verse in the Bible that talks about a woman forgetting the pain of childbirth.

"But as soon as she has given birth, she no longer remembers the anguish, For joy that a child has been born into the world."

Hmm. I’m not saying that the Bible is wrong but the part about “as soon as she has given birth”… can’t say that that is true. Maybe it’s because it just happened but I don’t see how I can ever forget that pain. I had heard about back labor but until I went through it, I had no idea the intensity of that kind of pain. The first thing I said to Paul when it was over was adoption from now on. I’m only half kidding.

10 days before my due date, I went to the Dr. for my weekly non-stress test. During the test, Summer’s heart rate started to drop and they sent me to the hospital for closer monitoring. Coincidentally, I started having contractions naturally at the same time. My contractions came quickly – they started 5 minutes apart and with a fierce strength.

When I arrived at the hospital, my nurse told me how she was having an awful day and now she had to stay to work another shift. Great, just what I want to hear. As she went on to tell me about her bad day, all I could focus on were her long nails and the loud tapping noise they made on everything she touched. The more I tried to focus on her words, the louder the nails got. Tap tap. Tap tap. I couldn’t decide if it’s annoying or humorous.

I try to tell her that I don’t want to be induced because my last labor went so quickly and I can tell that my contractions are very strong and don’t need any help. She leaves and comes back with 2 resident doctors. As they try to convince me that I need to be induced for medical reasons (aka the safety of my baby), she stands by and types on the computer. All I hear is tap tap. I succumb and allow them to induce me. “We’ll be back in 4 hours to check on you. Get comfy, it’s going to be a long night!” Little did they know...

When Paul arrived 45 minutes later, I was arguing with Nurse Nails, begging her not to give me more induction medication.
“I need you to sit still please.” Nurse Nails again.
By now, I’m just ignoring her. I start scratching the bedrails just to distract me from the what feels like the jaws of life ripping my insides apart.
“Oh honey, stop that. You are going to regret doing that to your nails in the morning.”
Really? No 4 letter words come out but I can’t say I wasn’t thinking of a few.

We argue for a bit as she says its impossible to have dialated so quickly. But sure enough, an hour and a half after my first contraction, I was ready to push. The anesthesiologist finally came but by the time he gave me the epidural there was no time for it to take effect.
They called my doctor but Summer wasn’t waiting that long.
After a few pushes, she was born into the hands of a med student.

5 minutes after delivering her, my legs begin to feel numb...as the epidural starts to kick in.

********

Prior to the delivery, I knew I wanted to see baby B. This baby that had caused so much emotion during the pregnancy. I knew she wasn’t a baby anymore but still, I wanted to see her. Paul, on the other hand, had no interest. However, after the birth, that all changed.

With my eyes still closed, and my breath still ragged from the delivery, I asked about her.

"I had a twin - can you see the acardiac twin?"

Acardiac twin? I hate that phrase! Why did I say that? Maybe it was because the medical staff didn’t know who Cayden was so I used the term they would recognize. Maybe it was because I didn’t know how else to ask – I couldn’t say Cayden, or Baby b - my doctor hadn’t arrived yet and none of these people had referenced the TRAP situation. Either way, I used the phrase that most haunted me during the pregnancy. A phrase I hated. Strange.

Even stranger was that I didn’t want to see her anymore. And Paul did. My doctor arrived at that point and they examined baby b. When they asked if I wanted to see her, I said no. I’m not sure why - maybe because I was still recovering from the intensity of the birth and in quite a bit of pain.

(For those of you that are curious, baby b did not look like the pictures you see online of an acardiac twin. There were no body parts or anything that resembled a baby.)

There was about a 60 second stint where Paul and the doctor examined baby b while I caught my breath from the delivery, and then that part was over. Then they brought Summer to me. Maybe the drama of the labor was God’s way of reminding me of who the focus needed to be on. It worked.

My mom came in, Paul was taking pictures and I couldn’t take my eyes off of this precious baby. The fear and anxiety of the pregnancy melted away. It was all about Summer. It wasn’t sad. Not even bittersweet. There was no thoughts of ‘it could have been 2'. There were no tears for what could have been. It was all about her. Her rosebud nose. Her bright blue eyes. Her teeny little body. She was amazing. A miracle that we could not take our eyes off of.

Instead of thinking of baby b, I thought of Mia. Of how much she will love Summer. Of how she will think Summer is her little baby doll. Of how much I missed Mia and how much love I have for them both.

It wasn’t until we were moved to our recovery room where we would spend the next 3 days bonding with our newborn and showing her off to friends and family, that I even thought about what it would have been like to have had twins. It just made me marvel at what a miracle Summer really is.

Paul gave me a necklace that has a heart with a C on it. It represents so much to me. It’s Cayden, and the full heart she now has in heaven. It’s a reminder of the journey we have taken and the lessons we have learned along the way. I don’t think I’m the only one that loves this necklace. Nearly every time I nurse Summer, she raises her little hand and takes hold of the necklace, wrapping her tiny fist around the heart and the C.

People ask me if Summer looks like me or Paul but its neither of us.
She actually looks a lot like Mia.
So in a sense, I have my twins after all.

Another ultrasound, another prayer request

Another ultrasound. After weekly ultrasounds for almost 6 months, it should be no big deal. But this one…this one is different. Instead of seeing Summer through the protective lining of my belly, she will be the one exposed. When she was in my belly, I had to rely on her, her little heartbeat, to know she was ok. But now it’s reversed. Now she relies on me to be ok. To be safe. To be free of pain. And in this case, there is nothing I can do.

Now, she is the one that will lay there as the technician carefully examines her. Specifically, her spinal cord.

Your mind automatically goes to worst case scenario when you hear possible bad news. It doesn’t matter if you are a glass half full kind of person, which I think I am; you still need to know worst case scenario. I think it’s so that you know what you are hoping doesn’t happen, what you are trying to avoid. What you are praying against. Of course the goal is to focus on the best case scenario. But sometimes you get stuck.

So when the pediatrician told me today that she suspected Summer might have a tethered spinal cord, I initially assumed it would be just another dramatic possibility. A normal spinal cord is free flowing at the base. However it can sometimes be attached, or tethered, to the tissues around it. Of course, I still had to ask about what it could mean, and she told me about worst case scenarios –surgery to untether the cord, possible incontinence, nerve damage, some degree of Spina bifida. She also told me that it’s possible that there is nothing wrong – just like with TRAP and the fluid on the brain. (According to the pediatrician, the fact that a neurosurgeon does the ultrasound was supposed to make me feel better. But it only made me realize the severity of this condition.)

As I left the waiting room and saw the other moms, I wondered if they are all receiving ‘possible’ news about their little ones. I never did with Mia – why is there so much surrounding Summer? I decided to schedule the ultrasound and not worry about it until there was something to worry about.

Then I got in the car. And no matter how loud I turned up the radio, my thoughts were always just a bit louder. What if she has Spina bifida? What if she will be incontinent the rest of her life? What if she’s crying right now because the car seat hurts her spinal cord? Is that even possible?

That all too familiar feeling of anxiety started to well up. I thought I was done with that feeling! But somehow, this time, it was stronger. When I was pregnant, the unknown put distance between the picture on the ultrasound and the reality of my child. What will she look like? What will happen? But now she’s here. It’s real. She’s my baby and my job is to protect her. And that maternal mama bear instinct is as strong as ever.

It wasn’t until my sister in law called and I began explaining the situation to her that the tears came. (I should add that this was after I spent nearly an hour online researching tethered spinal cord. Yes…I know.) But after those initial tears, I was then able to focus on the best case scenario for a few days until… the doubts started creeping in. Was it just my imagination or were her cries starting to indicate that she was in pain? Did those lines on her back that the doctor saw seem to be getting bigger? Was it crazy to think that there would be no consequences of TRAP sequence?

Worst case scenario. I try not to focus on that but all I want to hear when I go to the ultrasound tomorrow is that she is not in pain. Whatever the diagnosis, we will deal with it. But there’s nothing worse than seeing your child in pain with no way to alleviate it.

I have written about the first time I met Summer and the joy of that moment and the moments since then. It has been amazing having my 2 girls. We have really been enjoying this time together as a family of 4. I will post that soon but I wanted to get this post out there first so that those of you that pray, can pray. You can pray that she doesn’t have a tethered spinal cord. That she is not in any pain. That the neurosurgeon will see clearly what he needs to see.

Once again, thank you for your prayers and support on this journey. My sweet Summer had a dramatic pregnancy, a dramatic birth, and I’m hoping this will be the last of her dramatic surprises. At least until she is a teenager – then at least the drama is expected!

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.