My Father

Over the past couple of weeks I have been overwhelmed by the amount of people that care for us.  People have reached out to me telling me that they are praying for my son, I have received cards (which I'm making into a book for Ben), people have sent messages, texts, and calls checking on us, praying over us, and just talking to me- taking my mind off of what's going on. People have sent food, movies, books, arts and crafts, magazines, and items to keep me busy while I'm stuck in the bed.

Truly, our fridge, pantry, freezer, and hearts have never been so full.

People are making it easier for me to keep baby Ben "cooking," and I am so thankful. I am so incredibly thankful for each and every person that has gone out of their way to reach out to us in some way. I absolutely can't wait to tell my son about the amount of people that care about him already!

THANK YOU, FRIENDS!

During my hospital stay my mom was sick with a fever, and you best believe not one person on staff at MUSC would allow her to come anywhere close to that building! I knew she wanted to be with me, I knew she wanted to hug me. I now get that "mom feeling" of just wanting to do anything possible for your baby.

My mom got to feeling better, and a few days ago my parents came to visit. I was so anxious to see them. Sometimes all a kid needs is time with their parents. If you haven't gotten to that stage in your life, you will. You go through that phase when you think you're a grown up and you can totally handle "adulting" on your own. HA! Trust me, you'll always need your Mom and Dad.

Anyway, my parents came at just the right time. I was so tired of laying on my back, sitting on the couch. Staring at the same walls. My dad carefully unpacked every food item people sent, cleaned out my freezer and restocked it. My dad listened and prayed. They brought me new clothes that will be comfortable wearing while I'm stuck on bed rest. My mom carefully selected movies, old and new, to keep me entertained, she brought me a beautiful coloring book, colored pencils, and a sharpener. She brought me a stuffed animal that played calming sounds. She literally thought of everything.

I was thankful. Truly, I was extremely thankful for each item that they lugged in with them. But more than any tangible thing, I was so incredibly thankful for their presence. Being near them was exactly what my child like heart needed at that time.

Because I'm on bed rest, I obviously can't do much, but we got to do a little bit! We went to lunch at one of my favorite places, and we drove around all over Charleston (within my prescribed 20 mile radius of MUSC, of course!) They got me out of the house and got me into the car for some fresh air and some "new" sights. We talked about the heavy stuff, we talked about light-hearted things, we laughed, we were just together, and I needed nothing more, on that day, than to be with my mom and dad.

As I looked back and reflected on that time with my incredible parents, it reminded me of the relationship that we, as believers, have with our Father. He has many names, and Abba Father is such an important one.

We are His children. He desires to care for us, He desires for us to depend on Him. Let me tell you... Never before in my life have I been so dependent on Him. Ben and I are constantly facing battles lately, and it absolutely takes a toll on us physically, financially, and emotionally. But I have a Father to turn to.

I am so thankful to have a Father that cares for me.

A Father that understands my situation when no one else does.

A Father that listens to my heartache.

A Father I can cry to.

A Father that pulls me just a little closer as I sit in my place and yearn for my baby to be okay. 

A Father that can comfort me when the pieces of my heart are scattered on the beige carpet of my baby's nursery.

A Father that picks me up off of that beige carpet, and carries me.

The only way I have made it this far in this rocky journey is because my Father has carried me. When my heart is too heavy to keep filling out detailed paperwork about my son's defect, He carries me. When my ears are too tired to hear any more bad possible situations, He carries me. When my team of doctors ask me life altering questions and I am too heartbroken to form words, He carries me. When my eyes hurt from looking at those annoying sea turtles yet again, He carries me. When I literally can't make myself walk into MUSC for yet another dreaded appointment, He picks me up and He carries me.

I am so very thankful for my Father. I don't know how people go through life, full of ups and downs, full of issues and problems, full of heartbreak, without a Father. 

No matter what you're facing in your life: scary test results, parenting issues, big purchases, loss, heart break, let our Father carry you, friends.

"You are my Father, My God, and my Rock..." Psalm 89:26

Choose Joy,
Allison

LIttle Words

In the past 11 days we have spent 6 1/2 of them at MUSC.  I have mostly had fitful spurts of sleep, and I'm constantly waking up my poor husband to speak words of encouragement and calming to me.  My head pounds constantly because of one of the several medications I'm on, my back is in constant pain- partially from the constantly growing baby "bump," partially from spending so much time lying on it. But more than all of that, my heart aches for my sweet baby.

His "giant omphalocele."

My "incompetent" cervix (who even knew that was a real thing).

My emotions. He feels what I feel, he can sense my anxiety, when I'm heartbroken, sad, worried, etc...

My heart just aches for him. I know that he doesn't know any different, but those words don't always help.

Monday I sat in one of the many waiting rooms at MUSC children's hospital.  It was pretty, it really was. For a waiting room. Painted pretty, teal sea turtles adorned the walls, colorful butterflies were painted on some of the ceiling tiles.  Rachel Ray's show playing on the TV, and normally her laugh alone makes me laugh. But just not today.

I sat there, running on about 2 hours of sleep, with my patient husband who had calmed me from about 14 panic attacks in the past 18 hours, just sitting. My eyes wandered to the other visitors in the room. I thought of all of the happy, joyful mommas who have sat in that same exact seat I was sitting in. What other mommas have sat in that very room, that very same seat, super excited to go to their appointments? Did they find the sea turtles comforting? Because at this point I found them just plain annoying. Did they sit there with butterflies in their tummies because they were going to be able to see their perfect baby on the screens of the dark ultrasound room? I was sitting in that same seat, fighting a panic attack and trying my absolute hardest not to throw up on the carpet, visibly shaking.

I knew it was time to pray.  So many people pray gorgeous, eloquent, beautiful prayers.  Several people have placed their hands on my belly and done just that. But lately I just can't really find the words.

In my anxiety-ridden exhaustion, lately my prayers have been comprised of very few words.  "I trust You, give me peace." He sees my heart, He sees my pain. He knows the words that I wish I could put together to say to Him.

This was the day I had dreaded. We had 3 appointments: high risk ultrasound, meeting with our team of doctors, then meeting with our genetics counselor.

After waiting for what seemed like 3 years with those annoying sea turtles, we were ushered to a room much like the ones I have come to know so well. It was dark, filled with screens and machines. Without being told, I did what I knew I was supposed to: expose my big baby belly, lay down on the "bed," as close to the edge near the tech as I could, and fight down the vomit working it's way up my throat. But then I saw his face. His sweet, precious, beautiful face. The vomit feeling was gone, and for the first time in a couple of days a laugh, a real laugh, escaped from my lips. He was just so stinkin cute. He kicked and bumped the ultrasound thingy. He hates that thingy. I watched him make tons of faces, and I couldn't help but to laugh.  I knew that when I saw his face, I also saw His face. He was with me, He was calming me, He was protecting all of us. He was there, and He was in our corner.

Measurements were taken, pictures were made, all of that "good" stuff. Then off to the next waiting room where there were no teal sea turtles.

Next up- meeting with our team. We sat in a tiny room, I swear it had to be used in the past for a storage closet, waiting for doctors. (Insert typical joke about patients always having to wait for doctors here...)

This is the part I dreaded most of all. From my experience during this pregnancy, I have learned that doctors are required to tell you every possibility of each situation. This is not something I want to hear. I have chosen to focus on the good, encouraging part of OUR situation, but now I was going to be forced to hear what COULD happen.  I had heard it all before during our extended hospital stay. There were certain words and phrases that I dreaded more than anything. I knew that if I heard "possibility of still birth" one more time I was going to pull my hair out.

I met one of the high risk OB's, and 1 of Ben's surgeons. We sat facing them in this tiny room, and listened to their words. Well, I mostly listened. As a mom, my brain was also busy assessing them from head to toe. In that moment I was convinced that the cleanliness of their shoes was going to show their credentials for preforming an extremely high risk surgery on my infant.

They said a lot of words. They gave a lot of scenarios. They said some super scary phrases. My husband reads me so well, he knew exactly when to pat my back, squeeze my hand a little harder, or pull me a little closer on that plastic couch. I made it through the scary part, and I decided not to focus on it. We had heard worse in the hospital.

Basically, now we aren't just dealing with his ompalocele (his insides being on the outside), we are also dealing with premature birth. They explained the severity of the situation- those 2 huge issues being present for 1 infant. 

Yes, there is a chance that he won't make it to the surgery. Yes, there is a chance that he won't make it through the surgery. Yes, there's a chance that his lungs won't be able to function on their own. Yes, there is a chance that he won't be able to be fed... And if he can't be fed... Yes. I get it. I hear the words, I hear the possibilities.

I understand that these are very intense issues, but for some reason I just had a peace in my heart. For the first time ever in any of these meetings or appointments, I didn't cry. I had seen His face earlier, and I knew He was still with me. He pulled me a little closer and hugged me a little tighter with each short breath.  So many people take Him out of medical equations. I know that He's the ultimate Healer. He's Ben's Jehovah Rapha.  He's still in the miracle business. He's still healing tiny, precious babies with birth defects. He's still kissing the face of each tiny little human lying in incubators with tubes and wires covering their bodies.

This appointment was coming to a close and I had decided I loved these doctors. Seriously, I love them. (I guess their shoes were clean enough to convince me that they were capable of doing this surgery.) I am so thankful that we live here in Charleston and my son will be taken care of by these people. I trust them with my most precious little baby.  I have prayed for these doctors since I found out about the omphalocele, but now I had faces and names to put with those prayers. 

At the end of the meeting, the doctors stood up to shake our hands. I dodged the hand and hugged the surgeon as tightly as I could. I'm sure he probably told his wife about this crazy pregnant girl who hugged him so tight the breath was knocked out of him, but I couldn't help it.



"I trust You, give me peace." That's not a beautiful, eloquent prayer. It's nothing special. Those are just 6 little words, but it was my heart's cry.  He knew how deeply I meant each one of those words. He answers the beautifully scripted prayers, and he answers the short cries of His people all the same. I know that He acknowledged that I trust Him in this scary situation, and I know that He answered my prayer and provided His peace and presence.

He hears each small word, quiet cry, and silent thought that His people call to Him, and I am so thankful for His listening ears and His patient heart.


He hears you, friends. He hears your little words. I promise.

I'll keep praying my 6 little words, and I bet my bottom dollar that I'll keep seeing His face.

Choose Joy,
Allison

Choosing Joy

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, you will hear a voice behind you saying, "This is the way you should go; walk in it." - Isaiah 30:21

Over the past 3 days I can't really tell you which way- left, right, upside down, or backwards- I have been going. Let's be real, I feel pretty darn lost.

Let me just fill you in, friend. Bear with me if my thoughts seem scattered, because I know I feel scattered.

Thursday was supposed to be a normal, routine ultrasound. While having the ultrasound, a problem with my cervix was noticed. (It's extremely short). That routine ultrasound quickly turned into me being rushed upstairs to labor and delivery. (Mind you this is all at Summerville Medical Center right now, this is NOT my hospital.) Upstairs in L&D my baby was pressed on, I was stuck with countless needles, and I was asked about 3,000 questions. All while I hear the nurses talk to one another on their stupid walkie talkies about how they can't find me in the system. Of course I wasn't over come with anxiety at this point......

Now it was about 8:00,  they tell me that I'm having contractions. Not only was I having contractions right then, but I had been having contractions since Tuesday! I had been teaching, dancing, running, and playing with my kids at school all week, not a good mix! OOPS! :)

We were then told to rush to MUSC (my hospital) to Labor and Delivery there. I convinced them I didn't need an ambulance, my husband could drive us there. Okay, let's be real honest here... We drove through Chick Fil A. This momma NEEDED her a sweet tea with extra lemons! After the tea craving was satisfied we did indeed rush to MUSC, I promise!

We arrived at MUSC around 9:45. (At this point we are going on almost 7 hour since we began my ultrasound.) I was admitted and quickly hooked up to many many machines. My contractions wouldn't stop- they were getting really fast and really painful. I was on every IV drip, oral (and other form-- ew) of medicine I could possibly be on to stop these contractions and keep my son safe inside my belly.  At 1 point contractions were so close together I had 3 extremely intense ones within 10 minutes, and we were all getting scared about what was going to happen here. All we could do was pray. There was nothing else that could be done, and thankfully, that's all we really needed to do anyhow.

At 3:30 AM we were transferred OUT of L&D and moved to the pre-labor room because my contractions had STOPPED!

I have truly never been more scared in my life. I was enormously overwhelmed, and I had a panic attack when one of the doctors came in. (Poor man felt really bad. He didn't even say anything, he just walked closer to me and I had to tell him that he was giving me an attack!)

Anyway, during those 12 and a half hours I had been turned in every direction, over and over. I could literally feel my head spinning, and most things were a blur. (Maybe that was partially because all of the meds, too.) I truly felt like I was at the fair on a Tilt-A-Whirl that some drunk man was in charge of operating. I could slap that man if he was real...

I could hardly think straight, most decisions were being made for me out of necessity of the situation, then all of a sudden I was responsible for being mentally and emotionally stable enough to sign consent forms for an emergency C-Section, and deciding to take every step possible to save my very young baby. The severity of the situation hit me even harder, and it was hard to hold myself together. I needed to be in my place in my glider in my son's room. I needed to weep alone, rather than in front of the 30 faces I had seen in these 12 hours. I needed to scream out to my God at the top of my lungs. I just needed to be alone. I needed, desperately needed to be detached from these machines. I needed to be held by my husband on the floor of Baby Ben's room, I needed to cry in his lap.
But that just wasn't an option. This is where my son needs to be, and I will be here for him.

Once things finally slowed down, I was able to feel a little more stable, and a little more like Allison.
 

During the midst of all this, there are many blessings we have encountered. People of all kinds- strangers, friends, family, and new friends that will be my nurses until after Ben is born- have gone out of their way to help us. We are so incredibly blessed to have so many people who care about us, and more importantly, care about my Benjamin Michael.

I have many people who are praying that my Ben stays "cooking" for at least a few more weeks. As excited as I am to meet him, this is just too soon. I need to feel him moving around in my belly for several more weeks. However, I know God is the author of this story, and we will gladly be a part of His beautiful story, no matter what happens. 

I have decided to choose joy.  I have decided that I'm not in charge of any decisions. I'm not in charge of the time line or the day my son enters this crazy world. It is so far out of my hands. My God is the only one who is in the business of decision making in this whole ordeal.

Ben and I have decided over and over to choose joy. We have found opportunities to giggle, joke, and just be US. Ben was able to bring me Heidi, my precious fur baby for an hour or so, which greatly helped my anxiety. We have had the chances to laugh at baby Ben's activeness and his hiccups. My precious husband and I have found small moments to play as he rolls me around in my wheel chair. We have found time to snuggle and watch movies, take a quick "date" for ice cream and exploring the gardens. I'm pretty sure all of the nurses have heard me sing out "They see me rollin.... They hatin!" down the hall as Ben pushes me in the wheelchair 1 too many times. :)

Simply, we have chosen joy.

I have broken down many, many times. I have barely slept, and I have shaken with fear for hours on end. And that's okay, friends. The important thing to remember is to not live or stay in that place of fear.

"Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not anxiously look about you- for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Surely I will help you. Surely I will uphold you with my righteous hand." - Isaiah 41:10.

How perfect is that? A the end of the day, this amazing, beautiful promise is all that matters. When you read that promise, ti's hard NOT to choose joy when you know our mighty God, our Jehovah Rapha, is on our side. He's got His mighty hand on my tiny son.

We will continue to find small, beautiful moments in this place. We will continue to choose joy. No matter what your situation is, friends, choose joy. It's so liberating. It's so powerful, it's so freeing. It's the only option I have. I will choose joy.


Here are a few captured moments we have stolen away together, a few of the times we have chosen joy.

Heidi comes to visit during mommy's wheelchair time!

 

 Ice cream date in the cafeteria!

 

Snuggle and movie time!

Please continue to pray for us, sweet friends. We are just a few steps down a long and rough journey. We will be in the hospital indefinitely. I am on bed rest until BMP makes his entry into this world. But this is our journey, and we will make it beautiful. We will choose JOY!

A Momma's Cry-- "Why?"

Sometimes I think that I’m going to wake up and all of this is a dream.  I think that really, truly, somehow Ben is perfectly healthy, his tummy has no gaping hole, all of his insides are really on the inside, there will be no NICU stay, and I will be able to hold my own baby right away and not have to wait several months. That’s the worst part of all of this, and I know it’s selfish… But I just want to hold my baby.  Sometimes I just think that this isn’t really real. But it is.

I was driving down a busy road in the rain, running late of course, to my most recent ultrasound. I was burning up, sweating, yet feeling cold. I was swollen from head to toe, but also felt a little empty, maybe it was just nervousness. I just dreaded it. All I could do was ask why?

The “why’s?” got me… Why him? Why my son? Why so many other babies perfectly healthy and my baby isn’t? Why me? Why my family? My little family has so much on our plate already right now, why is this happening? WHY?

The “why’s” lasted for a few days.  It’s human to feel this way, I know it is. If you were in this position, you’d have these days too. I think its okay, too, to have these moments. Let’s be real, I’m tired. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally tired.

At work I give my all to my kids every minute of the school day, I busy myself during my few “breaks” so that my mind doesn’t wander, I respond to work emails until I go to bed. When I get home from work I busy myself with dishes, laundry, cooking dinner, walking Heidi, cleaning. When my husband comes home he consumes my thoughts and actions, he’s my world. I have found ways to busy myself. The laundry doesn’t have to be done, I probably wasted more water running that load of dishes that wasn’t even full, and let’s be real, I’m not making dinner from scratch, but man can I stretch that cooking time to last a while!

Then, I just need to sit. If you’re following our journey, you know that a couple of weekends ago, my husband and I spent the weekend working on the nursery. Ben put together the glider so that I can have a place other than the floor to spend my time in that room. This simple, soft, gray glider has become my place of solace, my place of rest, my place of tears, prayers, and gut wrenching sobs.  I’ve been spending a lot of time in that place.

So as I was in this place I was dealing with the “why’s” I was going through. I’ve said before I that I know why know why—I was in this situation because we were made for this, that we are a family of miracles… And all of this is true.  I know this is a part of His plan, His miracle story.  But maybe it’s more than that.

Recently a certain Promise has made its way into my heart, my head, and my hands over and over. It’s this beautiful promise: "Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) I definitely fit the category of weary and burdened, and I’ve found comfort in that last part: “I will give you rest.”

But the first part of that sincere Promise is even more important to me lately: “Come to Me…” Lately I’ve seen it as a beckoning, a cry from Him to come to Him. He wants me to be close, He wants me to depend on Him, to trust Him. Maybe that’s what this is all about… A beckoning whispered to me in the darkness of night when I’m sitting in my place in my son’s room. A beckoning shouted at me as I’m lying on that uncomfortable medical table with my swollen stomach exposed, a beckoning cried to me in every small moment of my day. Maybe, just maybe, that’s what this is all about. An opportunity to draw closer to Him. An opportunity to come back home. An opportunity for my heart and soul to be filled with what truly matters.

As I have said before: of course I will have these days that I’ll be drained in every way. I’ll have the human days where I ask “why?” I’ll have the days where I’m just not really as strong as the face that I present. But it’s all about that beautiful beckoning, the call to my heart. The simple request for me to come. 

And I am answering that beautiful request with every single ounce of my tired and weary heart.