Perfectly Imperfect: Anxiety and Anchors

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure."

Hebrews 6:19

Yesterday we sat in the waiting room that I've come to know so well. 3 big pictures of Downtown Charleston on big canvases, a TV in the corner that always has terrible shows on, and an out of order water machine. The room was filled with anxiety, my anxiety. It was pretty palpable, and apparently my face totally gave me away, despite my efforts to hide it.

We were there to have my cervix, my incompetent cervix, measured. We learned that it was short a while back, and that means preterm labor. Another dreaded date with that horrible ultrasound thing. Not the fun kind. I know what to do, I've done it too many times before. So there, in the small room, filled with machines and screens I did what I needed to and waited on the table for her to come back in.

I sat there, exposed, waiting to hear, yet again, how my body wasn't good enough for my baby. Technically, my body is incompetent, and I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of hearing I can't provide a good enough place for my boy to grow big and strong.

At this point I'm completely anxiety ridden. Convincing myself not to have a panic attack in that dark room. We learned that my cervix is now half a millimeter, and that's all that's keeping baby Ben in there! He's also head down, ready to come into this world. (He's already hard headed and determined like his Daddy.)

Lying there, listening to the ultrasound tech, fighting back tears, holding off a panic attack, and staring at the off white, speckled tile on the ceiling I remembered I just need to be hopeful, I just needed to cling to my Anchor.

Some girls have beautiful pregnancies, full of delightful ultrasounds, positive appointments, and butterflies as they await meeting their doctors. I'd be lying if I said sometimes I wish mine was a little more like that, but that's not our journey. That's not in our miracle story. Our visits are a little less beautiful, and they're a little less positive. Basically I just try not to pass out or throw up. Don't get me wrong, friends... I LOVE being pregnant. There is nothing I delight more in than feeling my precious son wiggle and dance in my big belly. It's the most precious thing in the world. But when it comes to the appointments, that's where it really just stinks. Ever since September when we found out about the omphalocele we have not had 1 appointment where it was completely fine or positive. And that can wear ya down, especially a hormonal pregnant woman. (Especially one who cries over simple things like mozzarella sticks and fruit cups!)

So now in the even smaller exam room, I waited for the doctor, my favorite doctor in the group. The nurse came in and I was convinced she was hiding bad news from me. I immediately asked her what was going on, just tell me, don't make me wait for the doctor. She backed up with her hands up and said, I was just asked to take your vitals! Poor woman. The doctor finally came in and he brought in a woman that I have seen around, and who has worked with us because we are high risk. In my panicked, anxiety ridden mind, that meant he was going to give me bad news and this woman was going to console me. It's amazing what your mind can do to you. As soon as he walked in he noticed my radiating anxiety and tried to make me feel better, as he carefully guided and guarded his words as to not give me false hope. They do that so well...

Ultimately, nothing else, really important, was wrong now that we didn't already know about. (Except the cervix being almost non existent).

We know about the giant omphalocele. We know what organs are outside of his body. We know that his stomach is small for his body, but that is to be expected with his "o." We know my cervix is incompetent. We know he's trying to come early. We know it's very scary to combine the "o" and premature birth. We know, we know, we know.

But truly, I have hope. I have to. I've been clinging to Hebrews 6:19 lately, and I just have to claim it. "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure..." He is our anchor, He is our hope, He alone provides that security.

At this time in my life, I have really experienced that hope, I have experienced Him being my only anchor. I have learned to stop saying "Okay... what else could possibly go wrong?!" Because something else can always go wrong, I promise.

I've moved on to a season in my life where I just have to cling to hope, cling to my Anchor and accept our journey full of challenges, embrace our miracle story.

I am a part of a couple of support groups, and I have learned that, although our situation is truly terrifying, although my heart is shattered for my baby boy, and although I know this road is going to be a hard, rough, long journey, we actually have a lot to be thankful for.

I'm going to continue to choose joy. I'm going to continue to be hopeful. I'm going to continue to cling to my Anchor. Because if I don't, I couldn't make it. That's the absolute only way I can face each scary day filled with the unknown. I decided to incorporate the anchor theme into Ben's room, which has also served as my "war room." (Check out the pictures below!)

I encourage you to cling to our Anchor in your own journey, friends. It's really the only way.

Choose Joy,

Allison

Check out what Team Peters has been up to in our little world for the past couple of weeks!

Ben working hard on the wall above the crib!