Empty Womb, Empty Room

I have written many pages in my journal about this. Through my tears, my vision blurred, I have written, but it has been very hard to type this post out.  It has taken me longer than normal to finish this post because it breaks my heart to write the words. I apologize for the delay.


Please don't read this and think that I am constantly a mess. I am a very proud momma, I love my time with my sweet baby. I am enjoying life not pregnant! I even got to go on a DATE with my handsome husband! There are many positives.

This is post is about my first days at home after leaving my baby for the first time. And those days were hard. Those days were dark.
.....

I was finally being discharged from the hospital. I had been excited about this day for quite some time. Although I had done my best to make that hospital room our "home," it just wasn't. It was time to go home, to my real home. For the first time in a while.

Everyone knows the rules, new mommas have to be rolled out in wheel chairs.

There I was, sitting in a wheel chair. Ben was walking in front of me, pushing a cart full of our bags and gifts from our families. My wheelchair was being pushed by our sweet nurse, and ordinarily, this sounds perfectly normal.

We got into the elevator, and with each level the elevator went down, my heart sank a little bit more. As we reached the ground level, I'm pretty sure my heart reached rock bottom.

My nurse rolled me out of the elevator and on towards the exit. And I couldn't help but to notice... to compare.  Most momma's get rolled out of the hospital in a wheel chair too, that we had in common. In that fashion I was normal. However in other momma's laps there were carriers that held babies.
Their new, fresh-smelling, perfect babies.

In my lap I held nothing.

My lap was empty.

My heart was empty.

The nurse handed me a bouquet of flowers, and then I held something. I smelled it, but it didn't smell like a new born baby.  I felt it, but I felt pricks from thorns, not the smooth skin of my beautiful, soft baby.

On the ride home I tried to come up with things to occupy my mind, my heart, but it didn't work.

We reached home just a short 15 minutes later, and somehow although I was holding flowers, bags, and pillows... my heart and my lap felt even more empty than it did before.

As I walked into my house for the first time in 2 weeks, I thought I would feel joy.  I missed the smell of my home.  I missed the excitement of my puppy Heidi, I missed the blue and white stairs that led me upstairs to my comfy bedroom, to my son's nursery we worked so hard on.  I missed the candles on the coffee table.  I missed my cast iron skillet on my stove. I missed it all. This now, even with the anticipation built, meant nothing. It all meant nothing... Because my heart, my lap, and my arms were empty.

I realized for the first time ever that I was home without my son.  And my heart shattered.

When we toured this house I was pregnant with my son. When we moved in, my son was in my belly listening to me unpack those boxes.  He was here when we decided on the paint color for his nursery. He was there for my months of bed rest.  He was here as I spent hours in his unfinished room, crying out to God to help me.

My son was there as my husband picked me up of the floor and ushered me to the shower. He had been here for everything.  But now, he wasn't here. Instead, he was lying in a diaper, under a heater and blankets, hooked to his machines, on the 8th floor of a hospital, and I was at our home.

I did my best to get used to life at home without my son. I saw my "choose joy" items, and now I had to work hard to choose that joy. I had to work hard to find it at home.

I tried to set up my home in a way that would make me choose joy-- I set up my pumping station in Ben's nursery. I was on a strict 3 hour pumping schedule, like my son was there and hungry, every hour he would eat- I would pump.  I set up a pumping parts cleaning station in his bathroom. All of this was so that I would associate Ben's areas of the house with something positive... Something MUSC's counselor's told me I should do.

But choosing joy at this point was hard.  Choosing joy, in those moments, was just impossible. Sometimes I think those counselors get paid to feed me bull crap. I'm just being honest. I did everything they told me, and I still felt empty.

My womb, for the first time in almost a year, was empty.  My son's room, was empty. My arms and lap were empty. My heart and my soul were empty. My eyes, after many hours, were empty.

I began to cry out, with almost dry eyes and a raspy voice, again to my Savior.  My prayers of healing my son were now more real. My prayers were from the heart of a broken momma, desperate for healing for her helpless son.

I pray for him constantly, with almost every conscious thought. I pray as I shower, as I pump. I pray as I walk from the entrance of MUSC and I make my way to his bed...I make those turns... I could do it in my sleep.... right, left, right, left, elevator....... right, left, ring the intercom, enter, left, turn in my cooler of breast milk, scrub in, right, right, right.... The whole way, I pray.

My prayers now are from the bottom of my heart. They are the most honest and the most real prayers I have every prayed before.  I praise Him for each tiny milestone we hit. I beg Him to protect my son, to hold him in His strong hands. I beg Him to heal my little baby. That is my heart's cry.

But I know He hears me. He hears this momma's heart, this momma's soul.  He hears this desperate momma's tears as I leave my son every night.  He hears this momma's loud sobs and tears at night as I sit in the nursery, pumping, not breast feeding as I so desire to do. He hears me. He sees me.

I'm getting used to my new life now. My life in the nicu.  I sit with him for hours now, I read to him, I talk to him, and I sing to him... I sing "Jesus Loves Me." I still can't make it through the whole song... Maybe only once or twice I have been able to.  The line "They are weak, but He is strong" gets me every time. I just weep.

I'm clinging to that simple children's song. Because just as it applies to my tiny, helpless son, it applies to me.  I am weak.  I am broken. I am needy. I am absolutely at my weakest, but He is strong. He's going to help me through this.  He's wrapping His strong arms around me, and He is comforting me.  He picks me up. He carries me. He walks with me through this journey. He's helping me find the joy in this. He's helping me celebrate each tiny victory. He's showing me, yet again, that He is faithful. He is the Ultimate Healer, and our story is far from over. Our story, our journey is just beginning.

Each day is a little better,. Each day I see that He is even more faithful. Each day brings hope.

Each day I become stronger. Each day, I am the best nicu momma I can be. Each day I can't wait to get my hands on my sweet little ducky, and I cherish those hours holding him, talking to him, reading to him, singing to him.

 Every single day, my Ultimate Healer heals my heart just a little bit more.



Choose Joy,
Allison