Birth Story

I had intended to write posts throughout my pregnancy documenting the highs and lows, my thoughts and feelings, weird cravings and food aversions, etc...  But life happens!  Now, with time to kill between napping and feeding as I recover, I thought I might document Ben's birth story...not that I'm likely to forget the details!  Can't believe it's already been three weeks since my sweet son made his appearance in a rather dramatic way.

Monday, August 11^th I had an OB appointment and after reporting that Ben's movements were not less intense, but were less frequent (although that’s not saying much since he always moved SO much…so less frequent was probably closer to normal for most babies), the doctor decided some peace-of-mind monitoring would be good.  Ben checked out totally fine, but I started having contractions - five minutes apart.  Not super intense, but very consistent.  The doctor gave us the option of staying and seeing if things progressed, but since we didn't have our bags packed or the car seat installed and we were both ready for dinner, we opted to go home to see what would happen.  It was great motivation to get our bags packed!  12 hours of contractions later they went away.  I was so frustrated!!  And sleep deprived since most of that time had been overnight.  Not a great way to start off the week, but I made it through and it seems the contractions got things moving towards baby time.

Fast forward through what seemed like a LONG week to Thursday, August 14^th.  I was extra miserable all day, but managed to make it through the work day and took a walk around Costco to pick up a few things.  Really the blame for Ben’s arrival falls on Josh…when I picked him up from football practice that night it was the first time any of the boys had been in my car since the car seat had been installed.  Josh took one look at it and said "well the car seat is installed, the baby can come now.”  Guess Ben agreed!

About 12:30 that night I woke up to make one of many nightly bathroom trips and walked down the hall to turn the basement stair light off.  Got back in bed and my water broke!  Hurried back to the bathroom to discover that I was right…it was my water and it was go time!  (a direct answer to your prayers Carin!)  Glenn woke up when I started turning lights on and since my contractions hadn’t started yet, we took our time getting ready to head to the hospital.  Jonnie was awake for some reason and was super excited that Ben was on his way.  He was ready to get the other boys up to head to the hospital too, but sleep was important for everyone and we were anticipating a long labor process.

Last bump picture before we headed to the hospital

When my contractions did start, they started in earnest!  No calm 5 minutes apart ramp up this time.    They jump from none to 2 to 3 minutes apart, lasting about a minute, and were too intense to talk through...or do anything really!  Definitely thankful we left for the hospital when we did because that drive was LONG with those contractions.  Not sure I would have made it once there was no break in the contractions!

We got to the hospital around 2am and got evaluated in triage.  My water had in fact broken, so I was definitely staying.  I was between 3 and 4 centimeters dilated, so still a ways to go.  I walked to our room, where we were anticipating delivering our baby boy.  Right about the time they got me settled into the bed and started working on getting an IV started, my contractions started coming one on top of the other and were super intense.  I really wasn’t sure how I was going to keep up that pace for another 6 to 7 centimeters and requested that the anesthesiologist come sooner rather than later.  Pretty much as soon as they got my IV started, the lovely anesthesiologist came and started getting me prepped for an epidural.   Ben was being monitored the whole time and his heart rate was steady in the 130s.  The anesthesiologist did all of his prep work with Ben still on the monitor and just slipped it off long enough (maybe 5 minutes…possible less…it felt like a long time as I was still having such intense contractions) so that he could actually start the epidural.  As soon as he was done, the monitor was placed back on, but I immediately knew something was wrong.  It’s never reassuring when the nurse’s face changes!  I never was able to hear any heartbeat, but was later told that it was 60.  Immediately people started pouring into the hospital room.  Glenn was kindly shoved out of the way.  I was flipped onto my hands and knees and an oxygen mask was placed on my face.  I can’t even express how terrifying it was!  My strong, non-stop contractions were basically putting my sweet baby in a headlock!  When the oxygen and new position didn’t do anything to raise Ben’s heart rate, the doctors wasted no time in rushing me to the OR.  I was so scared, but also amazed at how efficient everyone was.  There were more people pouring into the OR and everyone knew exactly what their job was…and boy were they doing it quickly and with skill.  Ben’s heart rate still was not coming up.  They pinched my stomach three times, but the epidural hadn’t had time to kick in yet.  I just remember someone saying, “just put her under, we’re getting this baby out now.  Go. Go. Go.”  I didn’t even have time to let out the hysterical sobs that were about to bubble up because I was totally knocked out.  I feel bad because I only had about 3 minutes of terror, while Glenn was in a small hallway at 4:30 in the morning with no cell reception (except for a few texts that made it out to AK) and no idea what was happening to his wife or baby.  Thankfully, Glenn could hear Ben cry from the hallway when he came out.  From the time they discovered Ben's heart rate was so low to the time they got him out was SIX minutes.  

First bath

Our sweet little man was born at 4:38am, weighed in at 7lbs 4oz, and was 19.5 inches long.  Beautiful.  Perfect.  God bless each of the skilled doctors and nurses that helped bring Benjamin Lucas safely into the world.

They took Ben to where Glenn was and he got to be there for, photograph, and participate in Ben’s first bath, weighing, cord cutting, etc.

Sweet little feet

About an hour and a half later, I finally arrived in recovery…groggy, but ok…a very reassuring sight for a very worried husband!  After being monitored for a while, they moved us to a room from recovery and thus began our new adventure!

Finally awake enough to hold my sweet son on my own

Such love!

Hannah Jane

Last night as I lay in bed crying and grieving for friends that are going through one of the worst pains I can imagine, the loss of a child, I was blown away and challenged by the faith of Baby Hannah's parents.  Who could, in the face of that kind of gut-wrenching anguish say, "God is still good and working out His will."  This is the kind of faith built through years of trust and refined through walking a path no one would chose.  This is the kind of faith I hope I have, but never wish to test.  This is the kind of faith that stands in the faces of scoffers who say "faith" is just a crutch.  A crutch?  No - a crutch would be alcohol...or food...or death...anything that would numb or temporarily or permanently take away the pain.  There is nothing easy about facing such incredible grief, but a crutch isn't about facing it.  Faith takes courage and strength...and pardon the expression, balls.  It says, I will not run from this pain, but will walk through it knowing, believing, trusting that God is walking through it too.  Faith like this makes no sense.  And yet at the same time it makes more sense to me then anything else.  Faith like this takes a supernatural grace...not just for today or tomorrow with all the hard things each day will bring, but for every day and every milestone to come.  As I was praying this grace over Ben and Rochelle last night, I was reminded of another family who has experienced this type of pain and faced it with this kind of faith.  I don't know them, but their journey has also challenged me.  The challenge that Ben wrote in the midst of his hurt and honest confusion was to love more deeply, lead with grace, see and embrace beauty, and never be afraid to try no matter what the cost. This is the challenge of that little girl's parents...this is the legacy of Hannah Jane.  Her name means Grace a Gift of God.  And what a gift she was and Oh what an amazing Grace Ben and Rochelle have been given. 

Romance

I've been meaning to write a post about pregnancy...how I'm feeling, cravings, changes, etc.  But instead I caught the plague and decided sleeping, blowing my nose raw, and catching up on Hulu sounded like a better plan.  I'm still feeling pretty crummy, but with it being nearly 70 degrees and sunny outside today (thank you Colorado!), I dragged my butt out of bed and went with my husband to pick up a few groceries.  The front section of the grocery store was a sea of red and pink...roses and balloons...chocolates and cupcakes.  All discounted to try and get rid of the leftovers from the day of love.  It was seriously like Valentine's day threw up all over the front of the store! 

It got me thinking...about romance. 

My first Valentine's day as a married woman was well...not one for the memory books.  My husband picked up a few little things and a card the night before while out helping his 14 year old son grab something for his girl friend.  I was sick in bed most of the day.  Our dinner was Burger King eaten in bed while watching Hulu before Glenn left to cheer on the high school basketball game. 


Yes - I did get him a duck dynasty cup.

SUPER romantic folks!!

But what is romance?

The dictionary defines romantic as: of, relating to, or involving love between two people

I think my disappointment came not because of the events of February 14th, but because of the way I was viewing love. 

Love is patient - it pulls over on the side of the road after a long day at work and waits until I decide what I want for dinner and then turns around to go get it.

Love is kind - it makes biscuits at 8:45 at night



His first attempt at using my biscuit recipe.  Guy done good!

It does not envy - instead of being jealous that I'm lounging in bed, it does the dishes

It does not boast - it says he's not a hero even though he's definitely my hero for working hard to fix the leaky faucets

The Super definitely applies!

It is not proud - instead it cleans the toilets so I don't have to

You get the idea. 

I am loved in so many tangible ways - big and small - every day. 

Who needs Valentine's Day when flowers surprise me on a regular basis?

Would a preplanned romantic night be exciting every once in a while.  Of course! 

The man can be pretty romantic...! (the night we got engaged)

But I don't need a holiday to know I'm loved by my wonderful hero of a husband. 


Blessed

What are you hoping to learn this year?

I've had great intentions of writing more...with all the free time I was bound to have after the wedding.  HA!  My biggest problem (after the whole NOT actually having any free time) has been that I have this amazing topic to write about...and then something happens and it no longer matters.  Sometimes it's been that I'm all cranky about some such thing and have an actually witty blog post half written in my head when God turns the whole thing on it's head.  Sometimes it's been that I have some amazing insight to share and then I hear from a friend who is in desperate need of prayer and my little amazing insight seems so small compared to the suffering around me.  You get the picture...

But today when I read my very articulate, witty, and smart (and pretty to boot!) sister's blog post, I had a thought!  And decided to write it before I could forget or get sidetracked! 

The blog post (which you should go read) is about missions.  After a rather outside the box missions experience that had many highs (such as meeting and marrying her awesome husband) and lows (such as watching kids go hungry while food sat in a warehouse because of church politics), my sister has a unique and challenging view on the traditional way evangelicals "Do" missions work. 

I am a firm believer that:

1. God is bigger than our often inadequate and clumsy methods of reaching out to people and can use it to accomplish His works...I know...I've watched Him do it!

and

2. We should always be wrestling with issues such as these...Is there a better way to do missions?  How can I be more like Jesus when going into the world with the Gospel - whether it's to our neighbor or a third world country?  How can I be more like Jesus period!

In her blog, my sister asked to hear crazy missions stories.

It got me thinking.  I've participated in various types of missions trips from the WAY too cushy Florida mission trip (beach every evening?  hard life!) to the puke/poop filled Mexico trip where we barely managed to do the VBS Gospel bracelets let alone anything else!  But when I think about God messing up a mission trip in a way that made the most impact on me (and hopefully others)...it's gotta be India. 

Why?

1. I was paid (not a lot, but still more than the guy that carried my washing machine up the side of a mountain with only a rope around his FOREHEAD!!!)...not typical of missions work.

2. I wasn't there to do VBS or build a classroom.  I was there to be a substitute parent for a lot of 2nd through 5th grade boys and girls.

3. I left early.  Normally missions work involves staying a set amount of time (be it 1 week or 5 years).  I was supposed to be there 2 years, but due to persistent bacteria I was forced to leave after only a short time (talking weeks/months).

All in all...not a banner example of missions - no matter what your definition! 

BUT

After I got out of the rural mountain hospital (whatever you're picturing in your head...make it worse.  Dirty damp bedding. Coat tree holding my IV bag...which was actually a glass bottle.  Pillows with outlines of all of the greasy heads that had touched it before me.  Reused needles taken directly from disinfectant that had flies landing on it and stuck in my arm while I sat at an old wooden school desk) with the realization that I could not keep going, I struggled with did I hear God right when He told me to come to India?  Did I try and force God's will into my box?  Was I a quitter if I went home to clean water and dry sheets and books that didn't crawl with silver fish? 

I shared these struggles with a gal that also worked at the school who was there as a missionary from England.  She said one of the most life changing things I have ever been told.  She told me: God never told you how long you would be here...He only said go.  And you did.  You will never know the impact you had on people in your time here, but when you obey, God never doesn't use that. 

I think we humanly - selfishly - participate in missions work to some extent because it feels good.  Because we get to see a tangible result...it might not be hundreds of lives surrendered to Jesus or even one life.  But usually there's people that aren't as hungry for a day.  Or kids that got a chance to be loved on for a few days before going back to the routine of an orphanage.  Or a group of believers that now has a place to meet together thanks to your skills with a hammer.  I didn't get ANY of that in India.  I left life a puppy with my tail between my legs.  But, looking back - I'm glad I don't know any of the impact that I had during my short stay in India.  By not knowing anything tangible I have to trust that God used me...and that stretches me in ways I have never been stretched from a missions trip. 

The skills I learned and the confidence in myself that I gained while I was in India have also served me well. (5 boys?  That's nothing!  I was in charge of ~45 boys and girls all at once...granted I had a staff of cooks, laundry washers, and house cleaners.  But still, that's a whole ton of kids at once!)  But the challenge to trust God in the unknown - that is what changed me the most.  Not that I always remember the lesson learned...I, like the Israelites, seem to be rather hard-headed and in need of the same lesson over and over.  Thanks to the book I just finished reading with my Bible study ladies, I've been thinking about what it is that I want to learn this year...really learn.  That deep down in my heart kind of learning.  After reading and thinking about my sister's blog, I decided that I want to relearn this lesson - trusting that God is using me. 

I want to trust that even when I feel like I suck at life...that I'm failing at everything...that God is using me. 

I want to trust that when I feel like I am not putting in the amount of love, time, effort, etc. that I should be into my husband, the boys, my family, my friends, the house, my job, etc. that God is still using the little that I am able to give.

I want to trust that it MATTERS that I smiled and said thank you to that stranger.

I want to trust that God is working to mold me into the woman He created me to be despite my feeble, tired attempts at prayer, worship, and study.

I know.  I know.  This is probably going to turn out like it does when you pray for patience.  But I really am interested to see what God does this year (please be gentle with me Lord!) and how He works to teach me to trust Him more (hopefully it doesn't involve reused needles!). 

What are you hoping God does in you this year?