But first the rest of the story...

written Sunday 2/12/11

I am not going to begin at the beginning. I am going to skip to some learning experiences (aka trials) that have been beautiful this week.

Before part 2 of this story though, you must know that I have a baby story to tell you soon. You’ll like it because, since I’m being honest, it’s about a really cute baby. And he happens to be mine. He comes with a fun birth story that will be etched in my memory forever. But first, the rest of the story.

We got home from the hospital on Monday night after a roller coaster day. They were having a hard time letting us go home because the pediatrician had some concerns with Major. We were all settling in with a new baby, getting used to the new ebbs and flows of life as we know it. Resting some, running some (figuratively, of course), and mostly just enjoying the magic of a new baby in our home. We are all smitten.

Crue has had an adjustment period that has been a little bit different than I anticipated. He was having a hard time sleeping. He doesn’t want to miss any fun and his cozy spot in the bed between mommy and daddy that he sneaks into every night has been taken over by a baby. The result of such a take over is Crue awake all night asking questions, chatting, crying, getting in trouble, and NOT SLEEPING. When I wasn’t awake with the baby, I was awake with Crue. It was a tough first night home for Ryan and I and Crue. The second night was a little better but Crue had nightmares all night long. Third night, more of the same. Clearly, he needs a little extra love right now.

By Wednesday night, the exhaustion was starting to set in. I needed sleep. We all needed sleep. It (the sleep) didn’t happen Wednesday night so when the phone rang on Thursday morning at 5:00 just after I had just entered a deep state of dream, I was instantly consumed with a heavy fatigue and alarm. It’s like trying to run when you’re having a nightmare. I answered the phone and was surprised to hear the voice of the pediatrician. She had gotten a call from the hospital lab and in the night some bacteria cultures had started to grow in Major’s blood tests. It was urgent that I get him to the N.I.C.U. as soon as possible where he would be staying for at least the next 48 hours receiving I.V. antibiotics. I was trying to be calm but the tears were fresh and hot on my face as I hurried to shower and get out the door. Before we left, we called a friend to come over to help ryan give Major a blessing, repacked a bag for Major and I and headed out the door to go back to the last place we wanted to be. Usually when there is crisis, Ryan and I are together. But we decided that the best thing for the kids and family this time was for him to be home with them in the morning to get them off to school and keep their routine as much as possible. We didn’t know what kind of tumult the rhythm of our home would experience in the coming days and possibly weeks, so we wanted normalcy and peace for them. Due the fear of what was to come for my baby, our family, and the exhaustion and frustration with the situation, I, almost single-handedly, threw that peace out the window the moment that Crayton and I had a blowout over Jelly Bellies. We yelled at each other as I was walking out the door. I felt terrible and frustrated and the tears came. They would continue to come and go on the way to the hospital but by the time I pulled in the parking lot, my shoulders were squared and I was determined to pull it together.

I parked, composed myself, talked with my Heavenly Father for the 50th time that day and tried to figure out how I was going to carry all of our stuff and the baby and not damage my post-partum wounds and body that was trying so hard to heal itself back together but was still very fragile and sore. By the time I got to the hospital doors carrying our heavy bag in one arm and my sleeping, bundled baby in the other, my body ached, my wounds were begging me to lighten the load, but mostly my heart was breaking for Major and the pain that would be inflicted on his new little tiny self, inside, with all of the medication and possible dangerous illness, and out, with all of the poking and prodding. It was then that I dropped our bags, pulled him to my face and wept outside of the hospital doors.

Once in the N.I.C.U., the fear left. The concerns left. The peace came. And it stayed. And along with it lessons that I hope to never forget.

First lesson, there is power in prayer. I have heard so many times the phrase, ‘power of prayer’ and I guess became desensitized to it’s meaning. Prayer to many, me included sometimes, is, at times, perceived as just our thoughts and words being expressed in heart or voice and carried away on a breeze where our innermost concerns, thoughts, and hopes might make it to Higher, Holier Spheres or might crumble like confetti and exist only for fragile moments before it disintegrates into vast nothingness never to be heard by the intended Receiver. I know that isn’t the case. I have had many experiences wherein I have felt prayer. I can’t completely explain it: how it happens or how it feels. But it happens and I have felt it, experienced it and it is not an airy conceptualized thing. It is powerful and very real.

During this time in the hospital, I felt its power when Major was poked and prodded and never even cried. Because of prayers. I felt its power when, as soon as I got to the hospital, in spite of being stressed, fatigued, and re-traumatizing my wounds, my bleeding stopped and my wounds stopped hurting almost completely. If you know my normal post-partum experience, you would know that this was far from my pattern of healing. Very, very far. And it is because of prayers. I felt its power when my fears of facing a neonatologist, all alone, with my questions and concerns and fearing not being heard or respected as his mother were instantly dispelled when Dr. H. walked into Major’s room and listened to me and answered questions and treated me like I know my baby. Major has only been here for days, yet, I know him. I know I know him and Dr. H. knew that too. Because of the power of prayer. I could go on and on about how powerfully I felt not only my prayers answered very specifically, but I felt others praying for us as well and I truly felt their prayers being answered on our behalf in a very real, powerful way. It is humbling and it is real. But more than that it is a gift. A gift from a very loving Father in Heaven. We are not alone in our sojourn on this earth. He is there and listening. There are no prayers carried away on a wind. There is a line from our hearts directly to our Father’s. There is no loss of our prayers meanings by the time they reach Him. He knows. He answers. He is real and very, very powerful. Through prayer, He assures us of that power and that we are safe with Him. We are going to experience loss, and grief and hardships, often beyond what we feel capable of enduring. Even and especially in the midst of trials and hard times He powerfully sends down tender mercies for us to choose to receive or not, but they are always there. For that Power I am eternally grateful. When I sat down to tap this out, I felt compelled to write many lessons that I learned, but now that I have written about prayer and its power, I feel compelled to stop. Maybe, for now, that is the lesson that I need to focus on most. There were many other things I learned and hope to be compelled to write about down the road. Much good came from our stay in the N.I.C.U.. I was in an isolated room with my baby for 2 days. What a gift. I missed my kids at home, felt horrible for needing so much help from friends and family, and was anxious to move forward with Major in our family. But that time…oh, it was precious. He and I snuggled non-stop. I didn’t miss a grunt or sound or cute little expression. Not one. I experienced them all. We listened to beautiful music and Major is proving to be an appreciator of fine vocals and guitar (i.e. John Denver). He loved the CD that his Papa made for his entry into this world. We both lay on the bed and listened and soaked in the beautifully chosen melodies. They all had meaning.

Everything turned out to be just fine. The test that caused such alarm was determined to be a contaminated test. Major’s blood is perfect. He is healthy. We are home now and resting. The calm before the storm. Ryan goes back to work full swing tomorrow, we have Valentine’s Day, and class parties and cooking and cleaning and laundry and dinner and homework and activity after activity and so it goes. Life begins again without the barrier of newness surrounding my baby and me. But we got more bonding time than normal and it was so blessed.

And everything was and is just as it should be.