STORY STARTERS is a weekly meme at A Daily Rhythm, where you’re given a writing prompt to play with. You can do a paragraph, a short story, whatever!
It felt like all hope was lost.
You see, I had just found out at the week before that I was pregnant for the 3rd time at 40 years of age. The day before I had had my first ob-gyn appointment where the pregnancy was confirmed.
Two nights later, on my overnight shift transcribing officers' reports at the local police department, I went to the restroom. There was blood. I had spotted the first time a little bit, but nothing like this.
Luckily, my senior tech was cool and when I explained what was happening, she handed me the form that needed to be filled out for my leaving work to be 'approved' and said, "Just sign it. I'll fill out the rest."
So I drove myself to the nearest hospital that accepted my insurance. (Luckily, there was no shortage of hospitals in this major Texas city.) I parked in the garage and made my way into the building, trying to hold back the tears. I had no idea where the ER was from there, but luckily a nurse wearing scrubs noticed my near-hysteria and pointed me in the right direction.
I got there, finally, and waited and waited. It seemed like an awfully long time to wait to someone worried about possibly being in the middle of a miscarriage.
When I finally got to see the doctor, he said it looked like I was on my period. I told him I had taken a home test and that the pregnancy had been confirmed by my ob-gyn less than 48 hours before. He stated since they were urine and not blood tests, they were 'probably not right' anyway. He ordered an ultrasound and a blood test before he would make a decision from his exalted position.
During one of the many times I was alone in the exam room, trying to cover up as best I could in that awkward position, tears started streaming from my eyes. It almost felt like I was 'talking to God', instead of 'praying'.
"What am I supposed to hope for here?
That I'm not really pregnant when I had wanted for so long to have one last chance at a little girl?
Or maybe that I was pregnant, but might having a miscarriage?
Or that I was pregnant, but there might be something 'wrong' with the baby? Sometimes I felt like I had trouble taking care of myself and the two children Chris and I had already, let alone taking on a baby with medical or developmental challenges."
I turned to the one piece of scripture I had memorized years before (specifically for the dentist's chair), Psalm 23. Over and over again, I silently choked the words out through my tears. Then the answers started:
"I would be really disappointed if I wasn't pregnant after all. How can those tests and an ob-gyn be wrong like that? If that is the case, I will get through it somehow.
I would likewise be heartbroken if I was in the middle of a miscarriage. But I knew I could lean on God for support.
And although I doubted my own abilities, I had little doubt (being honest here) that somehow I would be the best steward of the precious life entrusted to me, no matter how that life was expressed."
And I surrendered to God's will for myself and my family.
Immediately, the sweetest peace I have ever known flowed through my body, warming me as it went. The feeling was almost indescribable (but that won't stop me from trying to use words to do just that).
I had some 'splaining to do when I got home early Sunday afternoon. You see, we didn't have a phone at the apartment at that time, and cell phones were still in the 'too-soon-to-be-cheap-enough-for-us' stage of technology. Normally, I would have been home by 8:00 am, and I got back sometime between noon and 1:00 pm.
Long story short, about 7 months later (at approximately 32 weeks), this happened:
Since I had no idea I would be writing about this this morning, I don't have a picture of my daughter as an infant to hand. She was born at 32 weeks gestation, and weighed 3 lbs .4 oz, and was 13.5" long at birth. She was in NICU for 22 days.
Although this picture is a little old, my little bunny is closing in on the teenage years now at an alarming rate:
She is one of my four favorite miracles in the entire world.