Ever since I was a young child the thing I most wanted was to be a mother. As a child I adored my mother, she cooked, and sewed, and cleaned, and made lunches and so forth. All things I enjoyed. I loved her face and the look it had when she was listening to me talk endlessly at her. I loved laying on her pillow because it smelled like her. I even loved her polyester brown pants. I’m a morning person…I always have been. As a result I was able to observe my parents morning routine. My mother would get up in the wee hours of the morning and fix my father oatmeal. I watched as she stirred it, as she fixed his sandwiches for his lunch. I watched as they kissed before he walked out the door. I wanted to be just like her. It was the dream of my life…to be a wife and mother of a bunch of rosy cheeked little children. It looked like such fun.
I remember the day I found out I was pregnant the first time. At the Department of Motor Vehicles getting the name changed on my license from my maiden to my married name. Back then you had to stand in roped off lines…for more than an hour at times. It was very warm in the room, I had been waiting 45 minutes and there was one person left in line in front of me. Suddenly I started to feel weird, my chest hurt, I set my bag on the floor and the next thing I knew everything went black. I came to, in a back office somewhere, with 3 paramedics standing over me. Timothy worked just a block and a half from there and they had summoned him. The paramedic asked me a million questions, one of which was if I was pregnant. My response: “Maybe!” If my timing was right, I thought maybe. So as Timothy walked in the door the paramedic said: “So you think you might be pregnant?” My head jerked to the door to see his response, his turned quickly to my face to hear clearly my answer. Nervously, more to Timothy, I said “Yes? Is that ok?” There was a moment of silence, and the paramedic said: “Oh, you hadn’t told him, I’m sorry!” “No” I said. Timothy was suddenly at my side with tears in his eyes kissing my forehead and saying: “Yes, it’s more than fine!”
My pregnancy was normal. Delivery was long, but wondrous. Peter was the answer to my life’s longing. Everything I wanted. My dream had come true.
The first few days of our lives together Peter and I bonded perfectly. He was perfect! He ate well, slept a lot, and smelled delicious! A week after giving birth, on a sunny, crisp, February morning Timothy(who had worked night shift), and Peter were in the bedroom sleeping together. After standing watching them both for an hour, it was time to tackle the mound of dishes that had accumulated in the sink. While up to my elbows in soap suds the phone rang. It was Dr. Thompson(Peter’s Pediatrician). He was asking me how Peter was doing? How sweet of him to call to check up on Peter, I thought. The Dr then said that he needed us to come to General Hospital where he had set up a follow up blood test. One of the newborn screening tests(blood work they take before the baby leaves the hospital) had come back pretty high and they would like to run some further tests. The only thing was that if he had the condition Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia, time was of the essence. We had to hurry because we were at the critical time frame 7 – 9 days after birth when the condition would begin to kick in, and the child would begin to be affected, and if not treated would die. I began to cry, he encouraged me and then again said: “Please hurry!”
Opening the bedroom door and seeing them laying there asleep, my head was whirling. What had the Dr. said? I sat on the bed next to Timothy, tears streaming down my cheeks. Timothy started awake. “What’s wrong?” With much effort, and through sobs, I told him of the Dr’s call. I couldn’t remember what he said the name of the condition was. Playing with words I had never heard I came up with the closest rendition I could remember. We tried to make sense of it, and couldn’t. Through tears we prayed, Lord guide our steps. Sort this out for us. Let this not be true.
We dressed, and headed to the hospital where they pricked his heel to draw blood, then headed home to wait for the Dr’s call.
The phone was ringing when we walked in the door, it was the Dr. There had been a misunderstanding of his orders they needed to draw the blood from a vein not through a heel prick. So, back to the hospital we went, and then back home again.
Once more the phone was ringing when we walked in the door, and once more it was the Dr. The test had indicated that our perfect, precious baby may indeed have the condition that I still didn’t know the name of. What did it all mean? He had made arrangements for us to see the top pediatric specialist at Virginia Mason. Pack a bag, 7 day old Peter was being admitted to Children’s Hospital.
After calling our parents and explaining the situation, we walked out the door. We were like zombies. Our minds were reeling and overflowing with bits of information that made no sense to us. Our hearts were pounding, aching and wildly fearful.
The visit at Virginia Mason was like listening to the teacher from the Peanuts cartoon. The Dr’s explanation sounded like Wah Wah Wah. We couldn’t reconcile, or understand what we’d been told. We had been fed by fire hose, we were sputtering and choking on the glut of facts and data.
Numbly we drove to Children’s where they were waiting. They placed our tiny baby in a 4X3 metal crib, in a ward of 5 other babies.
The room was dark, our hearts were darker. We sat in silence with the deafening sound of the ocean in our ears.
They had sent more blood work off to the state lab and in three days time we would know for certain. As we waited Peter slept peacefully attached to heart monitors, and with an IV in his head at the temple.
Two days later, the day before the test would come back, Peter crashed. His heart began struggling to beat, he lay limp in my arms. The Dr. came in and said “We don’t believe he will live through the night if we don’t begin treatment immediately.”
My heart cried “NO God Help! It can’t be! God wouldn’t do this to me, to our baby!”
They began the treatment and as that medicine went into Peter’s IV I remember sitting in the window sill, next to his crib, holding my baby and sobbing. “God please save him, please help him, please God no, please no!” my heart and mind screamed and cried out to God.
As Peter got his treatment, I also got mine. God began to speak to my heart. It wasn’t an audible voice, but I heard his voice in my head comforting me. “Trust me daughter.” “I’m right here for you.” “Trust me.”
After not moving for hours, within 15 minutes of treatment we saw little movements in his arms and legs. Before long his eyes opened and he began to cry…a fervent strong cry. He was hungry. As I put him to my breast, tears of thankfulness streamed down my face. My baby was alive! He was going to make it!
It’s not always been an easy road with Peter. But eventually we settled into our new normal and then it started again…the desire to have a baby. The Dr’s told us that every child we would have would have a 25% chance of having CAH so we shouldn’t have any more children. So we weren’t going to. My dream of having being a mother hen to many little chicks was dashed and it wasn’t to be.
Then one day after having the flu for several weeks, I went to the Dr. and there it was…I was pregnant! It wasn’t intentional, yet my heart soared.
From the day I brought Hannah home from the hospital I knew our hands were full. A day old and she would stiffen her neck and hold her head up when you tried to lay her out in your hands. You see, Peter was the most compliant, obedient, child I’d ever seen…a product of good, consistent parenting. The pride we felt about what fabulous parents we were was incredible. Hannah’s determined, opinionated personality wasn’t as easily shaped or disciplined. What Peter was naturally compliant Hannah was in creatively feisty. Bald but for some stark white wisps of hair her beauty was breath-taking. The joy in truly having a normal baby was unparalleled. Filled with determination she would see something and go for it. As a result she could climb at 6 months, walked at 9, and was a perfectly naughty delight.
I remember one time we were moving, and Hannah and a couple of her cousins were running around the house. She tripped and fell up the stairs. I knew by the sound that she was going to wail so I headed that way. Sure enough when I got there her face was twisted and she was doing the silence before the gasp and scream. I picked her up…the gasp and silence. She didn’t scream. She laid her head on my shoulder and then it happened. She began to convulse. Her body stiffened and jerked. I pulled her away from me. Her eyes were rolled back and she was convulsing. I did the only thing I knew to do. I screamed. “TIMOTHY!!!” He came, and in his genius he saw the problem…she was choking. When she sucked in the great gasp of air the jelly bean in her mouth lodged in her throat. He did the baby Heimlich the red jelly bean flew out of her mouth, a loud gasp and then the scream…the most glorious, cacophonous scream! My heart stopped for that moment.
The joys of little dresses, ruffles, and braids, reading aloud to the children, the sound of wailing, and the back talk when told no, hearing them read their first strung together words, watching as the light bulb came on in their heads at the wonder of learning something exciting, seeing “The Look” when you ask them to do something and the clearly don’t want to, seeing the adorable look of concentration on their faces as they are thinking hard about something, these are the joys of being a mother. Watching as they date, get married, and start their own families…pure joy!
“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11
Only God knows what His plans for each of us is. His plan for me included Dr’s, tears, and fear. It also included the surprise gift of a precious little white haired girl with vibrant blue eyes, and a feisty spirit. A dear friend, Clint Kelly once said that the road as we are traveling it almost always seems to have a lot of switchbacks, but as we look back we see that it was really straight. God has a specific plan, a purpose for every bump, or turn.
God more than gave me the desires of my heart. I love to hear my favorite name…Mom
