Depending on God: The Most Important Part of My Birth Story

This might seem like such a rambling and scattered post, but I just have to share.

Today has been a little rough. The boys picked up an infection, and when something like  that happens, I sit and blame myself for everything. I usually start with blaming myself for not being careful enough and almost always end up back at blaming myself for them being born so early, which is why thier little immune systems just aren't the best. Annnnd then I get mopey and start feeling sorry for myself and thinking about our time in the NICU. Then I usually end up crying like a hormonal lunatic over my boys, stroking thier cheeks, and telling them how beautiful they are. Then I usually perk up a little and then I start crying again because I'm just so happy. I'm a mess these days, guys. But it got me thinking about the really good part of my journey over the last few months.

Recently at church, we had a guest speaker give the sermon. He spoke about discipleship and sharing your story and sharing how God has been there for you. (At least that's the part I heard. The boys started crying then and I wasn't able to hang around for much more. Sigh.)

So here is a little fragment of my story:

I've shared my birth story, and it was one of the most frightening and unsettling times of my life, I won't deny that. Especially since I had completely planned how my twins would come into this world:

I was definitely supposed make it to 36 weeks AT LEAST. All of the twin moms that I had found on Pintrest had made it until then, so duh.

During labor, my water would break on its own. I would be home for that part, obviously.

My bag would be perfectly Pinterestingly packed; I'd have a beautiful gown (Etsy), warm, but adorable, socks, the nice maxi pads, lip balm, "The Essentials" in my makeup bag (because I had to look good right? For all those pictures I was going to have professionally taken after), and perfect little outfits for B&B.

Brian would drive me. I'd have aromatherapy to keep me calm and warm compresses to help prevent the need for an episiotomy (a doula on Pinterest). I'd put on my playlist. I'd use my stability ball like the whole time and Brian would rub my shoulders as I breathed. I was going to give birth in a squatting position.

Unmedicated, of course, just like my mom had done.

It would probably only take a few hours just like all the women in my family. I had watched tons of twin birth videos on YouTube, so there was no reason mine couldn't go just like that. Skin to skin was critical and completely going to happen so that neither boy would grow up to be Ted Bundy.

I had a plan. It was smooth and easy and I was confident about it.

God knew that things weren't going to go according to my plan.

For those who have read, my world came crashing down in a flash. All my plans flew out the window and I was left in a pretty dark place.

I realized years ago after losing my brother that God isn't a magical genie here to grant our every wish. He isn't some kind of Santa figure who bestows gifts on good boys and girls. God is GOOD, but that doesn't always mean that we get what we want. BUT from God we get everything that we NEED. After my brother died, God gave me strength. He continues to do that for me every day.

I don't think that it's any coincidence that on my first full day home from this hospital this was the passage in my copy of Jesus Calling:

Truly, this set the entire tone for our stay in the NICU. It was a journey that kept me close to God by making me so dependent on him that he was my only hope and comfort.

What I wanted was a perfect birth and a joyful occasion. What I NEEDED was a reminder of my dependence on God and his grace. I needed a reason to draw closer. An opportunity to petition for peace daily.

I have a good relationship with Jesus. I love him and I pray often. I also have a good life. I've experienced trauma and loss. More than some, but far less than others. But although I have significantly more good than bad in my life, my times of trauma and loss have proven to be the most beneficial to my relationship with Christ.

My boys spent 49 days in the NICU. Some days were absolutely gut wrenching, other days were just long. Every day I needed peace, and every day I prayed for strength, and every day God gave me enough to make it through that day. He held me close. He sustained me. He made me dependent on him and through that helped me to grow my faith.

I'll never be the same after watching my tiny, fragile sons overcome what they did. How could I ever doubt God's love for me or his ability to grant me peace in my times of need? On days when I felt I could take no more, God would give the boys a boost. On days when I felt alone, God surrounded me with his love and presence. On days when my boys made strides, God allowed me to witness his miracles up close.

God is a HUGE part of my story. He is all the good that there is. God has always been there to hold me up.

Things in life have not ever really gone the way that I've hoped, imagined, or planned. Whose life does go that way? My life in no way reflects my perfect Pintrest boards. But that's because we live in an imperfect world, and I'm an imperfect person. Despite my sins and imperfections, I am forgiven and God has allowed so many blessings to come my way. The greatest of these being my two boys.

I guess I still hate the way that my boys came into this world. I still cry sometimes when I think about it and I still feel a little robbed sometimes because I had so many other plans for them, but I love the dependence on God that I gained from it. It might seem like an odd thing to say, but it really has made such a difference in my life. I would hate for anyone to read my birth story and think that it was all bad. I mean, it was, but I wasn't alone and it wasn't for nothing. I have to find the good, and I'm able to find it in God.

I still like my original plan waaaay better than the way things panned out, but I wouldn't have gained all that I did from that route. And God sees how everything will turn out in the end, and I have to trust that no matter what.

Positives of our stay in the NICU:

- I gained an even greater dependence on God.
- I learned things I wouldn't have learned otherwise.
- I met some amazing people with incredible hearts for babies.
- I now have great compassion and understanding for preemie families! We ARE a preemie family!
- We have an unrivaled appreciation for late night feedings, changings, etc.. We take NOTHING for granted!
- My boys are happy and healthy and HOME!

Essentially I guess that all I hope is that maybe someone reading this might one day be able to see the benefit of  hard times. There are so many awful things that happen in this world, but none of those things indicate the absence of God. He is always there to provide what is needed. I'm so grateful for the reminder of my dependence and for the opportunity to grow in my faith.
It's the most important part of my story.

Birth Story 2

Read Part 1

Tuesday, April 12, 2016
31w4d

1:00 PM

Everyone seemed really optimistic about keeping me pregnant. I was given steroid shots to help speed lung development for the boys. I would be given more shots the next day, they said.

I wasn't even really too worried. I was more upset that I would be spending so much time in a room without a window, and I was pretty concerned about  how I was going to take a shower. I was even excited about getting something to eat, which was really odd for me because I had had one of those pregnancies where the nausea and vomiting never went away, and it had been days since I had even wanted any food at all.

They had me all strapped up to monitors to track my contractions and to monitor the babies' heartbeats. I didn't even feel my contractions. It just felt like my normal back pain that I had been having. I wasn't too worried. A nurse got me a menu and I ordered a pizza and a chocolate chip cookie. The pizza was delicious and the chocolate chip cookie was PURE comfort food. So good.

I would eat one of those everyday in the weeks to follow. The pizza never tasted good to me again. I'm not really sure why I thought it was so amazing that day. I guess I hadn't really had a good meal since before I was pregnant.

The ultrasound tech wheeled all of his stuff in and he took pictures of the babies while I ate. We talked with him and joked with him. He was a funny guy. Our boys were doing funny things. They were sitting in such a position that Baby A was being tea-bagged by Baby B.

We found out then that it was my sweet Baby A who had broken his water (perhaps tired of being tea-bagged by little brother?). My heart was with him. He failed his physiological tests, but only by a bit. He seemed to be holding strong. My husband and I prayed for him and for Baby B.

5:00 PM

My contractions had not subsided on their own. The nurse explained that they would be giving me magnesium sulfate. It was going to stop the contractions.

She explained that I wouldn't be able to eat or drink anything until my contractions stopped. She said that the magnesium would help the boys' brains and that it would make me feel a little like I had a bad case of the flu. On her advice I downed a small glass of water, but nothing could have prepared me for what a "bad case of the flu" would feel like.

7:00 PM

I had my husband cranking down the AC to below 60. I was a literal hot mess. The magnesium made me SO hot. My mouth felt dryer than cotton. My lips were instantly cracked and everything was awful.

I actually have a lot of memories to work through from this time because I hallucinated A LOT. Now when I look back I have to sift through everything that I think happened and determine what actually happened.

I remember begging the nurses for water. One was sympathetic enough to give me half a cup of ice chips. I would have downed them all at once if Brian hadn't been there to parcel them out for me. I tried to hold the water in my dry mouth as long as possible, but my throat begged to be quenched as well. I would swallow with both relief and regret.

Through the pain of my contractions, I remember arching my back as much as I could and desperately wishing I could stand and bend over to take the pressure off of my back a little. I had practiced positions and methods to help this in birth class, and I couldn't use a single one. I just had to lay there. Instead of subsiding, my contractions were getting stronger and closer. They gave me more magnesium.

10:00 PM

They gave me some Ambien to give me some rest. I remember Brian putting on Jane the Virgin for me, and I remember him asking for extra blankets because our room hovering just above 50 degrees.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016
31w5d

2:00 AM

The Ambien wore off. I was awake and scared. Brian was asleep in the too-small recliner next to my bed. I asked for water. They told me no. They said my contractions were still regular and strong. They gave me more magnesium. I laid there crying. Just me and my two boys.

4:00 AM

Brian woke up. He was trying to talk me through my contractions. He kept his eyes on the machine and would watch as they would peak. He says that sometimes he told me they were small when they were big. I remember screaming for all of them. I asked if I could stand. They told me no.

Over the next few hours I remember very little of anything. I think my pastor came to pray with and for me, but that might have happened the day before or just in my head. I know my mom came in at some point. I apparently sent Brian out to bring me tissues (the good kind with the lotion).

All I remember for certain is the pain and the thirst and the panic.

My contractions kept coming: stronger and closer together. I cried because this wasn't supposed to be happening.

I was told a vaginal birth would be impossible. Any ghost of my birth plan went flying out the door.

11:10 AM

They stopped the magnesium. My labor wasn't stopping. My doctor came in and measured to see how much I was dilated.

I was over 5 cm.

She said she could feel my baby.

Everything started happening so fast. They had to perform a c-section right away.

I started bawling. Brian was still out getting me tissues. I cried to my mom about how I wasn't ready. They walked me to a stretcher. I cried and cried. My mom cried. I wasn't ready. I was in pain and scared for my boys and, I'm ashamed to admit, for myself.

I remember nearly falling off the operating table when the nurse sat me up for my epidural. The anesthesiologist asked if I trusted him. I said no. I  made some weird comparison about the nurse and the nerdy guy at a party. I remember that I kept saying it over and over again. The drugs prevented any original thought from coming into my mind, and the epidural made the words flow from my mouth. I prattled on and on about stupid things that made no sense.

I remember my doctor telling me to tell her when she got to a place that I could feel things again. I was terrified of being cut open, but I could feel no pain. I felt every move she made, but it felt like tugging. No pain. Just movement.

I don't remember when Brian finally made it into the room, but he did.

I never got to see Bennett. Beau was wheeled by me and the nurse paused long enough for me to look at him. Our eyes locked for just a second. I wasn't able to even reach for him. I remember Brian leaving with the boys.

I was left alone with just one nurse. No babies. No husband. No parents. Just me.

I wasn't really there enough in my own head to care at this point. The night of magnesium and the epidural had made me numb and stupid.

I had to wait there until I got feeling back in my legs. It all came back very slowly.

I don't remember being taken up to the postpartum wing, but I got there. I remember a nurse explaining how to use the hospital breast pump. She gave us syringes to collect colostrum to take to the NICU. I still hadn't seen my babies.


They gave me crackers. I wanted water. They said they needed to see me keep down a cracker first.

I said I wanted water. They said I would vomit.

I ate a cracker. They gave me my water.

I vomited.

Everyone was in my room talking about how cute and sweet and okay my sons were.

Everyone met them before I did. I was devastated and jealous. I  wanted to see them. They wouldn't let me until I did x amount of things. I had to pee. I had to drink. I had to eat crackers. None of it made sense to me.

Finally, late that night, a nurses aid wheeled me down to the NICU two floors away.

I made it to where the boys were and promptly threw up.

I only got a glimpse of the tiny beings before they wheeled me away again. They were trapped behind glass and heavy with wires and tubes. My heart shattered there on the NICU floor.

They took me back upstairs.

Brian went to sleep and I laid awake crying.

I felt so empty and so alone and so much like a failure. I was a mom technically, but in my mind, not really.

Sunday, April 17, 2016
B&B 4 days old. 

The day I was discharged, I sat alone in the hospital lobby as Brian went for the car. I watched moms being wheeled out with their babies. I sat alone crying.

I sat there alone in my nursing top, yoga pants, and my empty arms and stomach. And both my sons laid upstairs fighting to breathe.

I have never in my life felt so terrible.