There were two things I was not expecting on March 25, to have a baby on my due date (I’ve been induced twice) and to get the worse cold I’ve had in at least three years.  So I got sick instead of having a baby.  By Saturday, after a long, frustrating, fruitless search for an urgent care  just in case this nastiness was a sinus infection, I decided I was finally on the mend enough to not waste two hours waiting at the only “urgent” there actually is in this town and went grocery shopping with my mom.

David was starting to come down with the sickness so Saturday night we just kept it low key, Ezra was not feeling great either so after a movie we went to bed early.  Because Ezra was not feeling well, I rocked him to sleep and stayed with him, usually he falls asleep and I transfer him to his bed, but every time I tried to transfer him, he work up.  I could tell he was feeling yucky so I didn’t fight it and snuggled with him, first in the rocking chair and then in our bed.  Only problem, I kept having to pee.  Even more so than usual.  Like EVERY hour.  Up and down the stairs.  And EVERY time I got up, Ezra had a meltdown.  I was trying so hard not to disturbed David, I really wanted him to get well.  About midnight I started to suspect I was having contractions but they were ignorable.  Though the trips back up the stairs did start getting a little more painful.  At about five am I couldn’t just breath through them and fall back asleep, I woke David up and asked him to bring Ezra down to my mom and told him I was either having contractions or some serious gas.  I breathed through some contractions on my hands and knees, a few on my side and then decided to break out my app and time them.  Two minutes apart. Well then.  I should text my doula.  “I don’t know what, but I think something is going on.”  David starting timing them and got the same results.  Close but short.  Two minutes apart, but less than a minute.  I decided it was time to go downstairs, because I had to pee…again.  Screw the toilet I got in the shower.  These babies were talking to me.  LOUD.  Full attention demanded (missed warning I was headed into transition)

Standing in the shower felt good, but I also had a moment of panic (another missed sign)  “what if I have babies like Dee (a college roommate who has very short labors and funny stories about them), I won’t have time to get to the hospital?!” out of the shower, nightgown  back on.  Underwear.

No, whatever, where the heck is my yoga ball.  At some point during this time, David is packing his bag to go to the hospital.  Taking. His. Sweet. Time.  (mind you, I have given him NO indication that I am charging towards transition at this point, calming sitting on my yoga ball by the couch thinking to myself, “seriously pain medication, why I am so anti pain medication?”).

Texting Douala.  Can you come to the house?  Suggesting to David, lets get the car loaded, take mom’s car, she already told me we could, keys are down stairs.  PLEASE don’t make me talk during this contraction (another missed warning sign perhaps)  maybe we should not wait for Anne (our doula).

Texting Anne, “let’s meet at the hospital instead”

Why is he moving so slow.

Going to the car.  Pause.  Bend over and breathe.  Get in the car.

OK we are moving now.  And my contractions are right on top of each other.  My water is going to break in my mom’s new car and she is not going to be happy.  Did I not say put a towel and a trash bag down?

That stop sign is so stupid.

In the sweet privacy of the car I start the guttural, primitive moan thing and the light bulb goes on for David.  This baby is coming soon.  He drops me off at the ER door and I start the trek.  I stopped at the ER window and held up a finger to the triage guy.

“I’m headed that way” I mouthed, pointing down the hall towards labor and delivery.   I have two minutes once this contraction stops.  Start walking.

David catches up with me as I’m ringing the bell, “can I come in and have a baby”  when did talking get so hard?

They let me in I made it down the hall.  They told me room five.  I’m pretty sure I am going to die, or have a baby in the hallway.  Made it to room five and she wants to put a monitor on me and check me.  Its not that I’m not being oppositional really, I can’t unbend.

Yes, we have a birth plan. In the car. No, we don’t have documentation about intermittent monitoring on file.

I am trying so hard to relax.  Somehow I manage to get on the bed.  She checks me.

I’m a nine.  But that stupid cervical lip strikes again.  “don’t push, if things get swollen you might have to have a c section”

So I didn’t push.  Honestly, honestly didn’t push.

Water breaks.

David is laughing, baby is crying, nurses are scurrying.  She gets put on my chest and we both laugh.  

Dr. Mini is on her way.

So I delivered a placenta and Anne arrived, David smiling and chuckling watching as she processed the placenta on the table.  Anne stayed with me for the worst part,  what happens after you don’t push out a baby when your dilated to a nine (at this point I really, really, really wanted the epidural).

My arrival time was noted at 6:55 am, Joy was born at 7:11 am.  Me, David and one nurse in the room.

a love story

Yesterday we paused to remember a moment in history that changed our lives forever, all of us.  We remember the moment we saw those towers fall, and with them our sense of security, our belief that we were safe.  Yesterday we remembered where we were, what we said, and most of all, how we felt. The sadness and great grief as we watched people who could be us search for loved ones who could be ours.

Today I remember a small moment.  A chapel service at Olivet Nazarene University.  A moment when a young woman reached out to offer comfort to a young man she hardly new, maybe as much for her own need to feel connected to someone else processing this chaos as to meet a need she thought she saw.  A moment when that young man was inspired to know what made that young women tick.

A friendship.  A courtship.  Devastating news.  Cancer and loss.  Time.  What seemed like an eternity but now feels like a moment and then…a proposal.  A wedding and a marriage.

A house. A dog.  A jack russle terrier.

A pregnancy.  A diagnosis.  A whirlwind of hope, and doubt, of peace and chaos and an amazing warrior of a little boy who lives forever in our hearts but not in our arms.

And now, a toddler, a little brother.  (who at this moment has crawled out the dog door and onto the back stoop ...I'll be right back)

A house full of laughter and sometimes tears, grace and hope and a fair share of neurosis mingled with wisdom.

September 11th always causes me to pause and reflect, as I am sure it does all of us who remember that tragic day.  I can’t help but approach this anniversary with mixed feelings.  In some ways a sense of guilt.  Because you see, if not for September 11th, 2001 I might be in a very different place.  And I can't imagine my life with out my David, my Gideon, my Ezra and even that crazy dog.

But what I love about September 12th is the reminder that it carries, the truism that has replayed again and again in my life these past twelve years.  God is faithful, full of mercy and grace.  God is a master craftsman.  A master craftsman whose love is greater than terror, fiercer that jihad, wilder than the chaos of that day.  I see in the ashes of September 11th what God can grow on one life, in two lives and maybe more, and I remain convinced of this truth.

God will mend.

It is the greatest love story of them all.  

Monopoly is a game that has always puzzled me.  Why do people play it?  People actually enjoy it!  Not me, not thanks.  Money stresses me out, how is playing with money fun?  Right now life in the Ford family household feels a lot like a game of monopoly, one where we keep landing on the pay up square.   The stove, the garage... (the stove BTW is a whole other shameful story *sigh*)

I'm not going to go into our financial situation, but for some background info: those days a few years ago when we though it was tight? we were rolling in it. David and I have marveled how much more peace we had when Gideon was alive, dealing with the constant threat of his loss, than we do now with fiances.

Money. Seriously. I have weathered the death of a child and I am stressed out about money?

I have had a week assaulted by grief.  My life has taken some turns (good ones) in the past few months, leading me to be the supervisor of and adult mental health crisis program.  As part of this program I assess risk and make placement recommendations for adult's in mental health crisis in our local emergency rooms and I'm in and out of these emergency rooms a few times a week.  Last week, God put me in the right place, at the right time to comfort another one of his children, and put me in a place where I was challenged to turn to him for comfort.  At one of the local ERs the mental health patients are tucked safely away in the corner office, its nice, quiet and private.  Its also next to their major trauma room, and on this foggy morning, I found myself a silent observer to a great grief.  a family lost a son, a grown son, in a terrible car accident.  I listened as several family members heard the news for the first time. I silently slipped to the copy machine as ER staff stood shocked, stunned and shedding silent tears.  The young man was one of their own, a fireman and an EMT.

I quietly hugged a fellow sister from my church, a nurse who worked with him, finished my work and slipped quietly out of the ER.  But the sound of his family crying out reverberates in my psyche.  its a sound I know, the sound my heart still makes if I let my self get too close to remembering those moments when Gideon went home.

mind you, not that I do that much.  No, I'm much to ladylike/professional/grown up/good at managing my own counter-transference to let those emotions loose.  So I choked down the wave of grief, something like forcing oneself not to throw up, and drove myself back to work, spending a great deal of the rest of the day somewhat dissociated.

mind you, it is important to be professional and the ER was not the time and the place to let that mess loose, but there is such thing as too much control...

a friend of a friend lost her little baby boy, nine months old.  from healthy to gone in a few short days.  As a group of women I am proud to know mobilizes to create some kind of comfort in the form a care package I wonder what God is trying to tell me.  is that terribly selfish, to be thinking about myself?  what does God what ME to know?

today I believe he told me something.  today the man behind me in Kroger paid my bill when my credit card didn't work and I rushed out of the store to avoid making a blubbering mess. today I heard a statistic about the number of people in Indiana that go hungry every day.  Yesterday I found out that my church has volunteered to fix our garage roof   Without this gift, our garage would not survive the winter.

And then. there is this ...

That perfect, beautiful, round head, that sweet little smile, and that amazing man I get to call husband.

Today God said very clearly to me.  

"you Kati Jane, are not a victim.  Worry does not plague you, you are not somehow at the mercy of anxiety,"  (this is where it gets kind painful) "this worry in your life is a sin."  An act of disobedience to God who has command me “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?" (Matthew  6:24-26 NIV) (emphasis mine).  

Worry has been allowed to much liberty in this home.  I was held accountable today, and I will rebuke the worry that has held my home captive.  

2 Corinthians 10:5

New International Version (NIV)

⁵ We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

God has brought me through the death of child, blessed me with another.  I will not worry about finances, or the economy, or Obamacare or fill in the blank.  Because I have seen the God who will not leave my pain, my brokenness, my hurt or my fear answered for.  I don't have to be in control, in fact I'm not supposed to be in control.  Yes, I do have to be professional, but I don't have to be strong all the time.  I grieve this week. For, and with, these families that have lost sons.  I believe this week, the feel good truth that God cares about all my problems.  I also believe the not so squishy truth that if I am to mature as a women of Christ I must take responsibly for sin of worry in my life.

My help comes from the Lord.

Ezra had his first bath yesterday.  My sweet, round headed, tons of beautiful dark hair son lost his umbilical stub on Monday and was smelling like sour milk.

Ezra Louis was born May 18 at 1:09 in the morning after a week of agonizing about being induced, a week of yelling at God, pouting because Ezra's birth was not supposed to be this way.  It was supposed to be normal.  No tough decisions, go in to labor on my own, rock it like a crunchy mom with no meds, put him right on my tummy not on a warmer, wait to cut the cord kind of normal birth.  David and I had talked a long time about how we needed this birth to be different than Gideon's.  We needed some healing, healing that comes from an experience not saturated in hurt and loss. We'd made all the plans to make it so, different hospital, different doctor.

For the most part, Ezra had a wonderful birth.  Despite being induced, I was able to labor and deliver pain medication free, I moved, I breathed, I even did some squatting.  According to my husband I was amazing.
I'm pretty proud that I didn't drop the "F" bomb.  Not once.  I did however, during several contractions in a row, beg the nurse not to hand my baby to me wearing a hat.

The first time I saw Gideon, he was wearing a hat. I held him and admired his sweet little face in blissful ignorance.  Family filtered out, NICU doctors filtered in.  Then they took off his hat.  No one had told me about the severity of Gideon's brain malformation.  No one warned me that a very large portion of brain and spinal chord was puffed out from the back of his head.  It is a moment branded in me, sitting there marveling, somewhat dissociated at the blatant visibility of my son's brain.

No hats. "Please don't give him to me with a hat on" I begged.  She smiled and said "no hat".

24 hours of cervidil, 13 hours of labor, two times in the labor tub, ten minutes of pushing and he was there. 7 lbs 11.5 oz and 20 and 3/4 inches of perfect.

Ezra was wonderful, healthy and beautiful and I should have fallen madly in love.  I was supposed to fall madly in love, that's the normal response, but what has washed over me in the past week has more often been sadness, fear and even some disappointment.  Some pain, and a lot of worry.  Worry because Ezra would not nurse, from his biliruben to his blood sugar he has struggled to latch.  Angry because Ezra was supposed to be my "normal" baby.  My "everything is perfect because God 'owes' me that in this baby".   I have cried many, many tears over this past week.

I missed the memo that normal newborns are hard, that normal newborns sometimes struggle to nurse, and that normal new mom's often feel some sadness and postpartum anxiety.

And, like a little child sometimes I need things repeated.  God will give me what I need, when I need it.  He will use everything for his good if I will allow him too and Ezra is my perfect baby because he was given to me by my Father, just like his brother Gideon.  And I do love him, but it has taken some time.  More time than I expected, just like nursing has taken more time and many more detours than I expected.

It has been a journey of the unexpected this past few weeks, including how giving my little Ezra a bath, brought me back to my last morning with Gideon. One of the very last things we did with Gideon was give him a bath, in my big farm sink that I knew from the first day we looked at this house would be the perfect placed to bathe my babies.

As I reflect on washing Ezra's little hands and feet and all the parts in between, I have been reminded that as people of faith we've been washed in something much more potent than water.  We have been washed in the blood of our savior.  So I must come to terms with the notion that these new experiences with Ezra, may be saturated in some pain.  But our healing isn't born out of the lack of pain and grief in our new experiences, it comes from recognizing that the the blood we have been washed in also saturates our lives with the power to birth joy from the grief.

Ezra reminds me that no experience, no perfect nursing baby, no perfect birth "heals" me.  Only God heals me.  And I still need him to.  My help comes from the Lord.

the other side

Its hard to believe that two years ago I was doing the same thing. Yesterday I made an appointment for and ultrasound. A routine, twenty week, gestational age, screen for abnormalities, ultrasound. I was surprised by how emotional it was, just calling to make an appointment. I chose a different location, it was a relief to know that was even and option. I have some pretty strong emotions when it comes to ultrasounds, But baby number two is on the way and hopefully this ultrasound will put some fears to rest.

Two years might as well be two decades ago. I know that all babies turn their parents lives upside down, that even if that ultrasound two years ago had been perfect and everything was all right we would still be two very different people two years later. It would be a different kind of different though. This is the kind of different that makes it almost impossible to put all the fears to rest.

My faith tells me that God will carry me. He has through all of this. But my experience warns me that it may not be easy. God's grace will heal me, but healing is not the absence of pain, is the process of going through it to the other side. And some days I reminded, I'm not so close to the other side as I'd like to be.

Today a friend asked me to connect with a friend. A family who has been given a diagnosis that, in the natural, will claim their baby's life. She shared that this family is considering terminating the pregnancy but has not been able to find a hospital that will do the procedure. For those of you who know me personally and any of you who have followed this blog for any amount of time, its no secret that I feel very strongly about the value of every life, and that I am an advocate for the unborn. But here I walk onto fragile ground.

How can I communicate to this family how much I believe that choosing life is the best choice with out communicating judgment?

I remember that moment when they offered us the choice to terminate my pregnancy. To abort Gideon. I remember saying no, from a place of obedience. But I also remember the turmoil and the pain of those days, vividly. I want to find her and plead with her to choose life for her baby, I want to share my story and the story of others who have carried babies with terminal conditions. I want her to see that it was worth it, even if I had only held Gideon for an instant. But I also need to respect her choice as a mother and a person and offer her the support and compassion that my heart cries to give. I hope and I pray that she chooses life, not because it agrees with my opinion, but because in my heart, I know how grateful I am to have been given every gift that was Gideon’s life and his passing, and my heart grieves for those who would go through the pain of the loss and miss out on the gift that is the life.

on the couch

Hello to you all from the couch. Its been a long, long time since I have mustered the sensibility to collect my thoughts into something that could resemble a blog post. Work has been absolutely crazy these past few months. I have a new boss, who is wonderful and challenges me in so many ways. the upside = becoming a better clinician and coworker. The downside = it's hard work and I'm still working out my equilibrium in a new system.

Because I've been working so hard to get my new groove on, I’ve been pretty stressed out, and therefore pretty scattered.

even now, I’m standing in the middle of the round a bout trying to figure what exit to take.

I guess I’ll start with the reason for the couch sitting. the MANDITORY couch sitting. I am 9 weeks pregnant. We found out a week or so ago and let some close family and friends know. We got the word out the old fashion way-word of mouth. I wasn't planning on going public quite this fast. then yesterday it started to look like i was having a miscarriage.

200 miles from my doctor. 3 hours from home. I called Doc and she said to come in as fast as i could get there. I called my boss so she could cancel my appointment with a family later that day. And i called David, sobbing.

The three hour drive did give me time to think. I went the cycle of pity, anger, and hurt. Thank goodness my coworker (who shall remained unnamed to protect the innocent) turned on the radar detector and put the pedal to the medal home. It’s a little embarrassing to sob in front of your coworker. I mean we work in the business of feelings, but still…

In the end, I had to come to the same conclusion I usually do. God is faithful. He will not let a hurt come into my life that he does not have a plan for how to use for his kingdom.

But man, yesterday I was pretty tired of working for His kingdom and wanted some little bit of happiness for my family. (I write that with a little bit of a glance over my shoulder…its raining and that means lightning might not be far away). Thank goodness that what we feel, and sometimes think, in the process of growing is looked upon through a lens of mercy.

We waited for a short time and the doctor did and ultrasound. wouldn’t you know that little olive size stinker…I swear she waved at us. All head and little bitty arms and legs. She did a brief exam and determined that my cervix was closed and declared I was not to work tomorrow, or the next day for that matter. Bed rest until a least a week when she will see me again.

I think I heard her right and I am not even allowed to bathe. For those of you who might come and visit me, I apologize in advance.

David will still be flying to Virginia to visit his sister and his brand new baby niece. I am requesting that he does. He needs some time with baby Hannah. I’m very disappointed I can’t go and see Hannah and my brave Kelsi Grace (my oldest niece who will be very shortly headed to Germany with the Air Force)

in the long run, this couch and I will be glad for it when this moment has passed and they day comes that I will be sitting in this same spot nursing another little one, just like her (or his) big brother.

one line. not two.

one line.  not two.

It occurs to me, just now, that it’s not just about wanting to be pregnant. That feeling I get in my chest when I see pregnant women, or when I have to swallow that lump to be able to express the genuine happiness I have for others who are so blessed.   It’s not that being around pregnant women makes me jealous, that being around those with healthy babies makes me envious.

Pregnant women, small babies, force me to confront my loss. Not being pregnant forces me to confront my loss. Not just the loss of Gideon, but all of the other losses that awful waffle pile upon that loss.

I can’t even begin to list them all, all the things I have lost. I don’t want to get fooled in to thinking that when I get pregnant, if I get pregnant again, everything will be ok. It’s just not so. I won’t magically stop missing Gideon so much it aches, I won’t be excited and happy.

More likely I will simply have to, yet again confront more losses. I will never be the same. I wouldn't want to be the same. But that doesn’t always make this process hurt less. Because it does hurt. It hurts physically, the tidal wave of emotions, the sadness and the tears, overflow tsunami like into my stomach, my joints, my head and I am physically impacted by this grief.

Being pregnant will not fix this. I will not “fill” me. And I feel guilty because I know women who have never gotten to bepregnant. Suddenly I just feel selfish for wanting more, when I have already been given more than I deserve. 

but with each negative test (all three of them since testing has even been meaningful she says to highlight just how neurotic she is really being...) fear creeps in. 

and I am challenged once again to turn it over to the one who conquers all fear and replaces it with perfect love.  the One who can fix me, who can fill me. 

Monday night David and I had a conversation about the Israelites in the dessert.  (Exodus 17) They were so ungrateful.  They said "God, you brought us out here to die.  We ain't got not water and we are going to die.  we could have done that in slavery" well, that's the paraphrased version.  I don't want to be ungrateful.  I am so blessed to be Gideon's momma, more blessed that i have ever been.  But I questioned God, i became like the Israelites while criticizing them. Water, seriously they are griping about water.  I want a baby, i want to stop hurting, now that is something to gripe about.  I was angry that God gave them water, but he won't give me something a simple as another pregnancy.  two lines, that's all I'm asking!  This was hard for David to understand, he is a very cognitive person, and for a moment he spoke Vulcan and i Klingon.  his heart broke for me because he couldn't see how i could see the blessing and be whining like the Israelites all at the same time. 

But my head knowing i am blessed doesn't always stop my heart from aching, anymore than being grateful to survive a car accident will make those broken bones and whiplash go away any faster. 

Like the Israelites in the dessert I am thirsty.  What I will learn from them is that God is faithful and He will quench my thirst.  And like the Israelites, i am sure i will be surprised where the water comes from.