This was my second pregnancy, an eight year gap from her sister’s birth. During those eight years I concluded one child was all we were meant to have. I knew my husband wanted more children. The murmurs and gossip of the women of our church certainly shared their concerns that I had only one child. After monthly disappointments of no pregnancy and false alarms, I resolved that one child was wonderful and I was fine with that. I avoided the subject and became defensive when it was brought up. I focused on family, work and serving in the community. More importantly I focused on what I wanted to do. I was thriving on the adrenaline of being constantly on the go. I would adjust my work hours to squeeze in a few hours a week of volunteer time before I picked up my daughter from school. I fit in more time to volunteer during evenings throughout the week. I was living the lie that women can do it all. In fact, I was probably keeping myself busy in order to not ask myself the question if I was really okay with only one child.
When I found I was pregnant, I was almost shocked. After such a long period of nothing – why now? I was determined that this pregnancy wouldn’t slow me down. I was quite content with the way I was living my life and the freedom that having an older child gave me. Nothing would slow me down. I could do it all.
With this mantra, I didn’t hesitate to volunteer to counsel at my second youth camp that summer. I was four months into my pregnancy and had not missed a beat. I had proven myself right. I could keep doing everything I wanted. This child would not slow me down. I prepared for a fun week of counseling a cabin of high school girls.
Two days into the camp, we participated in what could best be described as an adventure game. Each of the counselors was to play a role. My role was to seek out and “arrest” unwary campers and bring them to jail. In the darkness of the camp I was able to surprise a number of campers. I was quite enjoying my role and playing it to the full. Then a strange sensation caused me to hurry back to my cabin. When I stepped into the light of the cabin, I realized that I was soaked with blood. I had started to bleed heavily. I was in a panic – alone, bleeding in my cabin, while the rest of the camp continued to play. I heard footsteps nearing my cabin and yelled to the camper who came by to go and find my husband, who was also there counseling.
In a blur of events, I was rushed down the mountain to the closest hospital. It was a small community hospital with one doctor. They had no ultrasound or other equipment. All they could do was draw blood to see if I was still pregnant. In the eerie stillness of my room, I laid on the gurney awaiting test results to see if I had miscarried. My list of what I wanted to accomplish and keep doing for myself evaporated. The only item on my list was this baby.
A song that was sung at the camp continued to go through my head and became my prayer. The chorus went something like, “Lord, my God, you are a shield about me. You’re my savior. You’re the lifter of my head.” I was drowning in my emotions and fears – I needed my head lifted so I would not be consumed. In the stillness of my room, with only the beeps of monitors, I’ve never felt such an intense love for someone unseen before. I vowed to change if given the chance. I hugged my slightly swollen belly in an attempt to hug this baby, my child whom I might never see.
The test results came back. I had not miscarried. I was driven down the mountain to self-imposed bed rest at home until I could see my doctor who was out of town. Two agonizing days later I arrived in his office, anxious to find out if we could pick up a heartbeat. That heartbeat was the most blessed sound I ever heard. It was a love song.
From that moment on, I made changes to my life to slow down and balance what was important. Issues during my pregnancy helped prompt this response. Frequent back pain and early contractions if I stood for periods of time, forced me to sit and rest. Previously I would have viewed these as a frustrating inconvenience, now I saw it as a pretty physical reminder of what was important. My husband and I set aside money so that I could take six months off from work after the birth. She was born on Good Friday. Her sister helped name her Stephanie.
During those six months off, some days were spent with my baby girl lying on the bed and me just marveling at the gift she was. I enjoyed my first summer off with my oldest daughter and realized what I had been missing in my quest to do everything. Old habits were hard to break, but my family became my priority not only in word, but in action. Little did I know at the time how these new principles would be played out--less than two years later I gave birth to twins!
So while an ER is a strange place to fall in love, my love story had a wonderful beginning. That day saved me from myself. Whenever I feel out of balance, I think back to that day and how a little baby transformed my life by love.
(in honor of my daughter Stephanie who turns a wonderful 20 today!)
