Before Grayson was ever conceived, when I was pregnant with our twins, my paastor preached on the Shunammite woman. He talked about her kindness to the prophet Elisha, her barrenness, how she was given a son, and how she responded to her young son's death. The boy was still young, but old enough to be helping his father in the fields and one day he complained to his father, "My head! My head!" His father had a servant take him inside to his mother where she held him until noon, and then he died. She refused to accept his death. She put him in the upper room of their house, which she and her husband had built for the prophet Elisha to stay whenever he was in their area. She put him in a place where no one else could see him, she told no one what had happened, and she went for the prophet Elisha. As a matter of fact, when she went out to have a donkey saddled, her husband asked how everything was. Her response was "it is well." She set out to find Elisha at Mt Carmel. Elisha saw her approaching in the distance and sent his servant to find out what was wrong, to which she responded, "it is well." Once she came into Elisha's presence she again made out all was well, but he knew something was wrong, and at this juncture she poured her heart out. He came home with her, went upstairs to her son, prayed over him, and his life was restored. (2 Kings 4:8-37) When I heard this sermon, I knew it was for me. I was a mother of 5 and now pregnant with twins. My greatest fear (as is most mothers) was in losing a child. And I told the Lord that morning, if I ever lost a child I would do the same thing the Shunammite woman did.
Before a year passed, it was Mother's Day Sunday, my pastor again preached on the Shunammite woman. It wasn't the same sermon, but I had very similar feelings as I did the first time I heard about her. Again I told the Lord, "if one of my children ever dies, I will do the same thing she did." And then I thought, "but she had a man of faith (Elisha). Who would be my man of faith?" The answer to that question lay dormant for several months. One Sunday evening, Jeff Jacobs, our previous youth pastor, was preaching and in the midst of his preaching he said, "I have faith to believe God can raise people from the dead!" And I knew at that moment he was my man of faith. I then told the Lord, "if one of my children dies, I will get him."
A couple of years later my husband was 50, I was pushing 40, and we were pregnant with our eighth child! The pregnancy was wonderful, easy, perfect. But suddenly I was in the hospital,... my baby's life was no more. I didn't want anyone doing anything with my son. At the very moment I was waking up from the anesthesia, I was believing, as the Shunammite woman did, that God would raise him from the dead. I knew He could. I expected Him to.
In the recovery room my mind was perceiving, my ears were hearing, my mouth was able to speak, but I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Ed came into the recovery room. I didn't see him, I felt him. He had been crying, but was trying to be strong. When he told me, "Sandi, he's so beautiful," I knew all I had been hearing was true and there were fresh tears on both of our cheeks. Through my tears, I told Ed, "don't let anyone take our baby. Don't let anyone do anything to him. I believe God can rasie him from the dead just as He did the Shunammite woman's son."
I don't suppose I had ever shared the Shunammite story with Ed, or the feelings and conversation I'd had with God about it. I had kept it all in my heart. Do you know what his response was after I told him? "Okay, let me go back to him." He didn't ridicule me, or think I'd lost my mind, or think I was in denial; he went right back to our son. I am overwhelmed right now as I write at that man's instant faith and support.
Shortly after Ed left, my dad came in, sorry for what had happened. I told him I believed God could raise him from the dead. Dad asked, "Why would you think that?!" His demeanor, his mannerism, changed. Instantly. He'd been so compassionate and as soon as I spoke those words he became very matter-of-fact. I wonder if he thought I'd lost my mind or was in denial. I proceeded to tell him the story of the Shunammite woman. Subsequently, he left.
The next person to come in to recovery was my pastor. I had been asking for him. I told him the Shunammite woman story was for me and I was believing Grayson to be raised from the dead. I wanted my baby prayed over. He said, "Ed and I already prayed for the baby...But, I'll go back." And he was gone.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Inevitable
When I awoke, I asked for my baby. I don't remember what the nurse told me. Something like, "I'm sorry"... It was not a point blank, "your baby died" but more a referencing that he didn't make it. I remember shaking my head and saying, "no,.. no." I didn't believe it. I was sure I was dreaming. I was trying to wake myself up. My eyes fluttered open and I saw an empty hospital bassinet. My brain said, "if your baby were alive he'd be in that crib." I started praying aloud. (I am a Spirit-filled Christian. Spirit-filled, in the pentecostal world, means at some point in my walk the Spirit of God came upon me and gave me a second language. I utilize that as my prayer language when I don't know how to pray, or when I need something beyond mere human words. You can read about this in the New Testament portion of the Bible: Acts chapter 2 and 1 Corinthians 12, 13, 14. It's the same thing.) Anyway,... I was praying while not quite fully aroused from the anesthesia. I heard a nurse ask, "what is she doing?" Another nurse answered, "she's praying in tongues." I immediately answered, "that's right. I'm praying in tongues." And I asked for Ed. I asked for my pastor.
I don't know how much time passed before Ed came in. It didn't seem too long. My eyes were still shut. I was having a hard time keeping them open. I don't know how many times I nodded off between these different conversations, or if I nodded off at all. Ed came in from behind. He put his head next to mine, his mouth was by my right ear. He didn't say a word at first. I was certain this was all just a bad dream and I was waiting for his words to confirm that thought.
He said, "oh, Sandi, he's so beautiful." And I knew. By that simple statement I knew it was true. Grayson didn't make it.
I don't know how much time passed before Ed came in. It didn't seem too long. My eyes were still shut. I was having a hard time keeping them open. I don't know how many times I nodded off between these different conversations, or if I nodded off at all. Ed came in from behind. He put his head next to mine, his mouth was by my right ear. He didn't say a word at first. I was certain this was all just a bad dream and I was waiting for his words to confirm that thought.
He said, "oh, Sandi, he's so beautiful." And I knew. By that simple statement I knew it was true. Grayson didn't make it.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Drive
I asked Debbie if we could leave the kids (I am a mother of 8. The oldest 2 and my stepdaughter are married with children, the younger 5 are still at home). We left Mckenna (then 11), Esprit (then 7), and the twins, Bronson and Boston (then 2) with Debbie and her husband. We took Britt (then 15). I could see in his face he wanted to come. I didn't realize how bad my condition actually was. I assumed my c-section scar had ruptured and I needed to hurry to the hospital before it got too bad. I assumed it had ruptured on the inside and possibly the pressure caused my water to break. (Later, Debbie told me there was blood everywhere. It was mixed with membrane. A wierd substance, but lots of blood. She couldn't look at it. John (her husband) cleaned it up.)
I asked everyone at the party to gather around me and pray for me before we left. They did. Someone suggested calling 911. No way. I did not need to be held up waiting for an ambulance and then be taken to a place other than "my" hospital. We got in the car and took off. I was feeling weak, as before, yet I felt very coherent and in control. As we drove, I called Jeff (Marisa's husband) to tell him we would miss Marisa's party. We'd be at Women's Hospital having a baby. I told him I was bleeding a little. He questioned about cancelling the party. I told him not to. My thought was... after the party, they could all come see me since the party was in Tampa and my hospital was in Tampa. I began praying once I hung up - for myself, for my baby, for the safety of our drive.
Next, I called Lindsey to tell her my water broke, but I was gushing blood so there was concern, and that we were on our way to Tampa. She wasn't sure if she should go to work and I didn't know what to tell her. A few minutes passed and Lindsey called me back to ask if I'd felt the baby move. I didn't know; I couldn't recall. The last movement I really remembered was in the morning when I was just waking. He was a very active baby, constantly moving, but I couldn't remember feeling him move throughout the day. It hadn't crossed my mind to pay attention. At that moment I realized he could be in danger. She asked if I was sure I wanted to go to Tampa and I was adamant. I wanted my "own" doctors.
I told Lindsey to pray for me and then I began to call people from our church to ask for prayer- the Days, the Merinos, the Whealtons, the Wheeles- I was able to get ahold of no one. I recalled passing the church on our way to Debbie's and the parking lot had been full, so I tried to call the phone in the lobby, but I was unable to remember the phone number. It is very unusual for me to forget a phone number. My husband calls me the Rainman of numbers. I remember phone numbers, zip codes, addresses, etc. This particular day I could not remember the church number, nor could I remember the prayer chain phone number, nor countless other phone numbers. Either the phone number was lost in my memory, or the person was not at home. The only people I was successful in reaching that afternoon were my adult children.
I could feel I was getting weaker. We were on the parkway heading for Tampa, when I began to get light-headed. Ed wondered if we should go to Spring Hill Regional as we neared County Line Rd. I said "no." I needed "my" doctor, but I could barely keep my eyes open. We passed Conty Line Rd and went through the toll booth. I was struggling to stay awake. I told Ed I felt like I wanted to sleep. He told me to stay awake and began slapping my leg and shaking me and calling my name. My head started bobbing. I was having such a hard time keeping my eyes open. Immediately, Britt's hand was on the top of my head, and I know he never ceasead to pray for me that whole drive. I recall saying, "maybe we should turn around." That was all Ed needed.
My memory is scattered during the rest of that ride. I can remember Ed shaking me and saying my name. I remember Britt's hand on my head. At one point, I asked how far we were from County Line Rd. 2 miles. I could hold on til then, I told myself. That 2 miles felt like forever. Every moment I was awake I was praying for my unborn son.
We were confused trying to get to the Maternity Ward. The sign said Special Delivery and Emergency Room. Ed thought the Special Delivery was for UPS, FedEx, etc, so he drove to the ER. (Special Delivery really meant the Stork, maternity.) He ran in and explained the situation, but they thought he was a frantic father, so they gave him directions back to Special Delivery. His head was swimming. He was about to lose it when a young man from our chruch who had been in the waiting room of the Er told him he would ride with him and show him the way to the maternity ward. Britt's hand was on my head and he continuously prayed for me until we arrived at the maternity ward and I was ushered to a room.
It didn't take long for the nurses to realize I was losing a lot of blood. I was coherent now upon arrival and was able to explain all that had taken place. I was so concerned for my baby. I told them I needed a c-section and they could just put me to sleep and take my baby. I was hooked up to the fetal monitor quickly, the baby's heartbeat was found almost immediately, and I breathed a sigh of relief and thanksgiving to God.
A midwife was sent in to be with me, as well as a of couple nurses. Ed was ushered out to answer some questions. I was anxious to get the IV going in order to prepare for the c-section, but there was no doctor on duty! Then the heartbeat was lost. It felt, to me, that the monitor had slipped off my belly. The nurses were moving it all over trying to find my son's heartbeat. Every so often I'd hear a faint beat and think they found it, only to realize it was MY heartbeat. The heartbeat was never recovered. I don't think I really understood the depth of that until much later. At that point I had so much hope. He was alive! I'd heard his heartbeat. I told them to just put me to sleep. I didn't care. Just get my baby out! They were still waiting for the doctor to arrive, as they prepared me for surgery. The midwife was wonderful. But everything seemed like it was moving so slow. I was being prepared for a spinal. I didn't understand why they wouldn't give me an epidural. Maybe the spinal took effect more quickly, I don't know. It really didn't matter; all I wanted was to get my baby out.
Finally, I was wheeled to surgery. I passed Britt in the hallway. He was alone. Where was Ed? I gave him the thumbs up sign, meaning for him to pray, but I think he took it that everything was okay. I didn't want him to be afraid. Especally while he was all alone.
In the OR, it appeared the spinal was not taking very quickly. I was so afraid they were going to cut me while I could still feel. I explained to the nurses how Dr Brown was waiting for me at St Joseph's Women's Hospital in Tampa. I also told them my dad was Dr Hall. Someone called my dad. Someone called Dr Brown.
When, what seemed like an hour had passed, I was finally asked if they could put me to sleep. I said, "yes! I don't care!" I went to sleep with anticipation and hope. When I woke up - my hope was destroyed.
I asked everyone at the party to gather around me and pray for me before we left. They did. Someone suggested calling 911. No way. I did not need to be held up waiting for an ambulance and then be taken to a place other than "my" hospital. We got in the car and took off. I was feeling weak, as before, yet I felt very coherent and in control. As we drove, I called Jeff (Marisa's husband) to tell him we would miss Marisa's party. We'd be at Women's Hospital having a baby. I told him I was bleeding a little. He questioned about cancelling the party. I told him not to. My thought was... after the party, they could all come see me since the party was in Tampa and my hospital was in Tampa. I began praying once I hung up - for myself, for my baby, for the safety of our drive.
Next, I called Lindsey to tell her my water broke, but I was gushing blood so there was concern, and that we were on our way to Tampa. She wasn't sure if she should go to work and I didn't know what to tell her. A few minutes passed and Lindsey called me back to ask if I'd felt the baby move. I didn't know; I couldn't recall. The last movement I really remembered was in the morning when I was just waking. He was a very active baby, constantly moving, but I couldn't remember feeling him move throughout the day. It hadn't crossed my mind to pay attention. At that moment I realized he could be in danger. She asked if I was sure I wanted to go to Tampa and I was adamant. I wanted my "own" doctors.
I told Lindsey to pray for me and then I began to call people from our church to ask for prayer- the Days, the Merinos, the Whealtons, the Wheeles- I was able to get ahold of no one. I recalled passing the church on our way to Debbie's and the parking lot had been full, so I tried to call the phone in the lobby, but I was unable to remember the phone number. It is very unusual for me to forget a phone number. My husband calls me the Rainman of numbers. I remember phone numbers, zip codes, addresses, etc. This particular day I could not remember the church number, nor could I remember the prayer chain phone number, nor countless other phone numbers. Either the phone number was lost in my memory, or the person was not at home. The only people I was successful in reaching that afternoon were my adult children.
I could feel I was getting weaker. We were on the parkway heading for Tampa, when I began to get light-headed. Ed wondered if we should go to Spring Hill Regional as we neared County Line Rd. I said "no." I needed "my" doctor, but I could barely keep my eyes open. We passed Conty Line Rd and went through the toll booth. I was struggling to stay awake. I told Ed I felt like I wanted to sleep. He told me to stay awake and began slapping my leg and shaking me and calling my name. My head started bobbing. I was having such a hard time keeping my eyes open. Immediately, Britt's hand was on the top of my head, and I know he never ceasead to pray for me that whole drive. I recall saying, "maybe we should turn around." That was all Ed needed.
My memory is scattered during the rest of that ride. I can remember Ed shaking me and saying my name. I remember Britt's hand on my head. At one point, I asked how far we were from County Line Rd. 2 miles. I could hold on til then, I told myself. That 2 miles felt like forever. Every moment I was awake I was praying for my unborn son.
We were confused trying to get to the Maternity Ward. The sign said Special Delivery and Emergency Room. Ed thought the Special Delivery was for UPS, FedEx, etc, so he drove to the ER. (Special Delivery really meant the Stork, maternity.) He ran in and explained the situation, but they thought he was a frantic father, so they gave him directions back to Special Delivery. His head was swimming. He was about to lose it when a young man from our chruch who had been in the waiting room of the Er told him he would ride with him and show him the way to the maternity ward. Britt's hand was on my head and he continuously prayed for me until we arrived at the maternity ward and I was ushered to a room.
It didn't take long for the nurses to realize I was losing a lot of blood. I was coherent now upon arrival and was able to explain all that had taken place. I was so concerned for my baby. I told them I needed a c-section and they could just put me to sleep and take my baby. I was hooked up to the fetal monitor quickly, the baby's heartbeat was found almost immediately, and I breathed a sigh of relief and thanksgiving to God.
A midwife was sent in to be with me, as well as a of couple nurses. Ed was ushered out to answer some questions. I was anxious to get the IV going in order to prepare for the c-section, but there was no doctor on duty! Then the heartbeat was lost. It felt, to me, that the monitor had slipped off my belly. The nurses were moving it all over trying to find my son's heartbeat. Every so often I'd hear a faint beat and think they found it, only to realize it was MY heartbeat. The heartbeat was never recovered. I don't think I really understood the depth of that until much later. At that point I had so much hope. He was alive! I'd heard his heartbeat. I told them to just put me to sleep. I didn't care. Just get my baby out! They were still waiting for the doctor to arrive, as they prepared me for surgery. The midwife was wonderful. But everything seemed like it was moving so slow. I was being prepared for a spinal. I didn't understand why they wouldn't give me an epidural. Maybe the spinal took effect more quickly, I don't know. It really didn't matter; all I wanted was to get my baby out.
Finally, I was wheeled to surgery. I passed Britt in the hallway. He was alone. Where was Ed? I gave him the thumbs up sign, meaning for him to pray, but I think he took it that everything was okay. I didn't want him to be afraid. Especally while he was all alone.
In the OR, it appeared the spinal was not taking very quickly. I was so afraid they were going to cut me while I could still feel. I explained to the nurses how Dr Brown was waiting for me at St Joseph's Women's Hospital in Tampa. I also told them my dad was Dr Hall. Someone called my dad. Someone called Dr Brown.
When, what seemed like an hour had passed, I was finally asked if they could put me to sleep. I said, "yes! I don't care!" I went to sleep with anticipation and hope. When I woke up - my hope was destroyed.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Inkling
There were one or two inklings that something was wrong...
I woke up Saturday morning, February 22, 2003 to the baby doing somersaults in my tummy. He did this every morning and evening and could be pretty active during the day, as well. Ed and I knew he was a boy, but we told no one else. We'd known since October. I wanted another boy. I wanted to name him after my brother. So we used Mike's middle name and Ed's older brother Tom's name. Our son, Grayson Thomas, was to be named after two much-loved brothers. I loved his name! I wanted a little boy I could call "Grayson" or "Gray."
As I said above, we told no one else he was a boy. Everyone was taking bets on the sex. Lindsey, our older daughter, just knew the baby was a boy until her aunt informed her that her dad had slipped. She,her aunt, had everyone convinced the baby was a girl. He was our eighth child. First, third, or eighth child - it doesn't change how very much you love them, nor how very much you desire them. I have seven children still living, a stepdaughter, and seven grandchildren (with an eighth due in January), yet there is still such a void, an empty place in my heart. I long for my son.
But back to Saturday ... I felt fine while laying in bed, however, once I was up and moving I felt a little crampy. We had a busy day ahead of us. Ed was working til 2:00 pm, then we would drive to Spring Hill for our goddaughter, Kearson's fourth birthday party, and then down the expressway to Tampa we'd go for our stepdaughter, Marisa's 30th birthday at a restaurant. It was a surprise. When I have cramps with my period, I get them a little different than most - in my joints; my knees and my thigh joints. Those are the type of cramps I was getting.
I cleaned my house, but felt like I shouldn't be moving around so much. I thought I was going into labor. I had a c-section sceduled for March 18th. I knew the timing was a bit premature, yet I knew he'd be fine if he came this early. My friend, Debbie, whose daughter's birthday we were celebrating, had all her children around 35 weeks. That was the safety zone. She would start going into labor with hers around 20-24 weeks along. It was always the doctor's goal to get her to 35 weeks, then they'd let her deliver. Grayson was 35 weeks along. I always feel like I have to explain this more in depth because when people hear he wasn't due just yet they say "oh" as if that takes away from the validity and reality of his life - and I have to say that I, too, once thought that way. Ignorantly so. What a fool I was. How many people have I hurt? I wonder - because I, too, have been hurt by someone unknowingly making out that his life wasn't that significant. What I have come to realize and understand is the mother knows that child. From the moment she's aware of a life growing inside her, she knows that child. Just as the psalmist spoke of God the Father in Psalm 139, "You are intimately acquainted with all my ways,..."
I realize I didn't know my son like my God, my Creator, my Savior knew him; yet, I, too, was intimately acquainted with his ways. His first movement was at 16 weeks, and he was, by far, my most active singleton I ever carried. My tummy was often lopsided or you'd see it dancing away. I "knew" my son, even though I'd yet to meet him.
I began to recognize I was cramping regularly. Labor pains, I knew. On the way to Debbie's, Ed and I were bickering a little, probably because we were late. I drive him crazy! I'm always late. I don't plan to be; it just happens that way. Well, I noticed my cramps were every 8 minutes. For labor that's far enough apart not to get too worried. I just needed to pay attention to them. Ed didn't know anything was going on at this time. I usually don't tell him until I know for sure. He panics. Seven kids, and he still panics!
At Debbie's, I felt very weak. I was kind of inside myself. I don't know how else to describe the feeling. I guess I was not feeling much a part of the party, very introverted. Debbie wanted to show me something in her playroom. I told her to give me a minute. I wasn't feeling too energetic. I just needed to sit a moment. Then I felt rude that I didn't pop up to see what she wanted to show me (I don't even remember what it was now). So I arose and followed her into the playroom. We talked a little while and I still didn't feel very strong, so I told her I didn't feel well (was I being a wimp?) and I was going to sit back down.
Soon after I sat back down, I felt a "pop!" and I was saturated with wetness. "Oh, my goodness!" I thought,"My water just broke! I've never had my water break before!" I called Ed's name. He was watching a ballgame of some sort. He got irritated with me.
"What?!" he said.
"Come here," I said quietly.
"What?!" he asked again, looking agitated.
Alright, I thought, I'll just blurt it out. "I think my water just broke."
He was at my side in a heartbeat. I was given the phone to call my doctor. I left a message that my water had broken. Debbie brought me a towel to wrap myself so I wouldn't be embarassed because of all the water.
When I stood to wrap the towel around me, I saw the blood - lots and lots of oozy, slimy blood!
I said, "oh, I'm bleeding."
I didn't realize it wasn't normal to bleed when your water breaks. Debbie told me, "Sandi, that's not normal."
"oh," was my reply. Then I had a couple more gushes of water/blood come out. It was running from the chair to the floor underneath and pooling up. I thought my c-section scar had ruptured. I knew I needed to get to the doctor quickly. My doctor then returned my call.
I told her, "my water broke, but I'm gushing blood!"
She told me to hurry on down to Tampa. She was waiting for me. But we never made it.
I woke up Saturday morning, February 22, 2003 to the baby doing somersaults in my tummy. He did this every morning and evening and could be pretty active during the day, as well. Ed and I knew he was a boy, but we told no one else. We'd known since October. I wanted another boy. I wanted to name him after my brother. So we used Mike's middle name and Ed's older brother Tom's name. Our son, Grayson Thomas, was to be named after two much-loved brothers. I loved his name! I wanted a little boy I could call "Grayson" or "Gray."
As I said above, we told no one else he was a boy. Everyone was taking bets on the sex. Lindsey, our older daughter, just knew the baby was a boy until her aunt informed her that her dad had slipped. She,her aunt, had everyone convinced the baby was a girl. He was our eighth child. First, third, or eighth child - it doesn't change how very much you love them, nor how very much you desire them. I have seven children still living, a stepdaughter, and seven grandchildren (with an eighth due in January), yet there is still such a void, an empty place in my heart. I long for my son.
But back to Saturday ... I felt fine while laying in bed, however, once I was up and moving I felt a little crampy. We had a busy day ahead of us. Ed was working til 2:00 pm, then we would drive to Spring Hill for our goddaughter, Kearson's fourth birthday party, and then down the expressway to Tampa we'd go for our stepdaughter, Marisa's 30th birthday at a restaurant. It was a surprise. When I have cramps with my period, I get them a little different than most - in my joints; my knees and my thigh joints. Those are the type of cramps I was getting.
I cleaned my house, but felt like I shouldn't be moving around so much. I thought I was going into labor. I had a c-section sceduled for March 18th. I knew the timing was a bit premature, yet I knew he'd be fine if he came this early. My friend, Debbie, whose daughter's birthday we were celebrating, had all her children around 35 weeks. That was the safety zone. She would start going into labor with hers around 20-24 weeks along. It was always the doctor's goal to get her to 35 weeks, then they'd let her deliver. Grayson was 35 weeks along. I always feel like I have to explain this more in depth because when people hear he wasn't due just yet they say "oh" as if that takes away from the validity and reality of his life - and I have to say that I, too, once thought that way. Ignorantly so. What a fool I was. How many people have I hurt? I wonder - because I, too, have been hurt by someone unknowingly making out that his life wasn't that significant. What I have come to realize and understand is the mother knows that child. From the moment she's aware of a life growing inside her, she knows that child. Just as the psalmist spoke of God the Father in Psalm 139, "You are intimately acquainted with all my ways,..."
I realize I didn't know my son like my God, my Creator, my Savior knew him; yet, I, too, was intimately acquainted with his ways. His first movement was at 16 weeks, and he was, by far, my most active singleton I ever carried. My tummy was often lopsided or you'd see it dancing away. I "knew" my son, even though I'd yet to meet him.
I began to recognize I was cramping regularly. Labor pains, I knew. On the way to Debbie's, Ed and I were bickering a little, probably because we were late. I drive him crazy! I'm always late. I don't plan to be; it just happens that way. Well, I noticed my cramps were every 8 minutes. For labor that's far enough apart not to get too worried. I just needed to pay attention to them. Ed didn't know anything was going on at this time. I usually don't tell him until I know for sure. He panics. Seven kids, and he still panics!
At Debbie's, I felt very weak. I was kind of inside myself. I don't know how else to describe the feeling. I guess I was not feeling much a part of the party, very introverted. Debbie wanted to show me something in her playroom. I told her to give me a minute. I wasn't feeling too energetic. I just needed to sit a moment. Then I felt rude that I didn't pop up to see what she wanted to show me (I don't even remember what it was now). So I arose and followed her into the playroom. We talked a little while and I still didn't feel very strong, so I told her I didn't feel well (was I being a wimp?) and I was going to sit back down.
Soon after I sat back down, I felt a "pop!" and I was saturated with wetness. "Oh, my goodness!" I thought,"My water just broke! I've never had my water break before!" I called Ed's name. He was watching a ballgame of some sort. He got irritated with me.
"What?!" he said.
"Come here," I said quietly.
"What?!" he asked again, looking agitated.
Alright, I thought, I'll just blurt it out. "I think my water just broke."
He was at my side in a heartbeat. I was given the phone to call my doctor. I left a message that my water had broken. Debbie brought me a towel to wrap myself so I wouldn't be embarassed because of all the water.
When I stood to wrap the towel around me, I saw the blood - lots and lots of oozy, slimy blood!
I said, "oh, I'm bleeding."
I didn't realize it wasn't normal to bleed when your water breaks. Debbie told me, "Sandi, that's not normal."
"oh," was my reply. Then I had a couple more gushes of water/blood come out. It was running from the chair to the floor underneath and pooling up. I thought my c-section scar had ruptured. I knew I needed to get to the doctor quickly. My doctor then returned my call.
I told her, "my water broke, but I'm gushing blood!"
She told me to hurry on down to Tampa. She was waiting for me. But we never made it.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Some Background
I really feel I want to share my journey into Grayson's Meadow. I'm not sure how to go about it. I guess I'll start with some background...
I have 8 children. I have always wanted a large family. 10 kids when I was younger, 6 kids when I was getting married. My attitude now - however many God wants to give me, but at 46, I'm sure 8 is as far as I'll go. I consider myself very blessed. I do not feel I've missed anything in life; I do not feel inferior if I'm around a woman of impressive career. I am right where I'm supposed to be and I'm content, and yet I look forward to the future.
My oldest 2 children came into my life when they were 5 and 3. They were from my husband's first marriage and in his constant care. I stepped in as "mom" when they were 5 and 3. They are my children. I love them with an intense and fierce love, as I love the children I've birthed. There is no difference in the love I feel toward them. When my oldest 2 were 10 and 8, I gave birth to my first biological child. 4 years later, I had another. 4 1/2 years later, I had another. 5 years later I gave birth to identical twins. 2 1/2 years later I gave birth to another. And I have a stepdaughter (actually a half step step daughter!) She is my husband's stepdaughter from his first marriage, and a vital part of our family. Including her, there are 9 children.
My children were all vivacious and completely healthy. Every pregnancy was amazing. Sure, I started off nauseous for the first 3 months, but when I hit the 4th month, my world became wonderful again. My last pregnancy came very unexpectedly, but welcomed with excitement all the same. My twins were not quite 2 when I found I was pregnant again. This pregnancy was different. I asked the Lord to spare me the sickness. I truly could not function if I were nauseous with trying to keep up with 2 year old very active boys! So, I was just sick in my mouth, if that makes any sense. It was a yucky taste I was given and not that whole "lay on the couch, do nothing because I absolutely can't stand it" sickness.
This baby was extremely active. The most active singleton I'd ever been pregnant with. My pregnancy was wonderful up until the day I went into labor. I had labor pains every 8 minutes. Later in the day my water broke, but it wasn't only my water. I was gushing blood! We rushed to the hospital. The heart monitor told me my baby was okay. An hour and a half later, I had lost 40% of my blood, and my baby was dead.
This is what I want to write about. As I'm able (and as I have my act together) I will post different excerpts from that journey - the journey into Grayson's Meadow.
I have 8 children. I have always wanted a large family. 10 kids when I was younger, 6 kids when I was getting married. My attitude now - however many God wants to give me, but at 46, I'm sure 8 is as far as I'll go. I consider myself very blessed. I do not feel I've missed anything in life; I do not feel inferior if I'm around a woman of impressive career. I am right where I'm supposed to be and I'm content, and yet I look forward to the future.
My oldest 2 children came into my life when they were 5 and 3. They were from my husband's first marriage and in his constant care. I stepped in as "mom" when they were 5 and 3. They are my children. I love them with an intense and fierce love, as I love the children I've birthed. There is no difference in the love I feel toward them. When my oldest 2 were 10 and 8, I gave birth to my first biological child. 4 years later, I had another. 4 1/2 years later, I had another. 5 years later I gave birth to identical twins. 2 1/2 years later I gave birth to another. And I have a stepdaughter (actually a half step step daughter!) She is my husband's stepdaughter from his first marriage, and a vital part of our family. Including her, there are 9 children.
My children were all vivacious and completely healthy. Every pregnancy was amazing. Sure, I started off nauseous for the first 3 months, but when I hit the 4th month, my world became wonderful again. My last pregnancy came very unexpectedly, but welcomed with excitement all the same. My twins were not quite 2 when I found I was pregnant again. This pregnancy was different. I asked the Lord to spare me the sickness. I truly could not function if I were nauseous with trying to keep up with 2 year old very active boys! So, I was just sick in my mouth, if that makes any sense. It was a yucky taste I was given and not that whole "lay on the couch, do nothing because I absolutely can't stand it" sickness.
This baby was extremely active. The most active singleton I'd ever been pregnant with. My pregnancy was wonderful up until the day I went into labor. I had labor pains every 8 minutes. Later in the day my water broke, but it wasn't only my water. I was gushing blood! We rushed to the hospital. The heart monitor told me my baby was okay. An hour and a half later, I had lost 40% of my blood, and my baby was dead.
This is what I want to write about. As I'm able (and as I have my act together) I will post different excerpts from that journey - the journey into Grayson's Meadow.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
forgiveness
Have you ever forgiven someone or said you've forgiven someone, but you no longer want anything to do with them? Have you forgiven someone over and over for the same thing? As a matter of fact, 271 times they've done this to you; you're keeping count! Have you ever said,"forget it. That's enough. I'm done with them"? I have.
I was reading The Lord's Prayer the other day. Did you realize Matthew 6:12 says, "forgive us our debts (sins, trespasses) as we forgive our debtors (those who sin/trespass against us)"? Forgive us AS we forgive. AS we forgive. We're asking God to forgive us AS we forgive others. I've said, "I forgive them, but I want nothing more to do with them." Do I want God to have nothing more to do with me? I've said, "they've done this over and over again. I've had enough." Do I want God to quit forgiving me for the same sin I commit over and over again? Just as others have their weak area of behavior, so do I. I'm no different than them. I may think I am. I may think my sin is better than theirs. Not quite as bad. But, really, my sin is no different. Sin doesn't come in levels. Sin is sin.
Read further in Matthew to verses 14,15 - "For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins." IF you DO NOT forgive, God WILL NOT forgive...
If I cannot let go, He will not let go. I cannot/will not live without Him. Forgiveness is a choice.
I am humbled. My attitude was wrong. The protective walls I place around myself so I'm not hurt by that person are really not so protective. As a matter of fact, they're quite damaging. They keep me from experiencing true forgiveness, both in extending my forgiveness to that person, and in receiving God's forgiveness. Forgiveness doesn't mean the perpetrator goes free, it means I, the forgiver, am set free. For with unforgiveness, I'm choosing to hold onto a hurt, which brings in bitterness and offense. Have you ever held onto offense? I have. I don't like it. It's heavy. It makes me unhappy. It makes me mean. I become very critical. When I am that way, I don't like myself very much. I don't want to live in bitterness, I want to live in betterness. God will justly deal with those who cause the pain. In forgiving, I'm letting go and leaving it to Him.
Forgiveness is an act of the will and heart. A conscious decision. Forgiveness molds me to the very character of God. Isn't that what I want? Forgiveness chooses to forgive even before the offense has been done. Isn't that what Jesus did when He went to the cross? What does Jesus expect from us when He says, "follow me"?
I was reading The Lord's Prayer the other day. Did you realize Matthew 6:12 says, "forgive us our debts (sins, trespasses) as we forgive our debtors (those who sin/trespass against us)"? Forgive us AS we forgive. AS we forgive. We're asking God to forgive us AS we forgive others. I've said, "I forgive them, but I want nothing more to do with them." Do I want God to have nothing more to do with me? I've said, "they've done this over and over again. I've had enough." Do I want God to quit forgiving me for the same sin I commit over and over again? Just as others have their weak area of behavior, so do I. I'm no different than them. I may think I am. I may think my sin is better than theirs. Not quite as bad. But, really, my sin is no different. Sin doesn't come in levels. Sin is sin.
Read further in Matthew to verses 14,15 - "For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins." IF you DO NOT forgive, God WILL NOT forgive...
If I cannot let go, He will not let go. I cannot/will not live without Him. Forgiveness is a choice.
I am humbled. My attitude was wrong. The protective walls I place around myself so I'm not hurt by that person are really not so protective. As a matter of fact, they're quite damaging. They keep me from experiencing true forgiveness, both in extending my forgiveness to that person, and in receiving God's forgiveness. Forgiveness doesn't mean the perpetrator goes free, it means I, the forgiver, am set free. For with unforgiveness, I'm choosing to hold onto a hurt, which brings in bitterness and offense. Have you ever held onto offense? I have. I don't like it. It's heavy. It makes me unhappy. It makes me mean. I become very critical. When I am that way, I don't like myself very much. I don't want to live in bitterness, I want to live in betterness. God will justly deal with those who cause the pain. In forgiving, I'm letting go and leaving it to Him.
Forgiveness is an act of the will and heart. A conscious decision. Forgiveness molds me to the very character of God. Isn't that what I want? Forgiveness chooses to forgive even before the offense has been done. Isn't that what Jesus did when He went to the cross? What does Jesus expect from us when He says, "follow me"?
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