What's the message, God?

After the ultrasound, they'd told me that the fetus was no bigger than 8 weeks - I was supposed to be 12. It had passed a month earlier - I was amazed that your body can still maintain its pregnant state for that long. Even act as if it were still pregnant, because I was assured my stomach was slowly growing! Being from a medical field, I knew that biologically, that miscarriages occur because something is biologically incompatible with life, but it became important for me to know exactly why. I pushed beyond my husband's opinion for a chromosomal study to be done. There was some part of me that felt that I had done some kind of danger to my body in my year and a half of drug usage that might have caused its fate. Maybe my blood pressure was off, or it affected its heart somehow. Who knows. But I wanted a definite reason. Turned out it was an extra allelle on one of the chromosones. Not my fault. And it was a boy. Which made me smile. We hadn't told our kids yet - not til after an amniocentesis would have been done and I knew we'd carry the fetus full term. I knew Mariah would be jumping in her skin with excitement about a baby, no matter what the sex was. Ian, I think he'd have a hard time connecting to a baby sibling given his age difference (he would have been 12), however a boy might have been easier for him. A little brother he could show the world to...

This was a small part of the sadness that overshadowed me at that time. There were so many little moments that were coming up in our future that I was looking forward to. Telling the kids, how much excitement we'd share in having a newborn in the house, feeling life move within me, the very first moments of birth shared in the hospital room between Jim, myself and the baby, that new baby smell, nursing in a rocker in the middle of the night, his small fist clasped around my little finger, walking hand in hand with that same fist, now a toddler, grasping onto my finger......that list was growing in my sad reflection.

It was such an up and down emotional rollercoaster for the next several weeks. After the D & C, they said to expect cramping later, but I'd not felt much at all. I'd spend days in bed, feeling listless, empty, barren in the finality of it all. Then the sun would shine, or I'd sit in church with our whole family and feel such an UP feeling. That life was good. My family - and I - was strong! After awhile, I could admit to feeling, underneath it all, *relieved* that He took this upon Himself. Not that I believed He killed the fetus, but that He allowed it to happen. Especially at the time that it did. Upon returning home after my visit to parents, that Monday, I was scheduled for the CVS - a procedure in which they take a miniscule part of the fetal sac and study it for abnormalities in the fetus. It can be risky. I can imagine the guilt I'd feel if I'd made it to that appointment, and experienced a miscarriage afterwards. Surely I'd feel I'd caused it. So there was a big underlying feeling of relief that it happened naturally, before I mucked it up in any way.

Then become teary later for feeling that way.

The biggest struggle in having this miscarriage was understanding God's plan - but honestly, isn't that what we all struggle with most of our lives with *anything* that happens? It shouldn't be any great surprise that I kept coming back to that.

That was where I continually got stuck. I felt so *strongly* that this was His plan for me. Honestly and fully letting go, and not being willful in the image I saw in my life was a GARGANTUAN first in my life. I'd never before been able to just let God have His way with me! (ooo, sounds sacreligious!! ) Never Had I been so able to just willingly accept that which I adamantly did not want and just trust in Him knowing He'd take care of me. He'd give me strength to face my fears of tomorrow. And in doing so, it gave me SUCH amazing peace and awareness and serenity! I wasn't sure of the outcome; I was so fearful of how we'd work a baby into our lives....but for the first time in my life, I felt sure in His plan and presence in my life. I knew He'd be there with me giving me strength that I didn't realize I had. And I was pretty much at peace with all of that. That was unfathomable to me, peace with that?!

So, it was such a shock that He'd change the plan on me. What's the message?? If I had gained such peace in accepting the plan, why take it away?!

After much deliberation, writing, sharing in meetings, it occured to me that it was likely never in His plan for me to actually give birth. In my understanding now, once again, I don't think God purposely kills fetuses, just that He knew from the beginning that mine wouldn't make it to birth. But I needed to go through with what I did to help me realize His awesome power. I needed to be able to let go absolutely and just trust in Him to realize that He gives me strength beyond my imagination for my own life. To be able to succumb to that which I'd NEVER be able to accept on my own. With Him, I have strength and power beyond my wildest dreams....to handle WHATEVER....even if it's so far from my OWN plan/vision/desire for my own life.

I had never acknowledged that even though I never gave birth that the learning and progress I - and we, as a couple - was valuable despite. Knowledge and understanding that we could use now -- needed to use now despite not having a newborn join us in a few months. God sent me that pregnancy, the Holy Spirit working within me to KEEP it, trusting in God's plan, so that He could save me and my family in many ways:
1. to quit smoking (which I've never taken back up. I'd not quit before without being pregnant, there was likely not anything foreseeable that would have made me quit so quickly and successfully)
2. to learn to give in to Him completely, trusting that there was a plan beyond my understanding
3. to learn to stand up for my needs despite the possibility of hurting/disappointing others
4. to recognize the need for changes between my husband and I
5. to embrace and DO all I can with EACH stage of my childrens' lives before they take off and leave us. I could recognize their time with us was so short.

I had thought His making me pregnant was sending these messages to me. I never anticipated that I'd still gain the benefit of them without giving birth.

It also gave me new strength to look at refraining from drinking. It was still my biggest struggle. Not actually in giving it up - that part was easy. But seeing it as necessary. And frankly, I just didn't want to do it. I'd not abused it in the past; I wanted to be able to drink as I always had done before the drug addiction took over. I could accept that it was a risky choice to do so, but I admitted to wanting to go back to a place in my life when I could safely do that again. Never drinking again was certainly NOT in the vision for my life. Yet I think this experience through Him was showing me that I have so much more strength to see past my own vision for my life, letting go absolutely. I wasn't sure what this meant for me tomorrow, I didn't know if I would be this accepting and strong in the future, in fact, I knew I wouldn't. But in that moment, I know He was trying to tell me how much strength I had with Him in my life, that He's always there despite my own stubborness to hold onto my own plan, and to remind me of the peace and serenity that could come with just letting go and trusting in Him.

Wow...what a message.

The End of New Beginnings

The trip to New York was a great break from my normal routine. A time to separate from my family, regroup, and contemplate our future. But also a time to feel useful to my parents, a time to begin healing with them too. My mother and I had a lot of history - much of it not perceived favorably in my head. It was good to be at her side, seeing her as human and fallible - a flawed, but lovable being who at all times, was just doing the best she could. My dad too, who I had placed so high on a pedestal, being with him daily gave me a fresh perspective of "humaness" too. Still my numero uno, but living with him, I could see his shortcomings, the weaknesses he carried as I was growing up, yet still look at him with love and forgiveness.

We traveled together each day on the train to the hospital downtown - a 45 minute ordeal - after spending the morning together working out at the gym. It's always interesting going back to my parents' home in my adulthood. I can feel their pride as they walk me around to their friends - my dad expressing a quieter sense of accomplishment. Always good at first impressions, I'd gladly stand in the umbrella of his admiration, cajoling his friends as we'd join in an exercise class. Then, ever quiet, we'd hop on a train to see Mom, hoping she'd not be too upset with us for arriving too late, immerse ourselves in a book for me, the newspaper for him. Later that evening, we'd rush to catch the last train home so that we could catch some reality tv show that evening while sharing a light dinner. My dad's a funny one - we always joke that he's a "metrosexual". Loves the Hallmark movies, the WE channel (for women), figure skating, and reality TV (Dancing with the Stars and Bachelor/Bachelorette being his favs). That peaceful togetherness we shared was so satisfying in its simplicity. I'll never forget that serene togetherness we shared.

Mom's surgery was uneventful and thankfully, successful. She was in the hospital for a short time which, again, was a blessing. Nights had always been difficult for her because she typically had a hard time sleeping, even while at home. Add to that a nursing staff that is barely adequate for the sleeping hours in the hospital, being alone, and a bed that's not your own and you understand her discomfort. She was always anxious for our arrival, if only for company. As a nurse, she understood the importance of activity and pushed herself to get up and move even when she didn't feel like it. Ever the co-dependent, competitive, people pleaser, she was adamant that we help her walk the hallways so that she could boast about her daily progress, despite the continued pain in recovery. Not a day would pass that she'd break down in tears of thankfulness that I took time away from my family to come and be with her; it meant the world to her.

Honestly, though, they didn't really need me too much. My mom is well liked in the community; they both have lots of friends. Especially through their "gym" - it's more of a well-care center, connected to a hospital. It provides benefits on your medical insurance, providing by computer at each machine, information about your health and then back to your file, notice of what you accomplished at the gym. Whatever Obama may be considering for health care reform, I think it'd be ideal for a system like this to be in place at all health clubs that adjust your insurance premiums (or goverment coverage) by how well you take care of yourself. But I digress....

We were stocked up to the brim with food being brought over by well meaning friends. Dad and I were invited to friends in the evenings. And as little time that we spent at home, we had little in the way of tidying the house. A quick deep clean the day before she arrived home was the hardest we worked, as we prepared for her critical eye.

As delightful of a visit as this way for me, I was shocked and anxious one late afternoon to find that I was spotting. Determined not become overly panicked, I put a call into my OB/GYN at home, leaving word through her nurse. Early in my pregnancy with Mariah I'd started to spot. I knew that it wasn't a definite sign of a problem.

Later that evening though, with still no call from my OB and the beginnings of small cramps low in my belly I became a bit more concerned. I called the OB again, leaving word this time with her answering service. I was due to head home on the plane in the morning, so I knew I could get in to see her the following day, but I was unsure if I should be traveling if this indeed was the beginning of a miscarriage. I called my husband in my slowly rising panic. The bleeding was slowly increasing. It was in times like this that I was glad to be the wife of a physician. Never one to pull the "doctor's wife" card, sadly, at times it did get you more immediate attention.

He called late that night after finally talking with her. He wasn't impressed. She acted almost as if he were disturbing her, and highly non-reactive. Several times he had to ask if she was still on the phone. Bottom line, however, she said there was nothing she could do while I was away in NY (surely we understood this), that if this were a miscarriage, that it was supposed to be happening. (our medical backgrounds both understood this already as well) We wanted to know if it was a quick process? Should I get on the plane in the morning? No way to tell, she said. Could happen quickly or over the next several days. Or I could just be bleeding. It happens. Basically, she was little help.

I lay in bed that night with the cramping increasing in equal amounts with my anxiety. I was determined to get on that plane, and prayed that I'd make it home to Jim. My biggest fear was being trapped in the plane's bathroom as I passed a dead fetus into the plane's commode system. Yet every part of my being screamed out to get home to the comfort of my husband's arms.

As much as I'd dreaded the thought of having this baby, in this moment I was petrified that we were going to lose it. Never in my dreams did I think about that possibility. I figured at the very worst, He'd give me a disabled child because of my background; never ever could I have fathomed the baby not making it to delivery.

I prayed through the cramps, hoping for the best, but anticipating the worst each time I used the restroom. Something inside me knew this was over. I don't even remember the plane ride home.

I met Jim at his hospital emergency room, already feeling dead inside. But I held on to hope.

They rushed me into an ultrasound room, using a more sensitive wand inside me to see its contents. The technician said little, excusing herself to ask the doctor to come in and talk with us. She didn't need to, though. I could read it in her retreating silence and Jim's damp eyes.

Endless minutes later, the doctor entered and pulled up the screen before us. There she pointed out a small, yet empty looking sac. Like a sad little cocoon. But missing its tiny butterfly within. It seemed such a short time ago that I looked at that same screen with trepidation at a miniscule beating blip of a heart. We stared now at its dead emptiness.

The knowing within became incredulous in its final reality. I couldn't believe it was ending like this. All the preparation. The incredible mountains of faith I'd climbed to get me to where I was, the sureness of the Holy Spirit telling me to move forward with the birth of this child.

Why? Why? I just couldn't wrap my understanding around it. I was so sure that I was being led by something Divine. Why take it away?

Jim was openly upset as we left the hospital; me, just numb. Speechless. Feeling empty. And still cramping, getting worse.

I pushed to have a D&C performed, scheduling it for the next morning. The doctor said it wasn't necessary, however, a miscarriage could go on for days. And the pain associated with it could be alarming.

I woke from anesthesia the next morning in tears that lasted throughout the day. I don't remember feeling devastated; just numb and empty. And confused. How could this God I so fully handed over my life, more fully than I'd ever done before, take this child from us? Yes, down deep, I could feel a sense of relief that we didn't actually have to go through with everything, but really? I hand my life to you, Lord, I listen, I follow Your lead....and you take it away? Really? What was I missing? Why did you make me go through all of this just to take it away?

Marching Forward

There was still so much to accomplish; within myself and within our marriage before I'd feel ready to raise another child.

In couples' therapy, Fleet asked that we write each other exactly what we needed in order for our marriage -- and life with a newborn -- to work in future. To try to narrow it down to what was most imperative for success.

Jim had one. Be honest.

I chuckle to myself now - I had ten.

1. Nurture me - I'd always been seen as the rock in the family, and was proud to take it on. I needed Jim to see through that and realize I needed nurturing, pampering and attention too.
2. Respect me - I needed him to accept me as I was; different from the organized, Type A personality that he was, helping me to accept that difference as well.
3. Be open to change - I didn't know what the logistics of our life would be like with a baby, but I needed him to be willing to put the family's needs first over his work. He'd been financially successful enough that he should be able to cut back and be a more integral part of the family unit with this new child.
4. Lay off the sexual tension - and increase our intimate time together, finding ways to touch that wasn't in the bedroom. Holding hands during a walk, rubbing my feet as we watched a movie, massaging my neck as I stood in the kitchen. Without my needing to ask for it. I needed that intimacy back beyond the bedroom.
5. Find more alone time together - Jim and I had always been consistent with going on dates or even taking weekend trips alone together, but during the week it was usually business as usual. Dinner, talk of the children, bedtime duties, then he went to bed himself. Logistically, I wasn't sure how this might happen, just that we needed it.
6. Share the parenting role with me - Set limits, back me up, don't undermine me when I'm not around, and spend more time home with us. Or time alone with *them*.
7. Be self - reliant - He never quite understood/understands what I do all day, thinking that adding one more task to my list was not a big deal. I needed him to realize that there was nothing in me that would allow me to be a slacker, that I *worked* all day too. I asked that he take care of himself - not make me a slave to tasks that he could accomplish on his own. And if he was too tired to do these things at the end of the day, either cut back on his work day so that he wasn't, or make sure they were completed before he went to work in the AM.
8. Encourage me to find healthy modes of "escape" - whether that was escaping at night to be with friends, or becoming involved elsewhere. I encouraged him to hold me accountable for my time, have me followed if needed, but recognize that I needed "girl-time" and time away from my "workplace".
9. Find a spiritual couples retreat together that we'd repeat on a regular basis.
10. Help me parent our children - Funny, I didn't realize til now that I'd basically repeated myself here. Should move parenting up higher on the list. My explanation here, however, acknowledged our differences in strengths of parenting. I was good with limit setting and understanding what they needed - he was much better with persevering, holding strong to what we *agreed* upon - agreeing being the key factor.

****Aside/update - in reliving these imperative requests for our happy marriage, I can say that most have greatly improved, though many require continual revisiting and need my regular reminding. Both to myself and him. I've since given up the anxiety and dissatisfaction of needing to do so; I try to refrain from framing it in an attitude of him not really caring about me. It's been many years of my training him otherwise, my training him that I was super-woman, ultra low maintenance that it will take awhile to show him otherwise, and more importantly, to train ME. To train me that it's important to learn to receive rather than give, to take myself off the pedestal so he has the opportunity to nurture, to be an active father. But most importantly, that I can't ask that he be my therapist. That I need to recognize those co-dependent issues myself (or with a therapist or sponsor), the need to people please, seek self-worth opportunities, the need to OVERdo, and adjust those attitudes myself. I need him to be a supportive in that, in fact a cheerleader for that - but I can't expect him to advocate for something that is ingrained to the opposite in his mind - a way in which allows him to be pampered to. The only thing we have never addressed is finding a couple's retreat which I'd still love to do. He's less open to sharing within a group setting, or even to understanding what a valuable gift that is in the first place (even if no obvious dysfunction is apparent in the marriage). I understand that this will be my doing, my request, and my urging, but also know that he would grumble yet come around. And fully love the experience on the other side.


Personally, I was still attending meetings three times a week and meeting with both my sponsor and my therapist. In light of my pregnancy, I'd smirk thinking of God. I knew in my heart that at least one of the reasons that He'd made this happen was to keep me sober for a full year. That my three month commitment was coming up and that I was no where near close to being ready to drink again. I'd just begun my fourth step in AA with my sponsor - the step in which you looked into your weaknesses/faults/poor decisions (which, for those that I wasn't in denial of, I was quite good at. A good self-basher, I was). But there was much more on the other side of the fourth step which I needed to address, allowing me to emotionally and spiritually heal, before I could think about adding alcohol into the mix. In a 12-step program, there is daily affirmation that God quite often does for you what you can't do for yourself. Looking at my subtlely growing abdomen, I could offer up a small guffah.

I'd change it up from time to time from my regular meetings, though I continued to feel that I was divinely led to each one, each providing a characteristically special gift to me. Yet, to not grow stagnant, out of curiosity, and sometimes out of need, I'd find another meeting. I went once with a newfound friend, newly sober (for a month and a half, who, incidentally, has since disappeared). The meeting was smaller than any of my others - I believe besides my friend and myself, there were four others. In amazement, I learned that one was a pastor! He shared stories of being on religious workshops/retreats and being shocked that not everyone went for a drink at lunch. And humbled when he realized that he was being shunned by the other pastoral staff on his return, because of his inappropriate boisterousness and comments, being told later of how much he wreaked of alcohol.

Addiction is an equal opportunity offender. It doesn't just strike the weak and slime of the earth -- though it certainly lowers many of us to act on that level. That was a good realization for me. There was so much shame involved with using meth-amphetamine, that I was something "less than" for even getting involved - or more, for letting it take control. It was relieving to know that there were active professionals and even the (usually) morally straight, virtuous clergy doing the same thing. That it had nothing to do with some morally deficient gene or inner derangement on my part.

I was also able to look at my alcohol use from another angle. A young college student was one of the other four that sat the table that day. He said he was impressed that I could speak so openly about my drug addiction; that he too had dabbled with drugs quite a bit and although he could admit that he was alcoholic, he was still unwilling to look at his drug use. That maybe, in hearing my bravery in my honesty of my drug use, that he needed to look a bit closer at his own. I responded back (a bit of crosstalk, in the smallness of the group, was tolerated at this meeting)that I was just the opposite. That I could readily see my addiction to stimulants and nicotine as well as addictive behavior in computer usage, but frankly, that I was offended by the suggestion that I might be an alcoholic. There was nothing in my drinking habits that suggested alcoholic behavior. I didn't carry any of the same stories, desperation to use alcohol, or feelings of relief that many of those spoke of around the tables. In fact, I'd become irritated with those that encouraged me in this pregnancy, saying "Just think, you'll be raising this child *sober*!" I WAS sober while raising my kids, I didn't have the same stories of neglect that many of them did. I've since come to understand that "sober" has many definitions, the least of them (for me) being alcohol-free.

On my way home driving in the solitude of the car, however, I began to allow myself to see how much my alcohol usage was increasing at the end of the time I was using drugs. Though I was not hiding bottles, I relocated them to the dining room so it wasn't readily apparent to my family in the open design of kitchen/family room that I was going for a refill. My switching to a coffee cup to drink out of, readily answering that it was wine within if asked, but disguising it from first impression. Though I never lied about my alcohol usage to others, drinking helped me to lie to *myself*. It helped to keep my head in the sand, assuaging those negative feelings so that I could continue to tell myself I was living a happy, fulfilled life. It helped kill the anger.

Hmmmm.

At the same time, my experiences were allowing me to be a mentor to those around me. Part of a 12-step program is in mentoring another as a sponsor, and though I still felt way too new to do that, I couldn't help but utter my new awareness and learning to those around me. My children, my husband, my small group - so many of us living in Christian servitude, and living the life of people-pleaser, but especially my mother. My mother, God love her, who was one of my best and fervent teachers of co-dependency. Not only was I learning to set small boundaries with her, but I was able to help her recognize her own co-dependency with my father so that she could live more in harmony with him rather than complaining about him to me. Especially when I held *him* in such high esteem, it was always difficult to hear.

But more specifically, I was able to use my own learning in adjusting my attitudes about this pregnancy to help her deal with some of her own health issues and upcoming decisions. She had had colon surgery a year before, which had caused subsequent problems that resulted in her being on a clear liquid diet for most of the following *year* in an attempt to correct the problem. Not only that, but the pain and discomfort from the resulting problems caused her to drop out of many of the physical activities that she greatly enjoyed. She'd since seen another doctor that promised her that he could fix the problem, but my mother was extremely fearful of going through another procedure. All doctors could utter assurance and confidence, but she often was left with results that were less than expected. She didn't feel she had it left in her to go through yet another procedure.

Just as I thought I didn't have it in me to go through another pregnancy and child rearing.

I urged her to realize that it didn't have to be the same picture. That she knew SO much more now, that she could make demands for her treatment that she was unaware of before. That she was so much further down the line of understanding and awareness to ever allow it to be the same picture. Even if the worst happened. That the alternative - living her life greatly altered in diet and exercise - was a lifelong, emotional (and physical) strain. Just as the alternative for me (aborting the child) would be a lifelong emotional strain I'd carry.

Thankfully - maybe in part to my mentoring - she signed up for another surgery to correct the first. And I flew out to New York to be with her and my father, helping to alleviate her fears of surgery and recovery, and to provide my father with domestic help.

Little did I realize the trauma that I'd be met with while caring for them.