Delivering miracles

I had worked Monday night then spent the unusually warm Tuesday evening sitting outside in the sun.  Isaiah (6), Thia (4), and Ella (2) drew pictures on my legs with washable markers as I snoozed in the happy March sun, anticipating what the rest of the week would look like.

It was Wednesday morning, 6 a.m. when I managed to heave my well rested body out of bed.  My shirt was stretched tight over my swollen belly.  This was our last day as a family of five, and I wanted to get a jump on the last minute cleaning before I went into surgery the following day.

 

As I picked up stray clothes and toys I began to feel twinges of pain, subtle but growing.  Tim hadn't left for work yet, and I casually informed him that I was having contractions.  This was baby number four, which would normally make me an expert in identifying signs of the labor process, but that was not what life had given me despite all of my wishing.

My previous birthing experiences added up to a breech diagnosis (thank you Isaiah for the hint that you would be stubborn and strong willed), a labor induction (Thia, as is her nature, came into this world quietly), and an emergency C-section (Ella continues her flair for drama even now.)  From the beginning, I had hoped and dreamed of experiencing the process naturally.  I wanted to feel the surprise of the baby telling me it was time to enter the world.  I wanted to know the pain of childbirth. 

As the minutes ticked away, I began to wonder if all of my desiring was quickly becoming reality.  I had spent the last few weeks hoping that surgery could be avoided, but knowing in truth it wasn't safe to plan the birth any other way.  Knowledge didn't keep me from praying for a miracle.  I knew my God was big enough to work out the details, and I asked him to.  I remember saying, "God, you know the desires of my heart.  You know what's best for me.  I'm asking you to do this for me, but if you choose not to, help me to accept that."  I waited and I hoped and I dreamed and I prayed. . .

I was hurting enough that I asked Tim to go into work late "just in case."  I called my sister Lynda to ask her what labor felt like, as I became concerned when my legs began to feel numb.  At her suggestion, I called my doctor who told me to come into the office when it opened at 9.  Tim put Isaiah on the school bus and came back to the house to find me kneeling on the floor.  I told him we needed to leave. . . NOW!

He strapped Thia and Ella into their car seats, and we headed to the office that was at least 30 minutes away.  Though my eyes were closed, I got the feeling we made it there much faster than that.  My doctor took one look at my face and announced that the baby would becoming out. . . soon.   I was scheduled to deliver at Christ Hospital which was another 35 minutes from the office, but the highway was closed because of an accident.  Even in active labor, I thought about how much it was going to cost me to deliver the baby out-of-network. 

We drove 5 minutes down the road and I had Tim drop me off at the entrance to the out-of-network hospital.  He left to park the car as I waddled my way up to the maternity floor, pausing with each wave of pain.  Humorous to me now, I actually waited at the registration desk and filled out "required" paperwork.

They finally got me back to a room when Tim showed up with the girls to finish registering me.  To my relief, Lynda made it to the hospital in time to talk me through the experience, and my sweet Eliza Lynn was born a few minutes later.

Notice the time of 9:52.  She came fast and furious.

To say I was amazed would be inadequate to describe my feelings that day.  Even now, I think back to the experience and marvel at how each piece moved perfectly into place.  Knowing how intentionally I prayed, I can't give credit to anyone but God.  He is the lover of my soul, the author of my life, the giver of desires, creator of the world, the artist of all miracles, and the knower of my name.