Sweet baby, this is the beginning of your story. It is one that has already impacted the lives of many, and one that I know will only continue to bring Glory and honor to Him. I can't wait to teach you how much He loves you.
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My doctors had been talking to me since I was hospitalized last Thanksgiving about having the re-sectioning surgery to better control my UC, but they were doing their best to help keep me in remission and control my flares and symptoms until I was finished having children. Because my disease had moved to the moderate/severe category, the doctors (my primary GI and two consultants) decided that the best course of action for me was to give me a very high dosage of monthly Remicade infusions (double the dose and double the frequency of “regular patients”) combined with a pill form of 6mp. I had to read over all of the paperwork and listen to my doctor go over the risks with each of these medicines individually as well as the increased risk of taking them together. Apparently when taken together, there is an increased risk of a certain type of lymphoma in young, otherwise healthy females, and then there is a risk of birth defects. The first risk was not too difficult for us to trust God with, as we have been told about my increased cancer risks since I was first diagnosed with UC, but the risk to our unborn children was much harder to swallow. Ultimately, Brandon and I prayed through it and decided that me having a better quality of life would be a better decision for our current family (Mommy, Daddy and Avaree), since at the time I couldn’t even walk to the back of a grocery store to get milk without having an accident.
In early July of 2012, I went to Baylor Plano for a couple hours of testing and found out that my body had not been metabolizing the 6mp (the more lethal of the two medications) for the past month or so, and thankfully, I was still in remission, so I was able to get off of that awful drug. Praise! When I first started taking it, I had also just gone up to a double dose of Remicade, and I was on a fresh dose of Prednisone, I remember calling my doctor to tell him that my skin felt like it was crawling and peeling off all at once!! I recognize now that those months on that much medication was preparing my body for what was to come.
Daddy and I had been praying for many months on adding to our family. We had so many factors to consider, and ultimately, we just wanted to make sure that we were in God’s will. At the time, Daddy didn’t have insurance and was about a year away from finishing school. Also, we knew it would be very difficult to carry two childcare payments within our current situation, and then there was the added factor of us living in a two-bedroom apartment (which your big sister tenderly refers to as “Our Princess Castle!”). So, we prayed about it, and discussed it many times over the course of about six months, and then after hearing the news that my body had not been metabolizing the medication, we prayed for confirmation that what we felt like God was leading us toward was truly Him and not just our desires. Baby, let me tell you something—not only did God confirm for us in a thousand small ways that His ultimate plan for our lives was beginning to unfold before our eyes, but he confirmed it in large ways too.
We found out that we were pregnant with you on the first day of school, August 27, 2012. Mommy had a feeling, and after Daddy took Ave and I out for a celebratory back to school dinner, I asked him to stop at Walgreens and pick up a test. In contrast to the seven tests that I took with your sister, I just took one with you. I took the test as soon as we got home, and then after seeing the “pregnant,” I said a quick prayer asking the Lord to just keep you safe and help you grow well, and then I put the stick down in front of Daddy and went to grab your sister. Your Daddy was beside himself.
We didn’t tell her until her birthday party, and when we said our nightly prayers we prayed for “the little one,” and I think she just always thought we were talking about her!
While we were intentional in “trying” to having you, and we had confirmation from the Lord that this was His plan for our lives, we were a bit apprehensive (Well, it is more accurate to say that I was; Daddy is always so steady in His faith.) about your health, Mommy’s health, and the general details of our lives, but God took care of all of that.
Two weeks after we found out that we were pregnant, we found out that Daddy was the final candidate for the music pastor position at LABC—and while we were not looking for this and deeply involved at First Hurst, we could feel God’s hand surrounding us. We knew that this position would come with benefits, and we knew that it was all part of His plan. I can only describe it to you by saying that His presence was palpable over the next few months as all the details were worked out.
Fast forward to our thirteen week appointment, and when we saw your sweet little face for the first time. You were tiny and beautiful, but you were there. Our sonographer, Janet, who would become a very important person in our journey to meet you, said that all measurements looked great, and we even moved your due date up to April 27. Again, we were so very thankful that everything looked good. While I hadn’t uttered the words (because that would make them true), I was full of anxiety about the effects of my medication—especially since I was still actively taking such a high dose of my infusion treatment. But, when Janet gave us the good news, we decided to forego sending off the blood tests, and we would trust that you were just perfect.
Looking back, I now know that this was God protecting me from percentages that would haunt me, and I am so thankful for that.
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Our twenty-week appointment was on Monday, December 17th, and Mommy also had treatment that afternoon, so I took the whole day off and let big sister stay home too! Daddy also took off of work so that he could be there for our appointment and then escort me to and from treatment that afternoon. Your big sister was beside herself with excitement! She couldn’t WAIT to see you on the big screen! She had been with us at our thirteen-week appointment, so she knew what to expect. We got to the doctor’s office a few minutes early, but Janet was running a little behind, so we ended up waiting a little longer than usual in the waiting room. Sister had been feeling a little puny that weekend, but she hadn’t run a fever or slowed down much, but once we got to the doctor she just wanted to be held. Once they finally called Mommy’s name to go back for our sonogram, we found out that someone had left the heater on all weekend, and that the equipment in the sonogram room had gotten overheated, so we would be going to a different room for our sonogram, and we wouldn’t be able to use the new equipment and big screen, but that we could still see you! As we were walking down the hallway, Daddy was carrying Avaree, and then (out of nowhere) she vomited everywhere—all over Daddy, herself, the hallway, and the wall. The nurses immediately got towels for us, and thankfully I had an extra pair of clothes for Sissy in the car. Poor sister did not look good, and she and Daddy were both drenched. So, I washed her off, put new clothes on her, and cuddled her for a while, and then the office manager told us that we would need to reschedule because of office policy. You were immediately disheartened, and you said, “But I want to see my baby!” as you cried big crocodile tears. I was on the verge of tears too, as I was both worried about sister, and I knew that I had already taken off that day, and there would be no other time to reschedule. So, they said that siter and Daddy had to leave, but they let me stay and have our sonogram. Sweet Janet taped the sonogram so that Ave and Daddy could see it later. I never knew how important that DVD would be to me.
In a tiny room, looking at a tiny computer screen, Janet started the sonogram. She showed me your sweet little profile, and then she started looking at all of your intricately woven parts. I remember her saying something like this: “Well, there is one marker. Okay, there is another one. Let me go check and see if they will let your husband come back.” There were some words in between those statements, but I could tell by her voice that something was wrong. I sat on that table staring at the screen and just praying that you would be okay. She came back in and told me that they won’t let Daddy come back, so we would continue with the sonogram. I didn’t ask many questions, and my tears were already flowing, but I remember saying, “So, what does that mean?” She told me that Dr. Neal would talk to me about it more, but that basically you had too much fluid in your kidneys and that you had an echogenic foci in the left ventricular artery of your heart. At that time, I couldn’t ask any more questions: I couldn’t even form words with my mouth. Janet kept talking and tried so hard to be encouraging. She said that fluid on the kidneys is common, and that the echogenic foci is less common, but that together, the risks for chromosomal abnormalities are greater.
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I remember getting dressed, and I remember that they didn’t make me go back to the waiting room; instead, they took me straight to a room and Dr. Neal came right in. He was holding the sonogram pictures, and once he saw my face, he just came over and gave me a big ‘ole hug.
I’m pretty sure I cried through the whole appointment, and I remember just wishing for your Daddy. He would know what questions to ask, and he would be able to hold himself together, but I couldn’t. Thankfully, Dr. Neal filled in when I couldn’t. He told me that we basically had a few options. We could go to a perinatologist, get an amniocentesis, be bombarded with statistics that he knew would never affect our decision to love and care for you, and then we could see a genetic counselor to talk about the future; or we could just take the wait and see approach. Dr. Neal knew that this is the approach we would take, and he was right. Dr. Neal walked me to the front desk, hugged me again, and said that he would see me in four weeks for another sonogram. He had explained that there is a chance that the markers could be gone at 24 weeks, and that we need them to be gone at 28 weeks.
I walked to the car, and your sweet vomit-drenched Daddy immediately knew that something was wrong. I handed him the pictures and the DVD, and then I just cried. I eventually found enough words to tell him what I had learned, and he immediately prayed for you and said that everything would be fine.
We got home to the princess castle and put the DVD in. Your precious sister jumped around yelling, “That’s my baby, that’s my baby!” while Daddy did the only google-ing that was allowed. He had so many questions, and, of course, I couldn’t answer them, so he sought answers.
Then, we waited, and we prayed. Boy, did we pray. I’ve never prayed so fervently about anything in my life. We made the decision not to tell anyone, but a few days in, Brandon knew that I needed someone to talk to—someone a little more like me. I was harboring a load of guilt. I felt like it was my fault because I had taken the medicine that could cause this. I knew that guilt was not from the Lord, but there were nights when it suffocated me. I confided in a couple of dear friends, and that helped. Daddy told a few staff members at church, and we separately began to deal with this, while trying to make sure Avaree never knew anything was going on. I struggled a lot over the next few days with just knowing what to pray. I felt selfish asking for my baby to be healed and perfectly healthy (even though that is what I truly wanted), and at the same time, I wanted God’s plan for you (and for us), as I know that regardless of how things may seem at any given moment, His plan is always better.
So, I cried. A lot. I read books about big sisters and babies with special abilities, and I cried. I thought about all of the expectations that I had for how you would grow up playing with your big sister, and enjoying every second of life to the fullest, and then I wondered about God’s plan for you and for our family.
We prayed feverishly for you, and we waited. Your little life has already grown our faith in more ways than we could ever tell you.
At our twenty-four week appointment, I woke up feeling peaceful, and I just knew that it was going to be a miracle Monday. Daddy and I took Ave to school, and then we had an hour together at Starbucks before our appointment. I was distracted, but trying to enjoy my coffee date with Daddy. We shared our fears, we cried, and we prayed that God would work a miracle in your little body, and that he would prepare us to be the best parents that we could be for you.
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We went to our appointment, and Janet began the sonogram. She went straight to your two markers. The fluid in the kidneys was still there, though it had not increased (Praise!), and the echogenic foci was still there.
We, again, were transferred to a room and waited just moments for Dr. Neal. He didn’t seem near as concerned as he did on our last visit (probably because I had Daddy with me, and he didn’t have to play doctor and supporter). He assured us that there was still a very high chance that both markers would go away, and he again gave us the same two options that he had given us before.
We, again, chose to wait and see.
At this point, Christmas had come and gone, and it was mid-January, so we decided it was time to tell our families. It was at that point that many, many people started praying for you.
…
At our twenty-eight week appointment, our sonographer joyously proclaimed that the fluid in the kidneys had gone down to a normal level, and she could not even find the echogenic foci. She ultimately concluded that it must have been the papillary muscle all along, but we know that God healed you—and science can’t explain that away.
I remember Daddy taking me straight to my treatment after that appointment, and my sweet nurse, Tasha, could barely get my IV in because I was still shaking and crying as I recounted the story to her.
We are so thankful for everyone who prayed for you (and for us) during this time. Looking back, it is hard to believe that it was only eight weeks between the time that we were told about your markers and the time that we found out they were gone. It seemed like an eternity.
But, oh, how I learned. I memorized more scriptures in those eight weeks than I have in my whole life. I cried out aloud (on many occasions) when I was suffocating with fear that “The God of Angel Armies is always by my side.” Even your Daddy cried.
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Baby, you are so loved, so wanted, so prayed for, so needed in this family and in this world. My heart is palpitating just writing this and thinking about what God must have planned for your little life.
I don’t know when we will meet you.
I don’t know when that final push will come and your little body will be placed on my chest for the first time.
I don’t know how many hours it will take for you to get here.
I don’t know if it will be this week, next week, or if we will have to be induced.
I don’t know if you will be a boy or a girl.
I don’t know what your big sister will say when she meets you for the first time (though I have my ideas).
I don’t know how our lives will change in the next few weeks and months.
I don’t know what life will look like next year.
But…I do know the One who does.
I do know that you are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”
I do know that you are loved.
I do know that I sit in sister’s “rock rock chair” that she has so graciously “given” to you, and I dream of your sweet little smell and what it will feel like to hold you in my arms while she is reading us a story.
I do know that I will melt every single time your sister or your Daddy hold you, sing to you, read to you, and love on you.
I do know that your Daddy will have two little ones that adore him.
I do know that life will be richer and full of more love with you in it.
I do know that you, our sweet baby, are precious in every way and have already taught us so much.
I do know that I cannot wait to meet you.
You are so special: Your story has already begun…
I love you,
Mommy
“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” –Psalm 139:14
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