32 weeks and 2 years
“Hello, 32 weeks. These babies are hustlin' & bustlin' in there, growing big & fast. And right on schedule with what my team of doctors said, my pain levels and lack of mobility are on the rise daily. 4 more weeks and a few days before these babies HAVE to make their debut, and I C A N N O T wait🗓⏰How can you pray for these wee boys and their not-wee-mama, you ask? Though the countdown is on for 4 more weeks, they really aren't due for another 8 and a bit. It's because of their precarious setup in there that they must be delivered 4wks before then. So, please pray for their development & readiness to meet us; that their lungs and temperature-regulators and everything else on the list would be good & ready to go! If you need me, I'll be on the couch/bed/other-couch until then😉😬🙄😂” - Me, after bear-crawling upstairs to snap these gems 📸
Two years ago, the #insideboys were 32 weeks!! I was so pleased to have even made it that far. And equally exhausted from making it that far, too.
I was pretty good at putting on a brave face, but this was also the week that I was called urgently into the ER because of my EKG results, the day before thanksgiving. The team of doctors informed us that the “highly probable” verdict was either a pulmonary embolism or perinatal cardiomyopathy (heart failure). They laid out the options; have scans/tests/scary things done that have medium to high known chances of damage to our precious inside-boys, as we referred to them during my pregnancy, to verify and/or rule out the likely issues, OR to opt not to do the scans/tests/scary things and go with the unknown.
I’ll never forget the doctor’s tone of voice as he told us that IF I did in fact have perinatal cardiomyopathy and went into labor and birth without knowledge of it, my own survival rates were “dismal”. And then, if that weren’t enough to swallow, he shared that if I did indeed have a pulmonary embolism during labor and birth, without prior knowledge, I “wouldn’t make it through.” He spoke so solemnly, my bones felt cold. But the urgency he brought to each sentence was earnest. Ruairí and I asked if we could have a minute to consider our options.
We chose the scans/tests/scary things. Ruairí laid hands on me and my belly full of boys to pray. We cried and shook with uncertainty. I wasn’t even sure of God’s goodness in that moment, which is likely the most painfully vulnerable sentence I’ve ever written. But I WAS 100% committed to putting myself and my babies into His hands, even if my mind hadn’t caught up with my resolve yet.
They wheeled me off to the scans/tests/scary things. My belly was so far expanded from the rest of my body that I barely fit into some of the machines. All the while they monitored each boy’s heart and fluids and blood flow and watched for any distress. They kept me hooked up to watch for contractions, and told me every two minutes to tell them if I felt “anything off.”
And then we waited. For hours and hours and hours. All my symptoms persisted through the day. And we prayed some more.
The final results came, and they were not likely death sentences. Hallelujah. They were, however, complex and layered. I had a long and winding road of recovery ahead. The prognosis still follows me around like a faint shadow today.
But He was there and was faithful like always. He has shown me that I didn’t know all that much about His love then, and when I think I do know that much now, He gently (generally gently, anyway!) reminds me that He’s got oh so much more to reveal to me. And guys, I DID and I DO know about His love. He is just that much better than we can figure out.
To say that Thanksgiving that year was extra meaningful would be a grand understatement. Two years on and the thankfulness seeps deeper and deeper into my bones. It's like a beautiful heap of God working out the details and the mess, one instance piled onto another and another, all there for me to look back on and thank my God.
#thankful #tribeward #twomorewardboys #twinmama
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| 32weeks, on the nose. |
Two years ago, the #insideboys were 32 weeks!! I was so pleased to have even made it that far. And equally exhausted from making it that far, too.
I was pretty good at putting on a brave face, but this was also the week that I was called urgently into the ER because of my EKG results, the day before thanksgiving. The team of doctors informed us that the “highly probable” verdict was either a pulmonary embolism or perinatal cardiomyopathy (heart failure). They laid out the options; have scans/tests/scary things done that have medium to high known chances of damage to our precious inside-boys, as we referred to them during my pregnancy, to verify and/or rule out the likely issues, OR to opt not to do the scans/tests/scary things and go with the unknown.
I’ll never forget the doctor’s tone of voice as he told us that IF I did in fact have perinatal cardiomyopathy and went into labor and birth without knowledge of it, my own survival rates were “dismal”. And then, if that weren’t enough to swallow, he shared that if I did indeed have a pulmonary embolism during labor and birth, without prior knowledge, I “wouldn’t make it through.” He spoke so solemnly, my bones felt cold. But the urgency he brought to each sentence was earnest. Ruairí and I asked if we could have a minute to consider our options.
We chose the scans/tests/scary things. Ruairí laid hands on me and my belly full of boys to pray. We cried and shook with uncertainty. I wasn’t even sure of God’s goodness in that moment, which is likely the most painfully vulnerable sentence I’ve ever written. But I WAS 100% committed to putting myself and my babies into His hands, even if my mind hadn’t caught up with my resolve yet.
They wheeled me off to the scans/tests/scary things. My belly was so far expanded from the rest of my body that I barely fit into some of the machines. All the while they monitored each boy’s heart and fluids and blood flow and watched for any distress. They kept me hooked up to watch for contractions, and told me every two minutes to tell them if I felt “anything off.”
And then we waited. For hours and hours and hours. All my symptoms persisted through the day. And we prayed some more.
The final results came, and they were not likely death sentences. Hallelujah. They were, however, complex and layered. I had a long and winding road of recovery ahead. The prognosis still follows me around like a faint shadow today.
But He was there and was faithful like always. He has shown me that I didn’t know all that much about His love then, and when I think I do know that much now, He gently (generally gently, anyway!) reminds me that He’s got oh so much more to reveal to me. And guys, I DID and I DO know about His love. He is just that much better than we can figure out.
To say that Thanksgiving that year was extra meaningful would be a grand understatement. Two years on and the thankfulness seeps deeper and deeper into my bones. It's like a beautiful heap of God working out the details and the mess, one instance piled onto another and another, all there for me to look back on and thank my God.
#thankful #tribeward #twomorewardboys #twinmama
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