Wordless Wednesday - April 30, 2014

How Luella's day went :)

A Matter Of Life And Death

There are some words that a woman never wants to hear:  That she has gained weight, that she has missed a sale, or when her toddler is yelling “NO!” to her as she runs away.  Some words we fear, such as “I don’t love you”.  Some words terrify us…these are the words I had to face a few weeks ago when my Dr. was examining a lump I found while doing a self-examination.  Her words almost seemed to be in slow-motion as she told me “I would like to schedule a diagnostic scan for you and consult a surgeon.”  As much as I was trying to force myself to be brave and strong, and to be positive, I could feel fear digging it’s claws into my spirit as my thoughts raced through all the possibilities that could lie in front of me.

But before I continue with that, let’s back up a number of months…

I haven’t been blogging very much over the past while, and it probably looked like I fell off the map.   I know that, just like everyone else, I have had a lot going on.  This is a rather long post, and I've started it a number of times without finishing, but I am happy to say that I am finally to the place where I feel I can write again. For those of you who have been waiting, this is my birth story…and the after story.  

My pregnancy with my second child was pretty typical and textbook…textbook meaning I pretty much got every pregnancy symptom that you could read about in the textbook.  I had nausea, fatigue, sore joints, weight gain (50 pounds!), separating pelvic bone (which was very painful), heartburn, insomnia…you name it, I had it.  I didn’t, however, have any complications whatsoever  - and at 37, that was a blessing! My first child, Jaelyn, was born three weeks early with a fairly typical delivery.  I was expecting much the same with this one,  but Luella had other plans.  At around 37 weeks, my doctors referred me to a specialist due to the predicted size of the baby.  I was measuring a couple weeks ahead, and they wanted to make sure the baby wasn’t getting too big.  My husband was a 10 pound baby, so I knew a large baby was always a possibility.  I went to the appointment, and they suggested that if I didn’t go into labour on my own, that we should induce in the 39^th week.  I was induced with my first pregnancy after my water broke, and I strongly felt that being induced actually prolonged the labour longer than it needed to be. But,  I also had no desire to deliver an 11 pound baby, so we compromised and chose to induce just 3 days before my due date.  I fully expected to have the baby sooner than that, so I didn’t think much of it. My baby, however, didn’t seem to want to come out. I grew increasingly uncomfortable, and was in a lot of pain just trying to function in my day-to-day work as well as look after my toddler. And, well, I was huge.  As the days seemed to drag on, I sometimes felt like I couldn’t do it anymore…but I did.  I just kept telling myself that all I had to do was just make it to and through the delivery, and that would be the worst of it.

On the morning of Friday, January 3^rd, I went in for my scheduled induction with the full expectation that it would take less time than with my first, as second deliveries often go.  I was dialated to 3 cm when I went in, and I was also Group B strep positive (which is very common).  They hooked me up to pitocin, they broke my water (there was meconium in the water) and I very quickly went from a 3 to a 6…and that’s where I stayed.  She seemed to be curled up in a ball on my left side, hanging on for dear life…this baby did not want to come out!  They put my petocin at full strength…nothing.  They tried me in different positions to move the baby, and then they even doubled the pitocin…still nothing.  I had already received my epidural when the contractions were getting painful (around 4-5 cm), and that proved to be a wise decision considering the duration of the induction.

After 12 hours, the doctor decided to get the specialist on call to come in and discuss my ‘options’.  I knew what this meant – a C-section.  I was completely terrified to have surgery, and didn’t plan for it at all.  However, with the stress to the baby, the meconium in the water, and being strep B positive, we knew it was the right choice. Within 30 minutes I was prepped and strapped down to the table.  At that point with the epidural and other medications in my system, I was shaking uncontrollably. I was recovering from a head cold as well, so lying on my back made breathing through my nose impossible.  I had to breathe through my mouth, and with the dry hospital air my mouth felt like cotton.  Throughout all of this, Darren was an amazing support, with encouragement and loving, kind words.  All he could do now was sit by me and hold my head so my teeth would stop chattering.  The C-section went perfectly, and Luella Marie was born at 9:24 pm, weighing 9 pounds, 12 ounces.  I was so relieved to have the surgery over with and hear her cry, it was really hard to focus my eyes on her. She was perfectly healthy, and not even the slightest sign of a ‘cone head’…after 12 hours of labour, she didn’t even try to come out! I was taken to my room and the recovery began.

Ah, yes…the recovery.  We had planned on a couple days to a week for recovery, but we weren’t thinking about a C-section.  Six week recovery time.  SIX WEEKS?!?! What on earth were we going to do for six weeks where I wouldn’t be allowed to lift more than the weight of my baby?  We had just moved to a new area, and my husband works for himself, so he couldn’t get time off.  So I did what anyone else would do, and called my Mom who lives in Halifax, and she agreed to come up and stay at my sister’s, and help me out 4 days a week.  Darren’s parents would help out the other day. I stayed in the hospital from Friday night to Tuesday and was released.  Baby and Mamma were doing great, and my incision was healing ‘perfectly’.  I was in pain, but nothing out of the ordinary for a C-section, however I was experiencing a huge amount of swelling in my feet and legs.  I was scheduled to get my staples out on Wednesday.

Wednesday was a day I won’t soon forget.  Routine visit with Lactation Consultant and removal of staples, right? Wrong.  I had noticed my incision bothering me a bit the night before, but figured it was just due to the metal staples irritating my skin.  But when my staples were removed and the nurses stood me up, my incision burst open and I ‘gushed’ all over my clothes and the floor.  They immediately laid me back down and called for my Doctor who had done the surgery.  I apparently had developed a hematoma (bleeding  under the incision).  I was taken to a small room where they patched me back up, and sent me home in a pair of scrubs with the knowledge that I would now need Extra Mural visits every day from Nurses who would change the dressing on my incision until it healed.  That took a lot longer than six weeks.  Thankfully, my mother was able to help me an extra two weeks, and Darren’s parents came and helped out an extra week.   As if that wasn’t enough, at the beginning of February I also developed a bad case of Mastitis, and needed to go on antibiotics to clear it up, which ended my breastfeeding attempts.  On the positive side, at least now I could get sleep, as Darren starting giving the baby a bottle before bedtime and I could go to bed earlier. The days went by, as I slowly began healing.

When March came around, I decided I was going to attempt it on my own: being alone for the first time with both my girls, while still healing.  Lifting Jaelyn was hard, but if I did it careful enough, I found that I could deal with changing her diaper and getting her in and out of the high chair.  Luella was a very good baby, so I didn’t have much problem taking care of her.  I had finally reached ‘the point’ where I felt I could handle everything on my own.  I got this. It’s all good now…my life can begin again.

Flash forward to April. My incision is still in the extremely slow process of healing, and I had to make an appointment with my Doctor because the hardness from the Mastitis had not gone away, there was a discharge from that side, and there was a lump.  Really God? On top of all the other things, now I have this to deal with?  Breast cancer runs in my family – my Mom’s sister died from it at age 42.  I just turned 37, so it was a very real fear.  My doctor referred me for a diagnostic scan and an appointment with a breast surgeon…nothing to worry about until they give you something to worry about, right? Right. I left the appointment and started driving home. By the time I reached my back door, I was in tears. After EVERYTHING I had been going through…the surgery, the lack of sleep, the pain, the feeling that I was ‘wasting’ my Maternity leave…and now I might have cancer? I tried to be strong…but I was trying in my own strength, and I just didn’t have any. I struggled for a few days while waiting to go in for my appointment, and I broke down a number of times.  I was afraid, and despite having an awesome husband who helped out any way he could,  a church family who loved on me, and fellow pastors who lifted me up in prayer, I felt alone. 

But then a few nights later, as I was reading a devotional and praying (crying out to God), these words jumped out on the page to me – “Do you trust Me?” 

“ Lean on, trust in, and be confident in the Lord with all your heart and mind and do not rely on your own insight orunderstanding.  In all your ways know, recognize, and acknowledge Him, and He will direct and make straight and plain your paths.”

Proverbs 3:5-6 Amplified Bible (AMP)

And I stopped reading right there.

Do…you…trust…Me?

Of course in my Ministry and life I have read these words (and even blogged on these exact verses) and trusted in God before, but as of right then it was as if a breath of fresh air just filled my spirit. He had brought me through an uncomfortable and painful pregnancy, a labour and delivery that did NOT go according to my plan, and is currently bringing me through a long recovery process I never thought I would ever face. And now I am brought full-circle: from bringing a new life into the world to now facing my own mortality. God would bring me through this and be by my side…no matter what the outcome.

I am so grateful to be able to say that my scan came back clear, and the surgeon does not believe it to be anything serious…just a cyst causing some blockage.  I felt instant relief, and suddenly my circumstances I was facing before didn't seem so difficult. Perspective is great, isn't it?

And now we come to today.  I am still ‘recovering’ from my c-section complication (yes, it is now coming up to four months), and am technically still on restrictions on lifting and activity. The doctors and Extra Mural nurses don’t know why it is taking so long, but the wound is clean and it IS healing….just very, very slowly, and I am now scheduled to meet with the wound care nurse specialist at the hospital. I have another follow-up scan for the cyst next week, and a further appointment later in the summer just to keep an eye on things as well. 

It has been a crazy four months, and I definitely can’t say I’d like to experience them all over again. I honestly don't know how long it will be until I am fully healed and recovered, and I am surprisingly ok with that. God has given me two beautiful little girls and a husband who loves me, and I know that no matter what I face, I am not alone, and that gives me peace that surpasses even my understanding of recent events. The days that lie ahead in this city and church God has called us to are exciting, and I am so grateful that I get to be a part of it.

So, here is the question for you - for whatever you are going through. Do you trust Him?

As Darren would say, I dare you to try :)

***Post update: the follow-up exam showed some cause for concern, and the doctor decided to do a mammogram and biopsy that day just in case. The result was that they found early stage, or non-invasive cancer - DCIS to be exact. Ductal Carcinoma In Situ.