It was difficult
waving goodbye to Chris and going home to bask solo in my euphoric, but
Parker kept me entertained in the car, and I tinkered and fidgeted around the
house until Chris arrived home that night to continue our celebration.
As the days ticked off the calendar,
though, my robust jubilation waned as the nausea ventured into the debilitating
zone, accompanying migraines began their relentless onslaught, and the aroma of
food and suspect odors drove me to the nearest bathroom.
I religiously wore the Sea Bands Dr.
Landry prescribed to ward off morning sickness, especially while driving,
sucked viciously on stomach-soothing peppermints, and tried very available
method to control the stomach seesaws. Most of my home remedies provided
inconsequential relief, and I lay bunched in the fetal position on the couch
most days. When Chris arrived home in the evenings, I left Parker in his hands
and retreated to my darkened bedroom—one wet washcloth tossed over my aura-stricken
eyes, another cold cloth wedged behind my head and neck.
My history translated into knowing I
could count on this extending full-throttle into the fourth month. This pregnancy
would not be any different.
My heart rate increased as my veins
flattened from dehydration and my body weight plummeted significantly below
pre-pregnancy level. Determined to avoid IV therapy, I struggled with
twenty-four-hour-a-day lack of nourishment, and promised to call Dr. Landry if I
decided to surrender to home treatment. Managing to keep just enough Ginger Ale,
caffeine-free Coke, peppermint and anti-nausea medication in my stomach, I
battled on, until the nausea retreated around the eighteen-week mark. Then all
restraint was off. I was determined to enjoy the remainder of the pregnancy
by indulging in my favorite fat-laden foods.
I gorged like a king at a caricatured
medieval feast, and then, at the next visit to his office, Dr. Landry pronounced
that I was regaining my weight too quickly. But he smiled sympathetically,
nodded his head and gave me permission to enjoy myself for a couple more weeks.
Then he’d expect me to put the brakes on my palate. Until then, bagels, lox,
cream cheese and capers were standard breakfast fare—much to Chris’s
delight—and tasty, high-calorie snacks were in abundant supply—much to Parker’s
delight. NO chocolate allowed, however, since I knew the potentially
uterine-irritating caffeine it contained was off-limits for high-risk pregnant
women, which I already considered myself to be. Not being a coffee-drinker,
that caffeine source wasn’t a problem.
Yet, as I emerged from the nausea torrent,
other obstacles confronted us.
Fist, we survived a scare at three
months when, in the middle of the night, I suddenly began cramping and
bleeding. I propped up my feet, called Dr. Landry’s paging service, and tried
to talk myself into calmness. The bleeding stopped, although I continued to
keep my legs elevated, “just in case.” Thereafter, bathroom trips became
obsessions as I became plagued with an annoying, compulsive need to check and
re-check myself for bleeding.
There was the standard blood test
between the sixteenth and eighteenth week, which would indicate the neural tube
defect and genetic abnormalities risks. Dr. Landry assured me that he’d
consider an amniocentesis a strictly volunteer test, since Chris and I remained
adamant about not having an abortion, even if genetic defects were diagnosed.
The fact that the risk of having a miscarriage (spontaneous abortion) increased
with an amniocentesis was enough to make me refuse it. No way was I going to
subject my irritable uterus to being punctured by a three-inch needle, no
matter how fine a gauge it would be.
What worried me more was the ominous
sixteen-week ultrasound to ascertain the placenta’s location. Would my baby and
I be out of the woods on this one, or would I be setting up camp in an
apartment, blocks from Dr. Landry’s office and the delivery hospital?
The evening before the test,
surrounded by country sky darkness, I paced slowly down our long driveway and
settled myself on the monolithic boulder at the end of our property entrance to
gaze at the velvet black heavens. My prayers were desperate and halting. I
thought it bordered on ridiculous to ask—no, beseech—God to plant the placenta in a good location the night
before going into the doctor’s to look for it.
But I asked anyway. Several times I
added simple requests for protection, strength and help.
Mostly I prayed for faith. To endure
whatever tomorrow’s results would be.
Then my thoughts retreated to an
event that occurred soon after receiving the happy pregnancy diagnosis at Dr.
Landry’s. I’d wanted to forget it, banish it from my memory banks. But now the
memory returned.
I’d been sleeping soundly,
contentedly one night when my eyelids abruptly snapped open to find myself
dripping in a panicky sweat. Horrifying words, like accusations, shouted
relentlessly into my head. I had thrown off the covers and bolted from bed,
heaving great gasps of air. It wasn’t my
voice I heard, though, but someone else’s—vile and hate-filled—attacking my
psyche.
You’re
going to die! You’re really pregnant, and you’re going to have another previa,
and you’re going to bleed to death…and there is absolutely nothing you can do
now about your decision! You’re going to hemorrhage to death during this
pregnancy, and Parker is going to grow up thinking he wasn’t good enough, that
you weren’t satisfied with him! How could he forgive you after you’re gone?
What have you done? You’ve been such an arrogant fool!
I clamped my hands over my ears and
rattled my head to dislodge the incriminating words. Pacing the floor in my
darkened bedroom, and swiping at the perspiration streaming down my face and
neck, I managed to talk myself down and subdue my shallow, racing breath.
It was then that I sensed it. Felt it. Chris and I weren’t alone in the bedroom.
I spun around and my eyes were drawn
to a ceiling corner in my room, where a hideous, frightful atmosphere of evil
seemed to be perched, gleefully watching me unravel in the darkness. Egging me
on to deeper mental destruction. Something, or someone, was watching me. Someone I could only perceive and not see.
Someone who could clearly see me and was enjoying the show.
My fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically.
“No,” I breathed back into the darkness through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to die. Parker’s not going to be
left without a mother. I am not going
to lose this battle!”
As I uttered my last word, the
imposing thickness vanished, like a flicked-on light switch abruptly banishes
darkness from a room. An atmosphere of peace replaced it like a heavy, protective
shroud.
I carefully climbed back into bed
and turned over to lay my hand on Chris’s chest, which undulated in measured
swells.
He hadn’t heard a thing.
Within minutes, I had returned to a
restful sleep.
Now I was perched on a boulder,
remembering that night and understanding it for what it was: a vicious
encounter with my enemy—the spiritual forces of darkness. Only Satan could
thrive on orchestrating such an assault rendering such severe emotional pain.
The kind of pain and turmoil that physically sickens you, makes you feel as if
you’ve lost all control. Where you resemble a wild, hunted animal, fleeing from
something that threatens to devour you slowly and completely—without mercy.
That night I thought I’d acted
without God’s permission and run headlong into a decision upon which He had not
put His blessing. I’d felt terror, anguish and remorse and—for several
seconds—believed I would pay a high price for my self-indulgence.
But that night was over. Whatever
the future held, I needed to face it squarely, with unwavering faith. So there
I sat, perched on a large piece of granite, searching the firmament for holy
strength and hope…and a conquering peace in the midst of my personal storm. We
had weathered so much during the first trimester of this pregnancy. Surely we
could endure another obstacle.
Tomorrow would bring the anticipated
diagnosis, and tomorrow is what I’d have to wait for—and stop worrying about.
Tomorrow would provide the answer.
Though I could detect His loving,
protective presence, that night, I knew God would make us wait long past
tomorrow for our ultimate answer.
My lesson in trust was nowhere near
being over…
__________________________________________
NEXT WEEK: The results…
___________________________________________
Until next week,
Thanks for
joining me!
Blessings,
Andrea
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