Thank God I Am Weak

It’s been a while since I’ve last done an entry, or written anything really. I’ve been uninspired. In the last year I have had so much to grieve over that to be creative seemed too ‘fun’ and I didn’t want to give my grief a disservice. Just to catch people up; In the last year I’ve experienced two miscarriages and my grandmother, one of the most important people in my life passed away. But great things have happened this year too; I now work somewhere I love. Tyler and I bought our first house, and the best thing yet— the birth of my son, August.

My pregnancy was pretty mild. I didn’t have morning sickness, I was never bedridden, or any of the other extreme symptoms. Tyler can only think of three times where my emotions were over the top, and hearing those stories now are absolutely hysterical. The worst part of my pregnancy was the gestational diabetes, and following a strict diet the last two and a half months. Although, now being almost two weeks postpartum, I look great. I didn’t gain any excess weight from using pregnancy as an excuse to pig out, and I feel healthier than I did pre-pregnancy.

Anyways, now I’m going to address the title of this blog post. Thank God I Am Weak. Growing up, I’ve always prided myself on strength. I’ve been told countless times growing up how independent I was. Apparently, my catch phrase as a child was: ‘I do, I do’. For the longest time it was hard for me to truly express my feelings. In middle school, I bottled up so many things that when I would finally express myself I would break out in hives. It wasn’t until college and marrying Tyler that I started being truly vulnerable with people. But it wasn’t until my cancer year that I truly met the depths of my weaknesses. I had to depend on so much and so many people, that I learned my ‘strength’ was something to laugh at. And that sounds harsh, but that was probably the best lesson I’ve ever learned because that weakness is what saved my son.

On November 18, 2021, I went to the hospital at nine o’clock at night for a scheduled induction because of my gestational diabetes. They started getting me hooked up to monitors and placing IV’s to monitor my progress through the night; I had actually already started having contractions naturally, but early November 19th they proceeded to give me medicine to speed up the labor process.

Also, I need to publicly apologize to, my husband, Tyler. A month or so ago we were having a conversation about how he thought he would behave in the delivery room. He said, “I do great under pressure.” And admittedly, I laughed in his face. But in the couple hours I was in labor and the pain was truly intense, the only reason I hadn’t caved sooner was that he was there. Reminding me to breathe through contractions and getting his hands crushed. Tyler, I love you more than words can describe.

Most people who I talked to, or who asked about it, I said that I wanted to do my best to have a natural childbirth. I’d heard of quicker recoveries for both mother and baby, the labor process is faster, and if women have been doing it naturally for thousands of years, I could do it too. I’ve always prided myself with my high pain tolerance, but I learned quickly that afternoon that there is a reason God gave women the gift of epidurals. In other words: I caved.

As soon as the doctors were done placing the epidural, I felt instant relief. I was able to lay down, the tears stopped, and I felt like I could breathe again. However, after they place the epidural, you lose feeling in your lower body and lose the ability to walk to the bathroom when you have to pee; so I got a catheter. Yay. In the process of placing the catheter they have to roll you from side to side to get it just right, and in that process is when all hell let loose. I remember feeling dizzy and red lights going off and having a mask forced over my face. Both of mine and August’s heart rate dropped dangerously low, and we were instantly rushed into the OR. I remember thinking, “Not again, we were so close.” I cried so many tears as I laid on that table for an emergency c-section, thinking about how on one of the supposed best days of my life everything went horrifically wrong and I was going to go home empty handed. My head was spinning with these thoughts for what felt like an eternity, but Tyler said it was only about two minutes; he was in the room with me as they cut me open and just as I asked what was happening a fully alive, fully awake, and incredibly healthy baby boy was placed in my arms as they stitched me up. Thank you God for answering prayers.

Once we were taken to the recovery room, I was told the whole story of why everything went scary. After I delivered August, they noticed that there was a small protective layer of the umbilical cord that never developed. And that while placing the catheter and rolling me from side to side, August landed on the undeveloped portion of the umbilical cord and cut off his oxygenated blood supply; and if I were to have had him naturally, odds are that he wouldn’t have made it. The OB that delivered him said that out of 3,500 babies that she has ever delivered that she had never seen anything like it.

So back to the title of this post: Thank God I Am Weak. If I was the person I was three or four years ago, if I hadn’t been beat down with medical issues and shown my weaknesses, my hubris would have cost me my son. Thank goodness it didn’t.

But now, two weeks later, we are a happy little family with so many sweet moments with August that made every unpleasant moment of his birth all entirely worth it. We are finding new reasons why we love him every day as he is developing his personality. My favorite is the little growling noise that he makes when he is awake and interacting with us. And I would have had none of it if I had depended on my own strength.