20 weeks. The halfway mark. An anticipated milestone in pregnancy. Finally, we were to learn the gender of our baby. Our 20 week visit started with excitement and ended in trepidation. We learned that our first child was a boy! There was little time to rejoice because a barrage of questions came next. Have you experienced this pain or that symptom? No, no, no, came my reply. With each question I grew more concerned. Are these routine questions? Did something show up on the ultrasound that suggests an abnormality?
Turns out although I felt completely fine, my body showed clear signs that I was at risk for preterm labor.
“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.”
Life begins at conception. I have never believed otherwise. And while I’d know for 14 weeks that I was carrying life, this doctor’s visit was the start of me realizing that motherhood means sacrifice.
I started going to the doctor weekly for ultrasound visits. After three weeks I still felt no adverse symptoms. Perhaps this was all a fluke! At week 23 Dishon and I sat through another ultrasound. However, this time at the end of the visit the technician went to get the doctor. Alarm bells began to go off.
“Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.”
“I’ve called your doctor and she would like you to go to Labor and Delivery right away,” he said. I was bewildered. We went to Labor and Delivery, awaiting more news. I was under the impression that this was a stopping point for us while my doctor conferred with another physician. It was a Friday night after 5:00 PM and food was on my mind. I tried to remain calm while Dishon and I chatted with the receptionist.
Finally, after about 10 minutes of waiting, a nurse came out to see us. The receptionist said, “She is going to triage to await the doctor.”
“No,” the nurse replied, “She is being admitted.”
“And my faith will be made stronger.”
A lump formed in my throat and tears cascaded down my face. Admitted? I’d never been admitted into the hospital before. Did this mean my baby was going to be born at 23 weeks? What was wrong? I still had no idea.
Dishon stood by, trying to assuage my unspoken fears as I melted into hysterics. The nurse, Miranda, hugged me and explained that the doctor I was about to see was the best there is. She was confident all would be okay.
I was settled into a room and that night everything changed. Dishon and I were inundated with questions, scenarios, and options. We had to make choices in order to provide our baby with the best chance of survival. It was only by the grace of God that my condition was discovered when it was. Many women are only diagnosed when they have lost a baby or after multiple losses.
“Oh, Jesus, you’re my God!”
Our routine visit ended with emergency surgery and 5 nights in the hospital. I was then placed on bed rest for an additional 5 weeks.
God called me out upon the waters to the great unknown, where feet may fail. I found Him there in the mystery, in oceans deep. I prayed my faith would stand. I called upon His name and kept my eyes above the waves.
Throughout this pregnancy I have seen the oceans rise time and time again but I have rested in God’s embrace.
“I am Yours and You are mine.”
Song lyrics: Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) by Hillsong United