Pregnant with purpose, being delivered into my destiny. Pt.5
Part 5
Welcome back, y’all! I’m so grateful for each and every one of you. I know time is a precious commodity, and I am humbled that you share it reading my story. I hope you are really starting to see me. I’m as transparent and vulnerable as I can in hopes that something here can help you on your way. I’m am bearing my heart to you…
Well, are you ready to jump in? Okay, let’s go!
On this one particular Saturday, before taking my children to swim class then to the park, I spent some time in Bible study. At this time, the way I approached Bible study was praying for forgiveness for anything I had done or thought that wasn't pleasing, and asking God to meet and speak directly to me through His word. I would open the Bible, and wherever my eyes landed is where I would read and study. Even today, I can recall where I was led during the Bible study that day: Isaiah 54. I remember being captivated because I knew God was in the midst of the session, even from the start. After all, the title of the chapter was "The Future Glory of Zion." Many who don't know the Creator intimately would say that this is a coincidence; those of you who walk by faith know that God does not do coincidences. He is a God of miracles and a God of truth. He is a God of watch what I do! As I read the chapter, I started to see myself in the text. I saw that I was not just reading a chapter in the Bible. God was sharing his love letter to me, although it was written even before my story began. Starting in Verse 1: "Sing, barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song, shout for joy you who were never in labor; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband," says the Lord. You are correct: I wasn't a barren woman, but God knows the way to get my attention is through the labor process because I identify with that.
Then, Verses 2 and 3 gave me specific instruction to prepare to grow out of my circumstance into my purpose and to do it with a bold spirit: 2 Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back; lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes. 3 For you will spread out to the right and to the left; your descendants will dispossess nations and settle in their desolate cities. Verse 4 was telling me that everything I had been through was done, and I did not need to be afraid or ashamed or fear disgrace or humiliation. My heart was full. I knew the Creator was communicating to me. It went on to say I would forget the shame of my youth or my widowhood. I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew God recognized the emotional baggage I was carrying, and He was letting me know that I wouldn't carry it forever. Verse 5 made me stop reading and look around the room: For your Maker is your husband—the Lord Almighty is his name—the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; he is called the God of all the earth. I wept with gratitude. In Verse 6, the Lord was telling me He was going to call me back to Him: "The Lord will call you back as if you were a wife deserted and distressed in spirit—a wife who married young, only to be rejected," says your God. I wasn't sure if that meant into that closeness I remembered or into service for Him. I was fine with either; I just wanted to be called. Verse 7 comforted me: "For a brief moment, I abandoned you, but with deep compassion, I will bring you back." I knew that God was disappointed, but now I had hope. Verses 8 through 10 brought me back to myself, knowing that my story did anger God, but with compassion and mercy, I was not going to wear my story forever. 8 "In a surge of anger, I hid my face from you for a moment, but with everlasting kindness, I will have compassion on you," says the Lord your Redeemer. 9 "To me this is like the days of Noah when I swore that the waters of Noah would never again cover the earth. So now I have sworn not to be angry with you, never to rebuke you again. 10 Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the Lord, who has compassion on you.
By the time I got to Verses 11 and 12, I was in full praise and worship because I could see the plan to put me back together again. 11 "Afflicted city, lashed by storms and not comforted, I will rebuild you with stones of turquoise, your foundations with lapis lazuli. 12 I will make your battlements of rubies, your gates of sparkling jewels, and all your walls of precious stones." It was confirmation that what was ugly and storm-lashed was going to be built up with precious gems. That let me know that I still had value in God's eyes. It let me know that God valued me and that I was worthy, despite what I had been through. Verse 13 spoke to my soul: All your children will be taught by the Lord, and great will be their peace. This is a verse that comforts me even as I write. There was no doubting this was deeply personal at this point because all I worked for and all I did was to provide my children with the best opportunities and education money could afford, and God saw me. The Creator knew that I am not a man and cannot teach a man to be a man. Even now, I'm hearing God in my spirit, saying, "I have them. No need to stress and worry over the things you can't control. You have to trust in the miracle and pure beauty that is Me. Surely you can see My ways are not your ways." Who else is so perfect that they could write a love letter to me between 740 - 680 B.C. when I wouldn't take my first breath until 1976!
Verse 14 is God showing me that I will be established. It might not be the way I choose. It might not be like what I think it should be, but I will be established in God's time. In righteousness, you will be established: Tyranny will be far from you; you will have nothing to fear. Terror will be far removed; it will not come near you. Later in that verse, and through Verse 17, God is clear that I will have trouble, but it is not from Him. He let me know that He created all things, good and bad, but I don't have to fear because no weapons forged against me will prevail and I will refute every tongue that accuses me. My love letter ends with the confirmation that this is my vindication from the Lord: 15 "If anyone does attack you, it will not be my doing; whoever attacks you will surrender to you. 16 See, it is I who created the blacksmith who fans the coals into flame and forges a weapon fit for its work. And it is I who have created the destroyer to wreak havoc. 17 No weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and this is their vindication from me," declares the Lord. How beautiful is this? I really can't describe how this made me feel. I can share that for the first time, I felt hope.
I set off on my scheduled activities of that early June day, and the boys and I ended up at a park not far from my home. I was on the phone with a close sister-friend who is more than comfortable with God's word. She is an avid student of God. This is an understatement. During this time of my life, she would minister to me, comfort me, and in many ways become a human representation of God's love and mercy toward my family and me. And when she sang, her voice would usher you into God's presence. She can SANG, y'all! I shared what was revealed to me. I felt comfortable sharing with her. She worked next to me during my lowest points when I was with the Haze. She preached to me, she ministered, and she taught me with a beautiful smile. She was happy that I was able to hear from God. As I sat in the playground talking to her on the phone, I was approached by a handsome gentleman who asked if it was okay if my older boys played football with his children. I agreed and thanked him. I watched Azariah, who was now 2 years old, on the jungle gym and was careful to keep an eye on the boys who were now engaged playing catch with the stranger.
I was soon ready to leave the park to grab lunch and head over to the library to sign up for the summer reading challenge. As we prepared to leave, the gentleman came over to me and thanked me for allowing my boys to hang out with his. I thanked him for offering to let them play. He extended his hand and introduced himself to me. Let's call him the Anesthetist. I shook his hand and introduced myself as well. I asked where he was from. He smiled slightly and said, "Columbia, why?" I explained that his manners were a bit different from what I had observed in Baltimore. He asked what we had scheduled for our day, and I shared our plans, including our church preparation the next day. He asked how old I was and if I was single, and what church we attended, which I responded to as I walked over to my truck. He then asked if it would be okay if he called me. I agreed and gave him my number, and we parted ways. As we left the park, I thought about how ironic it was that I had this type of encounter on the same day that I read that passage. I was drawn to the polite and professional way he approached me. I was intrigued and wanted to get to know him.
In the days that followed, I thought about the Anesthetist. The boys were still excited about how he treated them and his compliments on their football skills. They asked me if we would ever see him again and if I would call him, to which I replied, "We'll see." I was wondering the same. The call from him came while I was at work one day. I took a short walk around the Lockheed Martin parking lot so that I could hear him. During the conversation, we spoke about our careers and the number of children we had. I thought it was quite a coincidence that we both had three boys. I was sure to tell him that my faith is everything to me, and I no longer wanted just any man because I was comfortable being alone. Instead, I was waiting for God's perfect man for me. He explained that he, too, was looking for a woman of God who embodied her faith and was willing to live out the role of a woman as demonstrated in the Bible. I was more than drawn in by the conversation; I was curious. I wanted to know more about him. In the days that followed, we would talk multiple times a day. I looked forward to his calls because it was easy. We seemed to be able to talk about anything, and we enjoyed talking to one another. We would lose hours talking to one another. It felt natural because we agreed that we both had past lives and stories at our age and that it was probably best not to put our "representatives" out for display. We agreed to be open and honest and be real with one another. The truth was refreshing, and it made me want to have conversations with him. After a week or two of talking, he asked if we could meet to spend some time together. I was hesitant because I did not have anyone in Baltimore who watched my boys and I wanted to be careful about who I brought around them. I let him know that I was hesitant. He offered to come to my home for our first visit. I was nervous. He could hear the hesitation in my voice. I said, “Well, I really don't know you outside of the conversations we have had.” He responded with, “Your boys already know me; I have already met them.” I acknowledged the accuracy of that statement and dismissed my feelings of hesitation. We planned to meet the next day to watch a movie. He explained that he didn't have his boys that weekend, so he would be coming alone. When he arrived at my home, the boys were excited; to be honest, I was too. He was warm and approachable. He acknowledged and entertained the boys, including Azariah, which pleased them. After about a half-hour or so, he asked if it would be okay if he took the boys to get some candy. The look on my face told him that I didn't know if that was a good idea. Before I could say a word, he reached into his wallet and pulled out his driver's license and said, "Hold on to this. If we are not back in 20 minutes, you can call the police." The older boys were all out, begging me to go at this point. I agreed. I sat on the couch, thinking about how the evening had gone to this point. I thought about how excited and comfortable my children were with him. It made me happy to see them engaging with a man. I thought about how natural the interactions seemed between him and me too. I soon heard his car in my driveway and heard the boys running to the house. They were so excited to show me all the snacks they had for our movie night. The movie had been playing since he walked in the door, but none of us watched the movie. We were busy talking, laughing, and getting to know one another. As it got late, I called his attention to the time and let him know that I had an early start because we were heading to Philly. He asked if he could stay and continue to watch movies. I agreed. I ran to get a blanket so that we could settle in on the couch (I wasn't giving him access to my whole house at this point). I noticed that he changed the channel, and oddly an adult film was on. As I came down the stairs, I laughed and let him know that he was very, very wrong if that is what he thought was gonna happen from this point. He changed the channel and explained he was just flipping through and was not trying to insinuate anything. We laid on the couch and talked for hours until we fell asleep. I woke the next morning and thanked him for coming over. He hugged and kissed me, wished me safe travels, and left.
Our calls and visits would continue with increasing frequency over the next few weeks, and we excitedly started a new relationship with one another. I wondered how someone so easy to speak to, share with, and spend time with would be single and available? He seemed like God's perfect man for me. His honesty refreshed me. He spoke openly about having difficulty with the mother of his sons. I appreciated the honesty and candor. When he spoke about her, I was firm in my stance that he shouldn't speak badly about her because she was the mother of his children, and I wouldn't want my children's fathers to defame me to anyone, let alone the new woman. I admired that he was open to the possibility of love when his past relationships seemed so strained. He shared how difficult it was being separated and going through the divorce process with his sons. I felt compassion for him and was moved by the consistent love he showed his sons. The relationship with his sons seemed to be relaxed and joyful for him and them. It appeared to mirror what my boys and I had. Which meant we really had a good time when we were all together. The ease that we felt spending time as a bunch felt too good to be true.
As I routinely do in relationships, I started to help the Anesthetist with things. I thought of my role as a prospective wife. I assisted him and attempted to make his life easier. In fact, it wasn't just that I thought it was a role that one was supposed to fulfill; I was giving him what I desired. I fulfilled a role that I wanted him to fulfill for me. I wanted him to make like easier for me. I would do things like type letters for him, convincing him there is power in a strongly worded letter. I would submit payments for things on his behalf, which were easy for me to do from an office that might prove more difficult to someone who did not work in that setting.
Late in the summer, something odd happened. I received a call from a woman while I was at work. She asked me if I knew the Anesthetist and asked what the nature of our relationship was. I was shocked but calm. I disclosed that we were in a relationship. She proceeded to tell me that she was his wife. While I was shocked by the words and the fact that she had access to my work phone number, including my extension, I wasn't totally amazed. The Anesthetist and I spent hours talking about how she was taking the divorce particularly hard. According to him, she wanted to be married to him and had become accustomed to him providing for her every want, need, and desire. He shared with me that she was in uncharted territory providing for herself, which weighed on her mentally and caused her to act irrationally. I was used to the story of her before the encounter with her. My senses had been dulled, almost anesthetized. In fact, I should have been disgusted and driven in the opposite direction of him. This was the first red flag. Actually, it was more than a red flag: this was smoke, and there was a fire.
The Anesthetist was very apologetic for her behavior. He made sure I knew that she was irrational, and he couldn't control her behavior. I told him that I didn't understand that. I explained that although I had relationships where one partner wanted to continue to try to make it work, I understood that there was a way to be firm and let the other person know with no uncertainty that it is over. It was a code I lived by, so I didn't understand how and why this could be happening. He insisted that I just didn't understand. I told him that I live in peace. I shared that I was intentional to remove stress and undesirable energy from my life and my home. He assured me that he too was looking for peace, which drew him to me. I am a naturally inquisitive person, so I asked how she knew my name, where I worked, and how to contact me? I had already worked out that she must have located a fax cover letter for some business I had taken care of for him. He gave me a response but not an answer. I held this in my mind but didn't let it drive me away.
Other situations would happen over the years, making me question his honesty but nothing quite serious enough to make me leave. On one occasion, I learned that he had two other children, daughters, that he had never mentioned before. We had been together for about three years at this point. As I write this, I have to be honest and admit I had an idea that there were other children. I recall a series of phone calls from the same number with very young girls laughing and calling me out of my name. I knew that there was some link to him. There was no reason or other person that would want to play these types of games. Sadly, when women play these types of games, it is always because of a man. I described the phone calls, and even mentioned the name that appeared on the caller ID, and he acted as if he didn't know what the root of this could be. On another occasion, his phone butt-dialed me, and I heard him having a conversation with the voice of the person that had been calling my home with the little girls.
Life Lesson - This was proof positive that God will give you signs that you aren't supposed to be in a situation. It is up to you to decide what comes next, and these steps are a direct reflection on the worth you think you have.
Sometime after this situation, the Anesthetist shared a situation that a close friend of his was having. This friend had children with a woman who he no longer wanted to be with. The friend desperately wanted to be a father to his children, but the mother made it clear that they had to be together if he wanted to be a father. He talked about how much this impacted his friend. I told him that being a father and being in a relationship with someone are two different things. Being in a relationship with a person in support of children is never a viable option. I said that the father should know how to govern himself so that the mother understands that there is no possibility of a relationship. I could hear how emotional the Anesthetist was talking through this with me. I asked him if he was talking about himself, and he said no. I assured him that it was okay and he could tell me the truth. I went on to say that I had figured that there was another mother of his children involved because of the phone issues. I asked why he felt the need to hide them from me? I wondered why he would be so open about having his sons but hide having daughters from me? He gave me the various reasons for not sharing, which I will not share here because they are his story and not mine. What I can share is that I sustained a major blow on this day. I felt like I had literally been hit in the stomach with a cannonball. I was sickened when I thought about how he knowingly withheld the truth from me for years. In my mind, I started to question everything. I thought most, if not everything, of what he told me was a lie. I had been open and transparent with him since day one. I didn't share the full extent of how much his news traumatized me. I tucked my feeling of heartbreak and betrayal down and focused on consoling him. I let him know that I was there for him and that he could trust me with the truth. I explained that good relationships are like gardens; they needed to be cultivated and worked daily to reap something desirable and beautiful. If we wanted our relationship to work, we would have to do the hard thing of being honest with one another about all things. While my words were admirable, I recognize that no matter how good the advice is, none of that matters if trust and honesty aren't at the foundation and if both people in the relationship are not committed to being in the relationship. At this moment, I was showing him that his feelings, his well-being, was more valuable than my own. I should have walked away and cited his lack of honesty. I also could have indicated that denying the existence of two of his own children for years was a deal-breaker. Instead, I comforted and supported him. I tried to counsel him through the feelings and emotions he was dealing with while my heart broke with betrayal. I demonstrated that no matter how painful or devastating the blow, that his mental state, his feelings were the priority. I didn't demand reciprocity; instead, I gave up being a leading lady and sat in the back seat of my own life.
Our relationship continued over the next several years. He and I talked all day, every day, and were together consistently. We started to talk seriously about having a life together. He spoke about enjoying the married life and wanting to have a child with me. I had been on birth control since I had Azariah. I recognized and appreciated that I was blessed to be extremely fertile, but I felt the pain of raising my boys without a father deeply. He understood how heavy of a burden this was for me and vowed that he would continue to love my boys as his own, being careful not to let them see preferential treatment. And with those words, we decided to start trying to have a child. Odd, isn't it? Why would we decide to have a child before we got married? Well, I no longer saw the beauty in marriage. I saw the pain and stress that could exist in a marriage, and while I still desired companionship and wanted to be loved, it seemed to be an unattainable prize for me. If I am honest, I never really saw what I thought to be a successful marriage. I was pregnant the month after I stopped taking the pill. I was excited but also very nervous. Even after almost five years in this relationship, I could tell there was more he had not revealed to me. I overlooked my questions and focused on enjoying my time with him and our family. I knew that I was outside of the will of God and returned to my familiar prayer - requesting that God keep me in my wrongdoing.
The Anesthetist accompanied me to my four-month check-up and ultrasound. It was a rainy early December morning. I was so excited that he would be with me when we found out the gender of our baby. We both wanted a little girl so much and shared dreams about seeing her. I was a little on edge through the whole ultrasound; this was pretty normal for me. There is something so comforting in hearing, "Your baby is healthy and strong." In my past pregnancies, those words would be the green light to enjoy the experience of being pregnant. Excited gives no justice to the way I felt when I heard, "It is a girl!" I instantly went into planning what my life would be like with my mini-me. The Anesthetist was thrilled as well. The mood became unusually serious about halfway through the ultrasound. The technician tried to remain happy and upbeat, but I could tell there was something wrong. The minutes felt like hours waiting for someone to tell us what they found. There I sat across the desk from the radiologist with the Anesthetist by my side when the doctor's words would push me off the cliff of composure into space where only God and I existed. I heard her say, "Your baby girl has Spina Bifida." At that moment, while I still sat in that seat, I felt transported to another space and time. I felt more like I was between space and time. I turned my head to the wall and wailed. My soul cried out to God in a primal and raw way. I turned my entire body to the wall because I didn't want the doctor or the Anesthetist to see me come undone. I could hear myself say, "God, I can't do this!!" Just as I said this, I heard another voice. It sounded like my voice but was different. It was calm, confident, and settled. It said, "It is going to be okay." I responded, "I can't do this! I just can't do this!" along with other primal groans of agony. The voice responded, "Yes, you can. It's gonna be okay." I continued to say I couldn't make it, moan, and cry. Then, as I sat crying, I felt something touch me on my left shoulder. I thought it was the Anesthetist trying to signal me to compose myself, but it wasn't. I realized that it was something else because as soon as I was touched, this warm feeling spread down my left arm and radiated up to the top of my head and across my body. This warm sensation caused me to relax, accept the doctor's words, and start to compose myself. I slowly turned toward the doctor and the Anesthetist. I could see how very uncomfortable they were when they saw this. Regaining composure, I realized they were watching what appeared to be me having a conversation with myself. I knew that I had just had an experience with the Creator. I also knew that I was in a hospital, and if I didn't pull myself together, they might think I was having a psychotic break and admit me. Slowing my breath and heart rate down to a steady pace, I moved into research and Mama-Bear mode. I asked the doctor what the next steps were and how I should start to prepare for my child. The doctor seemed almost shocked that I was asking these types of questions. She explained that the most likely option for me should be to terminate the pregnancy. I heard her and dismissed the notion based on what I just heard from the Creator. She attempted to get her point across again, stating that I should consider terminating the pregnancy because of where the closed myelomeningocele was located on her back. She explained that while her legs were moving now, I still had a long pregnancy to go and if the fluid-filled sac burst, she could sustain nerve damage and lose the use of her legs. I heard her. Her words hurt me deeply. I understood what she was saying, but hearing those words didn't cut like they could have or should have if I had not had my experience with God.
Monique Moment - God knows just what you need when you need and how much you can bear. At that moment, God knew that I needed to not just hear from the doctors who practice medicine, but I needed to hear directly from the Creator who created the medicine that the doctor's practice. I needed a promise to hang my faith on. God gave me what I needed.
I asked the doctor if she had any other information for me. Looking at me with pity, she told me there was a day-long series test I could take at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia that would give a better idea of what my daughter's life would look like.
Monique Moment - Wow! The irony. I would have to travel to Philadelphia, where I am from. To the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, which is a division of the University of Pennsylvania, where I was due to have an internship before moving to Maryland. And I would have to meet with several neonatologists, people who had achieved the career I desired and attempted to map for myself. Coincidence, you say? Nah, this so much bigger than a coincidence.
I couldn't be scheduled for testing until I was just over 20 weeks pregnant. This meant I had to wait a month to be seen. She spoke about the serious possibility of needing surgery to repair the myelomeningocele while I was still pregnant. I couldn't help but think it was a strange coincidence that I might need the assistance of a neonatologist after having walked away from dreams and aspirations of being a neonatologist myself. I wondered if my circumstances would have been the same if I would have stayed on that path. Would I be better positioned to decide for myself and my unborn daughter? Would I have forged relationships with the industry leaders who would console me and tell me that things would be fine? How would life be different, less painful at this moment?
The Anesthetist was upset but supportive. He held me and allowed me to be weak. Once we were alone in the car, I asked if he thought I was crazy…I explained that I was not talking to myself, but I heard something, I heard from God. I told him that God told me it was going to be okay. He said he didn't think I was crazy and that he knew something was happening but couldn't explain it himself. He also said he knew that I would research and pull every piece of information I needed to determine what our next steps should be. He reminded me that I have three other sons at home that need me, and I still had to give them a wonderful Christmas. To be honest, I wanted to cancel all Christmas celebrations. I wanted to climb in the bed and go to sleep to take the pain away. I knew that I couldn't do this at all. I had to maintain my household. I had to be a mother. I had a career that required that I be on point every day, ready to win. I had to keep going, although breathing at this moment was difficult. I went home and read every bit of material I could. I educated myself on every test that I would have to take and memorized what the "passing" benchmark was to let me know that my daughter would be okay. I read until I was tired, then I slept. My sleep was not a rejuvenating, sound sleep. My heart was too heavy. It was more like a series of cat naps. As I woke from sleep, I could hear myself praying that God help me. I could hear myself telling my daughter we would be okay. I could hear myself crying. I did manage to pull myself together to be a mother. I told my sons that they were going to have a little sister and that we would have more doctor appointments to make sure she would be okay. They were caring and supportive. Their love for me engulfed me. They were helpful and unusually well-behaved. They saw me; they saw I was in need, and they were there.
Waiting is never an easy thing. When you are anxious, time seems to slow down. I wanted to rush time. I wanted to speed up time to get to a point where my questions could be answered. I wanted to move past waiting and relying on God to knowing for myself. I wanted to exercise faith on my own terms. I was comforted by my experience with God and held on to that to help me do life. I also realized that this was a season where my faith would have to grow. I would have to demonstrate untamed, wild faith. I spent time studying God's word, looking for more confirmations that it would be okay as if hearing from God at that moment was not enough. My logic warred against my faith. My logic showed me how difficult my life was as a single mother. It mapped out my lack of money, the lack of support, and time. My faith responded with, “But you are here, and every need has been met.” I would gain a speck of strength and a flake of faith in every moment. Between these moments, I would fall apart. My humanness and grief would poke a hole in my slowly developing armor of faith and strength. It's in these moments where I realized it was just God and me. Yes, there were other people around, but it was just God and me. I could talk to friends, family, or even the Anesthetist, but the words they said didn't really reach me. I settled into the reality that I was on this journey with God alone. God would become my counselor, the source of my strength, my protector, the keeper of my mind. God would become my ALL.
Finally, the day arrived when I would have my test at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. We went to my parents’ home before going to the hospital. I remember the sadness in the air as we walked into the house. We all tried to seem happy, but we knew the news we received could dramatically alter everyone's life. The boys would hang out with my dad for the day, and my mother would meet us at the hospital. The Anesthetist and I made our way to the hospital. The first test was an MRI. I laid on the table, and the techs draped me and put a plastic shield with an opening over my stomach. The tech explained that the test would be rather long, but they needed me to stay still because they really needed to see her spine and her legs' function. I told her I understood and started my yoga breathing and praying to keep me calm as the test began. The tech came through the speaker, letting me know I was doing well and reminded me to be very still. I responded that I was, and she said the shield keeps moving. I knew the shield was moving because I was watching it move off my belly. My daughter was kicking it off! Let's pause for a moment and take all of this in:
I am only 21 weeks pregnant at this point. Multiple physicians confirmed that point because of the gravity of the medical condition at hand.
Most women are just starting to experience "flutters" at this point. This is the ever so slight feeling that your tiny baby is moving inside you.
I am undergoing this test because my unborn daughter is diagnosed with Spina Bifida in the sacral region, and the function of her spine and use of her legs are called into question.
My unborn daughter at 21 weeks is kicking a plastic shield that is resting on my stomach off. (Insert praise dance, shouting, and worship right here!)
The tech came out and adjusted the shield, and we resumed the test. The shield was kicked off again. The tech came out again to adjust the shield, and we resumed the test. The shield was kicked off again. I smiled and whispered, "Yes! Thank you, God!" The tech came back out, looked at me while smiling, and said, "This is good." I said, "I know. She is crazy strong." We tried to complete the test a few more times, unsuccessfully. The tech decided to use the images she had and said she would note the file with what she witnessed. I thanked her and slipped more comfortably into my knowing that God was still in the miracle-working business, and I had a front seat to the show.
The rest of the test followed a similar trend. I would ask the tech to confirm what they were looking for and the "passing" grade. They assured me that they were not doctors and could not give the final result, but from what they experienced, she was "good." I was so happy to give the news to my mother after each test. What started as being a weighty day was turning out to be pretty easy. I knew I still had to have the assessment with two surgeons at the end of the day but really had no hesitation because every test was passed with what seemed to be flying colors. My mood was good, and I had the positive results of the day, coupled with the extensive research I had done, in hand as I walked into the neurosurgeon's office. He started to share that we would need to prepare for her to have a shunt. He outlined that it was a really common surgery, but some side effects need to be considered. I noticed that he kept directing the conversation toward the neonatal surgery reserved for worse case scenarios. I was confused, so I asked questions. I asked why his care plan did not align with the test’s results that day. He explained that while the test provides some information, the best course of action would be to terminate or have the surgery. I was no longer confused; I was annoyed. I wasn't annoyed because I heard something I didn't want to hear. I was annoyed because he seemed put off by my questions and my desire to understand his plan. I became Professional Polly, my work alter ego, and questioned more. I did not do this to annoy the doctor, but because I am a logical, process-oriented person. What he was saying didn't make sense or align with the data that we both had. I did this because I am a mother, and I advocate for myself and my children, and I am an analyst by nature. Things need to make sense to me. I felt like he was attempting to usher me into blind submission, which wouldn't happen. When I refused to entertain his conversation on scheduling the neonatal surgery and shunt procedure, he used scare tactics. He talked about the difficulties of raising a child in a wheelchair and her likely diminished quality of life. I heard his words, processed them, and filed them away in my mind, and continued to question him. While he was not impacting me, I saw how he was impacting my mother and the Anesthetist. They were devastated and afraid. We concluded the meeting and left the office. We sat in a waiting area as we prepared to speak to the second neonatologist. My mother was the first to tell me that I needed to listen to the surgeon. I understood that she was doing her very best to be supportive and reason with me. I appreciated her trying to protect her baby from a harder life, but I was fighting for my own baby girl's life and was not in a position to manage the emotions she was feeling at this point. I was annoyed. Nah, I was angry! I was angry because I felt like I was being duped. I took a short walk down the hall to burn some of the pinned-up energy in my body. The Anesthetist met up with me in the hall and explained that I needed to listen. He explained that in his career as a truck driver, he wouldn't be able to help me if the child needed round-the-clock care. He also said it would be too difficult for him knowing he had a hand in his child being in a wheelchair for life. I looked at him and said, “I understand. Whatever it is, I will take care of it.” I assured him that his life did not have to be taxed because I would take care of it. I said these words, and I believed these words. I was secure in my position, even if I had to do it alone. It was going to be okay. I knew it was gonna be okay.
We were called into the last neonatologist's office, and I could tell he was defensive and lost all bedside manner. I assumed that this was because he had been briefed on my line of questioning from the last doctor. "No problem, game on, Homie," I thought to myself. He wasted no time painting a grim outlook. He assured me that the surgery was the only option for me, and we had a small window to do this. He also explained that while that was my best option, there were still huge risks to consider, such as me dying on the table, my daughter dying during the procedure, or me bleeding out and dying at home after the surgery. I remember thinking, “Does he think I am gonna sign up for it now?” Who says, "Yes, please! Sign me up for death!"? I let him speak and then asked him the same questions I asked the previous surgeon: “Why does what you say seem out of alignment from the testing?” He explained that the testing gives information, but the best course to ensure a reasonably healthy life for my daughter would be the surgery. I asked the point of the expensive day-long testing process if the results would be disregarded in the end. This really annoyed him, and he said, "The test doesn't measure potential cognitive limitations." I asked if he was saying that my decision not to have the surgery would impact her mental development, and he said, "No, that is pure genetic based on you two." I received that statement. I received his tone. He said that my daughter would not be intelligent because we (the Anesthetist and I) were not what he deemed intellectuals. In other words, he was saying you are not qualified to have this argument with me. I challenged him and his god-complex and required answers instead of being sheeplike and letting him do as he sees fit. I knew that I would not be partnering with either doctor in my care. I thanked him for his time, and we left before my behavior confirmed every stereotype he had of me.
Once we reached my parents’ house, my mother and father took the opportunity to reason with me. I fully understand their point as parents. I can only imagine how difficult it was for them to protect their baby, who was trying to protect her baby. I was firm in my decision. I told them that I knew it would be okay because God said it would be. I admitted this might seem crazy, and it might be, but I was going to stick with my decision. I reminded everyone that I am no stranger to hard times and that it all turns out good in the end. I was fully prepared for this to end in the same way. I asked that they not come to me with what they thought or what they researched at this time because I needed to keep my mood and energy as positive as I possibly could so that it too wouldn't impact my unborn baby. I don't think they understood what was happening. I realized I was preparing for my journey through the wilderness of the unknown and needed to guard my head and my heart against anything that was not of God.
While I knew the months to come would be lonely, I had no idea how lonely that would be. I wanted someone who knew what I was going through to find me and hold me and allow me to cry. I wanted someone to come and hold me and allow me to be weak because I had to be strong and manage others' feelings and emotions during this time. My position was to keep them assured that she was kicking and moving so that they would stay encouraged. I wanted someone I didn't have to hold up to hold me up. God has a way of showing up and showing out in situations. When you let go, God, the Universe, the Creator, the Alpha, and Omega will step in and do miracles that will blow your mind. I returned to my obstetrician's office after the testing to review the results. I told my doctor that God told me that it would be okay, and the test results confirmed that. She looked at me. I braced myself for her to disregard my knowing and my analysis of the test results. Instead, she smiled and met me with, "I am praying for you and your family. Since you are deciding to keep the pregnancy, I am going to get you the best doctors in the business. Your care is being transferred to Johns Hopkins Hospital; you will be under the care of Dr. Ben Carson." I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God for sending me a doctor who knew who He was and was open to being used by Him.
I tried to take care of my mental and physical state as I waited for my appointment with Dr. Carson. I felt more comfortable in my knowing each day but did not totally dismiss the possibility of something tragic. The day of my appointment arrived. I was cautiously anxious as I waited for Dr. Carson to enter the room where we were scheduled to meet. When he walked in, he smiled and said, "Let me guess, you have been a nervous wreck?" I responded, "Yes, very nervous." He explained he reviewed the file and the tests that were done, and she was going to be fine. He went on to say that the quality of her life would likely be fine if we did nothing. I was speechless. How could the messaging be so different from one doctor to the next? Dr. Carson explained that while doctors are responsible for coming up with the best course of action for our health, they also focus on their surgical stats. When cases such as my daughter's case come across their desks, they will strongly suggest parents opt-in for the surgery, knowing that the outcome would be favorable, increasing their odds of a successful outcome. In essence, they wanted to claim credit for fixing something that really didn't require the procedure they performed. I struggled to understand how someone who took an oath to do no harm could knowingly see desperate parents in this position and think that duping them is ethical and morally acceptable. I couldn't help but think that my cocoa-colored skin made it easier for the two surgeons to treat me the way they did. I shared with Dr. Carson that I appreciated him being a man of God and sharing this information with me. I let him know that I knew in my spirit that she would be okay but still held a little doubt because of my encounter with the medical professionals. He went on to say that he saw in the file that I wanted to have a natural delivery instead of the recommended cesarean section, and that should be okay as well as long as the Hopkins NICU team was on hand for the delivery should they need to intervene. He outlined a plan of care, which included having an ultrasound every few weeks to check on the myelomeningocele and my daughter's overall development. The Maternal-Fetal Medicine group would manage my care in the hospital, and he would be able to review our progress. She would be taken to the NICU after she was born for observation and testing. The surgery to repair the myelomeningocele would be performed by Dr. Jallo, an outstanding surgeon on his team, because he would be on a book tour right around the time of her birth. The surgery would be performed shortly after her birth and would be pretty straight forward to repair the closed sack to ensure no nerve damage was sustained. She would be prostrate, laying on her stomach with a breathing tube after the surgery. The breathing tube would be scheduled to stay in for about a week. The plan was for her to stay in the NICU for about three weeks so the team could ensure she was progressing, and we would modify the plan if there were a need to. As we finished our meeting, Dr. Carson said, "Go enjoy your pregnancy." I thanked him; I really wanted to hug and kiss him. I was so relieved leaving the hospital. I immediately called the Anesthetist and shared the good news about our daughter. In my car, I prayed, I worshiped; I praised and thanked God for His mercy and grace! I let go of all my fear and enjoyed every minute of my pregnancy!
I will pick up with part 6 soon.
Keep evolving toward excellence!!