Pregnant with purpose, being delivered into my destiny. Pt.6

Part 6

Hey! Welcome back! It’s been a little bit since we have been together.  I trust all of you had a wonderful holiday. I had a wonderful time. I am so very grateful that you all keep coming back to spend a little time getting to know me. So…I’m gonna be transparent because that is what we are doing here. I procrastinated writing this one.  It was hard to right this one. Healing is a funny thing.  You may think you are over something until you have to spend time thinking about it. I am learning that even as I write, I am healing, cleansing and releasing all of that negativity as I share it with you. It feels good to get it out! I pray you are really getting to know me through this.  Even more than that, I pray that you are getting something from this wonderfully blessed comedic tragedy that has been my life.  If you are ready and settled let’s get into it. Here we go y’all!

 I committed to enjoying my pregnancy after I met with Dr. Carson. I tried, as best I could, to relax and be present with my baby girl. I studied her even while I was carrying her. I paid attention to what things made her move around and how she moved. I would watch my belly roll as she moved her arms and legs inside me. I bought a monitor when I was pregnant with Zyon that allowed me to listen to my baby’s heartbeat, and I used it to listen to hers. I didn’t listen from a medical perspective, but I was listening to the rhythm of her. I wanted to know her and be close to her. Once again, I was falling in love. She was so strong. I admired that. I thought I was strong, but I knew she would be the true definition of strength in my life.  

I always felt rather hot and a little tense when I went for my ultrasound visits. I was fearful that I would receive earth-shattering news on that visit. All sorts of stories would flood my mind as I started my drive to the hospital. My heart rate would start to quicken as I left my office and headed to John Hopkins Hospital. By the time I reached the Orleans St. parking lot entrance, I would be in a full panic, and at times a little sweaty. I could feel my heart race and my breathing become rapid and shallow as I approached the hospital. By the time I walked into the doors and checked in with security, I would intentionally focus my breathing and start praying. I slowed my steps, relaxed my face, removed the stress and worry, replaced it with a slight smile, and ushered myself into prayer. My prayer was different. It wasn’t the distant, cold prayer that was normal from time to time in my earlier life. It wasn’t a prayer to beg for things to be right. My prayer was weighty; it was personal. In fact, it wasn’t even a prayer from my head or my heart; it was my soul reaching out to the Creator. I felt the prayer all over my body. It was my request for the Creator to come in and have His way. It was my surrender to His will. I requested that even as I took one physical step after the other, God got big in that space and touch and anoint every heart and mind in the hospital. I prayed for every person I passed in the hall, asking God to meet their every want, need, and desire if it was His will. I asked that He strengthen and comfort every family represented in the hospital. I asked that God move as He had never moved before at that moment and show Himself to be the true and living God for every person in that hospital, even the ones who did not know or acknowledge Him. By the time I reached the elevators, I was thanking God for choosing me to be the vessel for my baby girl, no matter what the outcome would be. I prayed that He would make whatever news I received well with my heart starting at that moment. I confirmed that I trusted and didn’t doubt what the Creator told me, but whatever His will was, I asked He would make my soul equipped to receive and my body strong enough to carry out His plan. I prayed that He show up and show out in a mighty way if it was His will. When I reached the office door, I no longer focused on that smile; it was just there. I had replaced fear with joy through prayer for others, worship, and surrendering to His will.

I enjoyed the predictable rhythm of my visits with the office staff; it calmed me. I enjoyed my lighthearted joking with them about what was playing on the television or the things they would share about their own lives. I looked forward to the nurses bringing me back to check my vitals too. I was always inquisitive and slightly shocked when my blood pressure would be “perfect.” I never shared that I was probably close to having a stroke during my car ride down to the hospital. I imagine that how I felt hearing the nurses and technicians tell me what room to go into was the same way football players felt being called into the game by the coach. It was game time with God. Admittedly, I would hold my breath for the first few seconds, and then in my head, I would say, “Breathe…. All you have to do is breathe. Focus on your breath; let go. God has got this.” These thoughts would settle me quickly, and the exam would begin. 

During my first ultrasound at the Hopkins Hospital, the technician remarked that Baby Girl’s back was aligned to my back. She was trying to get her to move around to get a closer look at her spine and the myelomeningocele. They could get some images, enough to satisfy the doctors, but not ideal because my baby would not move. We tried several things, like having me roll to one side and then the other, to see if this would cause her to move…. Nope, she would not move from her position. Let me be clear, she was moving her head, her arms, and those legs! She showed OUT with her legs! It would almost seem like Baby Girl was saying, “Yup, arms work, check! Head, head works, check! Legs? Watch this, y’all. (Insert lots of leg movement!) Legs work, check!” But she would not move her back out of alignment with mine. The doctors would assure me that she was developing fine and would tell me we were good to go. They agreed to catch her in another position during the next visit. I would promptly find a bathroom and go into full worship mode, thanking God to show up and show out! Let me be clear, this was not the “I’m too cute to worship” that I have been guilty of… No, this was ugly cry, soul rejoicing worship as if my life depended on it because it did. I was joyous at that moment, with no consideration or worry about the future. I would laugh and rub my belly, saying, “Girl, you just ROCKED that ultrasound!” Then I would reward her with whatever food item I was craving at the time. 

Don’t judge me. I love food. I express my love through food too. I LOVE to feed people! When you are pregnant, the taste of food is indescribable. I enjoyed eating while I was pregnant. Saying I enjoyed it still does not capture the essence of what I felt. Let me give you an example, many times I would have to start my afternoon pickup of the boys after the ultrasounds, but all of that took a pause when I rewarded Baby Girl for rocking the ultrasound. I would go to the hospital food court, float over to the cheesesteak line - don’t act like you didn’t know this is what I was going for. Yes, I knew I was not in Philly, but I was still a Philly girl, and those habits die HARD. I would order a cheesesteak with mayo, fried onion, hots, sweets, salt, pepper, and ketchup. The cheese has gotta be provolone. (I don’t do no Whiz! Full judgment on those of you who do!) Oh, and I would order cheese fries because that is why God made Cheese Whiz! I would also order an ice-cold Cherry Pepsi or Coke if they didn’t have it. I would find a seat and eat my meal with a happy heart. I would take pleasure being in the moment, enjoying my meal and marveling at how God showed up. I made sure to make time to enjoy the miracle that I witnessed. I celebrated each victory God afforded us because I knew it could have gone another way for me. When I was finished with my reward date with Baby Girl, I would start my walk back to my car to resume my role as Mommy, gathering my children with a full belly and a happy heart.

I attended my ultrasound appointments as scheduled as the weeks and months rolled by. By the third or fourth ultrasound, I started to notice a pattern. I started to notice that Baby Girl would always have her back aligned to my back no matter what. The ultrasound techs were able to get the images they needed, but they could never capture the view they wanted, one with her back fully exposed. To me, this was a miracle. Even while writing this, the beauty in realizing that something so delicate as a thin layer of skin was protecting the nerves in her spine, and that was being protected by my spine, blows my mind. I know a man could not order this. There was one occasion that I knew for a fact she was going to be out of alignment. On this particular day, Zyon was out of school and decided to hang out with me at my appointment. We were about two miles from the hospital, and I noticed that the car behind me was following pretty close. I was behind a police car that had just braked suddenly because of a pedestrian stepping into the street. I was able to stop, but the car in back of me could not and slammed into the back of me and pushed my car into the police car. I was petrified. My thoughts instantly raced, and fear and panic set in. In my mind, I thought, “Oh, no, Baby Girl’s back!” I checked to make sure Zyon was okay, and he was. As I sat in the car, I felt my belly tighten; it seemed like Baby Girl curled tightly into a ball in the upper left portion of my belly. I was so nervous. I stepped out of the car, and the gentleman driving the car that hit me stepped out as well. He was wearing scrubs; he was a nurse. I followed his eyes as he observed my very pregnant state, and he apologized and asked if I was okay. I told him I was and was already on my way to the hospital for an ultrasound. The police officer joined us. There was damage to my car, no damage to the police car at all. I apologized to the officer. The nurse explained that he was not paying attention and admitted to causing the accident. The officer wanted to start talking about the damage to my car and starting the paperwork. I didn’t. The only thing I wanted to do was get to the hospital. I didn’t want paperwork to stop me from being seen. I needed to go! I explained that the damage was fine. My son was fine, and I was fine; I just needed to get to my appointment. We exchanged numbers, and I got back into my car, making my way to the hospital. My fears consumed me as I continued my journey to the hospital. My mind raced as I walked down the halls. All of the worse possible scenarios flooded my mind. The routine I had established of praying and seeking the comfort of God while I walked all left, and instead, I let my fears carry me away. Those fears stormed inside of me, but I was careful not to let them show on my face. I didn’t even tell the staff that I had just been in a car accident. I acted as if nothing happened and just pleaded to God to let it be okay. When the exam started, to my surprise, her position was exactly the same… I noticed that she had relaxed out of her tight ball on my left side. She was now back in her normal position with her back aligned to mine. I remember whispering to myself, “How can that be right?” I didn’t question it for long. I took the good report and thanked God for keeping us in the midst of it all. This increased my knowing.  I knew that I was not witnessing a series of coincidences. The Creator was showing up and showing His hand.

Stressful situations always expose weakness in relationships. Although the medical reports were good for Baby Girl, the situation’s gravity weighed on me and my relationship with the Anesthetist. We were still always talking on the phone or with one another, but it was different. It was heavy. I was no longer in a headspace to be of much support to him. I was in survival mode for my baby and me. While my physical body was still going through the day-to-day motions of being a mother, advancing my career, and being in a relationship, I was mentally checked out. I felt that God had me in the wilderness like the Israelites. I felt alone yet very close to God. I knew and believed in the promise that God gave me, but there was not one person in the world who could carry or understand what headspace I was in. This obviously created a problem between the Anesthetist and me. I knew that men sometimes had trouble adjusting after a woman had a baby because the attention is no longer on them. I’d seen it happen time and time again. But I never saw or experienced anyone having a pregnancy such as the one I was having with Baby Girl. So I didn’t have anything to compare it to. I still loved and wanted the Anesthetist, but our conversation didn’t reach me the way it used to. It seemed superficial and trivial compared to what my reality was. It would seem that I would have found some pleasure escaping from the seriousness of life in those moments with him, but I didn’t. I felt emotionally abandoned. While I was still very much in a relationship with the Anesthetist, a part of the relationship died when he told me what he would not be able to handle or do at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Yes, I understood that the prognosis was so much more positive now, but I still held onto his words. I felt like he rejected the baby we were given. I felt like he had rejected me. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t throw himself into parenting the daughter we both wanted so badly in the same way I did. I wondered why his commitment and love for her didn’t match mine. I realize not everyone handles news the same way, but I didn’t see the fight in him, which annoyed me. I also started to notice other things he said that bothered me too. I realized that he used the word “can’t.” That was a word that I was careful not to use, and I taught my children not to say or use it either. I truly believe there’s nothing you can’t do. I couldn’t tell if I was annoyed that he said he “can’t” or if it was how quickly he said it after receiving the news that bothered me most. I talked it over with him, being careful not to punish him for not seeing and reacting to things in the same way I did. I just felt like there was something else there that caused this divide. 

Looking back, I recognize that I like to compartmentalize my emotions to continue on. There were so many smoke signals and red flags that told me that I should not be with the Anesthetist, but I felt like I was at a point where I just could not bear any more pain. I knew addressing or even discussing the things I felt or observed would open me up to more pain, and I was fragile and believed I could not humanly sustain any more heartache. So I dealt with everything. One of my ultrasound appointments aligned to a day/time the Anesthetist was free, and he joined me. It felt good to have him with me. I felt stronger with him there. I felt happy and protected. We made plans to reward our Baby Girl with a nice lunch after the appointment as we walked to the valet to get our car. We were standing just inside the hospital’s doors; it was a cold and rainy winter day, and I was enjoying the warmth I felt as he held me in his arms. I felt him pulling me closer to him as he hugged and comforted me. My heart was relaxed, and I let go of all the weight I had been carrying. I was soothed by the way he smelled. I was comforted by the way his heartbeat sounded as I rested my head on his chest. I was unarmed and relaxed as his arms pulled me closer. His voice made me smile. I was looking up at him to take in more of this man I loved so much visually when I noticed two deep red marks on the left side of his neck. My heart sank. No - my heart ached. I wanted to vomit, scream, and run all at the same time. I stepped back, causing our embrace to break, and said, “What’s that…” while I examined his neck. He responded, “What?” I pointed to his neck, and after I removed the mountain that lodged itself in my throat, uttered the words, “There are passion marks (hickeys or love bites others might know them as) on your neck.” He started touching his neck and saying, “I fell asleep when I went to see the boys. Their mother must have been playing around.” I literally died inside. I could no longer hear his explanation and could no longer look at him. I could only hear my heart pounding and the screaming of every emotion inside my head. My pain made me dizzy. I wanted to escape. I wanted to get away from him. I wanted to get away from the pain. I wanted to open my eyes and be in another time and place, one less painful than this one. Instead, I found myself simply walking to the car with him. He drove to Lenny’s Deli on Lombard St. I had no desire to be there. I had no desire to eat. I still felt close to being sick. True to form, he became much more talkative now. I am sure the lack of color in my face and my loss of words told my emotions. I could still not link words together to communicate the mire of emotions, so I just sat there. He talked and tried to pull me out of my thoughts. He said that it wasn’t what I thought. I pondered that statement. Like, I really thought about that. I wondered and asked, “How could it be anything other than what I thought?” I had so many questions, but I knew there was no sense in asking them because he had no intention of answering them honestly. He was not going to assume any responsibility; instead, he would say things that would make me question my own intellect. My only thought was “I am carrying our child who may or may not have a difficult quality of life, and you can’t be here for her or me, but you have time to be having sex… Sex with a woman, you say, has caused you so much pain. A woman who has caused so much stress and confusion in your life and your family’s lives that you need to divorce and cut off all ties with.” I remember telling him that I could not understand how someone plays and ends up having sex with someone. I asked if he tripped and fell into her lap? That’s when it happened. He said the change in me made him find comfort with someone else. Hearing those words made my ears ring. I literally felt like the cartoon character who gets hit on both sides of the head with frying pans at the same time. I was confused and dazed. 

You would think that this situation would be enough for me to throw in the towel. Well…you are wrong. I knew in my spirit I had no business staying with him. I was paying attention to his words but foolishly ignored his actions. On second thought, I can’t say that it was foolish. I was also allowing myself to feel desired and loved, even if only in word. I thought that I needed those to remain strong in my pregnancy, mothering my sons, and maintaining my career. The all too familiar feelings of betrayal, rejection, and abandonment were too massive. Coming face to face with these monsters at this point was much more daunting than facing the unknown with my pregnancy. But why? In my desire to be in a whole relationship with the Anesthetist, I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I shared all of my experiences, my fear, and my insecurities. I did this because I didn’t want to bring baggage into the relationship that would certainly destroy the relationship. The issue with this is that I hadn’t taken enough care to study if the Anesthetist was worthy of that vulnerability. Everyone is not deserving of your trust and vulnerability. And now I was facing the consequences of not paying attention to all of the smoke signals I disregarded. The first of which was him not being worthy of my vulnerability.

Monique Moment: As women, we want what we want. We also know we have the uncanny ability to influence men in such a way that they will believe our thought is their thought. In short, we can and do manipulate situations. I know that is heavy, but it’s true, and y’all know it. Stop attempting to put your fingerprints on the future. You concentrate on being the best version of yourself and being a good steward over what you were given today and allow the Creator to work things out for your good in the future. Stay in your lane!

So, at the beginning of the relationship, the Anesthetist was saying, “Let’s be open and honest and put everything on the table”; even though his actions didn’t align, I was presented with options. The first and most reasonable would have been to walk away trusting that the Creator would send the perfect man for me once I grew, matured, and saw and treated myself worthy of love, or I would begin to treat my singleness as the gift it was. The second option is to stay and take from that toxic relationship what I thought I needed at that moment. That is what I did. In my sharing and being vulnerable with him, I tried to force him, by example, to do the same with me. And if his honesty and vulnerability did not meet or match mine, then I could sit in the victim’s seat. In the midst of all this, I didn’t realize that I, too, was responsible. You can’t hold someone responsible for a task they are ill-equipped to do. Let me break it down. Let’s say I meet a shoemaker one day. And over the course of our meeting, I talk to the shoemaker extensively about neurosurgery. Our talks cover biology, surgical instruments, and highly specialized techniques. I might even show the shoemaker videos or let him observe the best neurosurgeons doing these procedures. Is the shoemaker a neurosurgeon after our meeting? No! Now, if the shoemaker decides to put down his previous profession and goes to be trained, spending many years learning and understanding the human body and how it’s put together and why all the parts function in the way they do, then only then is he a neurosurgeon. My point is you can’t make a person do something by being an example of it. The other person has to decide to make the change and do the hard work to execute behaviors that align with that decision. 

Please understand that I am not assuming full responsibility here. The Anesthetist is an adult and was fully aware of what he was doing. His own selfish desires caused him to do this, and it was his inability to accept responsibility for his actions that caused him to blame me. I knew that I had no control over his actions, only over my own. At this moment, I decided to stay and continue to play my role in the relationship, fully understanding the relationship was over or, should I say, never really existed.

I adjusted but never really healed after seeing the passion marks on the Anesthetist. With time, our conversation grew lighter, and we returned as close to our norm as we ever would be. We spoke and laughed, but the trust was gone. My heart was guarded. My emotional state allowed me to see more and more red flags in the relationship. But I stayed. I stayed because I wanted my daughter to have a father. I stayed because I didn’t want to be the reason my boys didn’t have a father. The logic was flawed at best. I reasoned that the Anesthetist was good to my boys, which should be why I stayed. I realize now, it is not. When I think of this now, one statement that comes to mind is “Stop setting yourself on fire to keep others warm!” I can’t say that I would have even been in the correct state of mind to receive this from a close friend at this point. I was in a dark place. I had sacrificed the possibility of happiness to maintain a faux family facade because I wanted to be what others thought I should be. In true Monique form, I busied myself preparing for Baby Girl, including coordinating my own baby shower. I started getting the furniture I needed for her. I was all too happy to buy pink clothing and blankets after buying so much blue during past pregnancies. All of these were activities that I did with my boys and my mother. The Anesthetist was not an active participant. I noticed there was always someplace he had to be or something that needed to be done at the same time I needed him, but he always had time to talk to me. I noticed it but never addressed it with him. I made myself happy planning for her and preparing my home for her arrival. I could not wait to meet her. I had some angst around how her delivery would play out. I questioned if I would be alone or not. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted the Anesthetist to be with me. I wanted him to want to be with me. I wanted him to want to be with us. I decided to be smart. I planned for my mother to be present because I knew I needed the emotional support. 

In preparing for Baby Girl’s arrival, I started to focus on her name. You would have thought the name would have come easy since I wanted a girl for such a long time, but it didn’t. During my pregnancy, I learned so much about her. If there was one word that characterized her, it would be strength. I knew her name needed to represent that. I also knew that I needed to go to God’s word to find her name as I did with her brothers. I was led to the name Jaaziel, which means “God strengthens” in 1 Chronicles 15:18. The name is also translated as “He is comforted of God.” I know, I know it says “Him”. But this is where I was led. I pronounce the name as Jah- Zelle. So it works, no doubting she is a girl. There also was no more perfect representation of the word strength that came to me. I knew that if I was being led to something, it was for a reason. I loved the uniqueness of the name and the sophisticated way it rolled off my tongue. What I had learned about Baby Girl is that she had the sophistication and strength to own the name Jaaziel. 

I’m not sure how I knew I was going into labor, but I knew. I asked my mother to drive down. About an hour after she arrived at my home, my labor began. It was light, but as a mother of three, I knew what was happening. It was late in the evening, and my home was settled and fully prepared for my Baby Girl. The boys were happy to have their grandmother there, and I was at peace, knowing that I would hold a miracle in a matter of hours. I called the Anesthetist and let him know that labor was starting. He told me that he would be over shortly. When he got to my home, he was dressed for work. I was a little shocked. I asked why since he did not have to go to work until the morning. He explained that if labor didn’t progress, he could go to work, ensuring that I would not deliver her without him. We lay in the bed all night talking as I labored. When morning reached, he said that he should probably go to work. I advised against that. I knew the only reason my labor had not progressed was that I was lying on my side. I assured him as soon as I stood up, I would be in active labor. He decided to go to work and asked me to call if anything changed. As I listened to his car pull away, I decided to get up. When I opened my door, my mother greeted me, asking me why he was leaving since she could see that I was obviously in labor. I explained that he needed to leave and told her that we need to head to the hospital. I woke the boys and let them know we were heading out. I asked them to be on their best behavior and asked them to look after one another until their grandmother returned home.

I could tell my mother was really nervous as we made our way to the hospital. I tried to lighten the mood by telling her that if she kept hitting the brakes so hard, we wouldn’t have to get to the hospital because I would have the baby right in her car. She didn’t think that was too funny, but I did. When we reached the hospital, I was ushered right up to the Labor and Delivery floor. My normal doctors were not on call at that time, but they saw what was needed as soon as they pulled my chart. I heard the NICU team call go out over the loudspeaker as I was just getting settled in the bed. As the doctor started to do the initial exam, I heard her yell, “I need the NICU team now.” I could hear the team running down the hall. The doctor looked up at me and told me to stop pushing. I explained that I was way past that point. To assist me, she inserted her entire hand in me in an attempt to delay Jaaziel’s arrival. I totally understand why this was necessary, but I was more than annoyed from the perspective of a laboring mother. As nicely as I could, I asked a few earnest questions… “Who has their hand in me? Whoever has their hand in me, will you please take it out?” I remember thinking, “You should really tell someone you are about to put your entire hand in their body and obtain consent before you do it. At the very least, introduce yourself, shake my hand, or even take me to dinner.” I know, I know she was doing her job, but I gotta say I was a little shocked, to say the least. I was focused on getting this baby out of me and not thinking about anything else. The doctor promptly told me it was her hand and that she would remove it when the NICU team was in place. Her tone let me know there was no room for negotiations. When the team arrived, she still asked that I stop pushing. I did try, but it was as if Jaaziel was literally climbing out of my body. As I am writing this, I see this is totally aligned to her personality. You can request what you want; she is determined to do things her way no matter what the situation. Finally, I was given the green light to push, and with one clean push, she was out. The NICU team grabbed her and started their assessment after they briefly let me look at her. Words can’t express the joy I felt looking into those bright, beautiful eyes. Her eyes were calm and loving. As I looked into her eyes, I saw strength and love. I whispered a quick, “I love you, Baby Girl.” With that, the NICU team took her away to continue their assessment. I was in full praise and worship. I thanked God for being God out loud in front of the whole team that was in the room with me. I thanked God for being a God of miracles and for being with us every step of the way. I craved her. I wanted her. The NICU team was attending to her, for which I am forever grateful, but I wanted to hold my baby girl. I wanted to bond with her and let her know that I was there to take care of her. I wanted and needed to comfort her, but that wasn’t an option at that time. The team quickly did a preliminary check and let me know that she was good. I was overjoyed and so grateful for her quick, safe, natural delivery! I had my baby girl! I had Jaaziel. I knew we were not out of the woods, but I was so incredibly grateful for God choosing me to be the vessel for this wondrous miracle.

I will pick up with Part 7 soon.

Keep evolving toward excellence!!