Hope and a 3 year old

Tommy day 1 to 3 years old.

3/24/14

Today was the day I had hoped to make it to still pregnant. Today the babies would have been 24 weeks and viable, meaning they could have lived, with lots of medical intervention, but they could have had a chance. It's a weird day. I remember thinking of course I can make it to March 24, I'll stay positive and things will work out. Things didn't work out how I had hoped but it's ok. During the beginning of this trial my friend texted me a wonderful quote from a leader in my church, Neal A. Maxwell: 

"Real hope keeps us anxiously engaged in a good cause, even when these appear to be losing causes on the mortal scoreboard (see D&C 58:27). Likewise, real hope stiffens the spiritual spine. Hope is serene, eager without being naive, and steady. Hope is realistic anticipation which takes the form of determination--not only to survive adversity but, moreover, to "endure" to the end." 

Hope is a great thing, it's the thing that keeps us going when life is crappy, the thing that provides happy images of our future, it's the thing that we all need to live. But the part of this quote that struck me when I read it and even more now is where it says that hope is eager without being naive. 

Tommy turned 3 last Friday. On March 21, 2011 my world was rocked. Tommy was born at 29.5 weeks. He was 3 lb 2 oz, 16 inches long. He had a cleft soft palate and some other mouth abnormalities that made it very difficult for him to breath well. As time went on we realized the long road we had ahead of us. Tommy had 7 surgeries by the time he was 21 months. We met with occupational therapists, physical therapists and speech therapists until just last week. On his 3rd birthday last Friday we basically got our "normal kid” stamp of approval. He did not qualify for the special needs preschool meaning he is completely caught up. And today we saw his pediatrician who has seen us through all of this, he and I thought back through the past 3 years of challenges and sighed a huge sigh of relief. We made it!  

I reminisce about all this because so much of it was surrounded by hope. The day Tommy was born I had so much hope and faith that everything would be ok, I knew it would take time but I knew he would be ok. Every bump in the road, every surgery, every sickness, I hoped for the best and things turned out.  But this time I hoped for the best and things didn't work out. And it's ok. I keep thinking about that quote, "hope is eager without being naive".  This time the odds were stacked against us. As soon as my membranes ruptured the odds were low that I would be able to remain pregnant.  I was devastated when things were looking that way but I was still hopeful.  I was full of hope the week in between the first time I went into labor and the second and last time I went into labor.  I was hopeful that things would work out and I would look back at this scary time and tell stories about it, but that it would have a happy ending.  As soon as I went into labor again I knew I would be delivering the babies and that they wouldn’t make it.  I was so heartbroken.  That drive to the hospital was horrible, going into the hospital was horrible, I knew that for a second time just like in 2011 I would enter labor and delivery and leave without a baby.  I’ve thought a lot about if I was naïve to even be hopeful for that in between week, but I know that I was everything that I needed to be.  That week was important to prepare us to say goodbye to our little angels.  I know Heavenly Father gave me that week to process what was happening, even though I really hoped that it would be different, I knew it was a strong possibility.  The bottom line is I was angry that I had that week full of hope the night we went back into the hospital, but I now understand it better.  Hope is what keeps us going, now it’s my hope for the future, for more baby Hendersons.   I know that everything in life is arranged by the hand of God.  Hope is there to help us see the clear skies through the storm, I’m so grateful for that.

Tender Mercies

“The simpleness, the sweetness, and the constancy of the tender mercies of the Lord will do much to fortify and protect us in the troubled times in which we do now and will yet live. When words cannot provide the solace we need or express the joy we feel, when it is simply futile to attempt to explain that which is unexplainable, when logic and reason cannot yield adequate understanding about the injustices and inequities of life, when mortal experience and evaluation are insufficient to produce a desired outcome, and when it seems that perhaps we are so totally alone, truly we are blessed by the tender mercies of the Lord and made mighty even unto the power of deliverance (see 1 Ne. 1:20).” 

Jeffrey R. Holland Oct. Conf. 2013

Tender mercies, thank goodness for them.  I experience tender mercies all day every day:

-the cute little birds at my bird feeder that I thought would never come, now every day lots of darling birds frequent the feeder

-slightly burned microwave popcorn, I perfected it the other night, it was epic

-Jimmy Fallon and the Tonight Show (laughter is the best medicine)

-Diet Coke by the bucket load

-watching my 3 year old escape out the front door in just undies, with husband chasing closely behind him, then the real chase ensues, Tommy is giggling and Steve is jumping around after him, this is happiness

-my friends, all of them, always knowing just the right thing to say, just the right thing to do, I’m so blessed

-doctors who really care about me and my family, same doctors who tell me to call and text whenever, doctors who drop off studies about premature labor, tell me everything is going to work out and we shouldn’t give up

-family, without my family I would be lost and broken

-a giant beast of a dog, she makes me laugh and smile, she comforts me

-sweet notes in the mail, on Facebook, texts, phone calls, emails, again always at the right time, saying just what I need

-watching Tommy sing Let it Go, so innocent and sweet

-a moon that was so glorious and majestic the other night that I stood and stared at it out my front door for several minutes, I felt so small but so connected to my Heavenly Father, I felt so strongly in that moment His love for me, and His knowledge of my struggles, and I felt so much hope and peace

-my future

This is by far the most difficult trial I have encountered.  Without the knowledge of the Gospel I would not know how to move forward, really even how to function during this time.  I have been so enormously blessed by tender mercies in my time of need.

“The Lord’s tender mercies do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Faithfulness, obedience, and humility invite tender mercies into our lives, and it is often the Lord’s timing that enables us to recognize and treasure these important blessings.”

David A. Bednar April Conf. 2005

Peas & Potatoes

3/13/14

At 1:21 this morning I sat at my kitchen counter stuffing my face with peas & potatoes.  This dish consists of butter, flour, milk and peas and potatoes, so obviously it’s the perfect comfort food when you can’t sleep.  I keep finding myself awake at 1:21 on Thursday mornings, and this super sucks because that’s when the first twin was born two weeks ago today.  Then I stare at the clock until 1:23 and that’s when the second twin was born.  The first little guy, Michael Peter, was stillborn.  He was alive a couple hours prior to birth but must have passed during labor.  I held him for a moment until the next baby started coming. The second little guy, David Ryan was alive when he came out.  He took a few reflex breaths, that’s what the doctor called it.  Then I watched his little heart beat in his tiny chest, I asked how long he would live and they said just a couple minutes.  Holding him and watching his heart beat was rough, but I’m so grateful I did get to hold him for those moments.  

Then they were both our angels.  Then I held them and sobbed.  Steve held me as I stared at these beautiful tiny babies and felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.  February 27, 2014 was the worst day of my life.  It was so unfair, I was so sad, and angry and heartbroken.  After doing IVF to get these twins I couldn’t believe that this would happen.  After having Tommy so early, and watching our sweet boy go through 7 surgeries, and all the therapy and crap we’ve had to go through to get him to where he is I thought really?  Haven’t we had enough?  But the longer I looked at my babies and touched their faces, and fingers and toes the more peace I felt.  These angels are mine forever and for that I’m forever grateful.  I’m sad for the lifetime on this earth that I’m not able to share with them but grateful for the eternities that I will.    

The Beginning

2/18/14 

Around 10:30 my belly started aching.  By 12:30 I was headed to my doctor’s office, I dropped Tommy off at my dear friend Kacey's house, she asked if I was ok, and that was really the first time I wondered if I was ok.  They took me back to ultrasound, it was bad, next thing I knew I was telling Steve to get over there and fast, they wheel me over to labor & delivery.  I try to make jokes and laugh, because that's my jam.  But it's all so real and so scary at this point. 

The high risk doc is waiting for me, and I know from experience that it's not a great sign when the doc, a busy doctor, is waiting for you to arrive.  They put the ultrasound on me, checking babies, they are ok, heartbeats, so handsome, I love them.  Then they get to the bad stuff, I'm only slightly dilated but the membranes are protruding outside of me.  Hourglassing they call it, as in the membranes are creating an hourglass figure between inside and outside of me.  I'm having regular contractions, my water is trying to break, and everyone is really scared and somber, and it's awful.  They admit me, Doc says he'll do what he can to force the membranes back in and stop labor but things look very grim.  Grim is a word used extremely frequently over the next 24 hours.  I'm not a fan of grim.  They wheel me to my room, hook me up to everything in the world, give me medication to stop contractions, then we sit and wait.  Doc can't do anything until contractions stop.  

The waiting sucks, all the terrible outcomes go through your mind, you start considering how you'll get through this, how it's all going to work out.  Doc comes back in and is very surprised my contractions haven't stopped, he gives me a second drug, warns it will make me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin, but it's the only option we've got.  Finally the contractions are less painful and further apart.  Then our friend Chris came, he helped Steve give me a blessing.  That blessing took me back so quickly to the blessing that Steve and my dad gave Tommy the morning he was born.  When Tommy was born I listened to these incredible men bless my teeny tiny little boy and had all the faith in the world that things would work out, but knew the long journey we had ahead.  This time Steve blessed me that I would be ok and so would these boys, I hate to say it, I wanted so badly to believe that but knew that ok didn't necessarily mean alive and healthy.  Ok meant that these little spirits would be mine forever, whether here on this earth or after this life, and that would be ok.  

Doc comes in, gives us one last talk before we try to save this, he says the chances are really really low, if we just want to let nature take it's course he understands, he says it's worth a shot but it probably won't work, he'll try his hardest.  Then I'm in the operating room, I get the spinal, that makes things physically feel a lot better.  Then they are working on me, things are quiet, I'm staring at the ceiling.  I want to ask what's going on but I just can't muster it up in me.  They tell a nurse to get Steve, I know that's not good, really not good.  Next thing I know there are looks of disappointment and I hear them ask for a bucket.  The membrane ruptured, everything hits me 10 times harder and my reality breaks my heart.  We are going to lose the babies, both of them.  I failed these guys, I'm mad and so sad and now I just want it to be over.  Doc says he's so sorry, he tried and he's so sorry.  I actually want to hug him too and say it's ok, you did everything you could, he looked so sad and I hated that.  

They wheel me back, Steve holds my hand and puts his hand on my head, and tells me everything will be ok.  I know it will, but I don't want to go through all the pain to get there.  We cry, and sit together.  It was pretty awful.  I hate being sad and I just couldn't avoid it, and knew I had a lot of sad in front of me.  They get me situated in my new long term room, the nurses are so nice and kind, they make this all kind of bearable.  Doc says now one of two things will probably happen, I'll just go back into labor, and then I'll deliver the babies, get to hold them for a little before they pass, or, since my insides are now exposed I'll start an infection which would induce labor as well, same outcome.  Steve and I prepare ourselves for that reality.  There's a small chance that my body will not go back into labor or start an infection, but docs don't want to get my hopes up for that, we'll just wait and see at this point.  

We wait, every hour that goes by that I don't have a contraction makes us a teeny bit more hopeful.  We update family and friends, ask for prayers and then try to sleep.  By the next morning we are feeling a little more hopeful.  At least the trauma of the day before was over.  From there my body starts surprising people.  The high risk doc that has been by our side comes in and he's very surprised I didn't go back into labor and have the babies last night.  So I'm pretty pleased that I'm already beating the odds.  That whole day passes, no contractions, and my body behaves in some other ways that are good, keeping stuff where it should be, I'll leave it at that.