The Toot of a Bedrest Survivor

In searching the blogosphere to get acquainted with other bloggers out there, I came across a neat little idea that MommyCommunity.com came up with called "Tuesday Toot Meme". You sign up for the group and promise to read and comment on all the participants' blogs. The great thing about these blogs is Mamas use each Tuesday as an opportunity to toot their own horn. I love this idea because it seems that women--especially moms--find it difficult to pat themselves on the back. We can tell you how great our kids are and what their latest accomplishments are but when it comes to us, we struggle to think of anything. I am guilty of this too. It took me quite a while to come up with what I was going to write about today and I'm sure it will be even more difficult next Tuesday. But as the weeks go by, I'm hoping that it will become easier and I will be able to realize my accomplishments as a woman, a wife and a mother. I hope the same for you.

Here's my toot...

In August of 2002 I discovered I was pregnant with my son Grayson. I had already been reading all the books I could find on how you should care for your body during pregnancy--what you should eat, how you should exercise, etc. I did everything I was supposed to--period. After my 12 weeks doctor visit, they told me that everything looked great and that I was in the clear of that "danger zone" when typically miscarriages occur. I felt wonderful, and I was on cloud 9.

However at sixteen weeks pregnant, I had a partial placental abruption where for some unknown reason the placenta begins to tear away from the wall of the uterus. I was bleeding and the doctors couldn't tell me what was going to happen. All I could think about was the possibility of losing my baby. At that emotional trip to the doctor's office, I was told point blank by the doctor "If you lose it, you lose it. You can have another one." I was crushed. I didn't want another one. I wanted my baby that I had inside my body right then. As the doctor was about to walk out the door, I stopped her and said, "Wait. You tell me what I can do to save THIS baby." She proceeded to tell me a bunch of what I call "doctor crap" and basically told me it was just best to not worry about it and let nature take its course. Of course, that wasn't good enough and suddenly I felt the urge to blurt out "What about bed rest? Would that work?" To my disbelief, she looked straight at me and said, "you would be willing to do that?" I said, "Yes. Of course. Anything to keep this baby." She still told me that it wasn't a guarantee that bedrest would work, but she did say that it would be the best thing to try. So she pulled out her little prescription pad and wrote me a note to take to work saying I would be on complete bedrest until I delivered the baby. Now quitting work was the easiest thing I had to do at that moment. Worrying about money (along with everything else) was completely turned over to my husband's list of duties. My new job was to stay in bed and let my body do the rest.

Yes, bed rest was awful. I only left the bed to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. I bathed only every three days. I had a mini-fridge by the bed. Skipper fixed me breakfast before he left for work. His mother came to make my lunch, do a few things around the house, and take me to the doctor each week- sometimes twice a week. My parents would come to clean the house when they could. Basically, everybody pitched in and I am so grateful for such a wonderful family. But still, bed rest was awful. When I was alone was the worst. My mind would wander and it always led me down that horrible path of thinking about having to give birth to a dead baby. I think I cried every single day for five months.

Then one day as I was sitting on the bench in the shower, crying and praying and washing my hair at the same time--I just stopped. It was like I was being forced to be calm by a power much greater than me. I got out of the shower and was drying off when these words came into my mind ---"I have you and I've had you all along." I tear up even now as I think back to that moment. God's peace came over me and for the first time during my pregnancy, I let God take care of my baby instead of thinking I could do it myself. I didn't cry again until I had tears of joy when I heard my son being pulled from my body in the operating room. He was nearly three weeks early and while it wasn't an emergency c-section, it was dramatic with its scary moments. But he was perfectly healthy weighing a whopping 9 lbs. 4 oz. Pure joy! I survived, my baby survived and even though I give all the credit to God, I'm going to toot my horn for listening to Him and obeying Him. So TOOT TOOT!!