And Then There Was Me

I lay in my bed in the recovery room staring in dismay at my feet.  "Mind over matter," I thought.  They still wouldn't budge.  When I decided that my brain couldn't over ride my epidural I glazed over, peering at the foot at the bed.  No one.  I could hear faint voices of what I reasoned was recovery room nurses, but other than that and for the first time in nine months, I was utterly alone.  That stark realization struck me in the face. 

My mind drifted to the minutes after Carli, my first daughter, was born.  I had my husband by my side and a flutter of nurses crowding around me, offering congratulations and cooing over my newborn baby.  I thought of the glowing love I had for Carli the second I laid eyes on her.  As I gazed down at my precious child I remember the feeling like I could never let her go. I kissed her sweet head and nuzzled my little girl. Sheer bliss.

I felt a little jealous about being down the basement of the hospital with no windows while Brett and Kayla held Alex in her first minutes. As I lay in silence, they had the attention of the maternity floor, my family, their family and her. It is such a bummer to feel like you are missing your own party.

I came around to my feet again.  They were my only company.  Eventually a nurse came by and took my vital signs, asked how I felt and offered me pain medication.  I readily accepted.  I wasn't in much pain but I wanted to be a little zoned out for when I went upstairs. I didn't mind something taking the edge off of the emotions.  I swallowed and waited for the comfort of sedation.  I could go upstairs when I could move my feet.  I focused and tried for almost 45 minutes until they agreed to do what I said. 

At last an orderly came to take me upstairs.  I was free of this prison of solitude and I could again join in on the celebration.  I wanted to see her.  I only got a glimpse of her in the OR.  Would she look like Carli?  Me?  Did my mom get to hold her yet?  I thought of more questions while the anxiety of seeing everyone rose into my chest with every ding on the elevator.

I was backed into a large maternity room with a familiar buzz of excitement.  I was now a little sleepy from the pills and the tiredness of an operation.  With everything going on, it was easy to forget that I just had surgery.  My daughter, Carli, met my bedside to see her groggy mom attached to wires and tubes. She started crying.  As she went on she started to panic.  She needed to know that I was okay.  She ran around the bed, back and forth, trying to get to me as I tried to scold her over the noise of everyone in the room, "Carli don't pull that!"  In my exasperation over trying to both protect myself from further injury and fruitless in attempting to soothe my toddler, I yelled out to my mother. "What is she doing here!?"  We had agreed not to bring her to the hospital this day.  I knew this would be confusing for her and she was to leave her with my friend, Angel.  My mother gave an explanation but I think she needed Carli there to help her get through this.  I had to give her that much. This was hard.  I relented and calmed down to explain to Carli to be careful with Mama.  We brought her attention back to the baby, which she wanted little to do with.  Her concerns were for me.  I pained that she had to suffer because of me. 

So powerful to realize that a bad decision made in private can become not only so public but have the ability to hurt a multitude people.  Sin never happens in a vacuum.  After a calm came over the room, I looked over to the corner side of the room to see Brett calmly holding a sweet, sleeping baby dressed in a cute 'yellow duckie' sleeper while his wife quietly smiled and looked on.  A slice of Heaven fell on two wonderful people.  God can do amazing things with sin that is given to Him to make beautiful. 

The Delivery and the Hero

My underlying panic over having abdominal surgery started to rise as my hospital bed was backed up into the elevator.  In a reaction, I struggled not to put my arms out and yell “NO!”  Couldn’t this baby be born any other way?  The thought of the pain and slow healing process made me want to stop everything but there was no way around it, I was going to go through this today.  My C-section with my first daughter, Carli was a nightmare of nightmares.  A failed epidural and no way to fix what they had started, I spent my fearful moments on the OR table in a daze of morphine as they tried to keep me as comfortable as possible in order to get through what they needed to for the delivery of my daughter.  The shaking from the drugs distracted me from the miserable pain.  It seemed cruel to anticipate that I might have to go through that all over again and I was afraid that maybe this time, in such a tiny little local hospital, it could be even worse.

Kayla was right by my side the entire time.  Her pleasant, anticipating smile were a reminder that we were doing something monumental today.  I tried to shift my mind back to the baby being born for such a remarkable couple to welcome. The agony they’d faced in years of infertility trials and heartbreak would make all of it worth it to her, this day was finally here for Kayla to take in.  This is the day she would hold a precious little baby in her arms and call her “mine”.  I settled on those feelings of helping God accomplish that for her until the waves of anxiety would sweep me out again. 

Like a tide I washed back and forth as nurses and workers asked me questions and stuck this needle in here and prepped that area for the procedure.   Everyone in the little pre-op bays stood a little while longer than they should have to find out what the nature of my relationship was to Kayla.  I offered no explanation; I wanted this to be her day with her new daughter and not a morning of interviews about my decision.  Kayla’s nervous excitement seemed to grow with the minutes closing in on my operation time.  Both of us had the same thought for once, “please let’s get on with it!” was all we could think of.

My anesthesiologist was an answer to my jittery prayers.  My expectations were a barely-passed doctor from some medical school in Guatemala but instead I got an Ivy-Leaguer trained in one the best hospital institutions in Boston.  We quickly settled into talking while he worked about “home” for both of us and what we liked about Boston, where we lived and their proximities to each other.  He went on drizzling information to see if we had any personal connections, I couldn’t think of any but then in my circumstance, I didn’t necessarily want to divulge any either.  I rattled on about my hesitation and previous experiences with epidurals and he half-heartedly laughed as he sighed out “Well, Beth Israel is a teaching hospital.  You probably got a newbie.”   In no time I was completely numb and comfortable.  I was fascinated by the lack of feeling I had from the waist down.  He greeted my doctor as he arrived and everyone exchanged “Good Mornings”.  My doctor asked me a few questions and patted my arm in reassurance that it would be over soon.  Sadness always haloed his voice when he spoke to me.  I am sure I was one of the few, if not the only, birthmother he ever attended to. The whole situation seemed to ring of loss for him.  I suppose a man who mainly makes a living helping parents through one of the most joyous times of their lives was not used to having to keep my relationship to the baby so matter-of-fact  instead of sharing in the wonders of expecting mothers and fathers.  He did his best to try and comfort me and keep off of the subject of parenthood.  “Okay, Lady”, he said in his subtle Cuban accent, “Let’s get this baby out!” That was music to my ears. 

My new best friend was the anesthesiologist.  I lay there in a dazed, numb-limbed haze as he spoke kind and reassuring words to me about the progress of the surgery.  Kayla was with me, holding my head and comforting me as they progressed behind the screen.  Feeling her hands on the sides of my face was such a tender comfort to me.  I focused on the whisper of her voice as she spoke words of thanksgiving and peace.  “Please just let me live to see my Carli”, was all that I could plead with God silently in my mind. I didn’t want to leave her.  Not like this. 

The moment came when they were ready to bring Alex out in the world.  Attendants in the room called out to Kayla to take her position with the camera for Alex’s debut.  My lips trembled for her joy, an emotional tear escaped from the corner of my eye.  This was the big moment, the showstopper.  Kayla would greet her little girl into the world and I wished I was able to take a picture of her face when she saw her. 

A newborn cry let out and I heard Kayla breakdown as the OR erupted into joyous comments from the staff.  I saw the nurses rush by me with the baby to the table where they would examine her and give her the initial APGAR. Kayla was close behind them.  She returned to my head, crying from the amazing event that had just occurred before her eyes.  She became a mother and it wouldn’t have been possible if not for my willingness to submit to giving Alex life. 

Kayla and I formed an unbreakable bond in those moments.  There is an altruistic relationship that forms between Adoptive mother and Birth mother.  Both depend on each other so much to stay true to their covenant.  I have never felt such an unretractable love for someone and yet feel as though it was so completely vulnerable all at the same time.  She depended on me to fulfill the plan.  I depend on her to fulfill the needs that Alex has and will have as she grows.  You would wonder why or how you could put a trust in someone like that, wouldn’t you?  Yet, it is true.  It can be done so beautifully if it is done well. 

Now Arriving...

I was met in the lobby by two very wide-eyed people.   I am not sure that Kayla's mouth could have handled a wider smile.  Her pale blue eyes danced and twinkled as she beamed at me.  Brett, with his usual warm smile was a little quieter.  He always seemed like he was trying to be cautiously optimistic.   He wanted things to work out well for Kayla, I know.  The only thing it seemed that he ever wanted was for her to be happy.  Who could fault a guy for that?

We hugged and belly patted and I waddled over to registration with two impending parents in tow.  After a brief mix up over where I was supposed to register, the nurses got me into my room and settled me in my bed and Brett and Kayla found seats off to the side.  The maternity nurse did her usual.  I'd had a baby before so I knew what we'd be doing.  They hooked my belly up to the baby monitor so they could hear her heart beat.  Kayla made her way over to the machine.  She stood in front of the sound of her daughter's heart wooshing in a perfect rhythm.  I saw her face soften and become emotional over the sound.  It was the first time she'd heard Alex's heartbeat.  I fixed on her face and studied as she started to let out a giddy laugh and turn back to Brett who was standing at the foot of the bed watching this all happen.

Nurses, attendants, and doctors came in and out.  They greeted and checked things, blood pressures and such. We were periodically updated as to when I would be prepped for surgery.  We made some excited chit-chat between the three of us as we waited.  They were nervous with anticipation and I was trying not to focus on my impending abdominal surgery.  I wasn't looking forward to the recovery and I was especially on edge because my last epidural with my first daughter didn't take and I was miserable and doped up so full of morphine that I thought that I was going to shake off the table.  It was a harrowing and disappointing experience and I was hoping that this one would not be part two.

The talk came around to some other couples they met recently that had adopted within months.  They had kept in contact with other couples at the agency who had gone through prep courses at the same time.  I thought that was kind of neat.  Like a kinship.  I am sure the process and waiting can be agonizing. It must be nice to have others around you who can relate.  Last they brought up a couple who's birthmother changed her mind after the delivery.  There was a brief silence.  I was heartbroken to think about this amazing couple, awaiting the answer to prayer only to go home empty handed.  I assured them that I had made my decision and that I knew that this baby was meant for them and a blessing by God.  After that elephant left the room we could get back to settling in on Alex's arrival.

Kayla brought sweet little outfits for her and told me all about her baby shower back home.  She recounted the nice things that her family and friends had done for them and what they got.  She pulled things out of a bag to show me.  I patted my belly as I looked on. It wasn't just a couple adopting a baby.  It was a family welcoming a great gift into their midst and in their hearts.

Our last visit by a nurse was followed by two orderlies who'd be driving my bed down to the OR.  It was show time.  They got me all wrapped up for the travel and we said our good byes to Brett.  Kayla would be joining me in the operating room this morning.  An honor I was so glad to bestow on her.  I heard the release of the brake on the bed and we were wheeling toward the door.

Was the Gift Worth the Cost?

A birthday party for Jesus at my house this afternoon got me thinking about gifts.  We had a cake, sang 'Happy Birthday' and went around the table and told Jesus what we'd like to give Him.  I gave my plans.  I have lots of things going on and I like to think I can anticipate His next move in my life.  He keeps trying to let me know that He can outwit me with out so much as a blink of an eyelash but I like to frustrate myself by playing the game anyway.  This year, I'd like the plans to be solely His.  My 5 year old daughter wanted to give Jesus a telescope so He  could see all the stars.

"Don't you think He can see all the stars from Heaven, Honey?"

"Yes, if He closes one eye.", she replied squinting and contorting her little face to show me how.

As we wound down the party I started to think of who wasn't there. My late husband was one.  He would have liked the tradition.  Carli was too young when he died to start it but we did talk about it one night.  Next I thought of Alex.  I thought of what a gift she was to her parents and how much they must have realized that last year, which was their first Christmas with her.  I thought about what traditions that she would have with her parents and would they maybe have a birthday party for Jesus as well?  It's been a while since I've heard from Alex's parents.  Maybe 4 weeks or so. I've been so wrapped up in Christmas chaos that I hardly noticed, until today.  I've been evenly keeled about everything but emotions sneak up on me once in a while.  I run at too fast a pace for anything to catch up usually.

After everyone left I decided that I needed to head to the gym.  My brain was going too fast for comfort and a good workout always does the trick for me.  I loaded myself and Carli into the car and headed for the 'Y'.  As I drove, I noticed the twinkling Christmas lights adorning the neighborhood houses and shrubs.  My mind recalled a recent picture of Alex. She is 14 months now.  She was sitting on a hillside in the grass.  Her mother had dressed her a prim purple pleated skirt with grey knit tights and brown riding boots.  Her hair swept back and to the side by a matching plum colored bow.  I focused on her face.  Her round chubby face has the sweetest cheeks.  I thought of what it would be like to sit her on my lap like I used to do with Carli and kiss her baby little face over and over again.  As I continued to daydream, I could almost smell baby lotion and feel her skin on my lips.  Before I could bring myself around, I was sobbing in the driver's seat trying to contain myself so I didn't upset Carli.

How am I going to workout like this?  I wanted to turn the car around and come back tomorrow.  Thankfully my sensibility took over and I resigned to the fact that the workout may be just what I needed.  I could cry later.  I tried to get the images out of my mind as I checked Carli into KidWatch and walked onto the gym floor.  In my distraction and disorganization from being lost in thought, I put everything every where and just sat down in the stretching area to try to get myself warmed up.  As I leaned this way and that, I wandered through my social networking sites on my phone and glanced at posts.  I came across a post from a man that I highly respect.  It was shorter than most of his usual and it didn't look funny so I clicked to see what needed reflection.  "God...Your love makes it worth it all" came off of the screen at me.  I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds.  My mind started rifling through images of what 'it all' was to me.  Was His love worth it?  Yes!  I don't even recognize my relationship with God.  I thought I had God all figured out and stored in a tidy box before Greg died. My pregnancy and adoption journey with Alex was what drew me near to Him and got me to ask the one question He was waiting to hear from me, "Who are you, really?".  I could never have what I have in Christ today if not for those trials. I didn't choose this but I am strangely grateful for what I gained in the endurance.

I typed a reply but I heard myself say "and I lost a spouse and a child in the same life" most find it puzzling who don't know Jesus to hear me say that I would do it again to have what I have in Him.  I wanted to reply again when I was struck by a recollection of a conversation that he and I had in my car in the summer.  He had lost a child and a spouse too.  The events weren't the same but the pain was.  He knows what I mean.  I have some idea as to what makes makes him post that statement and know that he can stand behind what he said.  Because it's true.

The Final Countdown

Tests, final paperwork, phone calls to make arrangements and my mother's arrival signaled that I was really at the crest of this wave.  Save any early contractions, I had a date and a time for the arrival of Alex.  Her parents were deliriously happy.  Why wouldn't they be? The end of 5 years of waiting was almost over for them.  They were at a crest too.  For me, it wasn't as happy as I was waiting my wave to come in to shore.  I'd been riding this one for 9 months and I was frankly anxious to get off my board.

I picked up my mom at the airport. The Arrivals area at the Key West International Airport is about the size of a finished basement in a large split level house.  You can't miss the luggage carousel, it's the only one they have not mention, it is right next to the door as soon as you walk in from the tarmac.  I knew she wouldn't miss me.  I was the size of blue whale.  I sat and waited until I saw her come through the automatic doors.  We hugged and chatted about her trip but it wasn't a happy greeting.  We both knew what was coming.  It wasn't so much what was happening but the anticipation of the unknown when something big is about to go down.

I wanted to put it out of my mind and just focus on the fact that soon, Alex's father would be out of my life.  No more drunken phone calls, tirades, threats, sobbing pleads, and frustration.  The idea that I would never have to speak to him again should have made me giddy.  When ever I'd get sad, I'd talk out loud to my mom about how happy I was for Brett and Kayla.  It was a happy time.  Two people were going to become parents!  No one was forcing me to do anything, it was my decision so why was I so sad?  No matter what I tried to do to rationalize that being sad was selfish, my heart wouldn't have it.  I had to accept what I was feeling.

The morning came when it was time for me to go to the hospital.  I had to report at 5AM for my c-section.  Brett and Kayla would be meeting me there for the big arrival.  The plan went that my mom would stay home with my daughter until later and my wonderful miracle of a friend, Angel would drive me to the hospital.  I had my bags packed for the hospital from the night before.  I sat on my bed in the dark and waiting for Angel's text message to let me know that she'd be downstairs waiting for me.  I couldn't help but think of my first pregnancy.  The contrast was polar.  Carli was not only planned but prayed for.  My late husband and I were so thrilled to await her arrival.  My onset of contractions kept us up all night and the excitement was tangible between us as my body let us know that our little girl would be joining our family in a matter of hours.  It was such a special moment as we drove together in the car to the hospital.  He was by my side the whole time and his face let me know that he was elated to share in this and didn't want to miss a moment.  This morning, I never felt so alone.  I wasn't going  to welcome a new baby with her father and bring her home.  I wasn't fantasizing about what it would be like to take her into her new room and rock my new little precious as I placidly stared down at her.  I was going to deliver a child that would be leave with someone else.  The sadness and the reality covered over me like a canopy.

I lumbered down the stairs with my bag after briefly waking my mother to tell her that I was leaving.  I made my way into the car and we drove to the hospital.  It was still dark and and silent on the island.  The revelers and bar staff were all gone.  Just me, Angel and her car.

We pulled up to the front door and the bright lights of the main lobby beckoned us from the black of the empty parking lot.  I hugged Angel good bye and walked toward the light as the doors parted for me.

Waiting Room Jitters

After my trip to Disney the only thing left to do was wait.  I had to sit around for a whole three weeks and think about what was going to happen next.  My mother would be coming to stay with me in a few days. She wanted to be there to support me but also to help me care for my daughter.  I had an extraordinary church family at Fifth Street Baptist, but I needed more hands on deck than the occasional sitting.  More than that, I needed my mom like you do when you are sick in the middle of the night as a kid.  I remember my mom sitting next to me, right up close when I would wake with a fever.  She'd rub my back and help me get to sleep. The slow, rhythmic stroking, with a warm, light pressure that let you know that she cared. That is the kind of comfort only someone who loves you uncontrollably can give you.  I was desperate for soothing.

The days went on like months. I was sometimes counting days by the half day just so I could feel like I was accomplishing something in the waiting.  I did have a lot of appointments to keep me busy.  Those were also markers of progression.  Blood work, pre-registration, doctor's visit, all lined up for the countdown.  Out of curiosity I drove across the island to get a view of the hospital.  I drove down a long winding road that wrapped around a golf course until I reached a much-smaller-than-expected building that looked dated and lacking in expertise.  "I'm gonna die here", was what I surmised after my inspection.  My perspective of what a community hospital should be like was off.  I am from Boston where you can throw a rock in any direction in the city and hit a world-class medical facility.  It is a near impossibility to not get great health care and access to a renowned specialist there.  At this hospital, I would was certain that most of the staff had likely just passed their board certifications.  I drove home wrought with anxiety over what my care would be like.

My first one appointment on the list was the pre-registration.  I needed to go to the hospital and give them all the gory details of who I was and what was going to happen.  My counselor prepped me over the phone and sent along paperwork ahead of me so that, hopefully, they would have some semblance of what to do in my case.  I was pleasantly surprised at how the inside of the hospital differed from the outside.   The inside was clean and new.  The staff was smiley and helpful, cheerfully directing me to where I needed to go.  I got to the Maternity desk and found a nurse who sweetly directed me to the room that someone would do my interview in and asked me if I wanted something to drink.  "Water would be fine", I didn't know what else to ask for anyway.

I dark haired, well groomed nurse, about my age, announced herself and pulled the curtain back as she stated her name and sat down, promptly fluffing the papers and inspecting everything before she turned her eyes to me.  I sat blankly, wondering what she would say when she finally stopped her organizing.
She slowly read the information that my adoption counselor faxed over.  "Oh, you are going to give the baby up for adoption", she trailed off as she kept reading.  I hate that term, "give the baby up".  It sounds so much easier than it actually is and I wasn't giving a kitten away because I was moving into a new apartment, I was deciding the fate of a child!  Isn't there a better way of putting it than what most people would say?  I struggle with it still.  Sometimes I say, "processed for adoption" that just sounds so clerical.  I sometimes also say, "surrendered for adoption" but that sounds legal.  How do you state it in terms that people can understand the gravity but the love that was involved in the decision?  I tried to respond to confirm her realization but instead I heard myself gasp as the rushing heat of tears warmed cheeks.  My ears burned from embarrassment.  She made sympathetic faces as she reached over for tissues.  I didn't know what to say. I didn't owe her an explanation but I wanted to plead my case that I wasn't some aimless screw up that couldn't get her head on straight.  Instead, I rallied in silence as she patiently waited for me to compose.

Once we got over the adoption hump of the interview, it was a lot easier. The usual stuff, my medical history, the father's history.  "Will he be joining you?", I tried not to explode into laughter.  I did list his name as a potential visitor but with a caveat that if he showed up intoxicated that he'd need to be escorted out of the building and he would, under no circumstances, be allowed to be alone with the baby or leave my room with her.  I made her write it down.  I just couldn't underestimate the craziness of a raging, desperate alcoholic.  

The Brethren

Everyone loves a good solid friendship.  The kind of friend who will listen to you for hours and doesn't mind overlooking your flaws.  The Brethren are different.  They are committed.  They are in it for the long haul, no matter where the adventure of life takes you.  They know the road gets messy and they've got their hip-waders on.  You know the ones, you say I need you and they come running, no matter where or what time.  They are like the Special Forces that God sends in when you are in it up to your ears.  He sends them to either coach you out of the pit or drag you from it.  You have to appreciate another human being who is that willing to invest in you, I found a whole church full of them. 

Lest I even dare not to mention the Fifth Street Baptist Church in Key West, Florida, the heart and the love of Jesus billows out of their windows.  I walked into their church with my little one in tow and barely showing my trial.  I wanted to slide into a pew unnoticed but God had other plans.  Within seconds, I found strangers approaching me with warm smiles and outstretched hands.  Women gathered around me to direct me to where my daughter would have Sunday School and another asked to me join her family for service so I wouldn't have to sit alone. 

It didn't take long before I had gotten to know a few and with my impending breach of belly from my baggy clothes, I felt the need to confide in one, to let them in on my secret.  I was met with a wonderful, compassionate reception and a kindness I hadn't felt in years.  I needed to be loved and to feel accepted and there were 4 key women in the church who wanted to love me with all they had.  Who couldn't be just speechless when you recieve such compassion.  I felt more open to letting them in on my hidden life down on their island.  I was waiting for someone to give some kind of reaction, a sign that I didn't sit well with them but it never happened.  I wondered if they would think that someone in my situation shouldn't still call themselves a Christian but no one ever questioned my faith.  I kept waiting for my own judgements against me to materialize in the faces and out the mouths of this congregation but they refused to oblige.  I felt cared for.  I was desperate for it.

Here it was, after 8 long months with them seeing me every week, loving me through my hurt and my decision and it was winding down to my due date and everyone knew it.  There was a little sadness in the air and an uneasy feeling of 'what comes next?'.  I was approached by a dear friend there one morning.  She gently told me that she was asked to see if I would be okay with the ladies in my congregation throwing a baby shower for Alex's parents.  They wanted to bless this couple with gifts to show that they loved me and this child all this time and that this was there way of showing it.  They wanted them to know what a gift it was for them to share in this experience with me.  I was silent for a lot longer than I should have and her eyes started to dart and her shoulders rolled in as a sign that she was afraid that she'd injured me.  I just didn't know how to put to words the awesome sense of gratitude and humility I was feeling that they'd want to do something like this for them.  I agreed and we worked out the details of gift giving and how they would get to Brett and Kayla.  I couldn't wait to email Kayla to let her know what this sweet group of ladies wanted to do for her.  I was bursting with pride over the outpouring of love from my Sisters. 

Such and amazing experience, to see these women love on me unconditionally and every bit like the love of Christ.  My most humbling and confirming moment in these women came as I was substitute teaching bible study on Sunday.  I had finished up and one of my favorites raised her hand and said, "It has been such a blessing to see you live out your testimony".  My tears wanted to flow.  I had come to that church just hoping I could fade into the crowd, ashamed of what I'd become and completely unaware how greatly I'd be blessed.  I couldn't have ever fathomed that I'd be a blessing to others.