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. 

Happy Birthmother's Day?

A swirl of emails and phone calls, my life is abuzz with my prospective future.   A PR firm interviewed me for promotion of my story.  The anticipation that I might be getting "that call" to say a media outlet would like to bring it forth to the public is what I have dreamed of since I started this journey.  To make Adoption as easy a discussion as any other in the unplanned pregnancy positions, that is my goal.  I am a bit desensitized to the jargon these days.  Adoption is a topic I routinely discuss.

"Why do they want to get your story out?", one asked me as I was heralding what was new in my life.  "It's Birthmother's Day on the Saturday before Mother's Day", I replied with a bit of an excited tweek as if I were sharing a secret.   As a contortion of confusion came to his face, his next question was, "They celebrate that?" 

I stumbled a bit in my posturing but trying to maintain a poker face in response to the last remark, I offered up an affirmative with a weak smile.  I know why he said what he did and it was by no means an insult or trying to demean what I'd been through. The fact of the matter is, the Birthmother is largely closeted in the discussions of Adoption with most agencies and ministries firmly founded on the mantra of Child and Adoptive Family.  There is nothing wrong with that.  I do find it comical though that most would prefer to think of the child just materializing into the arms of the adoption counselor to dispatch to the adoptive family like these children are harvested out of a parentless cabbage patch.

While others on Sunday will get flowers, cards and spa gift certificates, the mother who has so lovingly and purposefully chosen for her child that a life apart from her's would be best,  Mother's Day can be a tearful reminder of her covenant with her adoptive family.  How does one honor the sacrifice but also give room for the grieving that takes place so often on this weekend?  Personally, I think a Metal of Valor would be grand but no one gives those out to us.  Our awards can't be seen and our stories, for the most part, are never even heard outside of a close knit circle of those with the inside information.  That doesn't make them less valid. 

If one seeks to be understood, one must seek to understand.  Why is the Birthmother so hush, hush?  Why wouldn't a person who, aside from dying, made the ultimate sacrifice be out there for others to see?  Doesn't being a good mom mean we make the best choices for our children no matter what the cost is to us?  When someone does something extraordinary, don't people love to share it that others may benefit? 

I counted the costs in my decision and decided that Adoption was the most loving thing that I could do for everyone involved.  I haven't regretted my choice.  I have a great relationship with Alex's adoptive parents and that is just icing on my cake for Birthmother's Day.  She will live a life in love from her adoptive parents and her birth family.  How can that not be worth a celebration?

Alex's Adoptive Mom Shares on the Birth Story

I often wondered what it was like to witness Alex's birth from Kayla's perspective.  I asked her to write about the birth story from the perspective of the Adoptive Mother. Here is her powerful and personally touching story:

"I laid in bed in a dark hotel room waiting for the alarm clock to signal it was time- time to go to the hospital, time to meet my daughter.  The thought made me giddy and anxious at the same time.  Was this really happening?? 

The events of the previous four years played in my mind, and I was reminded of the hope, pain, disappointment, joy, depression, and longing that had kept me on an emotional roller-coaster with no end in sight.  But there I was at the end, and it was only the beginning.

Before I knew it, I was in a pre-op room dressed from head-to-toe in blue scrubs and holding the hand of the most beautiful pregnant woman I had ever seen.  Just two months before, I met her for the first time feeling so blessed that she chose life for the baby girl growing inside her and chose us to be the parents.  That day she told us that she knew she was “the vessel that God was using to carry the answer to someone else’s prayers.” 

I will never forget those words.  Ever.

The nurses wheeled her into the operating room and told me they would come get me when it was time.  My husband and I held hands and prayed for a safe delivery, a healthy baby, and peace for our daughter’s birth mother. 

A few minutes later, a young nurse with an excited grin appeared in the doorway and led me toward the operating room.  We walked down the long, sterile hallway and tears welled up my eyes.  Surreal.

Not all adoptive mothers are in the delivery room.  Since Brittany was having a c-section, she was only allowed to have one person in the operating room with her.  Her mother?  Her best friend?  No, she selflessly invited me to witness the birth of my daughter.  Words cannot describe how grateful I will always be for that gift. 

When we entered the brightly lit room, Brittany was on the operating table and all I could see was her beautiful belly.  I quickly moved to the other side of the curtain where I found her face – calm and reassuring.  I felt so guilty that her demeanor was reassuring me when I wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay.  I did the only thing I could possibly do to help bring her peace- I placed my head next to hers and whispered a prayer in her ear.  I knew our Heavenly Father orchestrated every step of this journey, and I knew He was there with us now. 

In keeping with the laid back vibe of the Florida Keys, the doctor and anesthesiologist made small talk and dished out clever jabs at each other, making the rest of us chuckle and wonder if they were focused enough on the task at hand.

 After a few minutes, the nurse told me I could move to the foot of the bed to have a clear view of the first moment of my baby girl’s life.  An intern had my camera, and I was armed with my cell phone camera – ready to capture the beauty and perfection of life.  Briefly, the mood in the room changed, the small talk and jabs subsided, and my heart sank.  The doctor asked for a vacuum and I prayed again. 

Then she was here.  There in front of me was a perfect, crying, pink, beautiful baby girl.  Tears flowed and the love that I already had for her multiplied infinitely in my heart. 

I wanted so badly to hold her, to kiss her nose, to snuggle her into the curve of my neck.  But the nurses took over and began cleaning, suctioning, and checking every inch of her little body.  I stuck my pointer finger out and let her wrap her tiny hand around it.  I was smitten.

I turned around and saw Brittany with a tear rolling down her cheek.  Was it joy?  Was is sorrow?  Was it fear?  I went to her, held her head in my hands and repeated the same words I had said to her many times before: “thank you.”  Those two words do not even come close to expressing the feeling in my heart.  You say “thank you” to the cashier at the grocery store, you say “thank you” to your hair dresser when you leave the salon, you say “thank you” to a stranger who holds the door open.  There should be something more significant to say to the woman who gave you the gift of motherhood- who, through the will of God, blessed you with a child.  But all I could say was, “Thank you!”

The nurses finished cleaning and examining the baby, wrapped her up like a burrito, and took her to Brittany’s face.  She said how beautiful she was and we exchanged smiles.  Then the nurse put the baby into an incubator and got ready to head out of the OR. 

I wanted to hold her.  My heart was aching, I wanted to hold her so badly. 

I followed as the nurse pushed the rolling incubator towards the door.  My heart was overjoyed at what was before me, but breaking with what was behind.  Brittany had cared for, talked to, and bonded with the child that grew in her womb.  How did she feel laying on the operating table, cord cut, and physically separated from her baby for the first time in nine months?  Lord, give her peace.  Please Lord, please fill her heart with peace.

I put my hand on the incubator and headed toward the waiting room where a new father was waiting to meet his baby girl.  After years or prayerful faith, we were finally a family of three."

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. 

My Video Testimony

http://youtu.be/hfsGL1NoEoQ

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.