In a Single Moment

It was 4 years ago last week. (Sidenote- While editing this, R looked over my shoulder & said it wasn't four years ago.  I reminded him it was, in fact.  And then he said, "Golly we've aged.")

 I woke up on a Wednesday morning, happily, blissfully, naively pregnant.  I was nearly 30 weeks pregnant with Will - although we were going to be surprised by his gender so I didn't know it was a Will.  I don't remember what I did that morning but since I didn't have children yet, I probably slept in, and took a leisurely shower.  I probably watched a morning news show instead of PBS.  I know I didn't watch PBS.  I probably remembered to eat breakfast and even put on make up and brush my hair and my teeth all before leaving the house.
I got dressed.  I remember exactly what I was wearing that day.
I got the phone call.  A sweet nurse at my OB's office called to ask if I could come in.  I was standing to the side of the dining room table when she called.  They were testing out a new 3D ultrasound machine and needed a pregnant woman to try it out on.  She knew I was done teaching for the summer and hoped I was available.  
God knew we needed time to prepare.  A few weeks earlier and I would have been too busy finishing up the school year and watching my seniors graduate.  A few weeks later and we wouldn't have been unable to adequately test and prepare for the birth or to have fully prepared our hearts.  The timing was perfect.
I was so excited.  3D ultrasounds weren't routine and since nothing about my pregnancy was out of the ordinary I had only had the usual couple of ultrasounds.
I called R and he was excited too.  In fact, he left work to be there (Thanks, God, for clearing his schedule that day.)
I called two of my best friends, J & E, both pregnant too.
I called my mom who was in Alaska.
We went in for our ultrasound and I remember exactly who was in that room (my ob was gone so it was 3 other doctors I had no relationship with and our nurse.)  I remember exactly what they asked us and their faces as they went from trying out a machine to studying what was going on with my baby.  I remember their questions.  I remember how they asked me about the dream I had had just two nights before - vividly I dreamed about a hand difference though I have never heard of that and had no reason to suspect it.  I remember the tears and confusion.  I remember questions about the baby's head and brain and ability to survive.  I remember the nurse, one of our favorites, with tears in her eyes.  I remember everyone walking out of the room and just sitting there, crying and lost with R by my side, himself lost.  We felt slammed and alone.
I remember walking out of the office crying.  And it reminded me of the day I miscarried our first baby at 11 weeks pregnant and that awful feeling as I grieved walking through the waiting room full of happy, smiling pregnant women.  There should be a back door for those who are grieving, those who are in shock.

There were no answers that day.

There was little hope in that dark room.

I remember calling my mom in Alaska.
We called my inlaws and my sister in law brought dinner over.  I don't remember what I ate but I remember eating without an appetite.  I ate because it was one of the few ways I felt I could take care of my baby.  Three years later I did the same for Ellie.
I remember watching a sitcom while we ate - anything to numb ourselves.
I remember sending out an email begging friends to pray but asking them not to call us - we simply couldn't handle the influx of calls.  They respected our wishes and got down on their knees.
I remember talking to a friend who assured me she just knew the doctors were wrong - they messed up all the time, she said.
I tried to hope but there were three doctors that day.  And there was my dream.  And as a mommy I just knew.
Two days later, we were in a perinatologist' office and she was jumping to conclusions and presenting us with terrifying diagnoses.  (She was wrong and later her office apologized for her unprofessional behavior.)
We cried a lot.  We couldn't sleep.  We held each other through long nights with my big belly in our bed.
We read out loud to our baby - Psalm 139 - every single night.  He would know he is loved and fearfully and wonderfully made. I sang his lullaby loudly.

I wrote this blog post a few days later.

A week later, July 5, and we were in Dallas seeing specialists and having my first fetal MRI.
Finally, our new perinatologist came up with a diagnosis and a plan for his birth.

And we began to leave the shock behind and move into an understanding of what the world of limb differences would look like.  And we began to get excited as we anticipated the birth of our child.  We began to dream for him - for the joy of what it would be to kiss his hands and feet - exactly as they are.  We dreamed of watching him learn to walk with feet differences and the sheer joy that would bring us.  We imagined holding him and getting to know him.  We wondered a lot.  Would he feed himself?  Would he nurse?  Would he be able to lick an ice cream cone?  Could he hold our hands or high five?  Would he play catch or hit a ball?  Would we be able to navigate the insurance companies and medical bills?  Should we move to a more accessible home?  Would other kids accept him?  So many unknowns.

What we couldn't grasp is what God was going to do with us and to us.  What we couldn't begin to fathom was the humbling experience of watching a miracle every single day - of watching tens of thousands of miracles unfold before our eyes.  

That moment changed everything.  It changed all of our relationships and our plans and our dreams.  I put Jeremiah 33:3 in my kitchen where I could see it daily.

Call to me and I will show you great and unsearchable things you do not know.

In that moment, I began to understand that verse.  
Do you have a day or a moment in time when everything changes?  Is there a time you can pinpoint exactly when nothing will ever be like the moment before?  Our marriage, our dreams, our hopes, our personalities, even our faith as we began to really comprehend what trusting God means, our friendships, our relationships with our families, every single thing changed.

I'm so glad I didn't know at that moment.  Everything changed in one moment.  Beyond my wildest dreams, it's so much better than I ever imagined.

A single moment.  June 20, 2007.  We'll never be who we were on June 19, 2007.  One moment and everything changed.  

How thankful we are.

How about you?  Do you have a moment you reflect on as a turning point - a moment where everything after is like nothing before?

6 thoughts:

Kristin said...

On Feb 1st 2007, I sat at an IEP meeting for my oldest who had significant speech and language delays. We were between health insurance and I was just trying to get her some free therapy.

And she did have speech problems. But that's when they were supposed to stop talking. Instead, they kept going. She had really low Vineland scores, had really low gross motor skills. I'll never forget reading scattered up to 28 months. But she was almost 48 months.

She didn't play like other kids. It was the beginning of the end. The end of thinking that your kid is perfect, that she was the best and the brightest. That her journey would be like everyone else's.

But it's not. And 4 years later, I know that's it not and I'm OK with that. Lauren causes us to live life a little slower. to speak a little gentler. She has taught us so much.

Without Lauren, I would not be such of an advocate to stomp out the R word, I would probably use it without thinking. Without Lauren, I would shy away from people who are different and I could ask "what's wrong with them?" Now, I now what an absolutely stupdi question that is because there is nothing wrong.

Now, I stop and listen and wait for people to share there story. i understand that my children, typical and not, are fearfully and wonderfully and are made for a purpose and a plan.

If it wasn't for Lauren, I wouldn't describe my others as "wonderfully, boringly normal". In our house, the status quo can be really, really relaxing.

For years, I thougth that Feb 1st was the end.

But part of God's plan on Feb 1st, 2010 was for my son to be born. I no longer think about what horrible day Feb. 1, 2007 is because God replaced my sorrow for joy three years later.

He has constnatly shown Himself to comfort me is such small matters.

gtown1 said...

I remember that day well too. It was a lazy summer day out in Crawford country at Kim's cabin where we were living and I remember you were so excited to go and do it--and then when I didn't hear from you for awhile I got really anxious. Loved reading your outlook on it from this day forward. God is SOVEREIGN!

My single moment is on Wednesday morning while eating breakfast w kids in Moscow,TN-- November 24, 2011 when we got the call from Forrest that Dad had stopped breathing and past away peacefully.

Love you friend(s)- Miss you so much--we need to see each other...2 years is too long!


Crystal said...

WE LOVE WILL! and so glad he is here with us. He is such a swimmer. On that same day we found out we were pregnant with Raquel and I learned of Will from Boman. That day he had taken Clark out. We talked much about little Will and the what ifs for you and also what ifs for our Raquel. I am so thankful both our babies are here and healthly and growing strong! Interesting how the Lord has paths cross so we can help support and love each other.

23weeks said...

It was not the day my water broke at 23 weeks… I did not think there was a chance. It was not the day I gave birth, it was the day after when I called to ask if he was still alive… 9/7/09 at 5am from a hospital bed. They said “yes”.

kelly said...

omg, katie. thank you so much for writing this post. i read it in tears. tears for how you guys must have felt, tears for hope because now (4 years later!), we can all see the outcome - the incredible will! reading your story buoys my hope for the fears i have today, so thanks.

Cindy said...

For us, this day was November 3, 2009. Our life perspectives were forever changed. I remember exactly what I was wearing too - carefully selected as the outfit I would wear when I found out if I was having a boy or a girl. I remember us not believing the first ultrasound, and then heading to the maternal fetal medicine specialist an hour later (starving by this point) and getting a confirmation diagnosis in a dark room from a very cold ultrasound tech and doctor who refused to answer questions. I remember being sent to a genetic counselor immediately afterwards and them having exactly NOTHING helpful or comforting to say to us (and still being changed $600 for this service). I remember feeling alone with no information. I also remember weeks of not being able to sleep and waking up crying. I remember having no appetite. And then, something just changed...and all of the sudden we were ready to move forward and start preparing for our baby.

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