Pregnancy Update #2

Wednesday, April 8, 2009
I’ve called this post Pregnancy Update #2. If we’re facebook friends you’re probably scratching your head trying to figure this title out. If you’re reading this and we’re not facebook friends then it may seem like any other post.

I say that because if we are facebook friends then you probably know the outcome of this. I write this then, to tell the whole story. Bits of it float around. Even my last blog post was a bit of the story. But bits and pieces aren’t enough. I’ve been encouraged by several people to tell the whole thing.

But there’s a problem with that.

This isn’t an easy story to write out. I’ve been trying to formulate the words for a couple weeks now. The words are all there they just jump around. The sentences don’t flow. However, I think I’m finally at a point where I can herd them in a coherent direction.

I hate to spoil the ending of what might very well be a beautiful story. However, many of you already know it, so I might as well bring everyone up to speed.

This is Makiah.

She is gorgeous.

But I’m sure you can tell from the picture.

She was born Friday March 27th at 5:12am.

We had been planning for weeks in preparation for her arrival. Actually we didn’t know it we were having a girl. That was a surprise. We thought that was going to be the only surprise. However, despite all our planning, packing bags for the hospital, carrying a cell phone so that I could be called at any moment, and working out a plan for induction should we be past due, nothing went as planned.

Those of you with children, I’m sure, remember what the drive to the hospital was like. I’m sure I’ll never forget ours. To say that it was far from normal seems trite. It was unusual, to be sure, but our trip to the hospital is also part of what makes this a good story.

Now, before I can get to the story of our drive to the hospital, I should begin where the events that unfolded were different from what we planned.

There could be a good argument made that the plan when awry back in September. As September closed so did the first trimester of the pregnancy. Everyone says that the second trimester is the good one: the one where the woman has lots of energy, no morning sickness, and generally sleeps the best. When the nausea and morning sickness didn’t end for Sheena when the first trimester did, she feared it was going to last all nine months.

It did.

We didn’t plan on Sheena being nauseated, but that happened.

When it came time for our first ultrasound we were so excited. Our little one put on quite the show for the camera. She (again we didn’t know at the time that it was a she, but calling her an it now seems wrong) would wave and blow kisses. It was quite nice to see.

However, we learned a few days later that the placenta was covering the cervix. That meant unless it moved Sheena would not be able to deliver naturally. This was a disappointment for her. Sheena had wanted for years, yes long before I was part of the picture, to know what it is like to be in labor and try pushing. The doctor said unless the placenta moves, and it often does, Sheena would need a cesarean. A second ultrasound was scheduled to reassess at a later date.

When that day came the show put on by our daughter was no less impressive. She squirmed and danced. She seemed eager to get out and meet us. Perhaps we were just projecting our feelings on her. Is it ever too early for a parent to do that? Okay, certainly there was some projection going on.

From that ultrasound we learned that the placenta had moved. Not far enough, but movement was afoot. We were cautiously excited. Not that I had a whole lot at stake here, but I couldn’t help but join in with Sheena’s excitement. We scheduled a third ultrasound for a month before the due date. At that point we would know for certain if we were in the clear.

The pictures that day were amazing. We could see chubby cheeks and the facial features of an angel. She was adorable in grayscale. We learned that day, that despite a belly size that women kept referring to as “small,” our child was large and there was extra fluid.

At our next doctors appointment we heard the results. We were told that the placenta had to be 1 centimeter away from the cervix for it to be safe to deliver. And we had our centimeter of clearance.

At the news Sheena looked the best she had looked in months. Not that she looked bad during those months, but the news refreshed her in a way I don’t think she expected. We both were thrilled.

No cesarean was scheduled. It looked like Sheena was going to be able to deliver naturally.

The placenta issues sparked concerns throughout. Had that thing detached she would have begun bleeding internally. When Sheena was a nurse up north she cared for a patient whose placenta detached and the baby was dead in fifteen minutes. Sheena told me often that if that happened the likelihood of her surviving was minimal.

So we were a little extra cautious about things: especially on icy days.
I almost died the day she told me she fell down the stairs.

Knowing all that was at risk I was extra thankful to know that everyone was okay. A slip on a stair could end her life and our baby’s.

No more comfy, yet ultra-slippery, spa socks. Since we have hardwood floors they could be deathtraps you wear on your feet.

We never planned on having these placenta issues, but there they were working their way into the story.

Two weeks before the due date we were meeting with the doctor. At that point we were seeing the doctor every week. This is standard practice not was not because of any complications. On that day our doctor said she’d we away for the next two weeks, and a different doctor would be covering for her.

I didn’t think much of this. By this time Sheena was convinced she’d be overdue and would not deliver without induction. If this were to be the case, then our doctor would be back in time for the delivery. I figured that Sheena would know best about these sorts of things. So I trusted her.

If Sheena wasn’t going into labor before our doctor got back from holidays, then why bother getting to know the new doctor? We’d only be seeing her for about twenty minutes, which over the course of a lifetime is quite insignificant.

When we met with her for the first time she seemed nice enough, but I didn’t really think much of things. Sheena said this lady wasn’t going to be delivering my baby. As our time wrapped up she gave us a nice little checklist of things to watch for, and encouraged us to head to the hospital if any of them occur.

As our second visit concluded the following week, she reiterated the same checklist. We had to promise to go to the hospital should any of them occur.

She seemed really nice.

Still, I never once thought: “There’s the doctor who will be delivering my baby.”

As we left the office Sheena scheduled one more doctor’s appointment for the following week. We were convinced that the baby was coming no time soon. We saw the doctor on a Wednesday, our due date was Saturday, and so our next appointment was the following Wednesday. We were told that appointment would be to work out the plan for inducing labor. The receptionist and the nurses at the desk smiled and commented to us, and one another, how there were a lot of babies due that weekend. One even said: “I wonder who’s on call. I feel sorry for them.”

Sheena’s response was something to the effect of: “Well, I’m sure we won’t be there this weekend. This baby is in no hurry.”

We never planned on our doctor going on holidays and having to get to know a new doctor two weeks before the due date. Just another point at which our plans differed from the events that transpired leading up to the twenty seventh of March.

The nausea, the vomiting, the placenta in the way, the new doctor, while none of that was planned they are all part of this beautiful story.

Thursday March 26, 2009 was a busy day. We had a youth event that evening: kind of a big event too. I had a number of details to work out to make sure that the event went well. While I was busy at work all day Sheena slept. She was pretty exhausted. Her dad and sister and brother had been with us the previous weekend and she was still tired from that.

On a typical day I’d leave for work around 8am and then give her a call around 9:30 or 10 to see if she had gotten up yet. In the eighth month of the pregnancy she wasn’t sleeping as well. I understand that is normal. It is not normal for Sheena. She could pretty much sleep until ten every day. She often did. Usually my call at 9:30 or 10 woke her up. I was so busy that day that I missed calling her.

She slept until noon.

I was in trouble. Her sleeping until noon meant she might not sleep well that night. She didn’t want to be up all night.

This was a topic of conversation as we drove home after the youth event. She was feeling wide-awake at 8:45pm and was concerned she wouldn’t be sleeping for hours.

It’s a short drive from the church to our house: usually only five or six minutes.

In that short period of time we managed to talk about a lot. We discussed how far from labour she felt. We went over the event discussing the highlights and a few things that could have been better. We talked about her concerns over not sleeping that night.

It’s amazing how much we talked in that short drive.

Especially since it was shorter than usual.

We never did make it home that night. We only got half way.

As we entered the intersection halfway between our house and the church a truck heading the opposite direction made a left turn right in front of us.

We had less time to stop then the car’s manufacturer recommends.

Our skid marks are about twelve feet long: maybe less.

Previously, I had never been in an accident where airbags deploy. That’s quite a different experience. The car smells of gunpowder, and there is a thick cloud in the air. It’s a little disorienting.

Fortunately we weren’t so disoriented that we couldn’t look after the basics. First thing: is the baby okay. Sheena began frantically checking herself for blood. Our chief concern was whether or not the placenta had detached. It could be death if it did. There we no signs of that happening.

We were moderately relieved. Still, we wanted Sheena to be checked out, just to be safe.

The other driver was at our car in a hurry to see if we were okay. I was probably less than polite. I was cheesed off. I was blunt. He asked if we were okay. I responded: “I don’t know. My wife is nine month pregnant.”

Previously, I’ve never seen anyone actually turn pale before my eyes.

Emergency services arrived in ten minutes.

Before that, there were a number who stopped to check us out. Not like we were a spectacle or anything—although we probably were. They were mostly people with first aid of some level or another. They kept us in our car so that any injury we might have wouldn’t be exaggerated before paramedics could arrive.

When they did arrive Sheena was put in a collar.

“Just a precaution” they said.

Precaution or not, it’s not easy to watch your pregnant wife getting strapped in like that. It’s hard to describe the level of freaked out I was on the inside at that moment. Writing this out I realize that there’s still a level of anxiety over it. As I began writing about the conversation in the car as we drove home, tension began building inside me. I was nervous to mention the accident. It’s not an easy thing to talk about. It was horrifying.

There was a seat in the back of the ambulance. Once I was cleared to leave the car I was instructed to go sit in it. When I left the car Sheena was still in the passenger seat. They were trying to figure out how to get her safely onto the gurney with little movement, and without having to tear the car apart with the Jaws of Life.

I kinda wish they went with the jaws. It would have been a good show.

Then again, I would have missed it because I was in that little seat in the back of the ambulance.

It wasn’t long before Sheena was wheeled into the Ambulance where I was. My seat was at her head and so I sat there looking down her body. It was shaking uncontrollably. I asked if she was cold. She wasn’t.

She was just shaking.

My mind flashed to the last car accident we were in. When in New Zealand a commercial truck smashed into us. We did much better then. We were able to get out of the car without the assistance of emergency services. In that accident the driver almost didn’t stop. He only stopped because we did. We had to—the car couldn’t be driven. After that incident some ridiculously hospitable people took us in. They gave us a place to stay while we were foreigners in a strange land.

Those two accidents had little in common.

Before they closed the door to the ambulance I saw someone, a police officer I presumed, drive the truck out of the way. The pickup truck that turned in front of us suffered little damage. You almost couldn’t tell it was in an accident.

There was a commonality.

That was my first time in the back of an ambulance. Can’t say I cared for it all that much. If I never do it again I’ll be fine. Next time I think I’d like to ride up front—maybe play with the lights.

You notice different things in the back of an ambulance. As we went over the bridge I couldn’t help but notice how bumpy it was. It’s really not a smooth ride. I thought: “It never feels so bumpy in our car. Well, maybe now it would.”

There was a lady caring for Sheena in the back. Sheena got all the attention because I was remarkably fine. This lady was asking Sheena all sorts of questions. She didn’t seem too concerned about that shaking. I thought maybe I was the only one noticing it.

Sheena began complaining about abdominal pains. They’d come and go. She had been having those Braxton Hicks contractions for a few weeks. These pains were different.

Fortunately it was a short distance to the hospital. Another thought in my head as I looked down at my wife’s face right in front of me: “bad time to get car sick.”

I also had the opening line to a song in my head. I kept thinking that if things work out I’d have to finish it.

We were into the ER and being seen by a Doctor and nurse right away. The nurse asked if I was okay. They both looked Sheena over and couldn’t find anything wrong. Before the Doctor left he assured us that if Mom is okay, usually the baby is too.

We were taken upstairs for monitoring to be safe. We were escorted to the maternity floor. I thought: “oh great, so when we come back in a few days to have the baby I’ll know where to go.”

Getting there wasn’t easy. Given that it was nighttime by this point, some doors were locked and we had to take quite the scenic rout to get there. For some reason, I felt as thought there should be cheese at our destination.

Sheena was hooked up to this super fun monitor that checked our baby’s heart rate and monitored for contractions. A highlight of the doctor’s office was always hearing the heart rate. This was more like reading it. In this case the book is not as good as the movie.

Seeing the heart rate was a relief. It was normal. That usually means the baby is okay.

The other print out was awesome. There were these waves. I kept thinking: “Surfs up.”

I’m so lame in tense situations.

The nurse explained they were contractions. She told us we would be having a baby within 24 hours. It was 10:25pm.

She also said we would have to spend the next four hours being monitored. And she wanted us to stay the night to be safe. We thought that was a wonderful plan. We were tired and didn’t want to go home only to come back. We thought that at the hospital we could at least sleep a bit.

We worked out a plan to call a friend to pick me up and take me home so I could gather a few things. We figured it was better to do it sooner than latter. We have good friends, but as good as they all are they’d much rather get a phone call at 10:30 than 11:30.

I got picked up and we were off to the house to get that bag Sheena had packed. Previously, when I said that we were prepared, I shouldn’t have said that. Sheena was prepared. I kept saying, “I need to pack a bag.” Sheena kept saying she was going to be past due so I figured I had more time and never bothered.

Now I was in frantic packing mode. I was in a rush because I didn’t want to miss anything. Yet I didn’t want to leave anything important behind. I never allow myself enough time to pack for anything. I always leave vacation packing for the last minute too. Not that this was anything similar. I just notice a similar trend.

I was back to the hospital within an hour. The contractions had stopped, but we were still gong to be spending the night.

An hour later they were back. Only this time the contractions were slightly more intense. Most of the contractions weren’t bad enough to notice. Sheena thought that, given the chance, she could sleep through them.

Just before 2am she was taken off the monitors. We turned off the lights to test Sheena’s “sleeping through the contractions” theory. She got settled under her blankets, and I wiggled around in my recliner trying to make a sweet spot.

It was the first time since impact that we were alone. More than we wanted sleep, we wanted to talk. We talked for ten minutes or so. We were both exhausted. Even though Sheena had only been awake for fourteen hours, the last five were five of the most intense hours of her life.

Just before 2:15am we said good night. I closed my eyes to try and sleep.

Less than a minute later I hear: “I think my water just broke.”

Well, so much for sleep.

I was more than awake. That word “think” is a tricky one. Neither of us were all that willing to write it off as water without further investigation. She lay motionless as I went to look at her bed.

It was full of blood.

I’ve made two frantic calls in my life and both were that evening. The first was to 911 right after the accident. The second was with the call bell right then.

Yet, we didn’t want to seem all that alarmed. Maybe this was nothing. Who really wants to be the over excitable fool?

The nurse came in a hurry. We loved our nurse. She gave us excellent care. She took one look at the bed, where I’m certain she quickly concluded God was not recreating the first of the ten plagues he inflicted on Egypt, and she hit the code button. I took note of the location of that button so that I could just hit it should I need help in the future.

Instantly our room was flooded with staff. Many of them had left women active in labor to attend to us.

We felt loved. However, it also pointed us towards the danger of the situation. “If all these people are so concerned maybe this is the big deal we think it is.” It was no comfort to know that I was not overreacting.

One nurse got Sheena back on the monitor while another nurse called our doctor. Only it wasn’t our doctor. It was the doctor covering for our doctor. She was there within a half hour. I think that’s making good time for 2:30 in the morning.

Our baby’s heart rate was soaring. Clearly she was in distress.

When our doctor got there she called the surgeon. She was pretty certain that Sheena was headed for an emergency cesarean, but she didn’t want to make that call on her own.

She was an excellent doctor. Looking back I realize how worried she was, yet at the time she remained calm and help keep us calm. Those are some marks of an excellent doctor. Now I can tell that she was worried for us. She left plenty of hints I just didn’t catch them at the time. She mentioned that she was called as soon as we got to the maternity floor, and that she wasn’t able to sleep knowing we were there. That’s sweet.

Before too long the baby’s heart rate dropped back down to normal levels. That relieved some of the tension. However, Sheena was still bleeding. The bleeding had slowed, but there was still some coming out. That can’t be a good thing.

When the surgeon arrived he briefed us of the situation. There was an abruption. Sheena got all the official medical terms. Fortunately I had a translator. I was informed that mean the placenta was partially detached and could become detached at any moment.

He gave us a choice that he said he normally wouldn’t give people. It pays to be a nurse: you get special treatment. We could wait and possibly attempt a vaginal delivery. Things were heading in that direction. (I never intended that sentence to be a pun, if you took it as one, well, good for you.)

The other option was to have a cesarean.

Then we were left to talk it over. It was tough. Sheena had really wanted to try and push. We had prayed so long that the placenta would move so that she could deliver. It seemed like that window might still be open.

When the doctors returned we talked some more. The surgeon gave us that look that said: “Are you kidding, you think there’s even a choice. You need surgery.” We figured that being a surgeon his preference was always to cut. Our doctor was not excited about us waiting and attempting anything. She wanted Sheena to have a cesarean, but respected our choice.

Sheena couldn’t escape the memory of that case up north. She knew that it could all go south in just fifteen minutes. The surgeon informed us that, because it was the middle of the night, it would take 30 minutes to get her into an O.R. should she need an emergency cesarean latter.

It seemed that although we were given a choice, there really was no option but a cesarean. Even though that was full of risks complicated by the abruption and the internal bleeding already happening, we had to go that rout. It was the best chance for Sheena and our baby to come out of this alive.

At the best of times our gambling limit stops at Roll Up the Rim to Win.

It didn’t take long to get Sheena into that O.R. Thirty minutes was right on. In that time, we were readmitted to the hospital. We were given fun new wristbands: Sheena’s said “mother” and mine said “other.” A lab tech was in to draw blood for all sorts of things. She had to poke Sheena twice because just after she pulled out the surgeon called back wanting to test for other things. We received the proper O.R. attire complete with booties, hairnets and scrubs. The bottoms I was given didn’t fit. Apparently KGH’s scrubs are not one size fits all. Maybe they got my first pair from the pediatric ward.

I was told that if they were able to give Sheena the spinal block I would be allowed into the O.R.

I waited down the hall for the okay to enter the Hospital Holy of Holies. I’m searching for the right word to describe how I felt as I sat there alone in a cold dim hall. I was patient, yet nervous. Patvous? Pervous? Nertient? Let’s go with patervous. I was patervously waited down the hall for my cue. I had my camera in hand. I did not want to miss capturing this. Just Wednesday evening, as we were getting ready for bed, Sheena said: “you need to make sure tomorrow that all the camera batteries are charged. I know there is one that isn’t.”

Good thing we had that conversation.

When I heard my name called it was what I imagine it’s like being called on down for The Price is Right. If there were someone there to high five I would have. I had my booties on and my mask ready to go. I was going into the O.R. I was gonna see my baby.

That was an awesome moment.

Often, during the previous few weeks, we had made comments to the effect of: “I can’t wait to meet this baby. I can’t wait to know what they are like.”

I was about to find out.

I was seated next to Sheena’s head. Already been there before that evening. I was actually getting kinda sick of just being able to sit at her head.

She was shaking again.

Not really what you want to be doing as a surgeon stands over you with a scalpel.

It was weird, we were moments away from seeing our baby.

Finally, for the first time that evening, we were the good kind of nervous. We were excited about something positive.

At least I was.

Sheena was too, but she was also nauseous: very nauseous.

It didn’t help that she could feel the doctors tugging on our baby to get it out. That has to be a weird feeling. The baby only dropped an hour or an hour and a half prior to this moment, and already it was in there good. She was not coming out easily.

After a couple minutes the anesthetist said: “I see the first head.”

What? Is there more than one?

I got a little bit panicked. I would have loved twins; I just wasn’t prepared for that.

That’s not what she meant. When she realized the alarm she had caused she tried to explain what she meant. I think she was making a joke. I didn’t get it. Where’s the punch line?

As they were close I was told to have my camera ready. My instructions were that as soon as the pediatrician had her off to the side I could come over and take pictures.

Finally we heard: “It’s a girl!”


Seconds later, it was show time. I was over with my girl taking pictures of anything that wasn’t blocked by the doctor and nurse attending my daughter. I cared very deeply how Sheena was doing, but she made it very clear that I had one job: get pictures. So I did. It was a good job—possibly the best, certainly the most fun, job in the room.

She was covered in blood.

I didn’t realize that isn’t normal.

I figured that she came from inside Sheena. People, as Sheena is a person, are full of blood. I later learned that the womb is supposed to be a blood free zone. Sure there is fluid, but that fluid is not blood.

I was told to sit back next to Sheena’s head. I didn’t want to. I wanted to take more pictures. Fortunately it was so that they could lay our daughter on Sheena’s chest. Well, I wanted pictures of that so I sat down willingly.

That lovely scene lasted a minute. Then it was off to the nursery. As much I love sitting at Sheena’s head, following our daughter seemed like the best idea. So off I went, with the camera, to get pictures of whatever was going to happen next.

We weren’t in the nursery long before the Pediatrician finished with her. Then the O.R. nurse left. A new nurse was dressing and taking some measurements of my daughter. Then she left to attend some other babies. I was alone in a room full of babies, one of which was mine.

I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to, but I wanted to touch her. As if that would somehow make it more real. “Like, she’s alive right?” I wanted so badly to ask that, but to avoid appearing overwhelmingly foolish I refrained.

When the nurse returned she said I could hold my daughter. At this point we didn’t have a name for her. We though we did. But when they laid her on Sheena’s chest I said: “It’s Makiah.” And She responded, “or…” and used the other name we were thinking of.

So I didn’t even know what to call this girl that somehow looked a bit like me yet was beautiful. I always feared that any girl who looked like me would be quite unfortunate.

She was lovely.

I held her for two hours. I had to pee so badly, but I didn’t want to put her down. I sat there, holding her in my arms enjoying her company. She held my finger while I held her entire body.

The sun was rising. I was seated right next to the window so I got a good view of it. Not that I looked out the window all that much. My attention was pretty focused on other things. However, I enjoyed the natural light by which I could see my daughter. They keep the lights low in the nursery, but there was so much I wanted to see.

Everything was calm in the nursery. Outside it’s doors, in the world I was previously in, everything was chaotic: people might die, surgeons were operating, and fetal monitors were recording heartbeats at dangerous levels. Outside the nursery there was stress, and panic, and uncertainty.

I knew little as I sat in the nursery holding my daughter. But at least I knew where I was and that my little girl was okay.

I couldn’t believe she was okay.

How did she get through that unscathed?

I mean, she had a huge line down the right side of her face from the forceps, but other than that she was perfect. How did that happen?

I tried to enjoy the moment for as long as I could. However, before too long I remembered that going into the cesarean things weren’t exactly standard procedure. I didn’t want to jeopardize the serenity of the nursery with my worry, but I really wanted to know how Sheena was. Did the bleeding stop? There was concern that the abruption might have destroyed her uterine wall. Were they able to save her uterus? Was she even still alive?

Other babies around me, including the one in my arms, were all still and sleeping. Apparently I was the only thing in the room not calm. But I had to get some answers. When the nurse came back to check on me I flooded her with questions.

It was still quite a while before I got any answers.

While I waited I moved all our stuff from where we waited unknowingly in the old life, to where we would begin life anew.

After a couple hours apart I went into the room to grab a snack. I was hungry. At the best of situations I don’t handle being hungry and tired very well. Add stress to the mix and I’m usually a write off. I needed food.

When I went in for a granola bar, I saw one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Sheena was there and she was smiling. She was doing well. (In case you’re wondering the other most beautiful thing was down the hall in the nursery.)

I couldn’t wait to show her our daughter.

I never went back to that nursery.

I didn’t need to.

Shortly after, they brought our daughter in so Sheena could see her. But then the nurse was off busy with other things. Nurses work hard. They have so much to do. We sat there just the three of us. For the first time we were together alone as a family.

Our daughter began fussing a bit. She had been alive now for a bit over three hours, and she was hungry. Sheena took care of things and began feeding her. I just sat and watched. It was the best thing I’ve ever seen.

This was our new life.

It certainly didn’t come about by any sort of normal series of events. It wasn’t how we had planned things, or even how we would have chosen things to happen. But that’s how it all went down.

That’s the story of how Makiah entered the world.

I’m sure that over the years she’ll get tired of hearing it. I imagine that one day down the road I’ll ask her if she’s heard the story of her birth, and she’ll roll her eyes. Yes, she will have heard it; it’s a story that she needs to hear.

Over the next few days we met doctors and nurses who were in some way involved in the birth. I met one doctor who heard our story and was waiting outside our room Thursday night to make sure we were okay. There was staff in the O.R. who heard our story that night and had things ready just in case.

We were ridiculously well taken care of.

Considering the potential for an entirely different ending, Makiah will know the story. She needs to. Mostly Makiah needs to know that story because the story isn’t about her mother or father. The story isn’t even about Makiah. This story isn’t about why we no longer drive that Suzuki Esteem. The story isn’t about how we got to the hospital.

The story instead is about far more. Hopefully, within the story we understand that in life, despite all the best plans, things don’t always work out. Our story ended well. They don’t always. I think we came close to an unhappy ending. And that provides all the more reason to celebrate.

We walk away from this with a great reason to celebrate. So here’s what I’m celebrating: my wife, despite horrible bruising is able to walk and nurture our daughter; our daughter is doing well, she’s eating well, she’s sleeping well, she is so healthy; and I suffered no injuries so I’m able to be a help to my wife and an active participant, I’m not laid up in bed or hobbling around on crutches.

But mostly I’m celebrating the goodness of God who not only creates life but also sustains it. That weekend we saw God working: and it was an awesome sight.

I saw God working as my daughter was born.

That is the story of my daughter’s birth.


Sarah Baldwin said...

Phew. Reading that stressed me out... and I can only imagine Sheena's face! Was she screaming in her special Sheena way?

Btw... how is her uterus? Is it in fine shape to try this whole thing again in a year or two?

Megan said... I did the girl thing and cried through most of this. So thankful you three are all ok. Thanks for sharing the story.

Sheena said...

I cried too!

Marj Miller said...

I alternated between cying and laughing. Only you Chris could interject humor into such an intense account. We are so thankful for the outcome.

Mikel Laurie said...

I cried and laughed. Thank you for sharing that.