And Baby Makes Three, Four, Five

This birthing story made me all teary.
Then it made me think of my own birthing stories.
Sometimes I get all smug that I birthed babies without pain medication.
Then I remember that I didn't create this body
that could go through labour without medication.
So really, I can't take any credit at all.
I need to remember that in so many areas of my life.

I might not have had pain medication but I did come awfully close to chucking dearest one out the window first time around. He made the silly mistake of trying to reach across my labouring belly to shut off the machine's alarm that said I was having a contraction. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt, said some nasty things and pushed him up against the window. Not a good scene. First born, only daughter was ready to be born right when I held up the white flag of surrender and said I'd take some of that pain medication now. Too late. It was time to push her out into the world.

The second time around I told him I was going to have the baby NOW to which he replied,"bullshit" only to have me let out a sound that had them running into the room from beyond the doors. Baby two, oldest son, was born in a labour room without the doctor because baby number two came through that birth canal like a cannon ball through a cannon.

The last time around the doctor told the nurse to call him when I was at a 4 because then he had a chance of getting there in time. I remember going into the bathroom of the birthing room and thinking to myself, I'm enjoying this labour and then reminding myself to never say those words outloud lest someone throw me out the window. After birthing youngest son I started to fade and told dearest one that I was going to faint, he said, "faint then" at which point I told him if I fainted I wasn't coming back. I'd been in a tug of war with a bright light in the corner of the ceilinig for awhile already. I fainted, they called a code, eventually I came to. It took a few more months for me to come to believe. But that birthing experience was the catalyst for that to happen.

When dearest one and I were engaged the doctors told me they couldn't guarantee I'd ever have kids.....my own foolish behaviour had resulted in nasty infections that resulted in fallopian tubes which should have been scarred shut. The first time I got pregnant after I was married I miscarried. We were just staring fertility testing. I remember telling myself that if I never got pregnant again I would always know what it felt like to be a mother for a little while, anyway. I'd miscarried when I was single and would miscarry again in married life. I nearly lost both sons due to miscarriage, too.

Pregnancy is a privilege. So is birthing a baby. Both feel like miracles. Although your own life may be in danger if you tell a labouring mother that. This is where dearest one would chime in and say, "Trust me on that one. I have the scars to prove it."

That Cry For Help

Twenty-one years ago today
I nearly died
in a birthing room.
I've never been able to adequately describe
that white diamond like light in the corner
of the ceiling
which tried to suck me into its vortex.

Dearest one was holding youngest son in his arms.
We were alone in the birthing room.
When I told him I thought I was going to faint
he said, "so faint."
I told him if I did I wasn't coming back.

The next thing I remember was waking up with
the code team surrounding me.
I was tipped nearly upside down
so that the remaining blood
could reach my brain and heart.
There was a nurse at my head saying
"her blood pressure is 60 over 40."
Blood was pouring out of me
like milk on cereal.
I've never forgotten that sound.

My thoughts that night were not ones
where my life was flashing before my eyes.
No.
Too weak to speak aloud,
I was talking to God in my head.
I went back and forth dozens of times
between two thoughts.
One - that I didn't want to die
but if it was His will
then so be it.
Sandwiched between that thought
were the words
"forgive me."
I didn't know what I needed forgiveness for
but I knew I was perilously close
to seeing God.

When I awoke after surgery
God had my attention.
I realized there was no playing around
with this God thing.
Either I was going to take God seriously
or I wasn't.
The choice was mine.

It took 3 months, to the day, to choose.
The only thing that got me sober,
kept me sober,
still keeps me sober,
can be summed up
in the word
surrender.
That cry for help,
that started in a birthing room,
gave birth to a new life
in me.

Thanks be to God.

You Can Look Back But Don't Stare

Today's title comes as a direct quote from my addictions counselor.

Three years ago today I created this blog. If you've ever wondered how I came up with my blog name you can read about it here. I started the blog to prove to myself that I could show up and write. At the time I read two different blogs and had no idea there was an abundance of blogs out there. I don't remember how I came across your blog, do you remember how you found mine?

What a lot of life in the past three years has made its way to these pages. You have been a big part of my recovery journey. In a few days I will celebrate 6 months of abstinence from binge eating, and 13 months abstinence from sexual addiction. Your prayers, encouragement and acceptance have helped me along the way.

The post that got the most comments (when I used haloscan) was when I came clean about my struggle with sexual addiction. I had many relapses before I was able to get more than a few months of abstinence behind me. By the grace of God today is day number 388. You held me up in prayer when I went to treatment this past summer. 19 years of being on a dry drunk came to an end with my reaching out and asking for help.

You supported me as I struggled to learn how to manage my spoon supply. I still marvel that spoon counting is not the driving force in my days now although as life would have it, today is one where I have very few. I've progressed from being able to walk to the end of the driveway and back (and that on a good day) to walking 7 to 10 miles a week. I thank God every single day I can go for a walk. The ability to do so still makes me giddy with joy.

You've listened as I've processed sessions of spiritual direction with Fr. Charlie. You've often left comments or written emails that have spoken to the deepest parts of me. Ones that have evoked everything from tears to laughter and deep reflection.

You've walked with me as I navigated an empty nest and the challenge of having adult children. You've journeyed with me as dearest one and I continue to make our way through married life together. We are ever growing and changing in our relationship.

All this to say thank you.
Thank you for reading
and commenting
and walking beside me.
I am richer for it.