1.28.2014

not in control.

As much as I think I am, try to be, or want to be...I am not.
 I was blatantly reminded of that over the weekend- smacked in the face with a reality check. It happens from time to time, usually when things are going smoothly and there's not much to complain about, and then the humility rug gets pulled out from underneath you and you fall right on your prideful rear-end. 
WHAM.
You are not in control.

Over the weekend we had a bit of a pregnancy scare. Friday afternoon was pretty normal and relaxing. I went to the bathroom for the up-teenth time that day and realized I started spotting, which is not what you are expecting or ever want to see when you're pregnant- especially only 24 weeks pregnant. I didn't know if I should be scared, horrified, or terrified, so I was a mixture of all 3. I immediately got my phone and dialed my doctor's office. My hands were shaking so bad it took me 3 times to dial the number correctly. 

The medical assistant I spoke with relayed the situation to my doctor, who didn't seem overly concerned, but said I could come in and they would check things out. So we did. Her heartbeat was strong and she was moving around quite a bit, so that was a relief. As to why it started happening, they weren't sure. We went home with the instructions to let them know if anything got worse and just to "wait it out". 
The worst kind of instructions.

By Friday night everything started getting better, which was encouraging. So many emotions were packed into such a short period of time, so it was also exhausting. Saturday morning was lazy- Jillian and I made blueberry muffins (she ate 4). I started noticing that I was cramping and noticed again, more spotting. 
I woke James up and told him I wanted to go to the hospital just to get things checked out (since cramping was a new symptom- and a highly unwanted one).
My mother-in-law came down right away so we could leave Jillian with her. 

(at 20 weeks)

It was a pretty different feeling walking onto the labor and delivery floor this time. I was nervous and anxious, but for completely different reasons than when I was there in labor (2 days past my due-date) with Jillian. When the registrar asked how far along I was and I answered "24 weeks and 4 days" she asked, "how far?"...I was annoyed. Obviously I know I shouldn't be here yet lady, so type a little faster and let me see someone in scrubs.

We got checked in and into a room- again the feelings were so different. I could still feel her moving and kicking the whole time, so that was a constant reassurance, almost her small way of saying "It's okay mom, everything is going to be okay." 
The nurse asked a million questions and hooked me up to the monitors to watch the baby and see if I was having any contractions. Again, her heart sounded great and she was having a dance party (the nurse even commented on how "wild" she was moving). I wasn't having any contractions and wasn't dilated- all very good news. 

So we just waited for a few hours so they could continue to monitor things. While we were waiting I think I heard the lady in the room next to ours give birth (at least I heard a scream that sounded like she probably did...). 

I was trying to relax and not think about anything being wrong, and that everything would be fine and we'd all be fine. But the thought kept coming into my mind of something I'd read online earlier that day about spotting in your second trimester (which by the way, you shouldn't start to Web MD things when they're actually happening to you...it only makes things worse). The odds of survival for an infant born at 24 weeks is 39%. A heck of a lot higher than it ever has been in the past- but 39%? That is so small. So small. A very small percentage that I was in no way mentally or emotionally prepared to challenge. Not that there were indications that would happen- but you know me, always an optimist. ;-)

Because I wasn't having any symptoms of pre-term labor and the baby wasn't showing signs of being in any kind of distress, they unhooked me and I went home, with the same instructions: "Either it will just go away and get better, or it will get worse. If it gets worse then come back." 
The worst kind of instructions. 

The rest of the day I took it easy- constantly going to the bathroom to check the status of things and constantly saying prayers that it would stop and everything be fine. 

I was almost scared to go to sleep because I thought I might wake up in the middle of the night to "worse". 

And this is when it hit me the hardest- I am not in control. Yes I am growing this human being from scratch, yes I'm nourishing and sustaining her, but I am not the one who will control the outcome of this situation- Heavenly Father is.
And sometimes that is hard to accept. It's in scary moments when your faith is tried and shaken that you have to rely on Him the most- because there is nothing else to rely on. 

Suddenly all of the pregnancy "complaints" I had before -heartburn, not able to sleep, uncomfortable, stretch marks- were welcome reminders that this life I am carrying is so incredibly fragile, and the tiniest and biggest of miracles.

By Sunday morning all of the symptoms were gone- no more cramping or spotting. Hallelujah. 
I still don't know why that started happening, what caused it to happen, or if it will happen again, but what I do know is that someone of far greater capacity, mercy, love, understanding, ability, and grace is the one calling the shots, and I'm reminded of just who I want that person to be- it sure isn't little 'ole me. 

Throughout the weekend my feelings of not being in control turned from panic and anxiety, to ease and comfort at remembering who is.
 

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