When Z’s physical therapist recommended that we see a pediatric orthopedist to have another set of eyes on the curve in her back, we didn’t expect to end up here.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Z is my first child. She made me a mother. In some ways, I think if she had been my second, I would have noticed the warning signs earlier, maybe would have been able to avert some of the issues we live with now . But I can’t be sure, can’t allow myself to be overwhelmed with the guilt of perfect hindsight. Have to remember that God knew what He was doing when He gave her to me first.
I loved being pregnant with her. I didn’t struggle with many of the issues that other women reported. I made plans for a “natural” birth, listened to hypnobirthing CDs with my husband, sung to her, prayed over her.
But things took an odd turn in my third trimester. I started retaining water. A lot of water. My feet swelled. But despite the weight I was rapidly gaining, my uterus didn’t seem to be growing at the correct rate. My doctor sent me for an ultrasound and we were both relieved when Z checked out to a decent size — he told me to plan for a 6 lb baby. “Small, but not abnormally so.” He kept a very close eye on my blood pressure, on whether there was protein in my urine, but, despite my swollen feet, I didn’t seem to be developing preeclampsia.
I was diagnosed with Strep B which put a slight damper on my plans for a totally natural birth. I would have to be hooked to an IV once I entered the hospital. But I didn’t trouble myself too much, things seemed to be going according to plan despite a few abnormalities.
In my journal on July 3rd, 2008, there is a prayer written. An outpouring of my desire for Z’s life to be totally consecrated to God (Her name, in fact, means “Life consecrated to God”) and I wrote that, no matter what happened, both of our lives were totally in God’s hands.
It was that prayer more than anything that prepared my heart for everything we would endure over the next 24 hours.