A Moment with God

Russian Roulette

On the morning of the third day of my ICU stay, they told me that Dr. Mel would come at some point and they would deflate the balloon. I had a million questions. How do they do that? Would they know right away if I was hemorrhaging? If I was hemorrhaging would it like gush out or be a slow steady flow? Would I feel them deflating it? What would they do if I did hemorrhage? Would it be painful? Were we close to the OR? Would we go there if I did hemorrhage? Would I need another transfusion? Could we deflate it like… slowly?! The nurses in the ICU assured me that all of my questions would be answered when Dr. Mel arrived to deflate the balloon.

The day progressed and my IV lines were flushed regularly and they hung my antibiotics. My fever remained high and they were still waiting to see if the infection was from the tiny (less than a cm) piece of placenta that was removed. In my mind, it was comforting to know that once they confirmed it was infected it was all going to make sense and they would know how to better treat the infection and I would be home sooner rather than later. I did not feel at all ill or under the weather. I felt normal. Well, as normal as one can feel sitting in the ICU with a newborn. With all the lines in my arms and leads on my chest, it was hard for Lilly to find a spot to rest her head but she would nestle in with her ear pressed right above my heart and she would rest there as content as could be for hours. She gave me every ounce of strength I needed to keep recovering.

Dr. Mel didn’t come that morning and she didn’t come that afternoon. She didn’t come after dinner either. I asked the nurses who tended to me that day when someone was coming but they didn’t really have any answers for me. Maybe they changed their minds? Maybe it was too soon? Too risky? Finally, two OBGYNs from up on the maternity floor walked through my door around 7pm. Except, it wasn’t Dr. Mel and it wasn’t Dr. Kennedy. It wasn’t anyone that I knew or had met yet. I didn’t like this change. Could I trust this person? I felt unsure. This OBGYN was lovely enough when she introduced herself as Dr. Rachel and then the other OBGYN with her as Dr. Kelsey. Wait? Why were there two of them? Was there really that much of a risk? Obviously, if I needed TWO doctors to deflate this balloon, there was. Dr. Rachel (whose name isn't really Dr. Rachel) explained that they were there to deflate the balloon and asked if I had any questions. Well, yes as a matter of fact I did have a few (million) to ask. So after about 45 minutes of all of us talking it through, I was feeling ready (mostly) to let them start deflating. Dr. Rachel explained that they wanted to do it now (so late in the day) because it was shift change and having two of them were better than one in this high risk situation. She described to me how the balloon was filled with saline solution so they were going to be using a syringe to suction out the fluid to deflate the balloon. They agreed to do it slowly only taking 50CC of solution at a time and then waiting 10-15 minutes to watch for bleeding. Dr. Rachel won some major trust points when she encouraged me to breastfeed Lilly to stimulate uterine contractions during this procedure. It would not be painful, it would just be stressful while we waited and watched but she was confident there would not be a repeat hemorrhage. I, on the other hand, was not so confident. With Lilly suckling at my breast and Kevynn holding my hand, I asked God to protect me and guide them. With that, Dr. Rachel pulled out the first 50CC or 50ml of the saline solution. We waited. Nothing happened. This was a good sign. She pulled out another 50ml of solution and we waited. Nothing happened. Dr. Rachel watched for any trickling of blood to appear. She pressed on my abdomen. Still nothing happened so she pulled out another 50ml and one of the nurses began writing each 50ml pull on the white board to keep tally. We had 500ml total to remove and with each 50ml that came out nothing happened. Each time, I breathed a little deeper and loosened my vice grip on Kevynn’s hand. After we were about halfway there, Dr. Rachel asked if she could start to draw 100ml at a time. I was nervous but I acquiesced, just wanting to be done. I was resting in knowing that so far, I had been alright. If I was going to hemorrhage, Dr. Rachel assured me, I would have shown some bleeding by now. So she pulled 100ml, and again, nothing happened. I kept waiting for the flood gates to open and they never did. Hallelujah! Once the balloon was deflated and removed from my uterus, I sunk a little deeper into bed, released the pent up tension in my body and actually rested with Lilly snuggled in on my chest. Tomorrow, I would be back upstairs in room 17 to continue my recovery they told me. I felt like the end was in sight! After four days in the hospital, I was so ready to take my little girl home with me and we were one step closer to that. I missed my bed. I missed our space. I missed our dog. I imagined that he was beyond stressed wondering where we had been but I trusted that having my mom there each night was comforting for him.

Going home, however, was not in my immediate future like I thought it was. 


Recovery Road

Early that morning, Henrietta was back in ICU taking care of me. I was happy to see her return. She was happy to hear I was leaving.

She blushed while clarifying, “No, I mean, I am not happy that you are leaving but I am happy you are well.”

She continued on about how most people in the ICU are kept sedated or are in comas and that tending to me was a treat because we could talk. She was tasked with removing all lines from my left arm which included the ever so painful and annoying arterial line. It was, truly, in the most uncomfortable spot and when it needed to be flushed, it would burn so badly. I was beyond happy to see that one go. To have an entire arm free of lines felt fully liberating. Now I could cradle Lilly now with ease in my left arm. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing. After I was unhooked from all the machines in ICU, I was wheeled back upstairs in a regular hospital bed. It was nice to be back up there. It felt much more cozy on the maternity floor and way more relaxed. The only downfall is that regular hospital beds are not near as comfortable to lay in 24/7 and that was the only thing I was allowed to do.

Now that I was recovering, there were three things that needed to be done.

1) Find the root cause of my fever. It was still burning and we still were awaiting the results of the placenta piece. Apparently, I wasn’t going anywhere (AKA home) until the fever was gone and remained gone for 24 hours.

2) Do an ultrasound of my uterus just to make sure all was well in there and the bleeding was indeed done.

3) I had to get out of bed and walk. 

That last one seemed so simple and I felt great knowing that one of three things would be soon checked off the list. When the nurse that day told me that I needed to try and walk, I agreed. I sat myself up (which took all of my energy) and so I needed to just sit there few minutes because I was immediately dizzy. Swinging my legs over to the side of the bed (or attempting to) absolutely drained me and I ended up needing the nurse’s help with that because I almost fell over. I sat hunched over on the edge of the bed staring at the floor beneath my dangling feet. I was completely drained of energy and feeling absolutely confounded. Why was this so hard? I could barely just sit there. When she asked me to try and stand, I couldn’t. Yes, you read that right. I. Couldn’t. Even. Stand. Up. 



I was shocked. I was confused at the physical state I was in. How did I have absolutely no capacity to sit myself up let alone stand on my own two feet? Everyone in the room (the nurse, Kevynn, my mom and myself) all agreed that the sitting was enough for the day and we would try again tomorrow. I had the nurse swing my legs back for me, and they brought the back of the bed up to meet me in my seated position. I laid back in the bed as it reclined back down feeling defeated and disappointed. I felt so out of control and my very A-type personality does not like that feeling at all. I couldn’t control my fever. I had no idea if my uterus was going to show that all was well. I wasn’t even able to stand. Was walking even a reality any time soon? All of it seemed to push going home farther and farther away. I was so sick of all of it. Sick of the lines still in my right arm, sick of the constant pokes and prods, sick of laying in bed 24/7, sick of antibiotics, sick of hospital sheets, sick of fluorescent lights, sick of not being able to have any amount of privacy, sick of not being able to tend to my baby girl as I wanted/needed to. I was just so over it in that moment. What else could I do but lay there and cry? I surrendered and wept. Dealing with all of those emotions plus being less than 2 weeks postpartum plus almost dying had me full steam ahead on an emotional train wreck. Not to even mention being severely sleep deprived. There was no sleep to be had between tending to Lilly and being tended to by nurses. Even if I fell asleep by 8pm, Lilly roused to feed only a few short hours later. I kept her in my hospital bed with me all night because that’s where she slept best and it’s where I wanted her to be. I didn’t want her separated from me again and she really didn’t either. Plus, I couldn’t get up to get her from the bassinet even if I wanted to. A nurse would come in at 11pm to inject the blood thinner, again waking me. If I fell asleep after that, I would wake up again, to nurse, but thankfully Lilly quickly mastered the side-lying position and it was so easy. At 3am, every morning, I needed a new round of antibiotics so a nurse would flush my lines and hook them up. It would beep 45 minutes later that it was done. I tried so hard to sleep but it felt impossible. So I would stare at my sweet girl. I would cry. I would thank God for Lilly and my life. Sometimes I would panic, thinking I was supposed to die and I was still going to. Often though, when I couldn’t sleep, I would eat. I knew I needed to nourish myself to get stronger, to heal, and to produce milk. I had snacks and water on my hospital bedside table. I would nurse Lilly and eat chia pudding, bananas, coconut balls, apples and Lara bars. Morning always came sooner than I wanted, and a nurse would come in around 6:30am or 7:00am every morning to draw blood for the lab. They checked for everything, every single day. My mom would arrive around 8am and bring breakfast. A nurse would come in and check my fever and my blood pressure. I would lay there. Lilly would lay there. Kevynn eventually had to go back to work because it didn’t look like I was coming home anytime soon so my mom would stay with me all day. The nurse would bring another round of antibiotics during the day and recheck everything once again. It was monotonous at best. I kept trying to stand and walk. It was so hard, but I was determined. If you know me, you know how I can be. I had to do it. I was going to do it. If I wanted to get home, I was going to walk or die trying (and it did feel that way, like I was dying). It sucked every last drop of stamina in me to stand and take a single step. It was the most foreign process to my body and my brain. It’s like I didn’t remember how. I was willing my feet to move in a natural rhythm, the one I had so clearly taken for granted. Instead, I felt like a toddler. Awkwardly, I would pick up one foot and thump it on the floor, waffling from side to side trying to gain some balance. For days, I had to have someone support me to walk. Taking a few steps just to get to the bathroom left me bedridden for hours. For that reason, I got to be wheeled everywhere I had to go. My first little trip was down for the ultrasound of my uterus. Waiting outside the ultrasound room in my wheelchair, I was hopeful that all would be well in there but I knew they would find the other piece of the placenta that Dr. Mel wasn’t able to get out during the D&C in my uterus during the scan. So when they told me that there was a tiny piece of placenta in there, it wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise was that they also found something else in my uterus. A large something else. Something else that could not stay there.

Discovery

So what was it that they found in my uterus?

It finally answers the question, “Where is the blood?” It was in my uterus. All that hemorrhaged blood was in there.

A whopping 16cm by 11cm mass of clotted blood had formed in there. 
Honestly, it was unsettling thinking of all that blood just sitting in there and I wondered what was going to be done about it. So I asked the doctors when they gave me this update and was told there wasn’t anything to be done. Over time, my body would naturally break down and reabsorb the clotted blood. It was highly unlikely that I would pass the clot because it was so large. I may notice smaller bits here and there as my postpartum bleeding naturally continued. So, all was well in my uterus and the clots were of no concern. That was a win for me, even though I didn’t love that the clot was so big and was just going to stay put. Another win was that I was getting better and better at walking. Making some steps here and there around the hospital room, I gained confidence and strength. Stamina was another story. I had none. Simple tasks took all energy that I had. They told me that I had to be able to walk more and sustain my energy to get home. I felt hopeful that I could get there! The best win though was that my fever had ended. The doctors then decided to switch me from IV antibiotics to oral antibiotic pills. They said it was the first step to going home because I couldn’t do the IV at home, I had to be able to take oral antibiotics. They were still waiting to see if the infection was from the placenta piece and they wanted to ensure that it was all cleared up. Going home seemed more and more like a reality in the coming days! We all were overjoyed. Maybe a few days more in room 17 and then we’d be packing our bags to go home.

The Return

It was a complete shock to find out that after less than 24 hours of being on the oral antibiotics, my fever had returned with a vengeance. So back on the IV antibiotics I went and the train of defeat was pulling back into the station. The doctors were confused. They weren’t sure why the fever left and returned. They hoped once I was back on the IV antibiotics it would clear again. To add to the mystery of the situation, the results finally were in on the placenta piece and it was NOT infected. So now, the bigger question was not. “Why did the fever return?” but, “What the heck was even causing the fever?” I didn’t have the flu, my labs showed nothing, the cultures they grew showed nothing, and the placenta was not infected… I was immediately referred to ever notorious Infectious Diseases Department. I was now no longer going to be solely under the care of the OBGYNs on the maternity floor but now Infectious Diseases had to give me the green light to be released from the hospital and without that, I was stuck. Room 17 was slowly becoming my home away from home.

The Battle

Settling in for yet another sleepover at the hospital, a night nurse came in and introduced herself as Kerry (you know the drill here). Her energy was one that was slightly unsettling to me and I had trouble feeling comfortable in her care. I wasn’t sure why but something just wasn’t right for me. As the night wore on, everything seemed to be a battle. Kerry was ‘concerned’ about my fever and she was ‘concerned’ about my heart rate. Kevynn asked her why she was concerned when the numbers hadn’t changed since earlier in the day and the day nurse was not concerned. Her response was something along the lines of “I just am.” When 11pm rolled around and it was time for my blood thinner, I told her that I had been receiving them subcutaneously in my arms instead of my abdomen because Lilly slept on my chest and her legs would be right where the injection was. She protested that it HAD to be given in the abdomen. I explained that for the last 7 days I had received it in the back of my arm with no problem. She again was adamant it had to be given in the abdomen. In this moment, I acquiesced and I immediately regretted it. I never felt the injection in my arms, but the pain of it in my abdomen was too much. Kerry then proceeded to wheel the bassinet to my bed and asked me to hand her Lilly so she could put her in the bassinet. I looked at her with some shock in my face and as politely as I could muster, told her no. Again, she audaciously protested that Lilly sleep in the bassinet. Again, I explained that for the last seven days, Lilly had slept with me in my bed. At this point, Kevynn came to my bedside. With a bit of spite in her voice, she told us that babies die when they don’t sleep in bassinets. I think my jaw hit the floor at this point and I looked at Kevynn. He had become really good at reading my face and also stepping in when my voice wasn’t being heard. He very firmly said that Lilly would be staying with me in the bed and that was final. Absolutely flabbergasted, Kerry left and I felt completely drained from everything that just happened. I was too vulnerable to deal with Kerry’s anxieties and projected concerns. Was Lilly going to die if I kept her bed with me? Why did I have to have that injection in my abdomen? Maybe it hadn’t been working properly this whole time being given in my arm. Was my heart rate really concerning? Was I going to have a heart attack? Sometimes that happens after a transfusion. I tried to sleep with a million questions running through my mind. Mostly, I really wondered if I was ever going to get home.

Blessed

There were so many moments in the hospital that I felt truly blessed despite everything. God has this way of weaving the most beautiful people into our lives when He knows we will need them. I really feel that everyone that I crossed paths with during my stay was divine in some way. From Dr. Mel to Jessica to my nurses each and every day, there just seemed to be this invisible string that connected us all. One person that God knew I would need throughout all of this was this wonderful friend who happened a labour and delivery nurse at the hospital I was in. I actually met her when I enrolled in her prenatal yoga classes in the summertime. She was (is) just a delightful human being and being in her presence is amazing. Her name, or what I will call her here, is Elena. Lucky for me, Elena had been in and out to see me the entire time I was at the hospital. She visited me in ICU, and she was happy to see us all back up on her floor. She even made a point to be assigned to my room for a few shifts. What was so sweet was that she brought me (and Lilly) this beautiful handmade quilt of peach, yellow and orange print that brightened the entire room. It was such a kind and thoughtful gesture. She was such an angel for us. She would check all my charts and tell me as much as she could. She asked questions of doctors that I didn’t know to ask. She was a warrior for me in so many ways. I’m so deeply grateful for her and her love. Another angel that blessed us with such kindness was our doula, who I will call MJ. MJ had been with us for Lilly’s birth. She had stayed in touch with me in the days following Lilly’s birth and I had mentioned I was in the hospital and she asked how she could help. At the time, we needed someone to drive to the breastmilk bank to pick up our order. We had gotten donor milk to supplement for Lilly because we didn’t know if I was going to be be able to continue to produce enough or what lie ahead for me in the coming days. Bringing the milk up to our room, MJ was shocked to see me in the state I was in. Truly, most people who came to see me all wore a look of deep concern and absolute surprise to see me as I was there. I didn’t like seeing that look on people’s faces, especially on those who I hold closest to me. When my dearest friend was able to come visit, she gave me the biggest hug and the world melted away from me for a moment. It was the most lovely feeling. She brought a handcrafted and thoughtful box of carefully selected snacks and well wishes. We had the greatest little visit and it reminded me that there was a life that I had outside of this hospital room. My midwives were often at the hospital delivering other babies and so they would pop in to check on me and say hi. In the early hospital days, my midwives really helped Lilly and I navigate bedsharing, breast-sleeping and they helped me strategically position her for laid back breast-feeding because I couldn’t hold her in the traditional positions. I even had a colleague who reached out and asked if she could cook for us while I was there. She delivered fresh soup and handmade granola bars for us knowing that we followed a very particular diet and way of living. The outpouring of love was overwhelming. It wasn’t just for me though. It was for Kevynn and my mom, too. They needed love and respite through all of this. Kevynn had been there almost 24/7 with me, leaving only during the day to go to work. He would sleep in the little bed under the window and rise before dawn to go to work. He’d either come right back to the hospital after work or he would cook and bring dinner up for us. Sometimes he would walk the puppies so my mom wouldn’t have to. He would hold Lilly and rock her, bring her to me for feeds, change her into her jammies, and all of the little things I couldn’t do. At such a time though, being a new mom and in a completely helpless state, I appreciated my mom more than anything. She was beyond incredible the entire time. She lived out of our house the entire time. Going back and forth between the hospital and our home multiple times a day to tend to us and then to tend to the puppies. She would wake up and walk the dogs and cook us breakfast and bring it up to us at the hospital. She would spend the entire day helping me walk, grabbing water and snacks, holding Lilly, helping me shower, helping me get dressed, talking to me, praying with me, and she would brush my hair and braid it. She would go home to prepare dinner and come back and stay until I was ready to go to sleep and then tiredly, she would head back to walk the puppies and prepare for another day of doing it all again. All the while, she battled her own triggers from my dad’s passing away. She worked through the trigger of being back in the hospital and the reality of death. If you’ve ever met my mom, you already know she has the heart of Mother Theresa. There is not anything she wouldn’t do for someone who needed it. I know I am abundantly blessed to have her as my mom. I do believe that our babies are handpicked for us by God. He knew that my mom was the one for me, every exact thing I would need from the day I was born and every day thereafter. Just as He knew I was the mom that Lilly needed. I pray that I can be as selfless and nurturing for Lilly as my own mom has been for me. Another little blessing I had was kind of unexpected. I had had a counselling appointment booked that I had to cancel because I couldn’t leave the hospital. When my therapist learned of why I couldn’t make it, she came to the hospital for me.

When she walked in, she said to me, ‘I am not here as your therapist, this is not a session. I am here as a friend and I am here to listen.”

I needed that time with her to work through all of my own feelings and thoughts. I think it was then that the gravity of the situation sunk in for me but also I started to feel so anchored here. Almost like choosing to stay was the right choice, not just for Lilly but because there were people here who cared for me in big ways. I desperately wanted to feel safe and secure in being alive and I was beginning to more so than before, but I still struggled to shake the feeling that somehow death was lurking around the corner, still waiting for me.

The Road Home

As the days continued to pass, death didn’t come for me. I continued to be monitored on all levels, had regular visits with OBGYN doctors and many consults with the Infectious Diseases Department. No one could find a source of infection, no one could explain some of the levels they were seeing in my CBC labs and bloodwork analysis. My platelet count was over 600 and they assumed it was from my transfusion but they weren’t certain. My fever continued with no additional symptoms. They had no explanation for why I hemorrhaged as briskly as I did or for as long as I did. I was a mystery and no one was comfortable to release me from the hospital. So they continued to keep me on the maternity floor and continued to monitor me. Some nurses wore PPE and others didn’t. I gained strength back in my legs gradually. I even graduated from walking around my hospital room to roaming the hallways. I would push Lilly in the bassinet throughout the maternity floor, pausing to gaze out the windows into the world that continued to turn outside. Nurses who had witnessed my journey and recovery applauded me every time I stepped into the hallway and made my way around. Whether I was coming or going from my room, my steps were always slow, methodical and laboured but I hoped they were going to get me home soon. Eventually, I had the stamina to make some tiny trips outside for some fresh air. Kevynn and Lilly would accompany me on these little adventures. Always, I would find a bench in the courtyard outside and gingerly lower myself to sit. Every inhale of the freezing cold, fresh air was life-giving to my lungs. To be outdoors was exhilarating, even in the dead of winter. Huddled in my parka next to Kevynn, with Lilly snuggled in her stroller surrounded by a fleece muff, we would sit in silence and I would close my eyes and feel the bite of the cold air on my face and thank God for my life, for Lilly, for Kevynn, my mom, my friends, my family, the medical team and each breath I was lucky enough to take.

The Clot

Remember that big mass of blood in my uterus? It’s okay if you forgot about it because I had forgotten about it, too. Because I wasn’t expected to pass the clot at all, I pushed it out of my mind. One afternoon, I felt an eerily similar pressure in my pelvis and abdomen akin to contractions. I rang the button that called for the nurse. I knew immediately that the clot was coming. After ringing for the nurse, I knew I wanted to make it to the bathroom or toilet before it came. Ever so slowly but with as much quickness as I could muster, I got out of bed and began my awkward shuffle and hobble to the bathroom. Unfortunately, I didn’t get there in time. Three nurses came racing in just in time as I ‘delivered’ the massive (16cm) clot of blood. Standing with my bare feet on the floor, it came in separate large chunks (rather than one enormous piece). Each chunk was about the size of a tennis ball and there were 3 of them. I honestly felt shocked it all passed but also so relieved to be free of it. I felt lighter almost. Not physically, but emotionally. That was one less thing I would have to worry about now. I hoped this would be a step towards home!

Going Home

Finally after eleven long days of fever and mystery, the fever finally faded. Infectious Diseases declared me as ‘no longer infectious’ and I could safely leave the hospital and go home. I think I cried at this news. I had to stay another 24 hours for one more round of bloodwork and labs and to make sure the fever was not going to return. I was told that if it did return once I was home that I needed to immediately return to the hospital. With no answers for where the fever that brought me into the hospital came from, we packed up everything from our lengthy hospital stay and readied ourselves for the transition home.

When Kevynn, my mom, Lilly and I walked out of the hospital, it felt freeing. It also was eerily reminiscent to our departure with Lilly after her birth just twenty some days earlier. Arriving out front of our home on that snowy and cold afternoon, I was feeling relaxed and relieved. That serene feeling disappeared when I had to walk up the front porch stairs. Those six stairs to our front door almost killed me, even with my mom and Kevynn on each side supporting me. Exhausted doesn’t even begin to describe the way I felt afterwards. There was just nothing left in my tank after that but I had a full flight more to do to get upstairs to bed. Needless to say, once I made it upstairs, I did not come down. Lilly and I lived on our upper floor for almost the entire month of February. Doing the stairs was absolutely excruciating so I just didn’t do them. I always had two big and full water bottles upstairs so I never ran out of water. I had a drawer full of granola bars and snacks to munch on throughout the day, and a little jar full of little almond clusters and coconut truffle balls. My mom continued to drive down during the day to spend it with Lilly and I while Kevynn was at work. She did our laundry because it was all the way in the basement and there was no way I could get down there and back up all while carrying the laundry and Lilly. She did our dishes and prepared fresh snacks of fruit and veggies for me and would make breakfast and lunch for me, too. I would spend my days in the rocking chair up in Lilly’s nursery just holding Lilly while she slept or just holding her while she was awake. I would talk to her and watch her with awe. My mom would rest on the bed and talk with me or join in the marvelling at Lilly’s loveliness. My midwives also came by to check in on us instead of having us go to the clinic for our followups because there was no way I could lift Lilly in her car seat let alone drive. MJ, our doula, stopped by as well to check in and help out. Kevynn would prepare our dinner when he got home from work and bring it upstairs where we would sit on the bed and eat while Lilly laid beside us. I would rest and try to sleep when I could. I thought that being home would ease my anxieties and help me move forward from my near death experience. It didn’t though. I was plagued by intrusive thoughts that I would die in the night. I was sad that the beginning of my motherhood journey had been so devastating and traumatic. I was sad that most of Lilly’s life at that point had been spent in hospital. The trauma mixed with the hormonal shift of postpartum had me feeling like an absolute wreck. I was in a dark place for a long time with an incessant voice from the enemy that had me convinced, “Maybe I should have died.”

Wounded

“Maybe I should have died.”

Never in a million years would I ever imagine I would have a thought like that. The physical recovery seemed impossible some days and the emotional toll of becoming a mother but not being able to ‘mother’ in the way you imagined really crushed my soul. My emotional and mental wounds needed just as much tending to as my physical wounds. The physical part ended up being the easiest for me to tend to and it had tangible results (most days). I would practice walking around upstairs and I eventually began doing a few stairs at a time to build stamina. What really helped me gain strength was that Lilly (who was used to being held by my mom or being on my chest in the hospital bed) loved to be wrapped and worn all day, everyday. She was like a little weight that helped me rebuild a lot of my strength. After a month of upstairs living, I finally began to traverse down to the main floor, always pausing to rest after making the trip. Of course going down was much easier than going up. It took me almost five months to feel like I had full control of my legs but there were times that a simple chore would completely drain me.

The Fall

At one point during my recovery, I started making small trips out and about to grab groceries and things. This was all before the pandemic hit so it was relatively normal still to be out and about grabbing groceries. After one of these little ventures out, I was carrying Lilly into the house from the car with a bag of groceries. Hanging in the crook of my elbow was Lilly in her carseat and in my hand was a bag of fresh food. As I took my steps up our cement path towards our front porch steps, my legs buckled and completely gave out underneath me. I fell hard onto my knees and the weight of Lilly in her carseat pulled me over to the side and the carseat hit the cement step and rolled with me. I was mortified. She screamed and screamed and I cried and cried. I panicked and called 9-1-1. I was certain that if death wasn’t coming to get me, it was coming to get her instead. An ambulance arrived to check us both out. She was completely safe and unscathed (Thank you, Jesus!). I was flooded with guilt and dismay. What had just happened? I had no warning that my legs were going to give out. Absolutely no indication. How could I trust my body to do these necessary things even when I felt stronger and like I was making headway to full recovery? I stopped going anywhere for a while and was extra cautious when I would carry Lilly anywhere. Two steps forward and one step back, isn’t that how healing goes?

At Risk

I am not at all exaggerating when I tell you that I truly believed the lie from the devil that death was still coming for me. It haunted me. Was it waiting for me in my sleep? Was it around the next corner? Was it going to get me soon or would it be later? God reminded me in those moments that I didn’t cheat death. Jesus conquered death for me. It wasn’t coming for me. God had me surrounded still. Oh, how I longed to be a faithful Christian woman and accept this as the ultimate truth and rest in that peaceful state of knowing. I just couldn’t. Being so close to leaving this earth was a very surreal experience for me and left me in an existential crisis for a long time.

My midwives were amazing and continued to support and check on me while my heart and mind battled each other for understanding and acceptance. At one of our visits, I explained these intrusive thoughts I was having. Maybe I should have died? I can’t care for Lilly. She needs a better mom. I am absolutely useless. Death is coming for me anyways. We talked about postpartum depression and anxiety. They did a screen of my emotional and mental wellbeing and concluded that I was on the higher end of these depression and anxiety scales. They suggested that along with the therapy I was already doing that Kevynn and I have a little plan that would keep me safe, something like a coloured post it note that I could hand to him that would mean I was in crisis and at risk for harming myself or Lilly. I cried at the thought of needing a tool like that. Would I really hurt myself? Would I really hurt Lilly? I easily answered those questions. I would never consider hurting myself or Lilly but I also knew that I was really struggling and that some days were really dark so I also recognized that a little post it note symbol would keep me and my girl safe regardless.

Isolation

Becoming a new mom is isolating on its own because your whole world shifts and sometimes friends and family are not supportive or understanding or even able to comprehend this new normal for you and how your relationship with them changes. For me, I had a very little village who would check in on me. My mom (the saint) was always there. It was life-saving. But all that support stopped suddenly just one month into recovery when the pandemic hit and we were told to stay away from everyone and everything because COVID was officially here. This was another blow to my already wounded emotional and mental health.

I tried to stay positive and I tried to keep my wits about me. I could be alone. I was strong enough. I could do it, I would tell myself. I started out strong the first few weeks in but the fear crumbled the weak resolve I had and I was consumed with terror. This was not helpful for my healing process. Suddenly, the village I needed and loved was seen as ‘infected and deadly’. I tried to journal about the day to day in isolation and I even blogged about it for a little bit. Eventually, it just overwhelmed me. I couldn’t cope. I didn’t cope. The world was overwhelmed with fear, concern, grief, and illness and I was trying to steer my already unsteady ship through it all while still navigating my own waves of trauma, depression and anxiety. The waves threatened to sink me on more days than I can count on both hands but I’m still so grateful that I never needed that post-it note.

In the midst of those really dark moments and trying times, I would look at Lilly. I would remember how I saw her face when I hung in the balance between heaven and earth. How God blessed me with her, the most precious gift. I would remember how I chose her. I chose to be her mom. I had to be her mom. I had to steady my ship, no matter how violent the waves crashed down on me, no matter how long the storm seemed to rage, no matter how far from the shore I got. I prayed that God would help me do that.

“He caused the storm to be still,So that the waves of the sea were hushed.”

Psalm 107:29

Epilogue

Light Multiplied

“A light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. “

John 1:5

Eventually, with copious amounts of prayer and God’s provision, the waves calmed, the storm lifted, the sun returned and sailing got smoother. It wasn’t all of a sudden. It wasn’t overnight. It was a year of intense and deeply emotional work with my psychologist. It was a year of pouring myself into my Bible. It was a year of surrendering to God and His plan. I wasn’t overcome with darkness and the light of Jesus still shines in my life to this day. In fact, I have another beautiful daughter to praise Jesus for. God led me through another pregnancy, birth and postpartum with complete surrender to Him and His protection to bring our sweet, Emme, into this world for His glory and His kingdom. You can read about her redemptive and beautiful birth story here.

When I lay my head down at the end of the day, I feel blessed to have been the vessel for these girls to come into this world, I feel blessed to be their mama, and I am grateful above all else to God and His goodness.

“But if not, He is still good. “

Daniel 3:18

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