Counting them one by one...

When upon life’s billows you are tempest-tossed,
When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings, name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.


I like to see myself think... what better way to meditate on what you feel and how you feel than to just sit and express your soul in writing.

I have always wanted four children.  From the time I was young enough to know I wanted children, I knew I wanted four.  This is where the reality hits the road.  Neither of my pregnancies were easy.  I'm not asking for sympathy.  I just want to make history known so that the present can be understood.

Kidlet D was due mid-December of 2004.  He was our first gift from God.  From as early as 17-weeks gestation I began swelling and having high blood pressure.  My OB talked to me about her concerns.  Things continued to progress.  By week 28 things were really bad.  I was in the hospital at least once weekly for monitoring.  I cried like a baby when my OB said our goal was to make it to 32-weeks.  I'm a perfectionist.  If she said 32-weeks, I could get to 36-weeks... EASY. 

Yeah, that's what I get for thinking I'm in control of everything.  Sometimes I think I didn't pray often enough... or that perhaps I was too naive in thinking that 32-weeks was EASY.  However, whatever the reason, I was at 31-weeks and 5-days when I went in for my weekly OB appointment.  I weighed in... it was ghastly.  In one week I had put on 20-pounds of fluid (yes, I did look like a tick about to bust).  The OB's nurse sat me down to take my blood pressure.  You should have seen the look in her eyes when she completed the reading.  She told me to stay right there as she went to her desk to get another cuff.  She retested.  The look on her face told me something was horribly wrong... it wasn't a problem with the cuff.  She left the room immediately only to return seconds later looking disheveled and saying, "Everything is okay.  Come in here and lie down.  No, lie down on your left side... turn all the way over to your left side.  I'll be right back in."  She left. 

I was there, lying on my left side... about to totally freak out when Stacy (my OB and dear friend) came walking in.  She said, "Gwyn, I'm waiting on your husband to come in."  I knew the moment I caught Big C's eyes that I was dying.  His face shouted it clearly.  She immediately said, "I'm having you taken by ambulance to the hospital."  The hospital was a whole 60-second drive from her office.  She continued to say, "I'm then flying you by helicopter to UAMS to have your baby delivered immediately.  Your blood pressure read 240/140 twice."  I refused the helicopter... just more of my ignorant calls.

That's kidlet D's story.  He was born at 32-weeks on October 4, weighing a whopping 4.4 pounds.  He was healthy and only required two weeks more in the hospital.  I, on the otherhand, continued having problems.  I was readmitted in another state for postpartum preeclampsia.  Upon testing, my kidney and liver function was far worse than it had been while I was pregnant (so much for the "delivery is the cure" theory).  I spent another five days admitted before being allowed to leave and see my baby in person for the first time.

Kidlet A's story is similar... but not quite so scary.  She made it to 37-weeks gestation.  I stayed healthier longer with her.  However, having it happen twice confirmed our fears.  I wasn't safe.  My disease wasn't a "first pregnancy complication" and chances were, it would happen with every subsequent pregnancy.

Big C and I couldn't risk it.  He and I had both made peace with the fear that I was dying when Kidlet D was coming into this world.  I even remember my favorite preacher coming to pray over me (thanks Howard Horton) and my telling him, "I'm ready.  I've made peace with my passing."  Looking back it's a scary notion... but in that moment, I was coherent, totally, and I really had made peace.

That's our history.  So, as I sit here feeling badly that the dreams I once had will never be realized, I try to focus my thoughts on the many blessings I do have.  I have two very amazing children.  I have my health, my husband, a wonderful home, and a life that is better than I could have ever imagined.  I have a heavenly father who loves me, even when I fall, even when I stray... and He is always there to catch me when I fall.  I may not have two other children from my own womb, but perhaps one day, if I continue to count my blessings, we will be fortunate enough to adopt two more kidlets.

I always tell loved ones, there's a purpose to everything.  No matter how badly we feel or how badly the situation feels... there is a lesson, a purpose, something to be learned, some knowledge to be gained, some experience to be had.  As hard as I try to help others, I should be willing to offer myself the same advice. 

The fact that I cannot carry two more children in my own womb is almost overwhelming at times... it's a sadness I share with no one... not even with Big C.  It's nothing that anyone else would be able to help me overcome. 

And, as hard as I try, I cannot find a purpose, a lesson, any knowledge (except how fleeting life is) to be gained, and no real experience to be had... so, now that I've rambled endlessly I still feel no sense of ah-hah, that makes sense.  I just feel an emptiness in my womb. 

However, God gave me two arms... not four.  So, maybe, just maybe, I can fill my two arms with my two very precious kidlets and count my blessings... one by one, even if it's just to two.