This Monday, unlike many of the recent ones before, I woke up before my alarm. Steve was already downstairs eating his breakfast and spending time with God - typical routine for us on a weekday morning. I felt "lighter" this particular morning, even with my growing belly. After praying and studying the next Psalm (Psalm 29 for this particular day), I got up from my knees and headed downstairs.
The voice of the Lord makes the deer give birth and strips the forests bare, and in his temple all cry, “Glory!”
Psalm 29:9
The rest of the day was wonderful and productive: morning walk with Piper and Romans, breakfast with the girls, Hannah to school, Hope to first dentist appointment with Nana and shared the miracle with the staff there, big Costco trip, pick Hannah up from school, lots of office/work "to-do's" done, train Perry with Steve's help, great family dinner at home, Hannah soccer practice, a beautiful sunset, Monday night football, cookies, and early to bed. I was exhausted. It was a good day, a full day, a day before a day that we would never forget for the rest of our lives.
At 1:45 AM on September 23, 2014 I suddenly awoke to a little 4-year old at the side of my bed. Sweet Hannah. She has always had the creepiest way of waking us up in the middle of the night. She gets her face as close as possible to our faces and begins to talk in her normal tone of voice. Talk about a sweet but rude awakening! She had an accident in her bed. Normally, I would be the one to take care of it, considering Steve's constant early mornings. But my prince of a husband, who knew how hard it was for me to even get out of bed at this point, jumped up and took care of it. I gingerly arose myself to hit the lieu ... for probably the 10th time that night. When I got back in bed, I was out, you know, the kind of sleep that feels so good because it is so deep.
About 30 minutes later I awoke suddenly again. This time, there was no pretty little girl by my bed, but just me and wet sheets. "Oh goodness", I thought, "have I totally lost control of my bladder?". I mean, the pressure on my abdomen was great. I lay there for a second because I was so tired. I was in such a deep sleep ... almost as if I had wet the bed like when I was a child, because I dreamed I was on a toilet. I finally got up and went to the bathroom. It was about a 10 minute process because every time I got up, there was a bit more to come. No blood, no cramping, no pain, but just trickles of what I knew was either urine or ... amniotic fluid.
I turned on the light and woke up a very deep sleeping Steve. We looked at the sheets. There wasn't much there at all. It was anything but a gross or alarming scene. Nevertheless, I was in cautious mode because of our unique situation. I put a towel down and cuddled back in bed with my phone. 20 minutes and 100 questions later from the on-call nurse, we were on our way to the hospital with tired eyes and a single backpack that contained our Bible, the iPad, some water, and some oats. Nana was still sleeping and we did not want to wake her just in case she ... and we ... had a long day ahead of us.
When we arrived to the hospital, I had many emotions. I loved this place. Memories of Hannah and Hope's birth came flooding back. This was a happy place for me - where the nurses are fabulous and the setting is very homey. I knew a ton of possibilities lie ahead of us, and just like we did the whole journey, we were just going to take one step in front of the other.
I knew the MO. With Hannah, I started leaking amniotic fluid a week or so before she delivered. They had to do a pH test on the fluid to see what was going on. Unlike Hannah's situation, however, this test came back quickly. The strip turned blue right away. They wanted to confirm with a newer test in the lab, but they (and I) was sure that some of my water had broken. The triage nurse was very kind as was the doctor on-call from my office. They attended to me with a sense of urgency that I appreciated. I couldn't help but think that everyone we would see that day could not have "prepared" them for "us".
The team took my blood to get a CBC count. I historically have low platelets, which precludes me from getting epidurals, even if I wanted them. Everyone was keen on the situation and the sweet nurse told me that she had read our blog and was praying for us. It brought me to tears. She informed me that they "all" knew. I already felt so loved by the staff. It was just a glimpse of the care that God ordained long before the arrival of this day.
We stayed in triage while I was hooked up to a contraction monitor. After delivering the girls naturally, I know how my labor "goes". As much as a I did not want to admit it, my contractions became more regular and intense since the car. These weren't random braxton-hicks anymore. I looked at our sweet nurse and told her that I was definitely in labor and that the doctor better not go far. Hannah and Hope came very quickly once my water was broken by the doctors. With a good sense of urgency, the sweet nurse began to rally the troops. The doctor came in and gave the best medical advice he knew to give ... all of the babies would arrive this day ... and none of them would survive.
Once we were settled in our labor and delivery room, nurse Kristin came in. She was an angel, a saint whom God sent to take care of us next. She shared that she knew our story and felt so blessed to have us in her care. She knows God through much trial and pain. Around 5:30AM, Ryan (pastor and good friend) and Kasey (elder and good friend) came into our room with their bibles, their coffees, and their tears. They were ready for battle - who knew then what a beautiful battle it would be.
Kristin had just an hour left on her shift, which went by so fast (as did every hour that day). She stayed an extra hour just to be with us and make sure we were well taken care of. Around 7:30AM, she brought in the next nurse ... Sherry. Kristin said "Lindsey, I found the best for you". Did she ever. The first thing Sherry did was gather everyone who was there at this point on our behalf - Ryan, Kasey, David, Gene, Kim, Bethany, Tamara and Nana (and who all stayed until 9PM that evening) - to pray. She asked that God would use her in mighty ways to protect His purposes for His glory. She said God told her that today would be a day like none other when she was driving into work, even though she had no idea what awaited her. Her tears were real. Sherry loves God and will obey Him no matter the cost.
At this point my contractions were pretty steady, but nothing unbearable. I received an epidural because there was risk of much pain if the doctors had to "go in" and get all of the sacs and placentas and ... babies. I obeyed, even though I didn't really want it. I was so thankful at this point to not have had to deliver anything yet. I just wanted to see my doctors ... the ones who "knew" me. As I was talking to Sherry about both of them, Dr. S walked in the door. Perfection.
Dr. S was real in his description of the situation, as he always was. He wanted to get the pessary out right away. I pleaded with him for an ultrasound. At first he said no, and Steve, (oh if I could just write about Steve) stood up and pleaded. Dr. S agreed. All of the babies were perfect, but Dr. S said he needed to look again with the pessary out. So, we said goodbye to the screen, not knowing when we might see them all alive again. After he took the pessary out, we looked again real quickly. Dr. S said he saw what he "thought". Baby A, Mercy, was not in the first picture because she was already in the vaginal canal.
So, Mercy had to be delivered. Dr. S said that most likely, after she came out, my body would ensue labor and the remaining 5 would come. If, by some miracle, contractions slowed down, bleeding was minimal, AND my cervix started to lengthen again, they MIGHT be able to save the 5 for whatever time my body allowed. I didn't really know that was an option, and it wouldn't have been one if my white blood cell count was any higher than it was, because the risk of infection was great with this procedure. I was so thankful for the possibility, and knew that God COULD, if He wanted.
Dr. S said he would be back to check on me after the delivery. Dr. Bo, the on-call OB for the day would be in charge. I so badly wanted Dr. B to be there, but he was in he south Charlotte office with appointments all day. There was not way he could come. I took it as a message that Dr. Bo was supposed to be a part of this, for whatever reason. By the end of the day, that message was more than confirmed.
Nurse Sherry put on the most beautiful song for us to listen to during Mercy's birth. She was listening to it on the way to work. It was "I Am Not Alone" by Kari Jobe. I will never forget this song.
Mercy Carter was delivered at 10AM. She was beautiful. She lay on my bare chest for her lifetime - about an hour. She was not scary-looking or deformed in any way ... just tiny. She weighed 9.9 ounces. She made suckling motions with her little lips. Her eyes stayed closed and she did not gasp for air or suffer in any way. She was perfect. We wrapped her in her purple knit blanket (that Mrs. Tamara made for each baby with their name on it) and sung her to sleep.
In my prayers every morning of this pregnancy, I prayed Nehemiah 1:11. The Scripture ends with "And give me Mercy". He did. More of it that I could have ever imagined or asked for.
Then, we waited.
I tried to rest and relax as much as possible. The biggest grace from pre-conception to now was that we never had a burden or regret. We, by God's grace alone, kept our hands open, our knees bent, and our head bowed. Just the fact that my water broke while I was in a deep sleep gave me peace that I didn't "do anything" to cause Mercy's early delivery. So, we begged and pleaded to the Lord for a miracle, and I so tried to let go of anything that told me "if I do or don't do this...then my labor will stop".
After the first hour, I had hardly any bleeding but my contractions were consistent (I felt all of them), and my cervix was still 7 CM dilated.
After the second hour, I had a little more bleeding, a little stronger contractions and was still 7 cm dilated.
Dr. Bo was never in a hurry. But he was clear. I had 2 options. Start Pitocin and let my body finish what it had started OR wait and risk infection and inevitable delivery with a very tired body and soul.
I needed supernatural grace now. I wanted to die for my girls. I couldn't choose. What about option 3 - give me meds to relax my uterus and sew me shut? My body would listen, right? Please, please, please don't take the rest of them. I just wanted to keep fighting. Then, the phone rang. It was Dr. B.
During this whole journey, we have taken Dr. B's words as from God. He told me to stop running, I did. He told me no more swimming, I did. Now, he told me, "take the Pitocin, Lindsey". He was sure that my body was not going to stop laboring ... that God's purposes were clear ... that he was so humbled by our "open-handedness" all along and that the time was not now to make fists.
I hung up the phone in tears. Everyone gathered around to pray. Suddenly David (a man who is closer to God than any other person I know; a man of few words; a man with much wisdom; a man who has counseled our family through many trials) looked at me with these eyes ... and he spoke: "Lindsey, I am so afraid to say this, so afraid. But I can't disobey. When I was in the hall praying alone, the Lord spoke to me. He said that today, the babies were coming home. Take it for what you will, but I have to tell you what I heard."
I knew then what to do. If David said "I heard that God is going to save these babies today", my Spirit would not have matched up. I knew, I just did. But for those couple of hours, God allowed me to battle. Just more grace.
Steve agreed. We told Dr. Bo to start the Pitocin. This would be the day that all 6 girls met their loving Maker...