pain – Felker Family Blog

Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed

Over the years, I’ve heard various people say something to the effect of: “Your body will never look the same after having a baby.” While this is very true, it could also be said that your body will never feel the same after having a baby…something akin to getting body slammed by the Incredible Hulk…at least for me.

The day after I came home from the hospital, I hopped dragged myself onto the scale, excited to discover how much weight I had lost so far. Ummmm what!?! I had just delivered an 8 lb. baby, but only weighed 7 lbs. less than I did when I left for the hospital. Granted, I was unbelievably sleep deprived at the time and couldn’t recall my middle name, but I was *pretty* certain the numbers weren’t adding (subtracting?) up. Not only had I delivered an 8 lb. baby, I had also shed a placenta (email my mom for a pic), my amniotic fluid, etc. Staring down at the scale in disbelief, I caught a glimpse of my feet over my (still) very large belly. The light bulb popped on. When I was at the hospital, I had been pumped with far too many fluids and was clearly over hydrated. No wonder every part of my body felt so stiff and uncomfortable – it felt like I had been pumped to maximum capacity with an air compressor! It took two weeks before everything shrunk back to its original size. Check out the pictures below for a visual reference –

IMG_2011-04-30-0507 — My elephant feet/legs, four days after Caleb was born

IMG_2012-07-12-5726 — A comparison shot, taken a few days ago

Unreal right!? I don’t want to be one of those crazy “birth mom-zilla’s,” but I’m pretty set on refusing an IV next time around!

I also continued to recover from the second degree tear that occurred during labor. Each trip to the bathroom was quite the affair, and took ten minutes to complete the care procedure. Thankfully, (or not so thankfully at all), I was still constipated, so I didn’t find myself bowl movementing much. But man, when I did, it felt like I was having another baby. Awesome. Oh and random tangent – am I the only one who found determining whether to put underwear or a bra on immediately after showering a huge dilemma? I could never decide if I’d rather bleed or milk all over myself, and in the midst of my analysis paralysis, I naturally ended up doing both. Ah motherhood…so wonderfully humbling.

The severe pelvic pain (PGP) I developed in my third trimester was a slow recovery and continued to be an issue for about three months postpartum. This meant that I continued to require assistance to: sit/stand up, roll over, walk any notable distance, get in and out of a car, and go up and down stairs. I slept in our living room for the first month after giving birth, because it was still too painful to get in and out of bed. I thought dealing with this was difficult while pregnant…add a newborn into the mix, and Sean suddenly found himself the caretaker of not just one crying baby, but two.

In the midst of the above mentioned challenges, I also began suffering severe back spasms for no apparent reason. At seemingly random moments, my back would wig out and render me immobilized. It was the weirdest thing…it was like I became paralyzed temporarily. One of my more lucid memories in those first few weeks was finishing up nursing Caleb at 2 am, looking forward to sleep, when my back suddenly went into spasm. Sean took care of Caleb, while I remained stuck (literally) in the glider for the next hour until my body just worked it out. I sat there and cried quietly as I watched the precious minutes pass, knowing I desperately needed sleep before Caleb was up again needing to nurse, and the opportunity was passing before my eyes. Since then, my back has continued to experience problems which I am currently in physical therapy to alleviate. The other day, the therapist told me my job as a stay-at-home mom puts me in the same category for back strain/injury as a construction worker. Who knew!?

Readers – did you, your wife, or a friend experience any of these ailments (or others) after giving birth?

More posts in the ‘Afterbirth’ series:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital (Part 1)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the 10 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital

The following is the story of Caleb’s after birth, and I do not mean of the placental type. (Although I do have a picture of Caleb’s literal afterbirth…thanks mom). I want to make it clear from the outset that I am not blogging about this to complain, seek sympathy, or to make any claim that my experience was more difficult than anyone else’s (which is also true of my pregnancy posts and Caleb’s birth post). There are three primary reasons I blog about my recovery and the period of time immediately following Caleb’s birth: 1. It was a momentous and exceptionally difficult time in my life and I find it therapeutic to write about. 2. I believe others who have had similar experiences can find fellowship in it and others who have yet to experience it can learn from my experience. 3. I wish to fight the “facebook fairytale” notion that perpetuates the facade that if you are only awesome enough or try hard enough, birth/parenthood will be a breeze (more to come on this thought in part 2).

With that said, before I delve into the details of my experience, I want to meditate on those things I am grateful for to keep myself grounded and maintain a thankful heart. First and foremost, I am thankful for Caleb and the many blessings he has brought to our family. I am thankful he was/is completely healthy and aside from feeding issues, had no medical problems. I am thankful I have an amazing husband who was involved and supportive. I am thankful for modern medicine and educated health professionals. I am thankful I had medical insurance that helped pay for some of the costs. I am thankful I was fortunate enough to give birth and recover in a relatively comfortable setting, especially when compared with a situation like Mary’s.

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The time is 6:47 pm on April 26th, 2011 and I had slept four hours in the last 60, spent 19 hours in labor, and just pushed a baby out of an inappropriately small tunnel. As I was getting stitched up, I thought: “phew, I can finally relax.” HA! Hahahahaha! Little did I know that by the end of the next 48 hours of my life, I would be wishing I could trade the “recovery” stage for giving birth an extra two times. (FYI: That last statement was not meant as hyperbole).

By 7:15 pm, the buzzing room filled with six medical professionals who had converged for Caleb’s birth quickly dwindled down to just one lone nurse who I could barely understand. As the excitement of the last couple hours died down, I suddenly realized that the massive amount of fluids they had pumped into my IV were making me feel like a water balloon about to explode. Although utilizing the convenience of a bed pan appeared attractive(?) at first, it soon became evident that my bed pan was no match for the alarming quantity of pee I had amassed. (Just think “Dumb and Dumber” here. “Harry, I’m still going and this bottle’s getting full! Hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry!!!”)

I wobbled as quickly as I could over to the toilet and unloaded the remainder of my bladder for what I swear was five glorious minutes of relief. I also unloaded what seemed to be several transfusions worth of blood which sort of freaked me out, but apparently this is normal. After finishing off an entire roll of toilet paper, Sean and Caleb went to the nursery and I got ready to transfer rooms. Although I had little previous experience with newborns, I had taken parenting classes and read enough to know Caleb was going to need diapers…however, I was unaware I was going to need them as well.

After my diaper was situated (which consisted of a pad, a larger pad, a larger larger pad, and elastic mesh underwear to hold it all together), I was wheeled over to my recovery room. Unfortunately, Long Beach Memorial is an incredibly busy hospital and the maternity ward was overflowing that night, so I was required to share a recovery room with another girl and her baby (and of more consequence, Sean would not be able to stay the night with me). Months later, when I received my hospital bills, this arrangement was referred to as a “semi-private” recovery room. Let’s just get one thing straight Long Beach Memorial: A room is either private or public…the end. There is no such thing as a “semi-private” room and let me assure you, there was absolutely nothing private about it. The room was teeny tiny and as the newcomer, I got the bed closest to the door and the smaller space which, when surrounded by my curtain, was approximately 8 ft by 5 ft. I had exactly enough room for a small food tray to the right side of my bed and Caleb’s bassinet to the left. Until then, I had never considered myself claustrophobic.

Upon arrival, I was introduced to the nurse who would care for me for the next 11 hours. She began explaining things to me that seemed important but she had a very thick accent, spoke extremely fast, and I was so exhausted I didn’t have the energy to ask for clarification. At 8:45 pm (just 2 hours after Caleb was born), Sean came back from the nursery to say goodbye since visiting hours ended at 9 pm. After scarfing down some hospital food (which tasted like a gourmet meal after not eating all day), a different nurse came in to help me change my diaper (oh joy?) Even with the pressure of Caleb off my pelvis, I still had a phenomenal amount of pelvic pain (which lasted three months postpartum), as well as a very sore and freshly stitched up “area.” I don’t know if this is standard, but rather than offering to help me get out of bed, the nurse just stood there and stared at me (I felt weird asking for help, because I figured if that was part of her job description, she would obviously step in). Three minutes later, I had managed to inch my butt over to the edge of the bed and then use my arms to swing my legs off and stand up. And I didn’t even get a round of applause…?

Soon thereafter, Caleb was brought into my room. My nurse said a few things to me that again seemed important – yet were undecipherable, and left. Let me attempt to describe to you what I felt at that point. It felt like I had lied about my experience on a job application, got a job on the bomb squad, was sent out on my first assignment, the rest of my squad deserted me, and I was solely responsible for disarming a highly volatile and fragile explosive device for which I had received no hands-on training. And was mauled by a bear 3 hours earlier. And was so sleep deprived I could barely remember my own name. Truly, I do not think I have ever felt less competent or less prepared for a situation in my life, and I was not expecting to face it without Sean. I knew there was always that little red button I could push for help, but I was certain I was only supposed to push it if someone were flatlining.

I slowly and painfully maneuvered myself out of bed to get Caleb, and I vividly recall feeling scared I was going to drop him because I was so unsteady. I carefully got back in bed and attempted to nurse Caleb since I figured feeding was on the approved list of things to do with a newborn (though it was not incredibly successful). He then cried for the next hour while I desperately tried to rock him and calm him down. He finally faded off to sleep, and the next thing I remember was being jolted awake at 2:30 am by my roommate who was on the phone with her boyfriend. Since she was about an arms reach from my bed, I could hear the entire heated conversation. “I JUST had a baby and you are out PARTYING!? What the bleep do you bleep bleep and you bleep bleep how could you bleep….bleep bleep bleep bleep….” So for the next 30 minutes, I found myself involuntarily tuned into what could very well have been an episode from MTV’s popular reality TV series, “Teen Mom.” While I felt for the girl and her situation, I also felt like punching her in the face.

I think I would be stretching it to say I got two hours of sleep that night (NOT consecutive). Every time I finally began drifting off to sleep, a baby would start crying, my teenage roommate would start talking on her cell, or a nurse/doctor was coming in to check on one of the four of us, give shots, or take/return a baby to/from the nursery for tests. Honestly, my most vivid memory of that entire night was staring at the clock, desperately hoping it was 8 am when visiting hours began and Sean could return. Not exactly how I pictured my first night of motherhood, but I have since learned that parenthood requires a high level of adaptability and this was my first crash course.

When Sean arrived at 8 am (in other words, the end of eternity), I was so relieved I would finally have some help. Not that he knew what he was doing any more than myself, but it was nice to have someone there who could navigate it with me (and was in much better physical shape). Poor Sean felt so bad about leaving us the night before that he got minimal sleep as well, and hadn’t been eating. Regrettably, lack of appetite was one thing Caleb and Sean shared in common (other than their cute, distinctive noses!) 🙂

While I was pregnant, I always felt more apprehensive about breastfeeding than about giving birth. This was well warranted because breastfeeding is hands down the most stressful thing I have ever done. You’d think it would be pretty easy and natural considering it’s God’s design and has been around for awhile, but it can actually become fairly complicated. Since there are two parties involved (and one is a non-talking, non-reasoning lump), there is only so much a mother can do if her baby is not catching on. Even though I was doing everything as instructed, Caleb was not latching well, could not stay awake, and was generally uninterested. Not really sure what his issue was – maybe he thought if he refused to catch on to this new method, we would just give up and reattach that convenient tube back to his belly button? Boys…so lazy 😉

I had read a lot about breastfeeding to prepare myself in advance, and one guideline that was continuously repeated was the need to be in a quiet, calm, relaxed state of mind in order to be successful. However, it was impossible to achieve this state of mind when sharing a closet-sized room with a girl who had invited her entire extended family (and extended extended family) to visit. In a steady stream, her family and friends (who curiously were mainly of the male persuasion) came in and out of our room, knocking back my flimsy curtain each time they walked by. Not to mention the nurses who continuously busted open my curtain with little regard as to what random dude was in the room at the time or whether or not my milk makers were hanging out. My blood pressure is rising just thinking about it.

Thus began a vicious cycle for the rest of that day. I just could not get in “the zone,” and this reality made me increasingly anxious each time I breastfed. Combine that with Caleb’s sleepiness, disinterest, and lack of skill, and suffice it to say that breastfeeding was going terribly. I asked to see a lactation consultant, but because the maternity ward was so busy, I was not able to see her until the next day. The nurses were also incredibly busy and came in and out long enough to check everyone’s vitals to make sure we were all still alive. They also didn’t seem to know much about breastfeeding (?), and while one attempted to help by giving me a nipple shield, I later found out she gave me the wrong size (which actually set me back a few steps).

My roommate was discharged late in the day and a new roommate was not assigned, so Sean was thankfully able to stay with me my second night. God definitely knew what He was doing because there is no way I could have made it through that night by myself without developing an ulcer or a permanent psychological disorder. As difficult as the first night was, the second night was much more grueling with Caleb. At midnight, I guess it hit Caleb that he would not be allowed back in that warm, cozy sac he came from, and decided to let us know just how angry he was about it. From midnight until 7 am, Caleb slept for *maybe* an hour, and cried for the rest. And by cried I mean screamed – much, much louder than his small lungs should have reasonably been capable of. Sean desperately tried to calm Caleb down and did not sleep all night, while I somehow managed to sleep one pathetic hour through all the crying (Caleb’s AND Sean’s that is…hahaha!)

By 7 am, both of us were exhausted beyond what we thought was physically possible, highly emotional, and I was still in a great deal of pain. I hadn’t showered or even brushed my hair since admitting to the hospital and I felt so dirty and gross, but lacked the strength to do anything about it. Our nurse finally came in and asked how our night went and after relaying the events of the night, she said nonchalantly: “ohhh, you should have called, I would have walked Caleb in the halls.” I now count this as one of the biggest missed opportunities of my life. After hearing this demoralizing news, I began pushing that little red button, but alas, it was just too little too late.

With the events of the last three days weighing on us, Sean was feeling intensely overwhelmed and suffered a panic attack. So, yeah, good times had by all.

We soon acquired a new roommate who was clearly in cahoots with my previous one, as she also came with an overbearing entourage of squealing visitors I daydreamed of tasering. Seriously LB Memorial, are there no limits on visitors? I am certain the number of people in my room standing shoulder-to-shoulder were breaking at least ten different fire codes. Originally I had planned to have a few close friends come visit us in the hospital, but after my roommates had invited enough visitors for the entire maternity ward (plus I just wanted to focus on Caleb and make sure he started feeding well), I decided to wait until we got home.

About an hour before discharge, I was finally able to see the lactation consultant who was unhelpful at best, detrimental at worst. After watching me attempt to breastfeed, she aggressively stated “well, he’s had his time to mess around…now we need to start getting serious because this is just unacceptable.” She then proceeded to give me a different sized nipple shield than the one the nurse had given me (which I also found out later, again, was the wrong size…and even more wrong than what the nurse had given me!!) What a disaster! Now, not only was I using a (very) wrong-sized nipple shield, I was now also feeling discouraged, insecure, and scared out of my mind that apparently Caleb was going to die because he was not eating well. After 20 minutes she moved on, and that was quite alright with me!

At this point in time, I had never felt so anxious to get out of anywhere in my life. I was beyond done. Sick of my confining, claustrophobic space, sick of all the strangers in my room, sick of constantly being poked and prodded, sick of no opportunities to sleep…I just wanted to go home (now I understand why home births seem so attractive!!) All I desperately wanted was to be in a familiar place with my family where I could focus on and enjoy my son. At long last, my nurse brought me the glorious discharge papers, and I could not sign them fast enough.

Ok, so to wrap up this very long post, I will impart two pieces of wisdom from this challenging experience for those of you who have not yet come to this place in life:

1. I CANNOT emphasize this enough – if it is at all within your options, deliver at a hospital with private rooms. As much as I loved my OB, if I could go back, I would have first chosen the hospital I wanted to deliver at and THEN chosen my OB based upon which OB’s were affiliates of that particular hospital. Sean would have been able to stay with me my first night, we would have gotten *much* more sleep, breastfeeding would have been much less stressful, and the general transition to parenthood would have been smoother. I don’t know about other moms, but I felt incredibly nervous, overwhelmed, and vulnerable after giving birth. You are constantly getting poked and prodded and getting naked in some fashion or another to feed your baby or change your pads. I would have felt infinitely more comfortable in a more private environment where I wasn’t forced to share every intimate moment of this significant and life-changing time with complete strangers.

2. For goodness sake, ASK FOR HELP! The entire time I was in the hospital I asked for help a maximum of five times. It wasn’t a pride thing – I just knew the maternity ward was busy and I didn’t want to be a bother or ask the nurses to do things that weren’t part of their job descriptions. However, not asking for help/bringing important needs to the attention of my nurses resulted in skipped medication, little help with Caleb when he was crying, little help with breastfeeding, and no help getting around. Next time that little red button and I are going to be BFF’s 🙂

More posts in the ‘Afterbirth’ series:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed (Part 4)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the 10 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

10 Ways Pregnancy Crushed My Dignity: Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

If you haven’t yet read the intro to this series, you should do so before reading on for some context.

Ok, so I’ve already covered the constipation, appetite issues, weight gain, “morning” sickness, incontinence, crazy hormones, back pain, rib pain, and pelvic pain. What could possibly be left, you ask? Well, ironically, the worst night of my entire pregnancy was instigated by something that had nothing to do with pregnancy, but was made so much worse by the fact that I was pregnant and already miserable. The story goes something like this:

Midway through my pregnancy, Sean and I were hanging out on the couch watching TV, when I was suddenly hit with the absolute *worst* cramps I had ever experienced in my entire life. They were toe-curlers for sure – I couldn’t breathe, talk, or move when they occurred. Approximately 30 minutes after their onset, Sean had himself convinced that I was experiencing labor contractions – MUCH too early. As we debated whether or not to go to the hospital, I paid closer attention to the pain and decided they felt more like intestinal cramps than uterine cramps. I eventually convinced Sean that I was not going into labor and that my body would resolve the issue on its own. At that point it was past midnight, so I told him he should just go to bed because he had to get up extra early the next morning.

The cramps continued increasing in intensity, and I vividly recall lying in a fetal position on the floor outside our bathroom with my face smashed into the carpet, butt up in the air, rocking back and forth as I prayed that God would relieve the pain quickly. Two hours (and a semi-permanent carpet imprint on my face) later, I finally got that familiar feeling which confirmed my pain was indeed intestinal. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking – “oh crap…not another poop story.” Mm hmm, that’s right…another poop story. Uncomfortable? Read this book to help you overcome.

I mustered up the courage to drag myself off the floor and tried my darndest to get things moving. Unfortunately, it was slow progress (remember, I was ridiculously constipated and probably had about a weeks worth of backlog to unload before clearing the way for any of the new stuff). I made my way back and forth between the toilet and my balled-up position on the floor, and this pattern continued for about 30 minutes. As the cramps became worse and peaked in potency, the overwhelming pain began triggering waves of nausea (recall that I was easily susceptible to nausea during my entire pregnancy).

By the time 3 am rolled around and I had taken five or six trips to the bathroom, I eventually managed to de-clog the gatekeepers and was feeling optimistic that the next round could be the winner. I dragged myself off the floor once again and plopped myself on the toilet – just in time for the floodgates to open. It literally felt like I was pooping out my last six meals – in liquid form. As awesome as this felt, it pushed my growing nausea over the top. It was the point of no return – I knew the vomit was coming whether I liked it or not. I yelled at the top of my lungs for Sean (who was asleep) to “bring me something to barf in NOW!!” With an impressive fireman-like response time, he jumped out of bed, ran down the hall, and I heard him dump the contents of our trash can in the middle of the living room. At the same moment he yelled “hold on, I’m bringing the trash can!”, an explosive amount of vomit erupted from my mouth – all over myself, the bath tub, and the floor…all the while diarrhea-ing out my seventh and eighth latest meal 🙂 And Sean says I’m not a good multi-tasker…

So that’s when Sean arrived on the scene – and let me tell you, it was quite the scene to behold. After assuring alarmed, half-asleep Sean that my vomit was red due to the hot cheetoes I had consumed the day before and not blood, he said “I’ll be right back,” and left before I could ask where he was going. He quickly returned – camera in hand. I’m pretty sure I said something like “are you serious right now!?” To which he replied “oh yeah, dead serious…we eventually have to show the baby all the havoc he has caused.” I at least convinced him to let me clean myself up, flush the toilet, and return to my cocoon on the floor before he proceeded to take pictures of the vomit-filled bath tub. So in case any of you questioned the validity of this story – here is the evidence:

I’m sorry, I know this picture is absolutely disgusting and it is 100% not kosher to post something like this on a blog (or anywhere for that matter), but I just couldn’t resist. Again, I apologize. *Snicker snicker* haha! I should really write a sequel to the “everyone poops” book called “everyone vomits” with this picture on the cover…it’s sure to be a hit.

Well that little incident of “diarrhomit” as I like to call it definitely brought quite a bit of relief, but I was still in a significant amount of pain even after that. As Sean cleaned up the toilet, floor, and bath tub (what a sucker), I returned to my fetal position and continued to wait. Finally, after three of four more rounds, my body finished purging what I later discovered was moldy raspberries. Apparently there’s nothing like moldy raspberries when it comes to making your body want to explode out of every orifice…it’s such a shame too, raspberries used to be my favorite fruit.

So there you have it…it was the food poisoning and resulting diarrhomit that ultimately takes the dignity-crushing cake of the whole 9 months. Others come very close, but I do declare that the combination of labor-like cramps, stained toilet, vomit-covered bathroom, and trash-filled living room makes this incident the trophy winner.

I hope you enjoyed reading this series and got something out of it – maybe a laugh, encouragement, education, your own bout of nausea from that picture above, or increased empathy for those who have difficult pregnancies. Oh and just in case you’re wondering, the doc told me my next pregnancy would be just as awful. So for all you sadists out there, I’m signing off until next time…

The other 9 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the adventures we had after Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Hospital (Part 1)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – the Neighbs (Part 2)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Breastfeeding Blues (Part 3)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Body Slammed (Part 4)
Caleb’s Afterbirth – Am I an Incompetent Parent (Part 5)

Allison & Ashley: Two of my Heroes after Pregnancy

If you’ve been following my pregnancy series, you know my pregnancy with Caleb was challenging. I was very sick and in a lot of pain, but through the experience, God really taught me a lot. I have always led a healthy, and for the most part, physically pain-free life. This is something I have always taken for granted because I never knew otherwise, until my pregnancy. I understand now how incredibly difficult physical disability can be, and how thankful I should be for the good health God has given me. God’s heart is that we would be joyful in every circumstance (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18), and through my encounter with physical pain, he revealed it’s an area I have plenty of room to grow in.

An additional way the Lord grew me through my condition called pregnancy, was in granting me a deeper love and respect for people who have ongoing physical challenges. It was a theme I meditated on a great deal during my pregnancy, and am currently meditating on again as I re-live my pregnancy via this blog. Specifically, there are two people God has continually brought to mind who I want to tell you about. I love them both dearly, and after my comparatively short encounter with discomfort and pain, I appreciate them even more. I think most of us could probably learn a thing or two from them.

Allison

The above photo is of one of my best friends (who also happens to be my lil’ sis), Allison. At age 11, she was diagnosed with spondyloarthropathy, which is a rare form of juvenile arthritis that results in inflammation of the back, hips, knees, ankles, and eyes. It has no cure, and the pain cannot be completely relieved. She takes pain medication daily, has chronic pain in her knees and hips, and has had numerous stints with iritis which causes her to lose vision for a period of time.

Ashley

This second photo is of another one of my best friends, Ashley Harman, who I recently had the honor of bridesmaid-ing for in her wedding. She was born with Spina bifida, which was caused by a benign tumor that pinched the end of her spinal cord and weakened the muscles to her leg and bladder. Although she has had this condition from birth, it was not diagnosed until she was 15-years-old.

As a result of spina bifida, Ashley has not only experienced a great deal of physical pain/limitation, she has also experienced significant emotional hurt. One of the most heartbreaking aspects of her story is that growing up, she would often urinate herself at school because a symptom of spina bifida is a loss of bladder control. This occurred for many years and resulted in ridicule from peers and fewer friends throughout her childhood. She has had countless surgeries to repair the damage, requires a catheter every time she uses the restroom, gets persistent infections, and experiences chronic pain in her foot. Like Allison, it is something she has dealt with her whole life, and will continue to deal with for the rest of her life (unless God chooses to intervene, which I pray passionately for!!)

I cried as I wrote these last three paragraphs because Ashley and Allison are two of my absolute favorite people. Despite immense physical challenges and obstacles throughout their lives, they are such joyous and loving people. I never hear them complain about their pains, and I oftentimes forget either of them even have any physical problems until a severe symptom pops up, or they periodically ask for prayers of healing. They both have a strength and perseverance that is truly inspirational. I have learned so much from them about being joyous and giving glory to God no matter what “thorns” you’ve been given in life. I know they have already touched many through their lives, and will continue to do so. Thanks A & A for your impact on my life, you guys are my heroes…I know life hasn’t been the easiest for you and yet you still trust God with all your hearts.

P.S. I wouldn’t be a good older sister if I didn’t put a plug in for my sis right now. If you are single, Godly, and good looking (lol!), I think you should consider asking Allison on a date*. She is all the cool things I mentioned above, plus smart, beautiful, kind, and funny! I don’t think you would regret it 😉 Hahahahaha! Sorry Allison, already published this post…can’t go back now!

*Applicants must be male. Some restrictions may apply. Please contact me for details. Offer expires 3/16/2012. Void where prohibited.

10 Ways Pregnancy Crushed My Dignity: Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain

prego cartoon 2 — (My response to Sean’s post about my crazy pregnancy hormones)

If you haven’t yet read the intro to this series, you should do so before reading on for some context.

As if barfing my face off day in and day out was not enough, in about the 6th month of my pregnancy, I began feeling much more like an 85-year-old than a 25-year-old. There were three specific types of physical pain I experienced during my third trimester (hence three parts to this post), but this segment also easily deserves 3/10 of the pregnancy series because these aches were, well, that painful.

7. Back Pain. Like many pregnant women in their third trimester, my lower back began aching quite a bit from the pressure of the baby and from postural changes that occur while growing a babe. I won’t go into detail here about the back pain I experienced during pregnancy, because it actually became a much more significant problem after giving birth (I will blog about my recovery and the few weeks following Caleb’s birth once I complete the pregnancy series).

8. Rib Pain. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am short and petite. Unfortunately, my body did not recognize that fact as it went about growing a baby. While most other short/petite people (in my experience) grow huge tummies that stick out super far to accommodate the baby (plus their own organs), my tummy grew the positively minimum amount required (in contrast to pretty much every other part of my body). Please reference below a picture of me and my friend, Ally, exactly one month before Caleb was born (we are of a similar height and build, and we were at the exact same point in our pregnancies). You may need to click on the photo and enlarge it to see better, but her belly protrudes a solid4 inches further than mine.

So what? Well, since Caleb was not growing outwards so much, he evicted all my existing organs and wedged himself all up ins my rib cage. There were times when I legitimately questioned if his leg was caught in between two of my ribs. Yes, I realize that is not anatomically correct, but I could swear he was training to be the next karate kid because my ribs felt like they were being used as punching (kicking?) bags. Every time I sat down, I had to lean back and continuously push Caleb downwards to relieve the overwhelming pressure on my ribs. It was incredibly uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the…

9. Pelvic Pain. The other bodily aches were a challenge, but it was the pelvic pain above all else that was the dignity-crushing-clincher of my last trimester. I’m sitting here debating which was worse – the pelvic pain or being terribly sick for all nine months…and really, it’s a toss up. At about 6 months, I developed a condition called pelvic girdle pain (PGP) and I’m not entirely sure why I got it, but two causes of PGP mentioned on wikipedia are “hypermobility, genetical ability to stretch joints beyond normal range” and a “history of pelvic trauma”…which I suppose could both be explained by my cheerleading/dancing days growing up…please reference picture below (both my feet are touching the wall):

Ok actually, as I examine that picture in this moment, I know exactly where the PGP came from, haha!! In any case, it is no doubt the worst (chronic) pain I have ever experienced and certainly the most debilitating. As the pain in my pelvis quickly intensified, I required assistance to stand up, roll over in bed, get out of bed, walk any notable distance, get in and out of a car, and go up and down stairs. Additionally, I developed a sharp shooting pain that would radiate down my right inner thigh at random times while walking…stopping me dead in my tracks for several moments.

For the entire last month of my pregnancy, I slept in our living room recliner because it had become too painful to get in and out of bed (even with assistance), and I could no longer lay on my side (let alone sleep), because the pain was far too intense. Moreover, when I was in labor, the nurse kept making me turn on my side to wake Caleb up (which I had not done in a month), and I am not exaggerating when I say the pain in my pelvis easily matched the pain of the contractions. It’s impossible to describe what the pain was really like, but the best picture I can paint is a feeling like my pelvis was getting dislocated over and over again while simultaneously being crushed by something very heavy (i.e. Caleb).

Do you understand now why I felt like an 85-year-old?? I walked as slow as one, required as much assistance (if not more) as one, lost most of my personal freedom like one, and of course, lost my bladder control like one. It was a very difficult and frustrating situation for me, because I couldn’t do almost anything or go anywhere by myself. It was embarrassing at best. Wikipedia actually describes the psychosocial impact of PGP rather accurately: “PGP in pregnancy seriously interferes with participation in society and activities of daily life; the average sick leave due to posterior pelvic pain during pregnancy is 7 to 12 weeks. In some cases women with PGP may also experience emotional problems such as anxiety over the cause of pain, resentment, anger, lack of self-esteem, frustration and depression; she is three times more likely to suffer postpartum depressive symptoms.”

Well, that was a fatty downer. However, in the spirit of keeping these posts optimistic, I’ll leave you with this encouraging thought: if Sean ever decided to leave engineering, he has more than enough experience to launch a highly successful career as a hospice nurse. Such a well-rounded husband.

The other 9 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Part 1 – Constipation
Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the adventures we had after Caleb’s birth:

Baby Katie Beth

Last week a couple at our church gave birth to a precious little girl. Unbeknownst to them prior to her birth, she has a rare syndrome called Zellweger syndrome (or possibly another similar condition, tests are still being run). In either case, the prognosis is not good and she has been given between 6 months and 2 years to live. We have only spent one evening with this couple, but we have heard many praises sung about their character through mutual friends at church.

The reason I wanted to blog about this is two-fold. One, I’d like to ask all you who follow our blog to please take a minute right now and pray for them and their daughter, Katie Beth. Here is a picture of her (isn’t she so cute!? Look at all that hair!)

Secondly, (though we have yet to become better acquainted), I honestly haven’t been able to stop thinking about this couple since their little girl was born. This is partly because my heart has been aching for them and the pain they are surely enduring, and partly because, as we have been following their updates, God has really been doing a work in my heart through their response to the situation. I have been incredibly inspired by them and personally convicted as a result. Here are a few things they have written that have hit me like a ton of bricks:

-“[6 months to 2 years is] not as much time as we had hoped to have with our daughter, but we’re thankful for the time we have.”
-“On the way home we talked about how happy we were to be doing this together. There isn’t anybody else I’d rather be doing this with…we thought of couples we’ve seen pass through our community that might not be able to handle this type of stress in their life. But we’ve been in training for five years now, and, at least so far, our spirits are strong and we’re as in love as ever. God works in mysterious ways I guess.”
-“Your prayers are working, and we’ve been blessed to see God working such miracles firsthand.”
-“We continue to have hope that, no matter what happens, we can raise her up in the way that is right as an act of worship to God whom we thank for the wonderful opportunity to care for one of his children.”

Do these words convict your heart like they’ve convicted mine? Put in their situation, would you have a similar God-centered and positive outlook? As I read those words and spend time thinking about this family, God continually brings to mind all the absolutely ridiculous and comparably inconsequential things I complain about. Watching this family deal with such a difficult and devastating situation with such love and thankful hearts, has swiftly knocked me upside the head and put things into perspective for me. It reminds me of the verse in 1 Corinthians 1:27b that says: “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.”

Their clarity of mind and big-picture perspective in the face of such unexpected adversity moves me. I only pray that if I ever experience anything like this that I would have a similarly joyous heart. What a wonderful example of a couple who trusts the Lord and His plan so fully, and is truly living out 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 “be joyous always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” This is not to say they aren’t grieving and experiencing pain (I’m sure they are), but I believe they are able to remain uplifted because they are grounded in their relationship with Christ and ultimately know their lives rest safely in God’s hands.

I’ll leave you with this prayer that has been on my heart:

Jesus, I pray that you would love on this family right now. I pray for healing and nothing short of a miracle for Katie Beth. Continue to give this family so much peace, hope, and joy. In times of sadness, let them know and experience your intense and passionate Fatherly love. Give them the strength to love little Katie Beth with such fervor. You have paired this couple with this precious little girl for a reason, and I pray that you would continue to use this family to bring glory to Yourself.

Jesus, please give me an ever-increasing heart of gratitude. Help me to maintain an eternal perspective and help me to remember to praise Your name in all circumstances. More than anything, thank you for loving me so much that you would send your son to die on my behalf. I am humbled and in awe of your never-ending and unconditional love.

[An update to this post was published on November 22, 2012. Click here to read it.]

10 Ways Pregnancy Crushed My Dignity: Part 1 – Constipation

If you haven’t yet read the intro to this series, you should do so first before reading on for some context.

Constipation is one of those less talked about, lovely side effects of pregnancy. Due to loss of appetite and nausea, I was very limited on the foods I could handle in the beginning of my pregnancy, so I wasn’t getting nearly as much fiber as I needed. Despite my best efforts to eat a LOT of fiber, going five days without a bowel movement was not unusual. Even with a fiber supplement, two fiber one bars per day, AND trying to eat foods high in fiber, I STILL found myself unbearably constipated for the entire 9 months.

About halfway through my pregnancy, my constipation reached its peak one night after I had gone without a bowel movement for a record breaking seven consecutive days. Sean was on campus that night with students, and I was at home retching on the couch in an incredible amount of pain – my inners felt like they wanted to explode but couldn’t. I finally reached the point of desperation and knew I had to embrace the unthinkable – yes, it is what you are thinking – my very last resort. There is nothing quite as dignity crushing as calling your husband to please come home from work early so he can run to the store and pick up a suppository…and proceed to insert it up your butt. Let’s just say, we got a little bit closer that night 🙂 After a few minutes I felt like I had to poop, and I hurried excitedly into the bathroom. I heard one small bloop, and realized it was just the suppository. Dejectedly, I called again for Sean to reinsert a fresh one, and this time I resolved to wait a little longer. If this doesn’t earn Sean best-husband-of-the-century award, I don’t know what will.

30 minutes elapsed and I was hit by a sudden, intense and overwhelming feeling that made it clear to me the suppository had worked. I had mere moments to respond, so I jumped up from the couch, ran towards the bathroom, and collided at full speed with the bathroom’s door frame which sent me back a good two feet. (Hey – don’t judge; I never could get used to my rapidly growing body). Realizing I had no time to react to the pain of body slamming myself into a wall, I made it to the toilet with no time to spare. I was literally milliseconds from pooping my pants. While this may have made a better story, I’d much prefer to keep my “pooping my pants” story count at 0.

For the remainder of the night (until about 4 am), I had an explosive case of the runs every half hour in which I, once again, found myself running off to the toilet. After the second uncomfortably close call, I determined it best to ditch my pants for the night. If there was previously any doubt as to the effectiveness of suppositories, I will gladly be their poster child.

The other 9 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Parts 2 & 3 – Appetite and Weight Gain
Part 4 – Mourning Sickness
Part 5 – Incontinence
Part 6 – Crazy Hormones
Parts 7, 8, & 9 – Pain, Pain, Pain
Part 10, the Pinnacle – Diarrhomit

Also, read about Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs 🙂

And here’s the adventures we had after Caleb’s birth:

Caleb’s Birth Story: Rated PG-13 for Language, Nudity, and Drugs :)

We realize this is 8 months after the fact, but better late than never right!? Before giving birth, we didn’t read many birth stories (not sure why, I guess they just weren’t in any books we read), but in retrospect we wish we had so we would have had a better idea as to what to expect (and not just medical facts or what they tell you in the birthing classes). It would have been nice to read more stories from different people’s perspectives (especially friends), and their particular experience of such a crazy and wonderful event, so we decided to write this out for our friends who will experience this one day or for those who are just simply interested (and for our own reading pleasure in the years to come). Oh and disclaimer, we’re really just kidding about the title of this post, but if the thought of reading the intimate details of a birth makes you want to poke your own eyes out, you should probably read no further.

About 8 days before Caleb was born (16 days before my due date), I began noticing various signs that I would be going into labor soon, so we had a good feeling Caleb would be born early. Then on April 25th (9 days before my due date), I woke up at 4 am with regular contractions. They weren’t incredibly strong but they were 3-5 minutes apart, so we went to the hospital as we were instructed to do when contractions reached that frequency. When we got to Long Beach Memorial, I was placed in a triage room and hooked up to the baby monitoring strap thing to measure my contractions and monitor Caleb’s heart rate. It was confirmed that my contractions were consistently close together, but I was only 2 cm dilated (you need to be 10 cm dilated before you are able to push). When they asked me how much pain I was in on a scale of 1-10, I said “2 or 3,” and they sort of laughed at me and said: “most women who come in and are admitted say 9 or 10.”

Because I wasn’t very dilated, they had me walk the halls for an hour to see if that would accelerate labor (they said they didn’t like to admit women who weren’t at least 4 or 5 cm dilated). The walking didn’t help, and I was subsequently sent back home with the instruction to come back when I was in “more pain.” We were a bit frustrated by this, because that seemed like such a vague instruction – we felt confused and worried that we wouldn’t really know when it was time to come back. They also told us that Caleb would be coming “soon”…and when we asked them to clarify what they meant by “soon,” they wouldn’t directly answer so we had no idea if that meant a few hours, or a few weeks. Really not what a super hormonal and highly uncomfortable pregnant woman wants to hear.

So we went back home at about 10 am and tried in vain to get some sleep (we were just too on edge). My contractions actually petered out throughout the day, so at 11:30 pm, we got ready for bed. Just as I was about to fall asleep at midnight, the contractions started up again. They were stronger than before, but now totally irregular. This continued until 2 am. We had no idea what we were supposed to do since we were under the impression we weren’t supposed to go to the hospital until the contractions were strong AND regular. Finally I was in so much pain I was groaning aloud, and I had Sean call the hospital to ask for advice. They told him we should come in. I was sure they said that to everyone who called to avoid liability, so I decided to wait longer.

At about 2:45 am I couldn’t take it anymore, and we decided to just go to the hospital despite the irregular contractions. I was brought once again to the “triage” area and hooked up to the monitoring device. By this time, my contractions were extremely painful and had become regular. I thought for sure I was 4 or 5 cm dilated, but when the nurse checked me I was only 3 cm dilated. The nurse communicated very little with me and said she had to go call my OB doctor before a decision whether or not to admit me could be made. Once she left, I literally burst out into tears. I was in SO much pain and was convinced they were going to send me back home. All I kept thinking was, “my contractions are now strong AND regular…how the heck am I going to know when to come back in?? I am going to have this baby in my apartment!!”

The nurse was gone for what seemed like eternity (probably more like an hour), and finally returned to check my monitor and give me the very unsatisfying news: “I’m still waiting to hear back from your doctor,” and left again within a couple minutes. Unfortunately the maternity ward was incredibly busy that day (April 26th), so I didn’t get much face time with the nurses to ask many questions or get much explained to me, which was frustrating and difficult. By this point my contractions were becoming so strong that I had literally reached a state of delusion. My vision was really blurry and I remember feeling like I was in a dream. Everything seemed to be moving reeeeaaaally slow and I had trouble processing what was happening. I’ll let Sean take over here because honestly, I can hardly remember what happened from about 4 am to 7:30 am.

Sean:
One of the most difficult parts of that morning was that the few bits of information we received seemed to be in contradiction. They would say, “wow, your contractions look ‘textbook’ and strong!”, but then they would check her and she was not dilating any further. So it seemed like a huge relief when they finally informed us at about 7 am that she would be admitted and they were locating the next available room. She had already been in labor for 7 hours, so I was hoping it would be just a few more minutes until they got her out of that cramped little temporary room. After another agonizing 45 minutes, I began to think they had forgotten us. At about that time, Melissa leaned over and clutched my hand, her eyes looking directly into mine yet focused 1000 yards behind me, and simply whispered “Help me.” I went to find out why we were still in the waiting room, and discovered that the nurses were having a shift change which was causing a delay in finding a room for us…our timing was just perfect I guess (plus every single birthing room was in use that day). When the new nurse came in, she started prepping Melissa for an I.V. Unfortunately the valve on that I.V. was faulty and when she stuck the needle into Melissa’s wrist, a voluminous stream of blood began draining onto the floor. The nurse hadn’t noticed, Melissa was on another planet, and I was in too much of a stupor to do anything but point and say “uuuuhhhhmmmm….uuhhhmmmmm….” as I watched a 1 foot diameter blood pool collect by the nurse’s foot. My last image of that little room was a shaking, yelling Melissa being loaded into a wheelchair while someone got on a radio and said, “bio hazard cleanup needed in room 9.”

Back to Melissa. It always seemed silly to me to have a birth plan (particularly with my first child) since I had no idea how the birth would go down (i.e. what it really feels like, if there would be complications, etc.), so before going to the hospital we printed out our “birth plan” which had one sentence on it: “Just get the baby out” – a joke for the nurses. Of course I educated myself on the options I would have/the obstacles I might face and what I *thought* I would want to do, but I made sure to keep an open mind and remain flexible so I would be prepared to handle anything that happened. Getting an epidural was one of the options I hadn’t made a decision on before going into labor. At 3 am when I first got to the hospital, I was still unsure if I wanted one, but by 7 am it was the fastest and easiest decision I’ve ever made in my life (and I’m terrible at making decisions). Ha!

I think there are a lot of strong opinions about epidurals out there, and mine is this: if I would normally get anesthesia for any other major medical event (pulling wisdom teeth, surgery, etc.) why would I NOT get it during the most painful experience of my life to date?? Currently, there is no empirical evidence to support the theory that it is harmful to the baby nor that it increases the chance of cesarean delivery, so it just doesn’t make sense to me to take such an opposed stance (however, I do agree that like any drug, there is always the chance of side effects). It also seems that the whole epidural issue can breed a weird sense of pride and competition like the female version of “how many weights can you lift? I bet I can lift more.” Additionally, the only women I personally know of who gave birth without an epidural had relatively short labors; all others opted for one. I WILL say this though – if you had a labor longer than 10 hours with no epidural, I will bow down and kiss your feet because that is just ridiculous. Anyway, I digress…my point is that I think you can get an epidural and still be considered a “good mom” 🙂

So after starting labor at midnight, I got an epidural at about 8 am. As the nurse was getting ready to move me from the triage room to the birthing room, she spent time making sure my hospital gown was completely covering me and I remember thinking to myself “I don’t $*%#@ care if you wheel me down this hall butt NAKED…just get me the epidural NOW!” LOL! Once in the birthing room it took them three tries to get me to round my back so they could administer the drugs. They asked me to arch forwards and I arched backwards. They asked me to go the opposite direction…I arched backwards again…I was slightly confused and out of it 🙂 The epidural took effect pretty quickly and it was a huge relief. I was finally able to relax and rest (in a very loose sense of the term). My mom and younger sister showed up at this point and it was great to have them there with us for support and distraction.

From 8 am on it was a slow but steady progression. I gradually dilated more and my doctor broke my water for me in the afternoon. (Contrary to popular belief, labor does NOT typically begin with the water breaking). It was painless, but pretty weird. There was a LOT more fluid than I thought there would be. There was a huge gush at first and it continued to leak over the next hour or so. Also, like I mentioned earlier, it was insanely busy in the maternity ward that day so I sat in soaked sheets for an hour before they were changed 🙁

Caleb kept falling asleep during labor (seriously???) which they could tell by his heart rate, so I had to wear an oxygen mask for most of labor (which I hated…it was so annoying, I kept asking if I could take it off). They also kept making me turn on my side to wake Caleb up, which was extremely painful and uncomfortable because of the severe pelvic pain I had developed in my third trimester of pregnancy. At one point (maybe around 3 pm), my epidural began wearing off rather quickly so I buzzed my nurse like she asked me to before pushing the button for more drugs to be released. She didn’t respond and it took 30 minutes for the nurse at the front desk to finally come back and assist me (she was the ONLY nurse available in the whole place at that point…ridiculous!) I actually really liked the nurse assigned to me, I just didn’t see much of her :/

By about 5:30 pm, I was feeling the urge to push and they stopped administering the epidural so that I would be able to feel the pushing contractions. It was exciting I had reached that point but I was also super exhausted. They had me push for 10 seconds in sets of 3, which I did for about an hour and 15 minutes (Caleb was born at 6:47 pm). Near the end of the pushing, I was so exhausted and worked up that I began hyperventilating. My nurse had to yell at me to stop because it would have caused problems if I continued. Thankfully, right as I was thinking “oh my gosh, I legitimately do not have the energy to push one more time,” Caleb popped out. Like literally, he popped out super fast. I see now why Dr.’s are somewhat paranoid about dropping the baby…once the head comes out they are like slimy little rockets! Haha!

IMG_2011-04-27-0419 — Born 4/26/11 at 6:47 pm

…And I got a 2nd degree perineal tear. Not gonna go into details, just look it up on google if you don’t know what I’m talking about and have the stomach for it 🙂 Apparently this is an incredibly common occurrence, which is a bummer. After the nurses did a few things with Caleb and my Dr. was stitching me up, they put Caleb on my chest for his first opportunity to nurse which he wanted absolutely no part of. I held Caleb for awhile and then Sean, my mom, and my sister got a turn to hold him. Then he was off to the nursery to get washed up and other random things I can’t remember now.

I’ve heard many people describe the first time they hold their child as this incredible moment that is breathtaking, spiritual, and somehow magical. You know, the typical “as I gazed into my child’s eyes (eyelids?) I had this overwhelming sense of how much God loves me because of how much I love this child and this is just so amazing, incredible, etc…” I’m not ridiculing you if this is how you felt, I’m just saying my mind wasn’t even close to having such deep thoughts at that moment. The extent of my profound ponderings was “wow, how amazing is it that I just pushed such a large object out of such a small opening!”

Of course all the more meaningful thoughts came later, but honestly at the time I had reached unparalleled exhaustion and felt like total crap (though I was relieved he was finally out). Reference below picture (ha!):

I had slept 4 terrible, restless hours in the previous 2 1/2 days, labored for 19 hours, was carrying a lot of extra weight, just got a rip stitched up, was bleeding profusely, and had to pee like crazy. As far as I know my birth experience was really nothing out of the ordinary or especially awful – it really was pretty standard, so my hunch is that people who were capable of a deep moment after birth are either projecting later feelings back onto that time, were delirious from the drugs/exhaustion, or were the dad 🙂 Also on a random tangent, I have yet to understand how some women are able to post a picture to facebook 5 minutes after giving birth looking chipper, with their hair and makeup perfectly done (you know what I’m talking about, can I get an amen!?) I mean, mad props if that is you, but the absolute last thing I wanted to do after giving birth was take a picture period nor did I care one ounce how I looked.

Just in case there is any question at this point, I do love my son and in retrospect Caleb’s birth experience was incredible; those are just the honest and raw emotions I experienced at the time. Like I said, Caleb’s birth wasn’t unusual or particularly crazy, I just wanted to document the details because it is special to me 🙂

What happened next:

And here’s the 10 ways pregnancy crushed my dignity:

Melissa’s Story

Maybe it’s a female thing, because I know this video doesn’t have the same effect on Sean as it does on me…but seriously, I tear up every time I watch it…and if you know me well, you know I don’t tear up often. It’s just that every time the video hits the 4:33 point, I just lose it. This skit is such a beautiful picture of what Jesus did for us on the cross and the hardships he endured just so that we could be reconciled with God. Well and maybe it’s more than a female thing…maybe it’s because I see myself and my own story in the girl’s character. I haven’t experienced everything she did in the skit, but the hopelessness (when she has the gun to her head) and the pain and obstacles she endures as she desperately reaches out for Christ and the freedom/relief she experiences when Christ steps in on her behalf really speaks to my heart in the deepest of ways.

Although I was raised in a family that attended church on Sundays, I always thought that Christianity was about a bunch of rules that could be summed up as a moral code we are supposed to abide by. As you can imagine, this kind of stale and lifeless religion had no appeal to me as I entered my teens. Along with my misunderstanding of what Christianity was, my family situation was difficult growing up which only served to further alienate me from God, who I felt didn’t care about me. Although I always felt like there probably was a God, I went about the first 18 years of my life essentially ignoring Him as I always felt there were much bigger priorities in my life.

When I graduated from high school in 2003 and began my first year of college at UCSB, I felt like I had it all together. I was getting excellent grades, I was dancing on a hip hop team, I had freedom to do whatever I wanted for the first time in my life, and I was in love. I was living the typical college student life, complete with drinking and partying and all the rest. As the school year went on, however, I found myself unhappy and depressed. I had everything I thought I wanted but somehow I still felt empty inside. I began to isolate myself more and more from friends and only found happiness in spending time with my boyfriend.

Returning to UCSB for my sophomore year of college, I knew something had to change. I began attending Campus Crusade for Christ meetings, and I started to hear bits and pieces of the Gospel for the first time. I was intrigued that I could (and was made to have) a personal relationship with the living God and I was floored that there was salvation through faith (instead of good works). I was told that it wasn’t about rules…it was about believing that Jesus is the Savior of the world and subsequently letting that truth transform my life.

What I was hearing made sense to me, but I needed to research it on my own as well…I didn’t want to be swept into an emotional high without studying the facts and verifying that what I was believing was real. After researching, I found that Jesus was a real man who walked the earth over 2,000 years ago. He claimed to be God and he predicted that he would die and rise again 3 days later and this prediction was fulfilled. Because Jesus’ prediction was fulfilled (and I found compelling evidence for that), it made sense to me that I should really take the things he said seriously. The most important thing being that God loves me, but I am separated from him because of my imperfections. Jesus’ death and resurrection provides the only means of reconciliation to God through belief in Him which consequently enables me to follow in His footsteps.

To be honest, choosing to follow God has not been the easiest path by any means…but it is the right path and it is the path that leads to life. When I chose to surrender my life to God, it meant giving up my own will to follow His. Letting go of my boyfriend at the time is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I still experience pain surrounding the whole situation to this day. I really did love him but I knew that the relationship was not healthy. Deciding to walk away from him and walk towards Christ was a most painful and gut-wrenching experience, but I now look back on it with an inexplicable fondness because I can see how much that experience shaped my faith. Looking back, I think the reason it was so difficult for me to let go of him was because I had made him my god – I had put my hope, trust, and faith in him rather than the true God who is the only one who will never disappoint.

I have known the Lord now for 5 ½ years and it’s so trippy for me to imagine how different my life would be if I hadn’t had the experience I had in college. I would be a completely different person…and honestly, I think I would be miserable. Life is not perfect and I experience many ups and downs in my journey with the Lord but I am truly a new person and my new life is more fulfilling, more adventurous, more edgy, more peaceful, more dangerous, more genuine, more exciting, and more loving that I ever imagined life could be. 2^ndCorinthians 5:17 says “therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” Jesus redeemed and saved my life both on this earth and for eternity and He means everything to me. I strive to live my life every day as a testimony to Jesus’ love and in His power I plan to leave this world a different place because of my existence.