10 Years Ago

Dear Melody,

As your tenth birthday rapidly approaches, I have many of the normal emotions of a mama with her firstborn turning double digits. I can’t believe it’s been a decade since I first held you on my chest as the gurney wheeled me from the OR back to my postpartum room. Since those sweet little inquisitive eyes peered into mine, trying to figure out our connection. Since I snuggled your sweet baby newborn head in the cleft of my neck and thought about how lucky I was to have such a privilege as loving you.

But an unexpected text message this morning sent my heart back a few more months in time to the events that made up our time together pre-birth. And I can’t believe it’s been more than ten years since my life changed from those events, for better and for worse.

Since a tiny spider caused immense pain and suffering in a way I could never have imagined a small creature like that could cause.

Since my first trip to the doctor after the bite, hopeful that it was no big deal. My biggest fear then was the steroids they wanted to prescribe to stave off the reaction I seemed to be having. Before that, Tylenol and anti-nausea medication was a stretch for me as I carried you inside. I was determined not to take anything into my body that could possibly cause you harm, sweet baby of mine.

Since the pain became so intense that I was sent to the hospital for IV pain control. Still assured that the medicine wouldn’t hurt you, but every time I pressed that button a battle waged in my heart and mind. The pain was too much to bear without it, but how was it affecting my sweet little girl?

Since they drew my blood twice a day. From the deterioration in my leg, we knew I was in the unlucky 20% of brown recluse victims who lose a lot of tissue, but would I be in the unlucky 1% who lost my life? And yours with it? At 24 weeks pregnant, you still needed me to live.

Since I listened to your heartbeat on doppler 3 times a day. That sweet sound filling the hospital room that let me know that you were fighting with me.

Since the doctor looked me in the eye and gave me a choice. I could allow the reaction to rage on unabated, or I could put you at risk and have the surgery. He couldn’t guarantee you would survive all the stress and trauma it would cause to my body. But left to run its course, my leg and my life was in danger.

Since both the surgeries that I was awake for. The medicine they gave me to relax me as they removed a piece of my leg made me feel especially emotional. I remember telling the CNA that I couldn’t believe the love I felt for you because how can you love someone you’ve never met.

Since I felt you move with my hand for the first time. You started rolling and tumbling in my belly as I recovered from the first surgery.

Since they changed my dressings from wet to dry 3 times a day. Pain more intense than anything I have felt before or since. Ripping away the “bad” tissue to make room for the healthy. Keeping the area raw so the coming graft would take. A week of heavy pain medication that barely took the edge off. Of me screaming as the dressings were removed. All I could think about was that you could hear us now from inside the womb. How was hearing your mother scream in such a horribly scary way going to affect you? I couldn’t think about it too hard because it was too awful.

Since the night I spent in the hospital after the second surgery (26 weeks). The contractions started as I was being wheeled out of the OR. They called it “irritable” uterus. They said they might not be able to stop it. They listened to your strong heartbeat and gave me medicine that made me shake. We made it through the night and everything settled down. We thought the worst was over.

Since they unwrapped the skin graft and that horrible smell filled the room. I spent 24 hours thinking we were going to have to go through it all over again because what we thought was a dangerous infection may have taken hold.

Since I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. The infection was not a true infection. The worst was over. We had survived. I was disfigured but we were alive and you were thriving.

Since I stopped talking to God because He was my best friend who had betrayed me. How could He let this happen? What good could come of it? Why allow such suffering and torment and pain and fear in the life of someone who trusted Him to have my back? I railed and told Him how angry I was. He wrapped me in his peace and loved me anyway.

Since we found out that there was a nest of those spiders in your nursery-to-be and that was destroyed, but was only brought to light because I was bitten. People told me that was probably the reason it happened. My response was, if God is so powerful, why did He allow me to get bitten to find a nest? Surely there were less painful ways to reveal the problem? I was not interested in calling the pain and disfigurement a miracle. I wanted to wallow and cry.

Since I named you the name that honors Him for not walking away. He didn’t stay because I was worthy. He didn’t even stay because I prayed. I stopped praying after the last worst turn. I stopped talking to Him when He stopped meeting my expectations. But still He stayed. Still he guided and loved and protected.  And after a few months, I began to realize that He had not broken a promise. He hadn’t promised me no pain. He hadn’t promised a perfect life. Those were my expectations. He had promised not to leave. And the fact that you were born healthy and unmarred and beautiful was a testimony to that promise. And the scar on my leg that remains after many reconstructions and 10 years later is a testimony to that promise. And my heart that now trusts Him in a way I never thought possible in spite of the pain of life’s happenings is a testimony to that promise.

And these 10 years with you, sweet Melody, are a testimony to that promise. Because as I look at your sweet woman-child face, I see even more promise extending beyond me and beyond this life we’ve shared to this point. I see a spirit of determination. I see a heart that already loves Jesus. I see a sweet, trusting spirit. I see a mind that thinks and ponders and calculates beyond its years. I see a girl who personifies the meaning of her name. Who loves much. Who keeps moving forward in spite of much fear. Who loves herself in a way that makes me love her even more. And suddenly the scar on my leg is a badge of honor. I had the honor of bringing you into the world, despite some scary odds. I was made to be your mama. And the painful experiences that have made me the woman I am today will be a benefit to you. They make me a better, stronger person. They give my faith a foundation that won’t crumble, and that makes me someone you can lean on in times of trouble. And now, 10 years later, I can honestly say that I am glad it happened. Because the changes in me are worth the pain it took to make them.

Happy Birthday, my love. I can’t wait to keep watching you grow up. You are my best girl and my sweet melody. You make me want to be a better mama.

Love, Mama

 

 

 

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