Babies Change Everything - Part 1...and Part 2...

Part 1 - March 28, 2011: After months of growing, weeks of waiting for Grammy to get better enough to travel, days of walking/jostling/eating Mexican/bending/stretching just to get some labor going, Chelsea goes to the hospital to be induced. The day has arrived! I am anxious, wanting things to go smoothly, wanting this baby to bring a sparkle to all of our eyes, wanting & praying for strength beyond my own. I think of my sweet Uncle Ray and of the funeral I am missing today. I think of the reunion there at the church - and of the reunion behind the veil. I wish I could pull out my spyglass and see the "cloud of witnesses". I shower and dress (my good hubby standing by with ointment and a steady arm) and even put on a touch of makeup. Don't want to scare anyone today. Dean drops me off at the hospital - it's almost 1:00 in the afternoon. Chelsea is resting, sleepy from the epidural. The baby's heartbeat beeps out loud in the room - the nurse has attached a monitor to his little head. Chels was checked at 12:30 and is dilated to a 6. Robby is gone, eating lunch with his mom. We turn on "Cake Boss" and settle in for the long afternoon. Rob is back about 1:20. His tummy hurts and he's not sure why. Couldn't be stress, could it? Sympathy pains for his sweetie? Chels feels a tightening, in spite of the epidural, and reaches for the button to give herself a higher dose. Already, her right leg is numb & fast asleep. She has an oxygen mask at her chin - doesn't want to pull it over her face because it bugs her and makes her itchy. About 1:45, the baby's heartbeat slows and we watch the zig-zag line dip low like a little valley. Immediately, a nurse comes in to assess. I am amazed that she noticed so quickly. She asks when Chelsea was checked last and decides to check again. Very matter of factly, she announces that Chels is at a "9.9 plus". "I'm going to get your nurse, Shar," she says, and we look at each other in disbelief. Could it be? Already? We were prepared to wait all day for this little guy - even took "wagers" on time and weight and length, and most of the guesses were for after 4 PM! The nurse squad comes bustling in. I am always impressed with their efficiency, their soothing busy-ness, the way they each have a role to perform without getting in anyone else's way. The doctor has been called. It's just a little before 2:00. Shar notices that I am gingerly turning my head to watch the whole ensemble. She asks if I have an injury. I say, no, I've had surgery recently. We laugh, as she says, "So, you really are stiff-necked!" Chels starts pushing at 2:10, and oh my goodness, we have a baby at 2:15. Five minutes of pushing! Most women would pay millions for a delivery like that. KNOX AARON arrives in a flurry of activity, as Dr. Lunt unwinds the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck once - then twice - but he's as perfect as can be. He opens his mouth to cry, but can't quite get enough air to make a sound. It takes just a few seconds of kneading his back, rubbing his head, and then, the wails begin. He sounds wonderful. He is adorable, the most beautiful newborn baby on the earth at this moment. I snap pictures with unsteady hands. My half-numb face is frozen in a grin. I have the strength of a lioness, and these are my little cubs - the mommy in the bed and the baby in her arms. Part 2 - Later on March 28, 2011: Aaron and Linds and girls have been with Chelsea's little ones all day, so we meet up to get dinner and then make a trip to the hospital. I am surrounded by five beautiful grandchildren, and I count my blessings for the hundredth time today. They are so sweet, so dear. I am grateful that Aar & Linds are here. I feel our family's strength, as we help each other, and it makes me very proud. We go to the hospital, where Rob and Chelsea wait outside the nursery window. The kind nurse behind the glass holds Knox close where his big brother and sister can see him. His little girl cousins clamor up on the window step to get a better look, too. We are noisy with excitement, oohing and ahhing at how beautiful he is. Lachlan looks confused. He asks his mommy, "Are you going to have another baby? How did you get Knox out? Why are you in a wheelchair? What are those bracelets on your wrists?" and a thousand other things he's concerned about. Olive points to Knox's nose and eyes and wants Mommy and Daddy to hold her. The novelty of Baby Brother soon wears off and she wants to run with the cousins. Soon, it's time to go, and we leave Rob and Chels and get back on the elevator. I am exhausted with excitement, emotions, and pain. I cry on the way back to Mom's villa. I know it will only get more stressful, more emotional, more difficult to adjust to this new way of life. And, I have to go home tomorrow instead of staying to help Chels. It hurts my heart. Early the next morning, the phone rings and it's Chelsea, crying. I expect her to say that it was a sleepless night, the baby wouldn't nurse, the pain was bad, etc. But I never in a million years expect her to say - "Rob had to go to Instacare last night. They sent him to the ER, where he had a CT scan, and now he's waiting for surgery to have his appendix removed." WHAT? I am shaking with disbelief. In my twisted mind, I have to wonder if our family members are the main characters in the latest reality show where the producers are just sitting home dreaming up whatever new obstacle or challenge they can dish out to make us scream and writhe! Enough already! We are done! If my own sweet daughter were not on the other end of the phone line, weeping with exhaustion and worry, I would laugh out loud and say, "Okay, where's the hidden camera? This is not real, right?" Oh boy, if only that were true. But, it is true. Rob has surgery with his dad at his side because his dear mom has stayed with Lachlan and Olive all night. All I have the strength to do is go to the hospital to help Chels cope with this latest heartache. Her sweet face is etched with pain, emotionally and physically. We keep thinking, well, Rob will take care of that. But, he's not here, and we long to be with him, too. We whisper, "Miracles and hope", over and over, and tender mercies start to arrive. Chelsea's nurse knows her Relief Society president and will make the call to get the service wheels rolling. "Mimi" Cindy and the sisters-in-law wrangle all the kids together - 7 under age 7 - and go to the park under an almost 70-degree cloudless sky. The lactation nurse brings Chels every conceivable thing she might need to help with nursing. Dr. Lunt, the OB, personally calls the other hospital to see who is operating on Rob and how things are going. Baby Knox tests "low risk" for bili and we are set for discharge. "Did we get everything?" Chels asks from the wheelchair at the door. "Rob is the one who's supposed to check." I check, teary. But, that's not the end. I know you were hoping so. Me too. Aaron calls later in the afternoon, as Chelsea is trying to nap in her own comfy bed and we're passing the cocoon-wrapped baby from one set of arms to the next. He and Linds and girls are on their way home, but he has news for me. He's had a sore throat for a couple of days and decides he needs to have it checked. He goes to the Instacare and the nurse asks him why he's in St. George. Aaron tells him his sister had a baby. When the whole story comes out, the nurse realizes this sounds all too familiar and realizes that she helped to treat Rob when he came in with his stomachache/appendicitis. She probably thinks we're the family from the Blue Lagoon - who would believe all we've had to deal with in the past month? Then Aaron's test comes back - he has strep. Of course he does! We aren't surprised at all, are we? Now, we're lathering up the hand sanitizer and popping Vitamin C like candy. We need another miracle, Father. Just in case this slipped by you when you weren't looking... This baby has changed everything, but we look at him as our Bright Little Sunbeam of Hope. I prayed to see him born, and it happened. I prayed for the strength to travel, and it happened. I prayed for healing, and it IS happening. Now, I pray for those same tender mercies to come to my children and grandchildren. I know He will bless us...again and again. Baby step by baby step, we will get through all these tests. Dr. Lunt said, "In six months, you'll look back at this day and laugh!" I believe him. But really, if anyone was wondering if we're due for some sunny days, I'm vigorously voting, YES! Enough. Let us catch our breath. Mend our hurts and soften our pains. And yes, prayer does help...