Rejoice in Our Sufferings
When I held my son Euan in my arms for the first time, I had no idea the biggest trial of my life was about to begin. This was my first child, and although my delivery had gone well, my troubles began the next day. My blood pressure had been slightly elevated during pregnancy, and rose steadily after Euan's birth. It was monitored closely over the next 48 hours and I was medicated in an attempt to lower it. In addition, any movement caused an excruciating headache. Apparently my spinal column had been punctured by the epidural administered during labor and spinal fluid was rapidly leaking, causing me great pain. Even slightly raising my head resulted in unbearable pain. The only remedy was lying flat on my back; sometimes even that did not help.
These were frustrating days, no doctor could tell me when I could go home. Every shift change brought a new doctor, each with conflicting information and opinions. One recommended a blood patch, a procedure that might cure the spinal headaches; another said a blood patch was far too risky and my back would heal itself within a few weeks, still another suggested I might not even have a spinal headache and my headaches could be caused by something else entirely. I felt so helpless and confused. Euan was now a few days old, and I still had not rocked him or changed his diaper. I could not even get out of bed to comfort him when he cried; feeding him was the only thing I could do. I remember lying in that hospital bed, crying and telling a friend I felt like an awful mother.
After much prayer I opted to have the blood patch so I could be one step closer to going home with my husband and baby. It worked. I was so grateful and praised God that I could sit up and eat, and hold my baby without pain. Four days after Euan's birth, the doctor decided I could go home. I wanted that more than anything else, but I expressed concern because another doctor said my blood pressure was still unstable. The discharging doctor suggested I was trying to stay in the hospital because I was afraid of caring for my baby; she recommended we see a social worker. I was outraged at the suggestion. I determined to leave the hospital to prove her wrong.
However, before I left the hospital my spinal headaches returned; I knew the blood patch had failed. In my desperation to go home, I concealed my pain. I felt as if God were taking back a gift He had given me, one I had been so grateful for, but I was happy to be going home in spite of the headache. When I got home though, I stumbled to bed, and laid there until the pain and throbbing in my head was so intense that I knew my blood pressure had gotten too high. I asked my husband, Jason, to make some calls, to get people praying. I was helpless, completely reliant on God. I did not want to go back to the hospital. Besides, I reasoned that the doctor knew about my blood pressure, and sent me home already. Crying and in terrible pain, I called my mother, asking her to come and help. When she arrived, she took my blood pressure: it was 210/110. I was in serious danger of seizing or having a stroke. We called the hospital, and they told us to come into the emergency room immediately. Hours after I was discharged, I returned to the hospital. The ER doctor quickly determined I had preeclampsia, or toxemia. He said this should have been diagnosed much earlier; I should not have been discharged. I was readmitted and Euan was allowed to stay in my room on the condition another adult would be there to care for him at all times. At first, I merely felt grateful to be back in the hospital where I could be properly cared for, and receive treatment to ease my pain. I was hopeful that now, with a diagnosis, I could be treated; it could only get better from here. But things would get worse before they got better.
I finally admitted my headaches had returned, however, they were different, more intense and constant. Lying down provided no relief, and my blood pressure was still out of control. I wanted so badly to be home bonding with Euan, but the doctors were uncertain as to what was wrong, and when I might be able to go home. The nurses tried to persuade Jason to take Euan home, but I was determined to have him with me so I could breast feed him. Jason, bless him, did everything he could to make this happen.
On the eighth day my headache became intolerable, a pain worse than any I had ever experienced, so painful I was almost incapable of communicating. I was in a state of confusion, at times not remembering where I was or how I got there. Even morphine did not lessen my pain. The doctors seemed genuinely puzzled as to what was wrong with me. I covered my eyes, and laid there in complete misery. Bundled and in a cradle only feet away was a baby, my baby, eight days old, and I still had not been able to stand over his cradle to adore him. He seemed almost a stranger to me. I felt a hopelessness I cannot describe.
That was the worst day I have experienced in my life. I had experienced loss and suffering before, and had awful days, but none compared to this. In all those experiences I was with others who were experiencing the same loss, the same pain with me, which made those tough times much more bearable. On this day I felt alone. This time, no one could truly experience the pain with me, and I felt terribly isolated in my suffering. I cried out to God. I begged Him to take away my pain, to help me, to heal me. I remember asking my mother why God wasn't helping me, why He wasn't ending my pain. She reminded me that Paul tells us in Romans to "rejoice in our sufferings." In that moment rejoicing seemed impossible, but it occurred to me perhaps God has allowed this so I might learn a lesson. I hoped to learn it quickly so my suffering would end. I asked God repeatedly to help me rejoice in this suffering. I cannot say that I ever made it to the point of true rejoicing, but I was able say to God, "If this is what you have for me, so be it. You are good." And I meant it. Only by His grace could I mean such a thing, while experiencing such horrible pain.
That day I had an MRI and a CT scan. A neurologist assured me that nothing serious was wrong. He said my headaches were most likely due to the preeclampsia and a postpartum hormonal fluctuation. Later I learned my orthodontia prevented clear test results, and it was possible I had a minor stroke. Over the next 24 hours my pain slowly subsided, and my blood pressure stabilized. The following day, anxious to go home and after much prayer, I opted to go against doctors' advice and have a second blood patch. I hoped I would be able to sit up, and even stand. I begged God to allow this procedure to go well. It worked and I praised God. Finally, I was able to sit up and eat, and cradle my baby in my arms without pain. This second procedure, however, caused a serious backache, one that would last for weeks, though it was not as debilitating as the spinal headache.
Ten days after Euan's birth I was going home again — hopefully to stay. I was looking forward to it, and yet I was terrified — terrified my headaches would return, my blood pressure would spike, and I would experience more misery. I remained in constant prayer, praising God that I could go home, laying myself at his feet, begging and pleading with Him to keep the headaches away. I cannot put into words how good it felt to be home with my husband and baby boy. Home at last, I could care for Euan and get to know him. Jason spent the last ten days doing just that: discovering how to comfort him and what upset him. As Euan's mother, I felt I should know how best to hold him or change him. It felt so wrong to have to be taught these things by Jason. I shed many tears of frustration because this was not how I imagined our roles would be.
I did have headaches in the weeks following my homecoming; thankfully none were as intense as before. I was shocked at how weak I had become. Everything had taken a major toll on my body. The demands of being a nursing mother and rising at all hours of the night to feed my baby did nothing to hasten my recovery. I longed to get up and take charge of my house and my baby, but my body's limitations were immensely frustrating to me, even the smallest task was draining. Although it seems ridiculous in retrospect, I felt so weak it seemed impossible to me that my health and strength would ever return to what they once were.
After being home for over a week, I felt much stronger. Yet I noticed that something still seemed funny. At first I thought I was merely light headed, but slowly I became more and more certain that something was wrong with my vision. I was trying to give it to God, but I was worried. Adding to my troubles, my big toe became swollen and sore, causing me to limp.
I saw an ophthalmologist who performed extensive eye tests and revealed my retina was damaged by my extremely high blood pressure rupturing the membrane behind my eye. I was told my vision would slowly improve over the next six months as the rupture healed. My vision was terrible, leaving me feeling disoriented. Nothing could be done to correct it. Only time would heal it. The doctor was hopeful my vision would be fully restored in six months, but if not, any remaining impairment would be permanent and irreversible. I was so discouraged. I could not imagine living the rest of my life this way; driving would be impossible, reading difficult, and even watching TV a strain. It was difficult not to be bitter, bitter that I was suffering and might have permanent eye damage because a doctor was careless. I was released from the hospital when I shouldn't have been, and God allowed this to happen. I was trying to have a good attitude, trying to remember that God is good, and that all of these trials would be used to glorify Him. It was so hard.
My visit to the podiatrist revealed I had a badly ingrown toenail that needed to be removed; a common side effect of the poor circulation from preeclampsia. Although I certainly had been through worse, having a toenail removed was no picnic; limping on a sore foot, continually soaking my foot and changing bandages were just more burdens heaped on top of the others.
That same week we found out Euan had not gained nearly enough weight because I was not producing enough milk. It was heart wrenching to be told that I was not giving my helpless newborn enough to eat. I was overcome with guilt. Meeting with a lactation consultant, we formed a plan to increase my milk production. Unfortunately, it was labor intensive, requiring me to pump milk for three hours a day, in addition to the time I already spent nursing my son. This would make rest and recovery more challenging, but I was determined to nurse my son, and Jason was very supportive. Each time I thought this trial was coming to an end and I would soon be completely healthy, another problem would develop.
A couple of weeks later I developed thrush, a painful breast infection. I had passed it on to Euan, giving him a mouth infection and severe diaper rash. Meanwhile, I had developed two more painful ingrown toenails that had to be removed, and was I still working hard to increase my milk production. I prayed daily for this and complete healing in my body.
In addition to the exhausting task of caring for a newborn, and trying to regain my strength, fighting high blood pressure, back aches, the occasional bad headache, and disorienting vision problem, I spent several hours a day caring for my toes, our thrush and trying to produce enough milk for Euan. I was exhausted and overwhelmed. I was at the end of my rope. Although I loved my baby very much, I found myself wishing I could have my life back the way it was before Euan was born. I felt inadequate as a mother, and my health problems were an incredible burden. I thought this meant I didn't love my precious baby enough, and this thought made me sick with guilt and disgust. I think this was why breastfeeding was so important to me. People would ask, "So, how is motherhood?" If I were honest, I would have said, "Hard. Too hard! I think this was a mistake!" I imagined what people would think if I responded that way, and instead would say, "Wonderful," just like everyone expected.
It seemed that as one problem was solved, another would appear. Even though the problems got smaller, they seemed to multiply. After a month of fighting it, we were finally free of thrush, but I got a sty in each of my eyes, an infection in one of my fingers and a few more ingrown toenails. Certainly these were much more minor problems than the previous ones, but still extremely tiresome. It seemed as if God put some kind of curse on me. I questioned if this were the result of some kind of sin in my life, but truly couldn't find any sin worthy of a good Old Testament-style curse.
After trying for several weeks to make adequate milk for Euan, my lactation consultant finally told me I had done more than enough, and feeding my baby solely on breast milk just wasn't going to happen. I had done everything a mother could do. I must have shed a bucket of tears that day. I was angry and hurt that God had not answered this prayer, and I told Him so. After all, it wasn't a selfish prayer, it was a simple request to benefit my son. It seemed that after all of the trials I had endured, the least He could do was answer this one small prayer. God comforted me though with the knowledge that He would take care of His child, my son.
Throughout this trial, I cried out to God and experienced a roller coaster of emotions. I questioned why I had to go through all of this. I felt cheated out of a happy homecoming with my first child and resented mothers who took the blessing of a quick postpartum recovery for granted. It seemed as if God had stolen this experience from me as some sort of cruel test, yet I felt thankful and praised Him for carrying me through my worst suffering. I compared my trial with those who have a baby with health problems, and felt guilty for even lamenting in my own struggles, which seemed to pale in comparison. Even now I feel a bit silly writing about these events, as if they were the worst suffered in human kind, while I know all around me other Christians are suffering through much worse. The question I struggle with is, "Did God allow this, or cause this?" That question may never be answered for me. This is something I have come to accept.
Slowly, I did get better, although it was nearly four months before I fully regained my strength.
Now, seven months after Euan's birth, my vision is mostly restored; most of the time the loss is not even noticeable. On some days though, my eyes tire quickly, but I try not to let it upset me. Walking too much results in more painful ingrown toenails. As my body heals and I adjust to my new life, God is giving me an appreciation for the gift He gave me in my son. Now, when people ask, "So, how's motherhood?" I can honestly answer, "Wonderful," and smile.
I'm sure I'll never comprehend all the reasons I had to endure all this; I see many ways God used it to benefit me. New bonds were formed and older ones were fortified as friends and family showed their support for Jason and me. My marriage was strengthened and I was further convinced I married an awesome guy, as I watched him lovingly care for Euan and me when we needed him most. I certainly developed a greater sympathy for those who endure health problems. Most importantly though, being so helpless humbled me greatly, strengthened my relationship with God in a very personal way and deepened my faith.
Tori
