I am "the one".

Written Sunday, May 25, 2014:

In this moment, I just realized I have an opportunity to better understand what partaking of the sacrament can (and should) mean to me--as I sit in this Children's Hospital and watch my daughter struggle to breathe.  

For many terrifying, never-ending minutes this morning, Charlotte's eyes closed and she became completely unresponsive.  Thankfully, although her breathing was labored she was still breathing.  Yet, she would not respond to voices or people rubbing her body in an effort for her to stir.  Not even when nurses sat her up did she open her eyes.  Not any inkling of acknowledgment that she was being pestered, poked, prodded.  Her body was limp and she would not wake up.  Before I knew what was happening, three doctors and several nurses including a respiratory therapist were in the room all working together to help Charlotte.  They crowded around her bed and I worried that my desire to be close to my daughter was actually getting in the way.  Panic begin to invade my heart as I knew Charlotte was in trouble and needed help. I also felt completely useless as there was obviously nothing I could do, aside from calling to her with a trembling voice.  "Charli, wake up.  Charli, open your eyes and look at Mama."  Doctors and nurses rattled stats back and forth, and even though I could tell they were concerned almost as much as I was, they seemed to somehow have order in the chaos of the moment.  The respiratory therapist finally stated loudly that they should not delay any further the suction treatment as her respiratory rate was becoming more labored despite her limp composure.  Each medical professional gave their concurrent permission and the respiratory therapist began to suction Charlotte's lungs.  

I think under normal circumstances I'd have fought back feelings of Mama Tiger as the catheter was threaded down my child's throat, and the sounds of sickening mucus filled the room.  However, in this case I was incredibly thankful as this unpleasant intrusion seemed to snap her from her lethargic state.  Her eyes opened wide in panicked surprise and she began to cry.  What relief filled all our hearts!  Obviously, she was frightened to suddenly see so many people over her.  Standing at the foot of her bed, I began  to talk to her and told her: "Mommy's right here.  I'm right here.  Mama stays with Charli.  It's going to be okay."  Knowing if she looked at me I needed to appear strong and unafraid, I fought everything within me that wanted to crumple to the floor in a sobbing mess.  I knew seeing me like that would only alarm her more, so I took deep breath and held it in.  

Later, once she was stable and out of immediate danger, the exhaustion from three sleepless nights and the stress of the situation hit me.  Brett came through the door twenty minutes later and of course, seeing my rock, my best friend -- all I could do was let him hold me as it all came out.  While he held me and also cried over his beautiful girl, I noticed out in the hallway two priesthood brethren bringing the Sacrament to hospital patients.  Earlier in the day, I'd wanted to attend the hospital LDS services at 10:30.  But as the hour drew closer, Charlotte was struggling more and more, and naturally I felt I could not leave her.  I had been disappointed not to attend, since I recognized that at this particular time I was more than ever in need of the strength receivable from renewing heavenly covenants.  Seeing these men, I asked Brett to wave them in.  

I expressed my desire to partake of the sacrament and they kindly began to prepare, asking the nurse if she had a plate available for them to use.  She did not, and so they settled for a white napkin.  Somehow that seemed more appropriate -- as though viewing the offering on clean, white "linen" more naturally resembled what our Savior would have offered, had He been there in person.  Foolishly thinking I had my tears under control, my eyes betrayed me and I wept through the prayers that were made solely on my behalf that Sunday afternoon.  I was not alone--even the nurse cried with me as she held onto my baby's little fingers.  

Something stirred within me to see a single piece of bread resting on a white napkin in the palm of the brother's hand, the sacrament cup held by the other brother.  To hear the sacrament prayers being said over one solitary serving at this symbolic partaking emphasized to me the importance of "The One".  The significance that we have to our Father in Heaven.  We ARE "the one" that He leaves the ninety-and-nine for.  WE each are "the one" that young Priesthood holders pray for each Sunday.  

Partaking of that ONE piece of bread, and internalizing that ONE cup of water confirmed in my heart that the Sacrament Ordinance is truly of God.  It is FROM Him, FOR Us.  It is for all of His children, but more importantly it is for us individually.  A witness of His love, His sacrifice, and His companionship came into my heart.  I drew strength from hearing those sacred prayers, knowing I could repent of the mistakes I make and in return always have His spirit to be with me, which I needed so much more that day than usual.   It was a beautiful experience born from a morning filled with anxious, heartfelt pleading that my baby would be watched over.  She was, and so, I discovered, was I.

Yoda-layheehoo! He's not "the baby" anymore!

Carson's been my "baby" for 5 years now. That's a long time to get comfortable in your family position and I worried he might have a hard time "giving up the throne" to a new baby sister. To help him make the transition from BABY to BIG BROTHER, while I was in the hospital I asked my wonderful mother-in-law if she wouldn't mind taking Carson to the store to pick out a special gift that he -- only he -- could give to Charlotte to welcome her to the family. He then got to make a visit, all by himself, no other brothers or sister allowed, to his new baby sister.

We had to chuckle when we saw what he'd picked out. I figured he'd get a little book or maybe a baby rattle. Nope...he got a stuffed animal. Or should I say "stuffed alien"? It's a pint-sized Yoda doll. Truly a gift from Carson's heart!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It looks right at home with Charli's

other little toys, don't you think?

Yes, the force is strong with this one...

Charlotte Maree - how she came to be...

Charlotte's only been here a very short time but already has captured our hearts completely. Through the sweet mercies of the Lord, there's an entire telling of how she came to be, but the feelings involved in that story are so tender and close to my heart, I feel they are sacred and shouldn't really be shared in a public setting. I've already typed them up and set them aside with Charli's "special things" for her to someday read and hopefully treasure as deeply as I do. However, I did want to document her birth story.

So here's the "joyful ending" to the story

of how she arrived into our family...

Monday, January 16th:

• Mid-morning had a doctor's appointment at 37 1/2 weeks. Dilated to 4 centimeters. Because of the boys' [scary] fast arrivals, Dr. Farley feels it would be prudent to have me check in on my own sometime in the next 4 days before I dilate much more. I'm not sure how I feel about it...I'd like to wait until I absolutely know it is time, but must admit I'm getting nervous "the time" might occur when Brett isn't around to be of immediate help. I stew about it all day, wondering what is the best decision for the baby.
• 10:00 p.m. I start to feel different, but still am not sure if we should go in. I can't describe the "different" feeling - I guess just more pressure, like the baby has lowered, but since I wasn't having strong, regular contractions still didn't know if this was true labor or not.
• 11:00 p.m. Finally decide we should go in. Grandma Dixie is called to come be with the kids and we head up to Layton shortly thereafter.

• Just shy of MIDNGIHT we check in at Davis Hospital. It's a good thing we did because my dilation has changed from a 4 to 6 and I'm 90% effaced. They ask if I want an epidural and I really don't, especially if things are going to go as fast as the boys' deliveries. It's now Tuesday, January 17th.
• Right away they broke my water. THAT was an experience none of us will forget anytime soon, medical staff included! I think I set a record for amniotic fluid. It just kept gushing and gushing and gushing. Nurses kept running back to the cabinet for more towels. Honestly, it sounded like a faucet was running. Just when you thought "OK, that's got to be all there is" you'd be surprised that it still wasn't done. We all had a good laugh about it afterwards because seriously, it was a TON of liquid! It was all over the floor, the nurse's shoes, you name it. Noah and the flood, that's what it felt like. I barely looked pregnant afterwards...you can ask Brett if you don't believe me. My abdomen had shrunk from a big round belly to this small little bump! It was quite the conversation piece for the rest of the delivery, especially when a new nurse would come in and inquire about the giant pile of wet towels overflowing from the laundry bin!
• 1:30 - I was hoping to avoid an epidural, mostly because I hate the process of getting one and because the two deliveries I didn't have one I felt I healed faster. However, after 90 minutes of intense contractions with only about 30 seconds or so between them, the doctor checks me and I'm still at only a 6. Obviously this isn't going to happen as fast as we'd all thought (most likely because she is posterior). I opt for the blessed Epidural.
• 2:30 - Epidural time! Man, I HATE getting those! But when it's over I enjoy some much-needed relief after only 10 minutes!
  
  
• 3:15 - @ an 8 and for the most part not feeling too much, except tired. (Even my doctor looks tired. Poor guy!)
• 3:40 - Dr. Farley leaves the room to do some paperwork. The nurses are out in the hall also. Suddenly, I feel a "pop" and panic - was that the head crowning??? Brett frantically calls doctors and nurses back into the room where they discover the popping sound was the head passing the catheter bulb as she moved down the birth canal. It won't be long now and it's time to prepare for the end. Everyone gets ready for her arrival!
• 3:45 - Pushing begins. I can't feel a thing so it's hard to know if I'm pushing correctly and if my effort is effective at all. Three pushes and I'm told to stop - Charlotte is posterior and the cord is wrapped lightly around her neck.
• 3:55 - One more big push and she's here!
  
  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
  I'm so relieved and so emotional I don't even realize the placenta has been delivered and I'm being stitched up. My only thoughts are that "It's her!" It's the child I knew needed to be here and fought so hard to get here! The special little spirit the Lord was trying to tell me about over two years ago.

It seems surreal that everything has come full-circle and she's finally here with our family

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7 pounds 8 ounces, 20 1/2 inches long

(depending on who you talk to!)

We're so in love!

Best doctor I've ever met in my life.

When I think about how much he cares, how capable he is, and how lucky I am to have him as my doctor, it honestly brings tears to my eyes. That probably sounds silly and over-dramatic to some, but it means a lot to have a physician you can trust without hesitation, who you know has your absolute best interest in mind, and who shares the same values you do. He has never made me feel foolish or a burden - I'm very, very grateful to have someone like Dr. Farley on my side for moments like this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After being up all night, and from the great emotions we felt, everyone involved was exhausted. It was great to finally rest, knowing we had Charlotte to wake up to!

The next day, her billirubin levels were lower than we felt comfortable with, so she spent the next week on lights, some at the hospital and some at home with a billibed and billiblanket. Some babies really fight the lights, but Charli was a champ! In fact, I think the white noise from the machine actually made her sleep better! We were very relieved when her numbers dropped back down to a more comfortable level and we could snuggle with our princess anytime we liked!

meeting our new sister...

After the kids got out of school on the 17th, Brett brought them up to see me - well, not me as much as someone else. Someone they'd been thinking and dreaming and imagining about since summertime, and she was finally here!

They brought with them a beautiful pink bouquet and the sweetest card:

I thought it was cute how everyone was sitting on the couch or chair, but as soon as Daddy got baby sister out of the bassinet and sat down in the rocker, everyone jumped out of their seats and just "had" to stand close to get a better look! Charli was only hours old and already drawing crowds!

They were just as enamored with her as we were!

a "sweet" visit to University Hospital

The kids had a blast visiting Aunt Fawn in the hospital when she had her hip surgery -- they ate most of the chocolates we'd brought her...

matters of the heart.

So last night (a.k.a. early this morning) was interesting, to say the least. Yesterday at 8:30 p.m. I returned home from a weekend in Vegas with Brett (to be blogged about later), delighted to see my kids, who had been spoiled and excellently taken care of by their Grandpa John and Grandma Dixie. I couldn't have been happier to see them! I got home about their bedtime, but selfishly couldn't send them to the land of nod without some snuggle time. We read stories and cuddled on the couch watching the first half of the old Parent Trap movie until 10:00. By then I figured I'd better be a good parent and finally let them get some rest since a school day loomed over the horizon. Besides, I was ready for bed myself. We all quickly finished the bedtime routine and by 10:20, the kids had been tucked in and I crawled between the sheets. It didn't take long before I was out.

Suddenly, at almost exactly 11:00, I sat up in bed, grabbing my chest with this incredibly painful "pinching" sensation at my heart. Panicking that no other adult was in the house to help me, I reached for the phone and in a knee-jerk reaction dialed "9-1-1". The operator answered and the pain was so severe I could barely muster out "I'm having chest pains". She asked from what city I was calling and after I told her she said she'd transfer me to North Salt Lake's dispatch center. By the time the transfer went through, I'd been awake for about 60 seconds and the pain had finally subsided. At this point, what do you do? I no longer had pain, but my heart was racing. However, was it racing because there was truly something wrong or was it fast because I felt panicky and full of adrenaline? I spoke with the operator and explained how I'd felt, but that now I wasn't sure I needed medical attention anymore. He didn't want to take any chances and said he'd already dispatched an ambulance and that he believed I should be checked out. I'm feeling like the biggest idiot at this point, so I say to him, "Can you at least tell them to turn the sirens off?" He made no promises but said he would try.
With every minute that passed I felt more and more like I'd overreacted, but at the same time very unnerved at what I'd just experienced. Just what the heck was that??? While I waited for the ambulance, Wyatt woke up with a nightterror, so I put him back down and tried calling Brett in Las Vegas. Just as I was dialing, the ambulance (with no sirens, thankfully, but an obnoxiously loud engine) parked in front of the house. I opened the door to see two paramedics anxiously waiting to treat a patient who they probably assumed was in much worse shape. Feeling very sheepish I explained how the dispatcher had insisted they come and they tried their best to make me feel like it was better to be safe than sorry. They checked my blood pressure and pulse and asked a billion questions, finally to conclude that at least at that moment, I was "normal". Then they were on their way, with a final reassurance that I should not hesitate to call again if the symptoms returned.

Too wound up to sleep, I called Brett--just hearing his voice on the other end of the line was a major comfort. We talked for a while and I poured out how I wasn't feeling pain any more, but that I still felt weird, kind of "out of sorts". Just that something was off. I was torn as to what I should do and confessed I was afraid to go back to bed in case we had a repeat of before. Finally convincing me to just put in a movie or something, we hung up. Within twenty minutes, my uneasy feeling began to escalate and my heart began to race. Feeling short of breath, something inside me said I shouldn't fool around with this and that I needed to get to a hospital. I contemplated calling a neighbor since I wasn't 100% sure I should be driving, but then realized I needed someone with the kids, too. Poor John and Dixie got a phone call from me around midnight.

I'm so grateful for a good family and incredible support system. I know they were exhausted after having the kids all weekend, so to be awakened in the night like that was a great deal for me to ask. My only hope is that at least Dixie got a little sleep, since thankfully (and surprisingly) my kids never woke up through this entire ordeal. She has her piano recital later today, though, and I feel I've deprived her now of the energy she would have liked to have had for that. Hopefully it goes okay.

My heart continued to race and although I wasn't in pain, the only thing I can describe is that I felt like my heart was working very, very hard. It lasted for about 20 minutes, subsiding just a couple minutes before John & Dixie arrived.

John drove me to Intermountain Medical Center in Murray where we checked into the Emergency Room. It was nice to find it a slow night, and they took us right back. They jumped into a whole gamut of tests, poking and prodding (translation: $$$ CHUH-CHING $$$!!!). They ran bloodwork,

an EKG,

and topped the night off with a CT Scan

since my bloodwork indicated a possibility of blood clots. That obviously made me very nervous. It wasn't something I was expecting to hear as a possible diagnosis, but in a way it had made some sense since I had travelled so much this weekend, and Saturday after walking the strip all day, I'd had an experience where my feet had swollen up to a laughable state and remained such for 24 hours. Imagine my relief when the CT scan showed normal lungs with no signs of clotting. At that point, there was really nothing more they could do. It was 3:30 a.m., I'd gotten very little sleep, John had gotten even less sitting in a typically uncomfortable hospital chair. So they sent me home.

It's a frustrating situation: on one hand, I'm relieved of course that there seems to be nothing to diagnose, but on the other hand, it's extremely unnerving. Especially since I still felt that "uncomfortable" feeling in my left chest even as I was being discharged. I still can't help but wonder what was happening to my body and if I should have been doing more. But what? They pretty much did everything you can do short of open-heart surgery in the ER. Uneasy and a little afraid, I did the best I could by saying a prayer asking Heavenly Father to either help put my mind at ease by taking away the feelings in my chest, or to help me know definitively if I should pursue the matter further by going to another doctor today. When I woke up this morning, the feeling was still there to a certain degree, but definitely not like it was last night. After talking with Brett, we decided I would make some phone calls and see if another doctor could review last night's test results just to make sure we didn't miss anything. In the mean time, I'll just keep praying that the Lord will take care of me and hope that I'm in tune with what He's trying to tell me. I've never, EVER dealt with anything like this before. The fact that my kids slept through it almost makes it seem like last night was just a dream. A very bizarre, very scary dream. Hopefully it was a one-time deal...but it sure puts a person on edge.