The extent of her strength

(Our sweet girl, Crea, in Momma's arms)

 

 

When we found out about Crea’s disabilities, the doctor told us not to go online. He said there was so much information out there, some right, some not so right, it would overwhelm us. We accepted what he shared with us and we never went online.

Fast forward to the other day.  I was home and curious. I searched Omphalecele. Boy!  After just 10 minutes of clicking on link after link, I was overwhelmed! I shut the screens and sat at my desk. As I sat there and tears filled my eyes, I smiled. “Thank you baby girl. Thank you for being so strong”, I whispered.

Here is the thing, as I read through the words on these screens, I realized Crea was 1 in a million. Not in a good way. All the words on the screen where laying out the severities of omphalecele and all the other possible things that could be wrong but weren’t “common”. In fact, many articles shared how “rare” the chances were of having this, this and that. As I read through all the possibilities and realized our little girl had all the other possibilities of complications, I realized how absolutely miraculous it was that we got to meet her! Not only did she fight and stay strong in a womb with no water bag for over 10 weeks, she was born alive, went through 3 hours of surgery at just 2 hours old and still fought to allow us to hold her and spend time with her.

She fought all the odds.

She won.

We won.

I knew that she was a warrior. I knew that she was a miracle. I knew spending time with her was a miracle manifested on this earth especially for us. But reading through all the possibilities and how impossible it was for her, my heart overflowed with gratitude. To her. To her maker. To our journey.

Tonight, as I scribe these words and I reflect on a weekend well spent with my faithful husband, my heart is so content. I have spent the weekend talking about our journey and our baby girl with no tears; only joy, gratitude and pride. I look at her pictures and I am so, so proud. No, these earthly moments aren’t always easy living without her, but truly, without reservation, my heart is content. My dream came true because of her strength. I am grateful.

Waiting to find my Cadence

Today I went to lunch with my sis-in-law.  What a blessing it was to sit with her and my adorable nephew!

Lately, when I get in the shower to get ready for a day where I know I will be venturing into the big, wide world, I hear a song in my head. It’s a country song, of course. I’m not sure what all the versus are, but the chorus says, “this learning to live again is killing me.” I try not to allow myself to think about it, but when I am putting mousse in my hair and getting my makeup on, there it is…”this learning to live again is killing me.”

Today, when I started hearing it, I said outload, “I don’t accept it!” My thoughts overloaded into all the reasons I am going to be fine. All the reasons I can’t let that become my mantra. 

As I sat with my sister and we were talking, I started sharing about how I struggle to get out and about.  I know it is necessary and normally, I am Miss Social. But these days I find that getting ready means that I am going to go out which also means I am going to see people which also means I may see people I know that don’t know which means I may have to share our news. I explained to her that as hard as it is for me to share this news, it is harder for me to see their faces and know they will struggle with what to say. I feel bad for them. (I know, this may all sound crazy, but this is my reality right now.) Going out also means that I may have to speak to strangers and because I still look pregnant, with all good intentions, they may strike up a conversation asking the typical “pregnant questions” such as “is this your first?” etc. etc…

I don’t look forward to those awkward encounters and it isn’t so much about me, but about others. Terry and I have spoken about how hard it must be for folks. I mean, what do you say? We don’t know what we would say if we had friends that had to bury their new born child. Equally, it is hard for me because I have to fight with the fear of facing folks that know us, know our story and look at me with eyes that feel sorry for me. Before we got pregnant, I shared with my mom that one of the hardest things about being so open about infertility is I always felt that people looked at me and all they could think about when they saw me was how sorry they felt for me. I know with all my heart that it wasn’t that they were being ugly, but it was always out of a genuine heart of care and concern. Now, I feel I have a banner over me that reads, “Bereaved Mother”. Now I feel sad that they will see me and feel even more sorry for me. Both my mom and sister shared how it all comes out of a place of deep love for us. I completely agree. It is still hard.

As I sat there and shared some of my thoughts with my sister, I found the words I had been looking for regarding learning to live again. I kept saying, “It’s just going to take time.” But in my talking about how I feel ready to get back to work, I said, “I’m just waiting to hear my cadence again.” There it is! I feel like my life’s cadence, the beat that made me move each day, that motivated my pace and kept me above the fold is silent right now. It may all be part of the grief process. I don’t know. But I feel that once I can start hearing my life’s cadence, I can begin to really move.  

I have dealt with grief and disappointment before. When I miscarried the first, second, third, fourth and straight to the eighth time, I dealt with grief; with the disappointment and my heart being broken. This time is different tho. There was a nurse that I was speaking to in the hospital about miscarriage. I told her, “Loss is loss and grief is still grief.” This, of course, was before I knew we would have to say good-bye to our sweet daughter so soon. Yes, I still believe loss is loss and grief is grief,  but I do believe there is a different level of loss and grief. This grief has overwhelmed me more than I have ever felt before. Maybe its because when I close my eyes I can still picture her chubby little hands or smell her. Maybe its because there are times that I still catch myself holding my stomach as I did when I was pregnant every time I told her I was “hugging” her. I don’t know.

But for now, tonight, I still wait to hear my cadence. I know when I can begin to hear this again, it will be easier to move. I can’t say move on because I am still dealing with things surrounding that. (more on that in another scribe) But for now, I have to take the successes of getting out, having a wonderful lunch with my sister and some great laughs with my parents and accept this day as a victory of learning to live again.

I miss my sweet girl. And although life is not as I imagined it would be for us, I am grateful for the wonderful family and friends around us that are God’s goodness and grace manifested on this earth.

You are stronger than you think!

This journey has not been an easy one.  But our decision to accept has been the difference between us falling apart and standing.

I am reminded of the Serenity Prayer. It says , "Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference."
I have heard those words so many times, yet they never resounded as much as they do these days in my life.

First off, serenity means to be in a state of no stress or emotion and to have steadiness of mind. WOW! What an absolutely amazing state to live in...even for just a moment. I can't say that we have lived in the state every moment, but when I reflect on the past year, considering the moments that were filled with so much uncertainty and many moments of great fear, I truly believe that there was a consistent Voice in us saying, "It's going to be ok, don't give up." At 18 weeks, we were so excited to have our sonogram that would reveal to us if we were having a boy or a girl. We made it a family affair and had Terry's mom and my parents go with us so we could all see our little miracle. That day, in a day that we thought we would walk out in great joy, we walked out of that appointment in a great grief. The doctor could  not see if Crea was going to be a boy or girl because her organs were outside of her body and her spine was crooked and undeveloped. It was that day we were told of her diagnosis of Spina Bifida and Omphelecelle; our hearts were broken.

 But even in that moment, we saw Crea moving around, kicking her little ninja legs, listening to her strong heart. Yes, we accepted what the doctors were saying, but more than that, we accepted, received and owned that she was still fighting, still strong, and still showing hope.

In the past few months, we have had many people comment to us about our strength through it all. We have heard things like, "I don't know how you do it" and "I couldn't be that strong". Where we are blessed for the encouragement, the last week has had me thinking. Terry and I never imagined that this would be our story. If someone told us what this year would look like before it happened, we would probably have said, "No thanks! That is way more than we have the strength to endure."

This is what I believe to be true.

 We are all stronger than we think. We all have something inside of us that causes us to endure more than we ever imagined. We all have something inside of us that will fight for joy and hope. I believe the key to gaining this strength is our willingness to accept. I don't mean accept everything. Terry and I never accepted the birth defects doctors said our daughter would have. We fought and believed to the very end that she would be exception. Even tho we would be set back for a moment with bad news, after we dealt with the blow, we shook it off, stood back up and continued to believe in the miraculous.

But when all was said and done and our daughter passed away, there was nothing left we could do to change it. We had to hit a point of acceptance to our reality. And our reality was this - We experienced a miracle. With all our believing, our daughter had been born to us. We got to see her face, hold her chubby little hands, kiss her head and smell our newborn baby girl. We did it. We three fought. We won. Some would look at our reality and say that it was all for not. Some would be disappointed because it would all seem like a failure. The question we were asked to answer is "what are we willing to accept?"

So I say all this to say what?

 We ALL have experienced and will experience tragedy, heart ache and disappointment. Regardless if we like it or not, it is part of this life. We have endured because we had to. When we were making arrangements for Crea's service, my dad and I were at my house and he was standing there as I was gathering my things so we could leave. I turned around and he looked at me and said, "You are so strong, mija." My response was, "Pues que hacemos?" (Translated - Well what do we do?)
As much as I wanted things to be different, our situation this time was not going to change. What I could change, what I still had the power to influence, was my response.

No matter what you are going through, know this. We may not be able to change our situation, but we can always change our response. Believe me when I say, "You are stronger than you think!"

God's Little Mercies

The days go by and every single day different events from the past few months replay in my head. As I replay them, in the typical Elisa/Lizzie form, I analyze them.

The other day Terry was sharing about how he regrets he wasn’t there at Crea’s birth. When he said that, I told him that I wondered if that was one of God’s little mercies. Because I was laying on a table with a curtain between my head and the rest of my body, I didn’t see when they pulled Crea from my womb.

The doctors later shared with us that she was born not only with all her organs outside her body, but the bag that normally holds all the organs in place had ruptured. They took her to surgery and it was there that they would place all her organs in a bag to help keep moisture to them til we could figure out what the next steps were.

…at a later time, I will share what they found in surgery and what transpired the hours after that til she took her last breathes.

For now, in thinking of God’s little mercies, I also thought about our very first day at the hospital; July 8 2013.

At 4am, my water bag ruptured. It was a Monday morning. Sunday, after going to CareNow, they started me on antibiotics because I had strep throat. On Sunday, I told Terry that I felt bad for Crea because I had been coughing so much and so hard she was probably in there wondering what the heck was going on.

Terry and I drove to the nearest hospital which was in Denton and by 7am we were well on our way to Ft Worth in the ambulance. I have never made it faster in Monday morning traffic! I smile when I think about looking up at Terry; he was like a little kid. He kept looking out the front window telling me how all the cars were moving over…he was so excited! (I love this man of mine.)

When we got to the hospital, our doctor met us and said there was a chance that we would be delivering that day. We set into prayer mode. We were only at 24 weeks and we knew that delivering her that early wasn’t a good thing. He told us that normally, when the water bag ruptures, delivery is eminent within 3 days. We prayed and believed we would make it passed the 3 days. Then the 7 days. Then the many weeks to get us to week 28 which was the week they said they needed her to be at before they could even consider operating. We actually made it to 34 weeks!

But when we were in the room that very first day, waiting to see what would happen, they had one of the NICU doctors come and speak to us.  He had been briefed about Crea’s diagnosis’ and he wanted to explain what all this meant for him. During that time, he also talked to us about what they are capable of. He said they had amazing machines who could support life for as long as we wanted. He said the question you have to ask yourself is, “are you prolonging the inevitable or are you helping to get to the next step of healing.”

At the time, when he shared this, Terry and I felt that it would never apply to us. The doctor spoke so tenderly, we received his words but never thought they would return to our minds.

Fast forward to the night of Sept 6, 2013. Crea was out of surgery and we were waiting to see if her body would respond. Her NICU doctor told us, “I need to see that she is still fighting.”

It was a long night.

Terry and I spoke that night about all they had told us they found during the operation. The entire 8 months that we had been going through this journey, we did because she did. We knew that the fight started and stopped with her. When we went to see her after the operation, it was a difficult visit. She had an entire section of the NICU separated for her because of the amount of machines she needed. It was overwhelming…more on that later.

Now, Terry and I speak of how that doctors words resonated in our minds that night. Words we thought would never apply to us. Here we were, thinking we would have to make a decision no parent should ever have to make. But because those seeds had been planted two months before, they were not foreign to us nor were they harmful to us.  We were blessed that we were not forced to make that choice…in her typical, strong form, Crea chose. She had no fight left within her and she was ready.  Yet another one of God’s mercies…

We have had many people tell us they don’t know how we have done it. How we have gone through this journey. This is what we say.

You never know what you are able to get through until you are forced to go through. The human spirit is an amazing thing. The love of a parent is an amazing thing. In the end, Terry and I made a choice. We knew that this journey could make us better or bitter. We had a choice. And as Terry said, “I will not dishonor my daughter’s life.”  I believe the ability to live a life of excellence and a life of joy is in all of us. Despite what happens. Despite our circumstance. Despite our past. We have a choice to believe that there is good and there can be good brought out of any situation. It is a choice…to believe despite.

We are grateful for God’s little mercies along the ways that have protected us and is helping us get thru each moment.

Waiting for 11:49am

It is Friday, September 20, 2013, 11:42am. This morning, I found myself up early, kind of tinkering around the house doing a little of this and a little of that. Mostly tho, I have been sitting outside rocking on my chair on the front porch listening and watching the rain. I inhale deeply and sigh. The rain is so refreshing. As I sit outside, I look at my clock and I think, "Just a few more minutes."

The last few days I find myself waking up at night and almost resenting the fact that I am sleeping through the entire night. I feel things should be different. In the mornings I wake and try to find things that will occupy my day. That sounds easier than it is because since I had the C-section, my mobility is still limited. That, coupled with the fact that I have been in bed for 2 months, I find that even the smallest of tasks leaves me winded. I tell Terry that it adds insult to the injury sometimes because I do feel somewhat useless right now. My husband, in his loving way, looks at me tenderly and says, "It's all part of it, momma. It won't be long."

11:49am.

Exactly two weeks ago, our daughter, Crea Jacqeline Rumbo, was born!! My heart smiles.

When she was born, there was a doctor that was sitting beside me, holding my hand the entire time. You see, that morning had been full of all kinds of excitement. I guess I should start at the beginning. I will share more about the weeks leading up to her birth, but this morning, I wanted to share about the very first time I met her.

  That morning, I was up early because I really hadn't slept much. We had been having contractions on and off and let's just say they weren't very fun or easy to sleep through. Every time a contraction would hit, Crea would wiggle around. Because she was #1, bigger and #2, there was no water bag, the discomfort was no fun. My nurse that day, Tracy, came into the room and asked how we were doing. I told her I hadn't slept much and I felt the contractions where getting closer and longer. She went ahead and put Crea and I on the monitor so we could see what was going on. I liked being on the monitor because I could hear my sweet girl's heart and movements. Even at this moment, videos I have of her heartbeat soothe me. Without going into the exact details of the next few hours, it turned out that I had dilated from 1 to 5 that morning. When the doctor came in and found I was at 5, I was on my way to delivery.

I called Terry. I asked the doctor if we could just wait one hour for him to get there. "No, we've got to deliver now", she said. As they wheeled my bed through the halls of the third floor and we made our way to Labor and Delivery, I prayed and asked God for peace and I asked him to help my husband and family get there with no incident. This had been what I was afraid would happen all along. I had hoped we would all have time. In that prayer, I immediately felt peace.

They prepped me for surgery and we were in the operating room within 15 minutes. When they rolled me in, I was overwhelmed at how many people were there. I knew there would be many because they had told us they'd have all the specialists, etc there for Crea, but it was overwhelming. Within a few minutes, they had begun. The doctor beside me, who never let go of my hand, stood to look over the curtain and tells me, "she's almost here." I hear, "Birth time 11:49am" when he informs me that she is here.

 I don't hear her cry. I ask him why she isn't crying. The entire time he is calm. He tells me they are all working on her. I don't know if the moments where seconds, minutes or hours, but I don't think I took one single breathe til I heard her cry. OH! THAT CRY! My heart leapt! Three small cries. Enough to make this mother fall into pieces. I hear one of the nurses say, "Goodness! She is so alert. She is looking around at everything." I smile through my tears and think, "She's nosey like her momma!"

The next minutes seemed to drag. The doctor next to me says that they are going to have to take her downstairs to NICU where the other doctors are waiting, but they will bring Crea to me before they take her so I can see her. I can still feel the doctor on the other side of the curtain working to get everything sewn back up. I can't stop crying.

When they finally brought her to my side, she was in a glass case. She already had tubes in her nose and mouth. There was a little door they opened so I could reach in. I grabbed her tiny hand. It was so chubby. When I did, she opened her eyes and blinked at me a couple of times. "Mi nina. Preciosa."

I cried. His Promise manifested in our lives. There she was! Strong. Perfect. 11:49am.

  It's been two weeks. There are moments it seems like it has been months and then moments it seems like just yesterday. I have spent much time writing through the ups and downs of this experience. I plan to share blogs I wrote in the hospital, thoughts before I was in the hospital and the weeks to come as we sort through our joy and our grief. I tell Terry that the next year is constantly going to be bittersweet. We will be happy about certain things, but they will also sting. Just last night we were talking about hunting season coming up. I hadn't planned on going out at all this year since we would have a newborn. That plan is now altered. We don't know why. But this is our reality. For the good and the bad.

In all of it tho, even the moments that are hard, I think about her chubby little hands and her blinky eyes and I am so grateful for the hope, the strength and the belief she has inspired in me. I can't say enough...this little girl has taught this momma a new way to live. The days of grief and missing her will become more distant with time and I am grateful for that. Equally, the days of living in a new joy, a new, greater expectation will also increase. For this, Terry and I are grateful.