He likes me for me...

"She likes me for me 
Not because I look like Tyson Beckford 
With the charm of Robert Redford 
Oozing out my ears 
But what she sees 
Are my faults and indecisions 
My insecure conditions 
And the tears upon the pillow that I shed "

I know that God doesn't sounds anything like Blessid Union of Souls or whoever is claiming to have sung that song first, but Wednesday I kept singing "He likes me for me not because I don't lead Bible Study...."  

I tried something new, a Women's Bible Study.  Before I was Mom, I worked crazy hours at our local hospital and didn't commit to anything because my job made my non-job life very unpredictable.  Since I quit my job (almost a year now) I have felt very, well, blah.  New mommyitis maybe, but I think that I have felt inadequate to the point of stagnation.  

The problem? Me.  No one has told me that I am doing anything wrong.  It's self inflicted.  Women measure ourselves against other women.  (For the record, I think men do too. The difference is if they don't like the results, they ignore them.  Women don't do that).  I had gotten it into my head that as a spouse of a music minister I needed to do lots more stuff.  I needed to be visible to the congregation, I needed to be a support to people, know everyone's names, lead things (I didn't know what, but I should be leading something).  I was so overwhelmed by all of that that I couldn't move.  So I stayed in my house.  I would get snippets of Jesus saying "You aren't that person, be yourself" but I would drown that voice out with a list of "shoulds."  After all, doesn't my husband deserve a wife that does all of those things?

August rolled around and programs started picking up at church and I was determined to go.  But, instead of leading, I was attending.  Eh, got to start somewhere.  Wednesday I went to a Beth Moore Bible Study on John.  It was glorious.  It was the depth that I needed to prompt me to read and really study His Word.  While I was there I heard HIM.  It was clear and wonderful.  Through Paul's conversion I heard that He is busy making me no on else has ever been before.  Busy means I'm a work in progress.  And the rest of the statement means-No one else is like me and (here's the kicker) He doesn't want me to be anyone but me.   He sees "my faults and indecisions" and "my insecure conditions" and still, He likes me for me! What a relief! If the God that has made all creation, who knows every person who has been and ever will be on this earth is happy with little ole me, aren't I cheapening that by trying to be another?   

People speak of being "Called to Ministry" likewise there is a call to be the wife of a minister.  But we should not confuse those.  I do need to be approachable, I need to love on His people and I need to pray for His people.  But, that falls into my personality, could it be that He had already equipped me for where I was needed.  The reason I was not hearing from Him on what ministry to join or lead is because that's not what He needs me to do.  Later, perhaps, that will be my calling.  Right now, I think He's got big things in store for me intrapersonally.  Right now, is my time to be filled so that I can be ready to pour out His love on His people.  And I am just tickled!  

I'm open to His will for me.  Listening for Him.  Looking for Him.   Enjoying supporting my spouse and loving the family He gave me.  After all, isn't that what my husband truly deserves?

New Life, cont.

I am positioned on the table.  I wait as my belly, hips, thighs, knees, and feet go numb.  Someone put oxygen in my nose, a blue paper hat on my head, sterile drapes are everywhere.  Finally, the door swings open and I hear a great sound, Phillip's voice.   "7:21-Open," I hear.  I feel pulling and tugging.  Phillip and I talk and joke with the doctor.  I hear "You are doing so well." Honestly, considering the goings-on, I feel really good.  "7:42" There is my baby girl.  They hold her in front of me for a brief moment.  My Norah Grace is here, she is on the outside.  I can't wait to get my hands on her.  Phillip gets called over to the isolette to take pictures and to cut the cord.  I can't take my eyes off the two of them.  My family.

Phillip and Norah leave the OR while I get closed up.  I meet up with them again in recovery around 8:25.  I ask how much she weighs to which the nurse answers "guess."  I guess somewhere around 7 and a half.  They laugh and say that I've missed.  "More?" I ask.  Nope, 6 pounds 14 ounces.

They settle me in and it's finally time to hold her.  I can't take my eyes off of her.  For months I've wondered what she would look like.  My eyes are on her and my heart says "Of course, that's what you look like.  I would have known you anywhere."  She is perfect.  She's beautiful.  She's mine.

While in recovery a nurse comes by and says that there is a couple waiting in the room for us and had no idea what was going on.  My parents.  Phillip had gotten only one mass text sent before we went into the OR.  It said something like "Alli has to go in for an urgent C-section, we appreciate your prayers."  Since most hospitals are giant concrete blocks there was no telling if any of them had sent or who had received the message.  Phillip rushes off to see my parents and show them the pictures he has taken.

I prove to the staff that I am alright and ready to be moved to a post-partum room.   Norah goes to the nursery for some of her tests.  When I roll in the room is full.  My parents, Phillip's mom and grandma, and one of my best friend's and her husband are waiting for me.  Soon Norah joins us and tears and pictures abound.  Her temperature is a little low and she hangs out in my hospital gown for a while.
The day goes by quickly and is full of family and friends.  Around 4pm I finally can feel my butt again, this is an exciting thing!  Though the pain is there, it's bearable with my trusty pain button.

The day goes by quickly and is full of family and friends.  My pain button goes away around 10pm and is replaced by Toradol and Percocet.  The first night was so long.  Every time Phillip and I doze off a staff member comes in or Norah starts coughing up some of the fluid in her lungs.  The pain gets much worse but between the Toradol and breastfeeding I am so sleepy I feel that I will sleep through Norah's crying.  Finally the morning comes.

The rest of the stay is a blur.  We see so many close friends and family.  Everyone dotes on Norah and us and tells us how pretty she is.  The staff is great for the most part.  Wednesday arrives and we get to take home our baby girl.  I cannot believe they are just going to let me walk out with a child.  Granted, she's mine, but still I felt that I should watch a movie or have to pass a test.  Our nurse the morning we leave is our favorite.  So personable and supportive.  Before lunch time we are on our way to our house with our girl.  Little did we know how much that 2.5 days would change our lives for the good.

New life

I have been meaning to blog about Norah's arrival and since she is almost six months old and currently napping I have decided today is the day.

My pregnancy went remarkably well.  I was tired and swollen but was able to work up until 38 weeks and that was simply because I had given my notice.  I was sure Norah would come early because she had "dropped" at 34 weeks. I was also hoping she would come a safe amount of early.  Week after week of going to the doctor to have my progress checked, nothing was happening.  At 38 weeks I was scheduled to have a non stress test at 40 weeks.  I wanted to slap the girl that made the appointment because I didn't want to still be pregnant at 40 weeks.  But at 41 weeks we made plans to be induced at 41 and 5 days.  That Sunday night, I went into labor.  I had contractions about 10 minutes apart most of the night.  I was having a lot of back pain with every contraction.  They never became less than 7 minutes apart.  At 3:30 I got up to take a shower and head to the hospital.  We needed to be there to register at 5.

I was never able to picture myself pushing out a baby.  I tried.  I don't think this ultimately affected the outcome of Norah's birth because sometimes I can't picture what Saturday will be like or that I'll ever go to England.  Nevertheless, I had my walking slippers, robe, and racquetballs packed.  I had a head cold and was coughing a lot all night and as we checked in.  The coughing was not helping the contractions.

By 6am we had gotten to our room I was changed into a hospital gown and was wearing the monitors.  I was having contractions every 5-6 minutes on the monitors.  The nurse was asking all of the intake questions; I was nervous but in good spirits.  Phillip and I were happy to be close to meeting our baby.  We were thinking that we were in for a day of laboring and would meet Norah that evening.   Most of the questions behind us, the nurse established an IV and started fluids, no Pitocin yet.  The IV site was positional and would only let the fluid flow if I held my hand weird.

We realized the camera had been left in the car and Phillip took advantage of the down time to go get it. He had just gotten back when Norah's heart rate dropped to 57.  It was 6:45.  The nurse called for the staff to call the doctor and soon our room was full of people.

I mouthed to Phillip to "pray."  I had been instructed to lay on my left side, then my right side, then to all fours.  I had to wear an oxygen mask and have my butt up in the air.  I was trying to take off my earrings with one hand to give to a nurse while trying to nurse that IV site that was hurting very badly.  One nurse was in my left ear telling me that "the baby's heart rate has dropped and an emergency C-section was possibly needed if her heart did not return to a normal pace."  The room had more people, one of them, a chief resident who had to get consent from me to do the C-section should Norah's heart rate not improve.  They found out I am an RN and decided to show me the strips of her heart rate.  Voices were coming from every direction.  I was afraid for Norah and afraid I would have to go into the OR without Phillip. After what seemed like forever, probably a few minutes, her rate returned to normal and I was able to turn back over.

The practice I go to has 2 midwives and 1 doctor.  Jennifer, a midwife, was on call on December 5th.  The staff had called her but because the complications she had to call the doctor.  Dr. F showed up quickly and told me that I needed to have a C-section.  I did not question her.  I trust her.  The look in her eye told me this was best for my baby.  She assured me that this was the best because any additional contractions could cause the same stress on the baby.  The dip in heart rate could have been caused by an old placenta or problems with the umbilical cord.  I said "Okay, when?".  "Right now" she said.  It would be considered an "urgent c-section, " Phillip could come in with me after I had my spinal.  


I had papers to sign during which a catheter was placed.   Very uncomfortable and embarrassing to have placed with 8 people in the room. It was a little after 7 and I was being wheeled out of the room I thought I was spending all day in.  I asked Phillip for a kiss and was out the door.

The staff in the hall and in the OR were all very nice and reassuring.  Some of them were even telling me that next time I could try for a VBAC.  I did start crying after shifting to the table and was facing a nurse as my spinal was being done.  I was a little scared, a lot overwhelmed, and even more ready to see Norah.

New everything

Michael Jackson's song "Man in the Mirror" has been running through my head for over a week. Sort of, It's been more like "I'm starting with the Mom in the mirror...."

Things have changed so much in the last 2 months. The change started with quitting my job in November in anticipation of Norah's arrival. Her due date was 11/23 so my last day of work was 11/14. But Norah didn't come. I know, I know most first time mom's go over their date. I was sure she would come close to her date but I was not dilating. At home I was getting frustrated at sitting around, nesting uncomfortably. My computer died soon after I stopped working. I was utterly cut off from the world. No job to distract me, no mindless searching of the internet, I don't have a smart phone, we don't have cable...what to do? Sit at home alone. Seemed logical to me.

Eventually Norah arrived on the 5th of December (most likely blog about her birth later). I was so excited to start this part of my life. I was over the pregnant thing and ready to be an active mother-newborn in arms. Now I wanted time to slow down so I could soak it all in.

So, now, everything has changed. I used to work 3-12 or 14 hour shifts. I used to do my part and sometimes more to help the staff get out on time, doting on patients, caring for them and their families, answering phone calls sorting papers, talking to doctors, putting charts together and sometimes all at the same time. I felt that I had purpose, sure I griped about ALL of it, but I did love the sense of self that I had. Now a successful day includes showering and dressing and a few menial tasks around the house. My new way of thinking about time is in 2-3 hour chunks. Don't get me wrong, I find my new job very rewarding. Who wouldn't love taking care of the cutest little Norah in the world. She truly has changed my heart. I now more than ever appreciate the sacrifice that God gave in giving His Son to die. Norah has given me so much joy in her short time here on earth. She has helped me transition into motherhood, I think rather smoothly.

There have been some changes that are more difficult to manage. I find that staring at the "Mom" in the mirror what I see are dark circles, stretch marks, maternity jeans, milk heavy boobs,and a spare tire. I do feel that the weight has come off more quickly than I feared but I'm ready to get cleared to work out and start working on my belly. Weight has always been a identifier for myself. I've been the skinny girl, the little one, the little brunette and I wonder what identifying feature people will pick out now that I'm not a size 0. Is there anything else about me worth mentioning?

Which brings me to today's dilemma. I want to help my husband more at his job, he also had big changes in his job-life lately, I want to be a volunteer somewhere to help someone, to be more emotionally available, to help friends, visit friends, encourage but I don't. Why?

I don't call because I have huge and I mean huge social anxiety. I don't initiate because I don't want to interfere in people's busy schedules. I haven't involved myself outside the home because I don't want to take my newborn into the world that frequently because of fear of getting her sick. I don't do these things because I fear that I have nothing to offer anyone.

I promise myself that I will get better about all of this, eventually. I know that things will change once Norah is a little older because I am going stir crazy at home all of the time. But I also know that the longer I stay inside the harder it is to engage myself outside.

So back to the song

I'm Gonna Make A Change,
For Once In My Life
It's Gonna Feel Real Good,
Gonna Make A Difference
Gonna Make It Right

I'm starting with the Mom in the Mirror and I'm asking her to change her ways.

The Rhythm of My Heart.

So I'm pregnant, surprisingly I have not bogged about it. I've had a journal I've kept for Norah (my baby girl) which has sort of taken the place of this, only I haven't really divulged much info for her future self to read.

Negative symptoms I've experienced: shock, fatigue, disbelief, sleeplessness, nausea, drop in blood pressure, crazy, soreness, sciatic pain, crazy, swelling, cravings, a little more crazy, crying, a few more cravings. Though none of it has been too bad, except for the crazy. This includes several (I lost count, though my husband could probably tell you) episodes of me crying and other various aspects of emotional breakdown. For example, he was popped on the back of the head once for grabbing a white towel when that clearly did not match the bathroom decor. And early on in the pregnancy I did attempt to break into the bathroom when he got in the shower before I could. Please pray for him because I fear these outbursts are not over. Though I really have tried, especially lately, to control myself.

Today I had my 31 week appointment. I made a small mention to the nurse today that I have noticed a fluttering in my heart which affects my breathing as well as making me anxious, that it happens at least once a day, for at least 15 minutes. I honestly haven't mentioned to anyone, maybe once in passing to Phillip. Something told me to mention it to the nurse, it was kind of even an after thought, a few seconds after she had asked if I had noticed any issues. I took a deep breath and spilled it. Then took my pee cup and when to the bathroom to make my deposit, and afterwards met up with Phil in the appointment room. Not really thinking anything else about it. I couldn't even get in the door before the nurse resurfaced and followed me into the room to ask more questions.

Ok, no big deal.

Soon the midwives came in, wielding a stethoscope. More questions and an auscultation later, Allison won herself a cardiology consultation. Yippee. She said she heard a third heart sound. That most likely this is due to the increased load on my heart. I told about my history with heart problems, an arrhythmia in high school managed by a beta blocker.

At this point I am awaiting a phone call from the OB office to tell me when my heart appointment is. I feel like I should have just kept it a secret. I don't want to be back on a beta blocker. I don't want this history with my heart to hurt my baby. I have worried myself sick today, only causing more episodes with my heart. Every twitch I feel I worry that it's her telling me she's not getting enough air or that she's uncomfortable or something. I know that she's fine for now-her heart rate was in the 140s today. But I can't help but wonder what labor will do. Will I have to have cardiac medications through my IV? What if I end up not able to push her out and have to go to the OR? .....So many questions.

or What if I just trust God to take care of me and my family?

Words

Proverbs 10:18-20
He who conceals his hatred has lying lips, and whoever spreads slander is a fool. When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise. The tongue of the righteous is choice silver, but the heart of the wicked is of little value.

The Bible has a lot to say about speech and words. No where in it does it say that "sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me". It instead speaks of tongues sharpened like swords and words being used like arrows. This is much more true. No physical harm I have ever had has affected me so much as spoken words. It seems that in my adult life I have had more dealings with hurtful words spoken towards me and my spouse even from friends than when I was a teenager. Who said people grow up?

This week I was verbally attacked by a patient. Someone who only thinks he knows me, thinks he knows "my type." He categorized me as someone who doesn't care about anything but my own good. According to him, we'll call him Mr. Willis, I don't care about the war in Iraq, the people whose lives were effected by the tornadoes in Alabama, or about sick people in general. I am both too soft (for getting my feelings hurt) and too calloused(because I don't listen) to Mr. Willis. I was stuck in his room for about 20 minutes while he berated me, villianized me and accused me.

I was stuck alright. I wanted to defend myself, return his hateful words with words of my own. I remember Steve (my pastor) speaking about not defending yourself and about not managing outcomes and opinions. I took it for a while - then I had to defend myself and my coworkers. This is where the real problem came in. Mr. Willis did not want me to have an opinion nor was I entitled to have a rebuttal. He wanted me to take responsibility for everything that had happened to him that day, forgetting the fact that it was after 5pm and this was the first time I had even been into his room that day. He accused me of "pointing a shotgun and shooting bullets" at him. After about 20 minutes I finally stuttered out a response that sounded something like this, "You don't know me, if I did not care about people I would not be a nurse. I could work in research somewhere and never touch a patient ever. I cannot confirm or deny anything that has happened in this room today anymore than you can confirm or deny anything that happened in the room next door to you. But I can tell you that you hurt my feelings when you said __________ and that is when I put my wall up." I then apologized if I had upset him only to get a sigh and a shake of the head.

Now, tell me why I can recall every second of that very long one sided encounter when it is so easy to forget nice words that are spoken to me? How can one person's words cut me so deeply that I question my career and my personality, my life? I have spent so much time in reflection wondering if I really am so self absorbed. This man doesn't know me. But then my brain starts trying to pull a lesson from the encounter. Maybe God wanted me to hear those words to spur me to action, to put things in perspective. Maybe I needed to be knocked down a peg. Maybe I just was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I know that in the eyes of my place of employment I probably should not have rebutted. In the eyes of my husband I should have walked out at the first sign of conflict, but I stayed because of a customer service mindset that has been drilled into me.

I'm not sure if I will ever know why I went through that this week. Perhaps only for the reminder to watch my own mouth.

Psalm 37:30
The mouth of the righteous man utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks what is just.

Psalm 39:1
I said, "I will watch my ways and keep my tongue from sin; I will put a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence."
Lord, help me to remember that words cut and wound so easily. Help me to guard my tongue from flippant observations of people. Help me to remember that you know every word before it leaves my mouth and that I am placed here to build up and not tear down. Remind me to encourage and speak kindness.

Not defined...

I am not defined by my eating disorder. Who knew? I thought it was some huge secret, some life changing defining moment-maybe it's not. Perhaps it was only an outlet to handle another life changing, defining moment. I gave a talk to the youth once about Anorexia the thing I hated the most at that point was fitting into some statistic about how many teens have "______" and "_____". I hated that I was one, am one still. Now I'm just one of how ever many twenty somethings that is still dealing with it. But it's not a huge deal. I've learned how to handle it. I try not to know about how much I currently weigh. I try not to stop myself from occasionally indulging in an extra sweet, that is easier somehow when I am alone.

It still is an issue, just yesterday I work I got judged for eating a fried chicken sandwich with a side of gummy bears. I noticed a smug smile and a shake of a head across the table. I knew what was going on and I actually had the guts to say "What is it?". Only to get a short " I don't know how you can stay so small and eat like that". My head was screaming BITE ME, I took a lot to let myself buy the stupid gummy bears and the only reason I did was because I has a coupon for a free $5 meal in the caf and I wanted to get my money's worth. I broke 100 pounds at 18. I am still only around 108, fully dressed. When I weigh myself, I always hope it is below 105. I am beyond the point in my life where I went to bed hungry, crying because my acid was eating away my esophagus. I am beyond having to take a beta blocker to control my heart's arrhythmia. I am beyond having fur on my face (though some of that has hung around). Yet I still get very anxious about weight about brownies about my jeans not fitting the same.

I have to make myself eat enough, eat enough protein and vitamins. Having a husband to cook for is probably saving me from weighing 90-something. Without him I would most likely eat like a vegetarian with the occasional chicken breast. It sometimes feels gross to cook animals and eat them. I think that I would be happier if I missed a meal. I rationalize eating less for dinner if I ate a bad lunch.

But here is the big news. I told my story, my testimony this week and I left out my anorexia. What does that mean exactly? I'm not over it. It is still my dirty little secret. It shocks people when I mention it. But I overlooked it? How? Maybe the rest of my life made a bigger impression on me. Perhaps I am still belittling it.

I don't know what it means exactly.