A day of reflection

One year ago. 365 days.  In some moments it seems like I blinked twice and that time has passed.  In others, it seems like an eternity ago that we began a very unexpected chapter in our lives.

It was one year ago today (August 11) that I stood from my chair in the living room and knew something wasn't right with my pregnancy.  My water had inexplicably broken at only 27 weeks into the pregnancy, 13 full weeks before the full term 40 weeks.  

One year ago I took that scary trip in a Cessna airplane to Topeka and the doctors in that big hospital looked at me with uncertainty as to the future of my baby.  One year ago tonight the temperature was a hot and humid 95 degrees but storm clouds gathered to the north and my parents held each other in their car as they watched the airplane lift off into the unknown.

One year ago today I knew nothing about preemies.  Before that day prematurity was something that happened to other people, like women who treat their bodies terribly during pregnancy.  I couldn't stand to see pictures of babies in hospital beds with wires coming from their tiny bodies.  I would turn my head and ignore the beautiful little miracle pictured in front of me.

In this year I have read and heard so many stories of babies born at Ethan's gestation, 28 weeks (27 when my water broke), and there are some who have incredible survival stories, others who have struggled, and many who didn't make it past those precious first few hours.  One year ago I didn't know where we would fall in that category but I knew that I wasn't sure my heart could handle losing a baby I already knew so well.

I looked into the eyes of my doctor as she said, "It's up to the Big Man upstairs to know what will happen next," and saw tears well up in sympathy for us.  My parents were filled with fear when they patted my hand as I was wheeled to the ambulance that would take me to the awaiting airplane.  

My husband must have felt every emotion known to man within a two hour window as he kissed my head and watched them wheel me away, packed a bag, filled up the van, and went to comfort our son Trent before having to leave him for an unknown number of days.  He drove north into the darkness.

One year ago tonight he walked into that triage room where I had been since arriving and it was as if a cool breath was poured into my lungs and he could help make everything right.  

Our world was beginning a new chapter, and yet those words don't adequately describe the feelings.  Honestly for a few days it was a spiral downward.  We didn't know what to expect, we didn't understand, we were in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.  Our friends didn't know how to react or what to say.  We cried tears that we were sure wouldn't come after crying our last tears.  

Today has been reflective, sometimes bringing tears, most of the time joy.  Because 8 days later the downward spiral stopped, began spinning upward, forward, and has led us on the most joyful path we've ever experienced.

As much terror that filled my bones, the pain of the separation, the inconvenience and short lived pain of the injections, blood draws, and numerous IV's…they pale in comparison to the miraculous joy we felt the moment we heard those cries.  And in 8 days from today, I'll share more of just what this miracle has done to change our lives.