Our precious Kyle was born to us two years after our miscarriage. I say "our"
because Robert suffered from the loss of our child, too. I don't know if people realize that men feel the pain of the loss of their child, they really do. So please don't forget to show some compassion to the dad's of a miscarried child, okay? This time the pregnancy went well, that is until I noticed I was getting cramps again. But this time, instead of completely relying on my "faith" alone, I did what any good mother would do, I went to the doctor. I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I'm not the dullest either. Even so, I actually felt guilty for not completely leaning on my faith. In the meantime, my new doctor did some tests and he found that I was very low on progesterone. That is the hormone that helps women keep their babies to full term. That is why I lost our second child, I didn't have enough progesterone to carry the baby to the fourth month, or when the placenta starts to manufacture additional progesterone.
So, my doctor put me on a synthetic progesterone and my cramps stopped, and I carried Kyle with no more problems. All the tests and sonograms came back perfect, and we were excited for his arrival in November. All moms know that every pregnancy and delivery are different. Kyle came faster than Timothy did, and when I was forced to push and then relax, that is when my body decided it wanted me to push - some of you ladies know what I mean. But at last, after 9 hours of laborious huffing and puffing, some Demerol taken a little too late, and a few good pushes, he was placed on my chest. Warm. Slimy. Screaming!
When Timothy was born, my doctor wouldn't allow Robert to see his birth, or even to cut his cord, because our doctor said that he had already 'lost' two fathers that day during deliveries, and he didn't want to lose a third. Anyway, here was Robert's second chance, but Robert was completely grossed out when the doctor insisted he cut Kyle's umbilical cord. Even so, he manned up and did the deed without vomiting, or passing out! Yah baby...that's my man! That is when we noticed Kyle was not as perfect as we had hoped, or thought he was. He had some deep ridges on his little head where his fontanels were, and to be honest his little cranium darn near looked like Frankenstein's. But the hospital staff didn't seem too alarmed by it, so I thought that it was normal, all part of the vaginal birth misshapen head syndrome. That is until the pediatrician came in to examine him.
When she saw his little head, she audibly gasped in alarm...eh..... not exactly something that instills confidence in a mother. So, of course, now I was alarmed, frighteningly so. She quickly recovered her professional composure and explained that she would like to have Kyle's head checked in the near future, but not to worry. She was some what convincing, but then again, I wanted to be convinced that he was okay. The next day as I was awaiting the person who was going to take his picture, that is when disaster struck. Kyle was cradled in my arms while the photographer was setting up the camera, but he was still a little sleepy from the Demerol during delivery, so I supposed. Then I looked down into my arms and noticed he was limp and his little lips had turned blue!
because Robert suffered from the loss of our child, too. I don't know if people realize that men feel the pain of the loss of their child, they really do. So please don't forget to show some compassion to the dad's of a miscarried child, okay? This time the pregnancy went well, that is until I noticed I was getting cramps again. But this time, instead of completely relying on my "faith" alone, I did what any good mother would do, I went to the doctor. I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I'm not the dullest either. Even so, I actually felt guilty for not completely leaning on my faith. In the meantime, my new doctor did some tests and he found that I was very low on progesterone. That is the hormone that helps women keep their babies to full term. That is why I lost our second child, I didn't have enough progesterone to carry the baby to the fourth month, or when the placenta starts to manufacture additional progesterone.
So, my doctor put me on a synthetic progesterone and my cramps stopped, and I carried Kyle with no more problems. All the tests and sonograms came back perfect, and we were excited for his arrival in November. All moms know that every pregnancy and delivery are different. Kyle came faster than Timothy did, and when I was forced to push and then relax, that is when my body decided it wanted me to push - some of you ladies know what I mean. But at last, after 9 hours of laborious huffing and puffing, some Demerol taken a little too late, and a few good pushes, he was placed on my chest. Warm. Slimy. Screaming!
When Timothy was born, my doctor wouldn't allow Robert to see his birth, or even to cut his cord, because our doctor said that he had already 'lost' two fathers that day during deliveries, and he didn't want to lose a third. Anyway, here was Robert's second chance, but Robert was completely grossed out when the doctor insisted he cut Kyle's umbilical cord. Even so, he manned up and did the deed without vomiting, or passing out! Yah baby...that's my man! That is when we noticed Kyle was not as perfect as we had hoped, or thought he was. He had some deep ridges on his little head where his fontanels were, and to be honest his little cranium darn near looked like Frankenstein's. But the hospital staff didn't seem too alarmed by it, so I thought that it was normal, all part of the vaginal birth misshapen head syndrome. That is until the pediatrician came in to examine him.
When she saw his little head, she audibly gasped in alarm...eh..... not exactly something that instills confidence in a mother. So, of course, now I was alarmed, frighteningly so. She quickly recovered her professional composure and explained that she would like to have Kyle's head checked in the near future, but not to worry. She was some what convincing, but then again, I wanted to be convinced that he was okay. The next day as I was awaiting the person who was going to take his picture, that is when disaster struck. Kyle was cradled in my arms while the photographer was setting up the camera, but he was still a little sleepy from the Demerol during delivery, so I supposed. Then I looked down into my arms and noticed he was limp and his little lips had turned blue!
Fortunately for us, the camera lady was alert and acted fast. She grabbed Kyle out of my arms, hit the nurses button, and demanded they come in 'stat', and she even started suctioning out his little mouth and nose with that bulb thing. It all happened so fast, I didn't even have time to panic. He revived, but he was not a happy camper! But then a screaming baby is a breathing baby. This alarming experience was chalked up to mucus, and we were sent home with instructions on what to do if this should happen again... and happen again it did... several times. Every time it happened, I didn't call my doctor, I just figured he was having a hard time with mucus. That is until he was about 7 or 8 months old. After a feeding, I was burping him over my shoulder when he started to shake violently. I pulled him away from my shoulder and looked into his wide big brown eyes that seemed to be saying: "Hey! What is going on here?" and then he passed out cold, and his little lips went blue.
Thankfully, my step-mother-in-law was sitting right beside me, and she is a nurse. She grabbed him out of my arms and went outside into the light and shined her little flashlight into a forced open eye. "Heather, he's just had a seizure!" she said. My world started to implode - a seizure? Robert and I jumped into our car, leaving Timothy with grandpa and grandma, and rushed him to a local children's hospital. The experience was more than awful, so I won't go into full details. Through a long series of events, we came to realize that we were the parents of a special needs child. Kyle wouldn't ever be "normal" this side of heaven. In stead of accepting this and dealing with it, I launched out even further into the deep and deceptively calm waters of Word of Faith teachings, completely unaware of the very large water fall down stream, that I was headed for. I had convinced myself that God was going to get the glory for Kyle's full healing and I was going to believe until I received what I confessed!
But instead of loving Kyle the way he was, and being grateful that he wasn't worse off than he was, I almost loathed him. I know that is a horrible thing to say, but deep down, it was the truth. Jumping ahead a bit, many years later, I even got a phone call out of the clear blue sky from a woman in my Bible study, who sternly chided me for not believing God enough for Kyle's full healing. I tried to explain to her that I had done, and was doing all that I could, but you see, that wasn't good enough for her. She made me feel like a complete faith failure, and instead of edifying me, she made me angry, very angry! I mean just who did she think she was anyway? Her own daughter was rebelling and lost in sin, and sadly, probably still is. Apparently, she was offended by Kyle's condition and considered us to be a blight on the butt of the Word of Faith theology. This was yet another missed opportunity on my part to really search the face of God and truly find him. More refining was in store for me. Fast forward a few years.
Thankfully, my step-mother-in-law was sitting right beside me, and she is a nurse. She grabbed him out of my arms and went outside into the light and shined her little flashlight into a forced open eye. "Heather, he's just had a seizure!" she said. My world started to implode - a seizure? Robert and I jumped into our car, leaving Timothy with grandpa and grandma, and rushed him to a local children's hospital. The experience was more than awful, so I won't go into full details. Through a long series of events, we came to realize that we were the parents of a special needs child. Kyle wouldn't ever be "normal" this side of heaven. In stead of accepting this and dealing with it, I launched out even further into the deep and deceptively calm waters of Word of Faith teachings, completely unaware of the very large water fall down stream, that I was headed for. I had convinced myself that God was going to get the glory for Kyle's full healing and I was going to believe until I received what I confessed!
But instead of loving Kyle the way he was, and being grateful that he wasn't worse off than he was, I almost loathed him. I know that is a horrible thing to say, but deep down, it was the truth. Jumping ahead a bit, many years later, I even got a phone call out of the clear blue sky from a woman in my Bible study, who sternly chided me for not believing God enough for Kyle's full healing. I tried to explain to her that I had done, and was doing all that I could, but you see, that wasn't good enough for her. She made me feel like a complete faith failure, and instead of edifying me, she made me angry, very angry! I mean just who did she think she was anyway? Her own daughter was rebelling and lost in sin, and sadly, probably still is. Apparently, she was offended by Kyle's condition and considered us to be a blight on the butt of the Word of Faith theology. This was yet another missed opportunity on my part to really search the face of God and truly find him. More refining was in store for me. Fast forward a few years.