We've been told many a time to expect bumps on the NICU road. I thought I knew what those bumps felt like, since we've had our fair share over the past month. This week I've come to a whole new appreciation for just how dramatic those bumps can feel.
Friday was one of the smoothest, most joy-filled and hopeful days we've had since I was still pregnant. I held our boy in my arms for two hours straight, delighting in the feel of his tiny chest pressed against mine. Each kick was an easy remembering of what it felt like when we were bonded together, body in body. I reveled there, finally allowing myself to dream of what a future with him might be. We were told that the next morning, assuming he was still stable, I could hold him again and finally introduce him to his eager big brother and sister.
The next day, everything unraveled. His sats dropped, his gasses went bad, glucose spiked and we switched to two different vents before he ended up back on the oscillator, turned all the way up on power and up to 100% oxygen. The doctor seemed boggled, the nurses gave us hugs and sad puppy dog looks. Nobody said to expect the worst, but when the fellow on call phoned at 9:30 that night and said, "Can we call you with updates throughout the night? I mean, God forbid anything were to happen, we would of course contact you..." all the courage I had left in my body escaped me. I was livid, wordless, desperate.
The words that have come so naturally the past month, the prayers spoken so fluently, the hope that watered my parched ground--all just drained right out of me. I raged. I threw. I sobbed. I ran. Barefoot, in the dark, wishing the harsh and stubby pavement clawing at the bottoms of my feet would cut through deep enough to distract me from the crushing ache of my heart. "God, why are you doing this? Where are you now? Is this some sort of ***** joke? What of all those promises that you whispered to me in the dark? Are you going to just make a fool of me? I know I'm not omniscient, I'm no fortune teller, but WHY ARE YOU ABANDONING ME?" I couldn't pray, wouldn't pray, I could only rage and sob. I fell into the grass in a neighbor's yard, ignoring their barking dog and the fact that I had just showered and my newly washed hair was probably now hanging out in dog poo. My equivalent of sack cloth and ashes.
I stared up at the sky, the moon, the stars, and in that moment all I could think of was my anger. How my son was going to die, how all the hopes I had for our family's future would be buried there, right there, that night. And then I remembered Jacob, and his wrestling, and his stubborn heart. I didn't process much through it that night, but the image stuck with me through that long, dark night, and the next couple of days.
I've been wordless, until this morning. We went to visit Alder, and while things have certainly been brighter, we are still miles away from where we hoped and prayed to be at this juncture. The nurse this morning kept repeating, "Don't get discouraged just yet." Gave me a hug, said "please don't cry." That's the first time I've heard those words since entering the NICU, because I haven't needed them...I left Alder's pod to go and pump, have some alone time, maybe even chat with God.
I pulled out my Bible, reading this scene with Jacob:
“And Jacob said, “O God of my father Abraham and God of my father Isaac, O Lord who said to me, ‘Return to your country and to your kindred, that I may do you good,’ I am not worthy of the least of all the deeds of steadfast love and all the faithfulness that you have shown to your servant, for with only my staff I crossed this Jordan, and now I have become two camps. Please deliver me from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau, for I fear him, that he may come and attack me, the mothers with the children. But you said, ‘I will surely do you good, and make your offspring as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude. . .’
Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed. Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the name of the place Penuel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip...”
Alder is a strong, stubborn boy. Part of the reason for the set backs we're having now are due to his strength; he wants to breathe for himself, is resisting the help the ventilators can provide instead of resting and letting them do the work. I saw him just the other day, swaddled and belly down, pick his head all the way up and crane backwards to get a look at me. My boy is head strong and mighty, a real fighter. He is wrestling...
Like son, like mother. This morning, reading and remembering Jacob, I came to a resolution: I will wrestle, too. I don't intend to be brazen or presumptuous, but I do mean to be bold. God always keeps His promises, and He tells us in His word that He wants us to remind Him of His words to us, to pray in His will but to petition, even bother him, constantly with our requests. I can and I will, like Jacob, wrestle with God. Jacob came to God in his fear for his life and the lives of his family, reminding God of His promise to make his descendants numerous and to give them good things. Every day, I will do the same. Every day, I will come boldly, humbly, stubbornly, with strength, and I will bother the Lord on high. I will remind Him of the name He gave to my son, remind Him of the promises attached to that very name. I will beg, I will cry, I will worship, pray, hold fast, and wait. I don't know what the outcome of my son's story will be, but I do know that the Lord will act, and that gives me hope for tomorrow.
“In the womb he took his brother by the heel, and in his manhood he strove with God. He strove with the angel and prevailed; he wept and sought his favor. He met God at Bethel, and there God spoke with us—the Lord, the God of hosts, the Lord is his memorial name: “So you, by the help of your God, return, hold fast to love and justice, and wait continually for your God.’”