in the Christmas Spirit?

This was David's first Christmas... and only the second that Michael and I have celebrated together as husband and wife. I wanted it to be special, memorable, faith centered and captured on film so that one day it could be turned into a beautiful shutterfly photo book.

It's December 28th and only 3 of the advent candles ever got lit, it feels like we spent more time with our pediatrician than with our families, and the many attempts at a Family Christmas picture never quite produced a usable shot.

Two weeks before Christmas, at David's 2 month well check, we found out he was severely under weight. He was a little low at his one month visit but this is fairly normal for a kid with a heart condition (more on that in another post). This time, however, something was very wrong. So the pediatrician wanted me to start supplementing with a few ounces of formula after every feeding. But of course, David was NOT happy about this. What nursing kiddo would be? So he pretty much screamed for two days straight as I struggled to give him a bottle.

and why wasn't Mike helping, you ask? Because the day of David's visit, Mike had a flare up of his recurrent corneal erosion. (If you don't know what this is, it basically means that he feels like someone is shoving an ice pick in his eye for about 48 hours straight.) When this happens, he has to wear dark glasses, we have to keep all the lights in the house off and he literally can't open his eyes. Which means, not only was he in a tremendous amount of pain, but he couldn't help with David.

(When my mom called to check on me, I burst into tears. She came up and stayed with us for two days. Lifesaver. Literally.)

Since David was struggling to eat even the formula, we wanted to figure out what was going on. After a second visit to the pediatrician, we discovered David had pretty bad reflux. Then after our third visit to a lactation consultant we discovered that David has a high arched palate and a posterior tongue tie. Three problems that, when combined with his heart condition, make it nearly impossible for him to nurse. In fact, he was only getting about 1-2 ounces per feeding. At his age, he should have been taking in 5-8 ounces. Mike and I prayed for wisdom and struggled to decide what to do... should we quickly try to find a dentist to have the tongue tie taken care of? There's only one in all of Ohio who can handle David's particular type... and his office is closed until January. Should we continue to supplement with formula from a bottle? He even struggles with the wide neck bottles... the kind they recommend for breastfeeding babies. Finally, on December 23rd, the day before Christmas eve, David stopped nursing. He was tired of having to work so hard to get enough food. We decided that it's more important for him to eat than to nurse, so we switched him to the small nipple bottles and moved on.

Well, we're trying to move on. Now that David is finally getting full, he is struggling with constipation... which has given him a hernia... that will need surgery as soon as the holidays are over. (and a partridge in a pear tree.)

Before... 

... and after.
He gained a whole pound in one week.
Look! he has chubby cheeks now.

Mike and I have been floored by this. We thought everything was normal. We thought everything was fine. We thought that since we are healthy people who eat all the "right" things, who stay active, who avoid all the "wrong" things that we would have a healthy baby. A healthy baby that would be born naturally and who would nurse normally and who be adored by everyone as the happiest, most well adjusted baby on the block! Why is it than when you fall over your pride, it's not like tripping over a speed bump but more like plummeting off a tall cliff? We have been humbled and now realize that we have even less control over David's life than we originally thought... which we thought was pretty little to begin with. Our natural, non-medicated, granola plans have been replaced with formula bottles, reflux medication, dairy allergies and surgeries. But his needs trump our desires and, like Mary did in the first chapter of Luke, we will say, "Whatever, God. You do your thing. and Thanks for letting us ride along." (I'm paraphrasing, of course. :)

Despite everything going on in his body, this is the way he normally looks! We are amazed by him. 

in Celebration and in Mourning

So this is the Birth Story blogpost. It will probably get a little long, and may include some song lyrics and certain extraneous, long-winded details. If you are not a person who would enjoy this, I give you full permission to skip possible song-lyrics and long-winded details (you know, like when you read Lord of the Rings and you get to the part with Tom Bombadil) and go right for the details about the birth. :)

The long-winded details....
I've known most of my life that I would need to have a natural birth with no medication. I had my first surgery when I was 6 and ended up back in the hospital after 4 days of not being able to eat or drink and not being able to be woken by my parents. I remember the drive to the hospital, laying in the front seat of our van, my parents dropping my siblings off at Granny and Grandpa's house, not being able to open my eyes or respond to anyone in anyway thinking I was going to die. It was discovered that I have a high sensitivity to anesthesia. Even now, just going to the dentist and getting a local anesthetic shot I end up on the couch with the shakes the rest of the day.

So when Michael and I found out that we were pregnant, we signed up for Bradley Birthing classes and spent 12 weeks learning how to relax and breath and work through labor in a natural, unmedicated way. We were so ready for this birth! and when we starting having contractions at 37 weeks, we were pumped! Then the labor stopped.

3 days later, more contractions... here we go! Then the labor stopped.

3 days more, 3 days more, 3 days more.

September 30, our original due date hits, 40 weeks! We had 5 hours of 90 second contractions, 2-3 minutes apart. Here we go! It's real this time!! We called the doctor and she was also excited, having lived through a few of these episodes with us already. She told us she'd meet us at the hospital and we loaded up the car, called my mom and made the drive. We got to the hospital... and the labor stopped.

3 more days, more contractions, no more baby.

A week goes by, 41 weeks. We talk the doctor into letting us wait another week to give the baby and my body as much time as possible to go naturally. More contractions, more labor, no more baby. We start praying... we tell friends and family to start praying... we ask the ether of Facebook to start praying. The doctor schedules the induction which we don't want. We still feel like a natural labor would be the safest for our family. We beg, we plead, we pray.

and God says no.

Monday, Oct. 14... 42 weeks... the day we are going to be induced... Michael and I are trying to process the fact that our extra time has come and gone and we are out of options. The induction is going to happen. God has answered no and we aren't going to have the birth story we hoped and prayed for.

Birth-story details...
The day of the induction, my water actually breaks but the doctor (and the rest of the hospital staff) are very nervous about the fact that I am 2 weeks overdue, my water has broken and I'm only 2 cm dilated. So they decide to start pitocin anyway.

We are still feeling really good, pumped for this labor... Team Schlatt here we go! We thought that since I had already been through a month of contractions that my body would respond quickly and this would be a fast labor. And my body does respond quickly... with 90 second contractions, 3-4 minutes apart. But nothing else happens. One hour goes by, two hours, three hours... by this time, the contractions are still 90 seconds long, but only 2 minutes apart... and literally peaking off the scale. 8 hours later, my body starts losing control... a contraction hits, and I relax to breath through it. But then some part of my body spasms and I'm unable to control the pain or the contraction. My mom notices some slowing in the baby's heart rate. We know it will be a risk to try an epidural... would it make me sick? if so, what would it do to my body? what would it do to the baby? But we are seemingly out of options... I have lost control, the baby is starting to stress and we are still only 4 cm dilated. If we had been in natural labor, we could have gauged how far from pushing we were... but we didn't know; and we had been in labor for 11 hours. Michael and I decide an epidural is our best option... well, Michael makes the calm, rational decision... I'm in tears, frightened, out of control, and trying to leave the labor room. (I told everybody I was going home and getting into my own bed and that someone else would have to have this baby. :)

When the epidural hits my system, my blood pressure drops and the baby's heart rate tanks. The swat team of nurses, residents and pediatricians descends. We both recover... enough for now. For the next hour, Michael holds my hand and reads Bible verses from notecards. I ask him to repeat Prov. 3:5-6... Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. I ask him to repeat it again. Then I cry, "Michael, I don't understand why God said no!" and he responds, "But we can still trust him, even when we don't understand."

At that moment, one of the doctors leans around Michael and informs us that the Baby's heartbeat is still slowing with every contraction and that the time has come to get us to an OR. It was perfect timing... with God letting us know He is still in charge.

In surgery, Michael is sitting by my head, holding my hand. We are singing to keep ourselves calm... Chris Tomlin's song I Will Rise and Matt Redman's 10,000 Reasons, even though we can only remember the first verse (whatever may pass or whatever lies before me / let me be singing when the evening comes). About halfway through, my body starts reacting to the epidural and the pressure is more than I can handle. The anesthesiologist tries to gas me to help with the pain... and my body starts freaking out. I start thinking to myself, "Oh no, I'm dying. What's Michael going to do?" So I Twist my head from side to side, "Move the mask! Move the mask!" At this point, Michael tells me the anesthesiologist starts looking very worried and that I start saying the word "Jesus" over and over again. A few more worried/strange glances from the other doctors and nurses in the room, a lot more pressure and he is out. (Michael''s perspective: Yeah, you were so out of it, it seemed only a few more minutes. It wasn't. I thought they would never get him out!) The doctor lets Michael announce that it's a boy! and we both cry and marvel at this new little blessing and God's provision: If Michael had not decided on the epidural when he did, I probably would have had to be put under for the surgery. If we had not taken the Bradley classes, we would not have had the background knowledge that we needed to understand what the doctors and nurses were talking about (see Complications and Variations section of the workbook. :) and If God had not been fighting for us, the surgery itself could have taken a turn for the worst when my body started freaking out.

We did everything we could to avoid going through everything we went through. Michael and I knew an epidural and a c-section could be very bad for both me and David. We made all the plans we could to bypass medication, surgery and my body having to go through everything it did and is now going through. But God was and is still in charge. He answered "no" to our prayers and led us down a different path.
We don't understand why.
We don't have any answers to the questions,
          "What if we had waited longer?
            What if we hadn't gotten the epidural?
            What if we hadn't been induced?"
and we are still processing this.
But we can still trust God because He is good.
and we still have a beautiful baby boy, David John, born October 15, 2013 at 5:12 am.

in Pictures

While my boys are sleeping peacefully this last morning in the hospital, I thought I'd take a moment to add some pictures. Hope you enjoy! (We are already enjoying the subject of these photos very much. :)

The decision had been made... David wasn't handling the labor very well so we needed a c-section.

Born October 15, 2013 at 5:!2 am, 19.5 inches long, 8 lbs, 3 ounces. :) 

Meeting Daddy...

Meeting Mommy... a terrible picture of me (it had been a hard labor) but look how overjoyed I am to finally meet my son!! 

We are now a family of THREE. 

Meeting Grandma and Grandpa Schlatt...

Meeting Nana and Papa Connell...

 Such a cute little bundle...

Yes, there will be more details to come later in a separate blog, since those of you who know us well know from the pictures that things didn't happen quite as... or not at all as we planned. We are still processing through all of that, but we are simple thrilled, happy and feeling incredibly blessed that Little David is here with us and that God has chosen us to be his parents.

in Bed... for awhile.

Another blog written about pregnancy... before we were telling people we were pregnant. 

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Even though we had good results from the blood work, our worry and fear didn't stop after that first visit to the doctor. The spotting continued for another week and a half. So we were back at the office for an ultrasound... once again to check if our baby was still alive.

The morning of the exam, I passed a clot the size of the nickel. Terror. But, we saw the heartbeat! Sigh of relief. I couldn't believe it! I honestly thought that it was over, I wasn't pregnant anymore and it would be only bad news. Praise Jesus that wasn't true! Our baby was alive and doing well. But there was a small subchorionic bleed. Not serious for the baby, but required rest until the bleed resolved itself.

So began 5 days of semi-bed rest. (which eventually became almost 14 weeks of semi-bed rest. Seriously, I could barely even go to pottery class!)

Once again, all I could do was lay there and let God do His thing. Literally, there was nothing I could do but lay there and trust Him.

Today was the follow up with the Doctor. To bid my time and distract myself before the appointment, I watched The Prince of Egypt.  [Seriously, don't put eye make-up on before watching this movie if you're pregnant. Seriously. First scene. Tears. Lots and lots of tears.]

No, I didn't put this movie in because I had already gone through all of the other DVDs in our house. I've been reading through the book of Exodus recently, and when you read about the parting of the Red Sea, you just want to see it. Now, I have been doubtful about the relevancy of this book to my present life. I mean come on, I don't live in Egypt, I'm not wandering through the desert and I've never been forced to build a pyramid by first making the bricks out of mud and straw. But, surprisingly, I've drawn a lot of comfort from this epic book.

What really caused the tears to flow today was considering Moses' mom, Jochebed.

The Bible says a lot of things about Jochebed... she was Moses' mom. She was an Israelite slave. She knew that Pharaoh was coming to kill babies. She put her youngest son into a basket coated with tar and set him afloat in a river.

The Bible doesn't say why Jochebed sent her baby floating down a major waterway... did God tell her to? Did she just hope he would be picked up somewhere safe? Was she thinking it's better if he died "naturally" then at the end of a sword? Did she simply set him adrift and pray that God would keep him safe?

Whatever her reasons, Jochebed gave up control of her tiny son. She didn't know if he would live or die, but she took a great risk and left him totally at the mercy of God. She knew she was powerless to keep him safe, and she let God take over.  Moses' mother let God have complete control of her son; and God used him to lead a nation.

What will God do with my children if I let him?

in Stability

A blog about the Baby... written before we were telling people that we're pregnant. 

Monday, February 11th

A friend had a quote on her blog the other day...

If life were stable, I'd never need God's help.  Since it's not, I reach out for Him regularly.  I am thankful for the unknowns and that I don't have control, because it makes me run for God. 

(Francis Chan)

I copied it onto our bathroom mirror with Dry-erase marker. It is something I have repeated to myself over and over these past few weeks. What else can you do when you are waiting for the results of a blood test that will tell you whether your baby is alive or dead? 

We found out we were pregnant early... at 3 1/2 weeks. So when I started spotting a week later, it was pretty awful... it was still too early for an ultrasound, too early for the comfort of a moving baby, too early to even tell people we were pregnant. A few friends called, texted, sent Facebook messages to find out what was going on... "why did I go from being so excited to so quiet and scared?" "you're on my mind, what's going on?" "I heard you're pregnant, how you feeling?" So I gathered these people asked them to pray, then held on tight. There was nothing else to do but wait.  

A blood test on Monday to check my initial hormone level... wait, wait, wait. Watch the clock on Tuesday. Try not to lose my mind. Distract myself as much as possible. Clock ticking... slowly, slowly, slowly... willing the sun to set faster, to rise sooner. The sun doesn't listen to me. Follow up blood test on Wednesday... if the hormone level has doubled, the baby is still alive. Wait 5 hours for the results... drive to a friend's house so I don't lose my mind. Pray. Pray. Pray. 

Finally get a call back 15 minutes before the office closes... hormone level has doubled. Praise God. 

Those 2 1/2 days were the most helpless I have ever felt in my entire life. There was literally nothing I could do to change the fate of my baby. God had already written the number of days of his/her life... and it is not in my power or control to change that. But I can pray. and I can worship. and I can trust God. and I can give up control. 

and this is not the last time in this Baby's life that I will have to do that. It is only the beginning of this lesson... and in the end, God will still be more faithful, more loving and more good than I can ever understand. 

in your Future?

Just received the February 2013 update from HOPAC. There are a number of positions available for next year... I highly, Highly, HIGHLY recommend you click on the link below, pray about it, and see what God says! :)

The Best Job Ever... by Amy Medina

in Significance

I started my last blog, in Sorrow, by writing about the death of my Grandpa. But that post wasn't about him. This post is.

Grandpa Bob with Bonnie and myself, Summer 2010

My Grandpa Bob was an interesting, stubborn, intelligent, varied, playful, scary man. He fought in France during WWII... and he had the German uniform and Nazi flag, plucked from a liberated building, to prove it. Once he set his mind on a business deal, vacation spot or restaurant, you couldn't change it. I was afraid of him for much of my childhood, but as I grew up and he mellowed significantly, I came to appreciate his giant, rib-crushing bear hugs. He started working in the Texas oil fields as a teenager, and continued to be a hard worker... even after he retired! He passed away a month shy of his 90th birthday... and even though he was old, could barely walk, and was losing a crippling battle with diabetes, he would still get down on the floor to play with his grandkids.

But I already knew all of this before his funeral. When my Dad delivered an amazing eulogy, none of this information was new to me.

But then my Dad told another story. One that only my Aunt Sue and the members of a small Spanish congregation on the West side of Houston knew about.

Every weekend. my Grandpa insisted that my Aunt Sue drive him to church. (I told you he was stubborn!) But it wasn't the church that he had been attending since before I was born. It wasn't the church where he was a member. It wasn't even a church that he could understand! It was a Spanish congregation that was renting the building where my Grandpa had attended services. And Grandpa went faithfully, every week.

My Grandpa didn't speak Spanish.
My Grandpa didn't understand any of the music.
My Grandpa couldn't even stay awake for most of the message.

But he still went every week.

And at the funeral, almost the entire church family came to pay their last respects to my Grandpa Bob. And when my Dad asked their pastor why they had all come, he responded that Bob was one of the most encouraging, supportive men he had even met. A Pastor, encouraged by an old man who couldn't understand him or stay awake during his sermons.

This is significant.

at Galveston Beach in Texas

This year, as I have laid aside my jobs, my travels, my "spiritual spotlight," and my identity as a single woman, I have struggled with feeling insignificant... wondering if I have a purpose or impact on the people and world around me. Since September when these moments have occurred, I have remembered my Grandpa Bob... and realized that as long as I am open to God's plans (whatever they may be!), then nothing is insignificant.