I hate when the Maxwells get under my skin....

This doesn't happen very often, but I'm having a solid emotional reaction from reading a Maxwell article. 

Let me backup a bit. 

I've discussed my son Spawn's birth at 26 weeks due to rapid-onset preeclampsia with HELLP syndrome.   The 28 hours between when I received the news of my diagnosis and when Spawn was born by C-section were horrible.  The medication I was given to keep my blood pressure down and to protect Spawn's brain caused me to feel like I was running a fever, shake uncontrollably, and have the most gruesome hallucinations every time I closed my eyes.  I was more thirsty than I can describe, but I couldn't take anything by mouth because I needed an empty stomach in case they needed to knock me out and do a crash C-section.  Well meaning OB/GYN residents kept coming in and offering to talk about how I was feeling - but my BP spiked hard every time I acknowledged the terror I felt that my son who was kicking at my bladder might die when he was born - so I kept saying "No, thanks.  I'm fine."

I think the only reason I remained sane that second sleepless night was that I reminded myself that they would knock me out during the C-section because my platelets were so low that an epidural could paralyze me so if I could hang on that long, I'd either wake up from something like sleep and feel a bit better or I'd be dead...and that would probably feel better too since I'd be off magnesium sulfate. 

And then at 4am the nurse let me know that my blood work was good enough that they could put off the C-section until at least 6am which was the magical 24 window that no one thought I could make it too - I was really, really sick - and that my platelets were high enough they could do an epidural! 

So now I got to be awake during major abdominal surgery that was expected to involve enough bleeding that the doctors were planning on at least one transfusion for me and probably multiple transfusions.   I disliked that idea immensely and let my preferences be known - until the docs told me that it would be better for Spawn to not have anesthesia in his system while they tried to get him breathing.    One epidural later and I got to see my son cuss me and the world out after an uneventful birth. 

Spawn's time in the NICU was amazing - and sucked immensely.  I fell in love with Spawn fast and hard.  He was amazingly adorable with the tiniest fingers and toes.  Spawn lived to drive his nurses batty - so much so that I threatened to find Nurse Ratched - or someone trained by her - to be his primary nurse if he refused to let nice Nurse Jackie touch his isolette.  I also knew that Spawn would win out over Nurse Ratched or her followers because he's that kind of stubborn.    I loved him fiercely - but I had to sit with the fact that he had no metabolic reserve and his lungs were touch-and-go.   If another body system developed problems, he'd die.  There was nothing I could do beside waiting patiently...so I waited.  I comforted myself that once he got home from the hospital things would get easier.

Heh. 

I really needed that fantasy while he was in the NICU - and struggled pretty hard when he was about 38 weeks gestation.  That's the point I could no longer pretend he was going to go home "tube-free" off of oxygen and a feeding tube.   By the time he was ready to go home at around 42 weeks gestation (or 2 weeks adjusted), I had readjusted my expectations - and the layout of my home.

Spawn's infancy was amazing - and sucked immensely.  Newborns are exhausting.  Medically complicated kids are exhausting.  Communicating with four medical practices and two home visiting therapists is exhausting.  Anything involving multiple insurances is exhausting.   Combining all four at once made me into a highly efficient zombie. What little bit I remember of his infancy before about 9 months of age adjusted is either feeding him, washing bottles/feeding tube equipment, calling doctors, and setting up support from my parents to move him to and from the doctors' offices.

I had a very colorful prayer life during this time.   Like all parents, I had a golden dream of having a healthy term baby I could effortlessly breastfeed while I prayed my way through the Liturgy of the Hours. 

Heh. 

Honestly, I much prefer my spit-fire Spawn to that completely unobjectionable fantasy baby - and my prayer life as Spawn's mom was a whole lot more honest.   There were plenty of prayers that involved a whole bunch of swear words directed at God followed by "Pick someone else for once. I'm so sick of overcoming the dumb shit life gives me."  My other favorite was "If you want to have a conversation with me, God, I need more sleep or fewer doctor's appointments.  Your choice.  I'm taking a nap."   On the other hand, I was deeply grateful for the medical teams who cared for my Spawn-baby.  I don't know if the in-home nurses realized how much I needed to hear them say that Spawn looked great for a baby who was born so early - and that we were doing great with him, but I thanked God for them.   Watching Spawn yawn and stretch or suck happily on his paci made me feel the insanity was all worth it - and I was so grateful that he survived and was happy.

The reason I bring my prayers up is that angry, frustrated, bitter prayers are no less a prayer than prayers of joy, contentment, or trust.   That's biblical; read through the Psalms if you doubt it.  Teri Maxwell wrote a 5-part series called "Unwanted Feelings" that I can sum up as "Lie to God about your emotional state".  Part 4 is the part I found triggering.  Teri includes a letter written to her by a woman who gave birth to an extremely premature boy at 25 weeks who died. 

I have no problems with the letter; anything that a parent needs to survive the death of a child is pretty much ok with me.

The problem I have is that I can't tell if Amy E. - the mother in the story - has the right to show anger, frustration, sadness or distrust in God's Goodness without being rejected by her faith community. 

 Plus, including the letter in its entirety feels like a bludgeon to use against any woman who feels inconvenient emotions like anger, frustration, bitterness or loss of faith.   After all, Amy E. managed to trust in God - no, she managed to rejoice in God's plan! - when her baby died.  Why are you so hung up over (pick a problem)?

Thanks for listening.  I'm feeling a lot better. 

Plus, I managed to bounce a crocheted hat off the top of my husband's head when he fell asleep on the couch.  I've been threatening to do that for a while because his sleep apnea makes him snore and stop breathing if he's not wearing his CPAP.  Listening to him snort, snore and gasp is not relaxing for me....so I've told him to go to bed when he's tired or risk having soft objects bounced off his head.   That was fun.