During the first five months of my pregnancy, I was sick 24/7. I don’t think I could have kept the pregnancy a secret from close friends and family if I had wanted to because I looked green most of the time. I couldn’t walk into the kitchen because I could smell everything in the fridge even with the door closed and it made me terribly sick. With that in mind, I couldn’t do any cooking, other than to sometimes attempt to cook an egg in the microwave before dragging myself to work and praying that I had forced enough protein down my throat to survive seeing patients all morning without collapsing.
During those first several months of sheer joy, excitement, and extreme illness, several well-meaning people asked me how I was doing. When I told them honestly how sick I was feeling, they half smiled and said, “Well, you prayed for this. This is what you get.” It’s a good thing that I was as sick as I was at the time because the abundance of hormones that were coursing through my body made me want to share with them what I really thought of their well-intentioned, but poorly-timed remarks. Of course, they couldn’t know that I was on daily injections, steroids, and a whole host of hormone supplements just to keep my body from rejecting this pregnancy. The steroids had caused me to retain so much water from the beginning that nothing fit, including my wedding rings, and the hormones made me terribly sick and an emotional mess beyond just normal pregnancy. It was a very difficult time.
And I was scared. I was so afraid of losing another baby. From what I understand, almost every mother who carries a wanted baby deals with that fear at some point throughout pregnancy. In my case, because of my history of endometriosis, I knew that it was possible for that disease to cause my body to betray me and kill my precious baby at any time. And so, in the midst of the joy, the excitement, and the illness, there was great fear.
One late night I got up because I was sick and hungry and worried, and as I paced the kitchen trying to think of what to try to shove down my throat that would make the hunger pains subside without making me sicker than I already felt, I prayed for the Lord to help me with this extreme fear I was feeling that I could do nothing about. In the midst of that fear and helplessness, a peace washed over me that everything was going to be okay with this child. I realized I could do nothing in my own strength to save my baby, but I could put my faith and trust in the One Who saved me from my sin and has given me an amazing relationship with Him. Since that night, things have been different. I still get concerned when I don’t feel baby movement as often as I think I should or I feel a new pain or cramp that is different, but I go back to God’s promise that He’s got this, and I can rest in Him and His plans for my future and the future of our unborn baby boy.
No, I didn’t pray to be this sick all the time. I didn’t pray to have to give myself painful, daily injections my entire pregnancy. I didn’t pray to have aching joints and swollen feet and have to rest at work between every patient I see so that I don’t pass out. I didn’t pray to be so exhausted that I could only crawl home from work at the end of the day and go to bed. But I did ask God to do what He wanted in my life whether it involved me having another child or not, and He took me in all of my brokenness and helplessness and hopelessness and made me a new creature. Not only that, but he has given me a gift of a baby to pray for and care for and love for as long as God allows on this earth. He has blessed me beyond my expectations and beyond anything I ever prayed for, and I praise Him daily for it.
Read and I are very grateful for all of the encouragement, prayer, and support we’ve received through this whole process. We continue to covet that prayer support in the days and weeks ahead.