Moments of solitude, worst-case scenarios, and gratitude.

All three of our children were delivered by Caesarean Section. Before Sara gave birth each time, as surgical staff prepared Sara for surgery and delivery, nurses gave me a set of hospital scrubs and left me alone in a long moment of solitude. It may have only been a few minutes, but the wait felt like an hour. 

During the moment of solitude before Graeme was born, I journaled. I reflected on Slane and Hanna and their personalities. I also posed, perhaps presciently, the question of the worst-case senario...which we almost experienced. Now, on the other side, our life has returned to unremarkable routine, full of laundry, meals, and foul diapers. 

In the year since Graeme's birth the question I get most often is, "How do you do it?" "I don't know," I answer. This is half true. We do it because we have help and we have changed our focus.

If you are reading this, you most likely helped us. Sara and I will spend the rest of our lives gladly paying forward the kindness and support you gave us in that worst-case senario. There is a composition book that documents many of the ways that you supported us. In her blog post, Sara attempted to catalog all the ways you supported us, but I don't know that all the blogs in the world could document all the prayers spoken, meals made, and other acts of kindness we have received in the past year.

Lamentations on the decline of community seem to be popular right now, but I no longer believe them to be true. Our family and many ways we have been cared for is a testament to the reality and power of the community that exists in our midst.

We have also changed our focus. We shop less. We watch less television. We spend less time documenting our lives for posterity or the ephemeral thrills of blogs, Facebook, and Twitter. Instead, we take bike rides, we read, we wrestle, we cuddle, we dance, we create art, we cook, we take daylong adventures. We spend time with family, friends, and each other.

"It takes a village to raise a child," the old saying goes. Thank you for joining us in the village.

Reality

Twelve months ago our worst case scenario almost became reality.  We welcomed our baby boy and then I hemorrhaged while in recovery from the c-section.  I woke up in a different hospital with a ventilator tube down my throat and James Brown playing in my ear.  I spent 2 1/2 days in the ICU before I was moved up to the Mother and Babies floor, but without a baby since Graeme stayed in Grinnell.  I first held him when he was five days old.

The week before all of that happened, we had talked about the possibility of a hysterectomy.  We talked about taking care of our kids alone if something awful happened to either of us.  We had acquaintances who didn't survive the birth of their children and wanted to be ready if that happened to me.  We both decided we would stay in Grinnell and not move closer to our parents because we had a good community of support in Grinnell.  We had no idea that community would be tested when Graeme was born.

We've had quite a year, and you (if you are reading this) helped take care of us.  Even if it was only to send positive thoughts and prayers, you helped more than you know.  You also sent flowers, took pictures, held a baby, provided food, mowed our lawn, raked our leaves, washed countless loads of laundry, scrubbed our floors and bathroom, did dishes, brought blood in your trooper car, drove straight through from Ohio to take care of your nephew, took the older kids to basketball games and gymnastics, sent a card, sent cash, sent gift cards, "Sara-sat," spent the night, stopped by the hospital or our house, posted positive messages, asked your friends to pray, spent an extra week taking care of our kids, canned our vegetables, donated blood,  took a collection and brought us the diapers and clothes you bought with the money, painted our bathroom (and donated a light fixture for it), created an amazing diaper tricycle, brought gifts for Slane and Hanna, visited my mom who was in a different ICU at the same time (my poor sister and dad), sat in the waiting room, coordinated all of that care, and loved on all of the McCues.  We can never thank you enough.  Seriously.

We also owe so much thanks to the medical staff who kept me alive:  the anesthesiologist who stayed by my side, the nurse who was handed a clipboard and told to chart, the flight crew on the helicopter (though I learned about that the next day), the surgeons, my amazing OB/GYN (who took the time to talk us through everything that happened), the ICU nurses, the Mothers and Babies nurses,  the nurses back in Grinnell who were feeding and changing a "motherless" baby (and who also took pictures and kept a list of who visited), the doctors at Mercy, the OT and even the PT.
   
My recovery was actually quite rapid, though I don't remember a lot of it.  There are things I know I missed. We don't have a family picture from when Graeme was born.  We didn't get newborn pictures taken, in fact, the only newborn pictures we have are the ones the nurses took.  My milk didn't come in, and I missed nursing Graeme. I was at risk of rejecting the 30 units of blood product that I had been given (thankfully nobody told me that, and I didn't reject it). I did get sick a few days after I got home (C. Diff), but antibiotics helped with that.  I still have dizzy spells, but all in all, I bounced back.  I think we both have had some Post Traumatic Stress these last few weeks leading up to the anniversary, but we're okay.

When Slane was baptized, her Godmother gave me an essay written by Anna Quindlen.  Anna writes about the moments with her children that she doesn't remember because she was so busy trying to get to the next thing.  If anything, everything that has happened in the last year has taught us to slow down and be a part of every moment.  It isn't easy and we aren't always successful.  But we do focus on experiences.  We get out and do stuff.  Initially it was to show the community that we are okay.  But now, it is to spend those moments as a family.

Life with three kids under the age of four, while working full time, is crazy.  But, we're all relatively healthy. We're all here.  This is reality.

                                                                                August 2013