From the Request Line: This One goes Out to A

A friend and I were chatting on FB the other night about our disdain for laundry.  The conversation went something like this:  (ok, not something like…as in copied and pasted exactly like this):

A: Can you do me a favor? Can you write a super-tastic blog entry about doing laundry that will make me feel inspired, make me cry and laugh simultaneously, show me the gospel, and help me in general with that dreaded task? Top of Form

Thanks in advance ;)

Me: A. Clearly, you've missed the whole "I hate laundry" theme on the blog.
B. Have I mentioned how much I hate laundry?
C. I'll see what I can do.
D. By the way, what I hate most about laundry is the doing it.
E. I also hate putting it away. It's like the baskets full of clean, folded laundry just taunt me. Laughing, in their sweaters, saying. "You can't finish anything."

A:  A. I must be behind in my reading.

B. I haven’t heard that recently.

C. Thanks

D. giggle

E. Great big DITTO...this is where I'd like you to focus, the putting it away effort. Thanks again.

Around an hour and a half later, my friend got really sick.  Like “put you in the hospital and life is going to look drastically different for a good long while and possibly forever” sick.  

And because I’m a good friend, I sent her the following text yesterday afternoon, “So, you’re probably not so worried about your laundry now are you, huh?”

She called me back within seconds, laughing.  (Because she’s awesome like that.)  I told her, “So, to tell you how you being in the hospital is really all about me, it inspired me to put away three baskets of laundry.”  I know, you all wish I could be there for you in your darkest moments.

Thankfully, as I’ve mentioned before, my Bible Study group is studying Genesis.  (To give you some context, I've been in A's group since struggling with infertility.  I then co-lead the group with A for 3 years, before stepping down from leadership.  A still leads the group.)  And the morning before dreadful thing happened to A, we were studying the effects of the Fall.  The curse and Adam and Eve’s expulsion from the garden so that they couldn’t eat from the tree of Life in their fallen states.  

And so for you, my darling A who has pointed me to Jesus for so long, here is your Gospel according to my laundry basket moment:  Doing the laundry stinks.  

I could write about how we should all just but on our big girl panties and shut up and do the laundry without complaining.  I could remind you about how there are people who have to take their laundry to a Laundromat somewhere else and that’s gotta be a bigger pain in the butt than just seeing all that clean laundry piled up on your couch waiting to be folded.  And I could tell you that in terms of world problems, our mutual hatred of putting away the clean laundry ranks along par with “I’ve run out of Capri Suns and I’m too lazy to go to the store” and “my toddler only wants to eat cookies”.  And I could remind you of the simple truth that if you have laundry to do that means you have clothes.  And that if your laundry is sitting in baskets at the bottom of your stairs just waiting to be taken up and stared at for three days until you finally get around to putting it away, then that means you have a home and some people don’t.  And all of those kids who keep changing clothes 14 times a day?  Yeah, there are folks who ache to have that problem.  And there are kids who wish they had parents to clean their adorable teeny tiny socks.  And all of those things are true.

But what is also true is this:  sin affects EVERYTHING.  In Genesis 3, when God explains the consequences of the lie Adam and Eve believed, it basically tells us that we will not be in right relationship with our own bodies, with our families, with our work, with our identity, with all of creation.  There is no escaping it.  And we can couch all our attempts to escape the effects of the fall in Spiritual terms, and we should most certainly work towards bringing God’s image to bear in the midst of all the brokenness, but we can’t return to the garden.  We can’t use our faith to bypass the suffering surrounding us.  Our study’s notes say “We do not escape the suffering of the world by living a good life.  To believe this is to live with unbelievable pride and pressure.”  Pride and pressure that sometimes cascade off our couch and onto the family room floor. 

But here is another truth for you, dear laundry hater:  Jesus didn’t try to bypass the suffering.  Instead, he left the throne of heaven to enter into our suffering. And he didn’t just flip death off, he defeated it.

To speak of sin apart from the realities of creation and grace is to forget the resolve of God.  God wants shalom and will pay any price to get it back.  Human sin is stubborn, but not as stubborn as the grace of God and not half so persistent, not half so ready to suffer to win its way.”

-Cornelius Plantinga, Not The Way It’s Supposed to Be

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Boom Boom Pow

I think Henry is clairvoyant. He woke up this morning singing "Boom Boom Pow." For most of the morning, I thought that perhaps we had listened to the Black Eyed Peas too much. I was simply thankful that he is beginning to use his "P" sounds. (Because really, can you have too much of the Black Eyed Peas? No. You can't.)

But upon further reflection, he could've been saying "Boo Boo Ow." Which would DEFINITELY mean that the boy, not unlike Joseph (you know the one with the crazy coat), dreamt about his future. For today, on the first day of my church's Bible Study, no, not even the first day--but on the leader's training day--HENRY BROKE HIS ARM. He fell on the playground.

When they came to get me, I must confess that I thought, "I ain't raising no wienie. The boy will be fine." But he was still crying when I went to get him. He was inconsolable. And this is the kid who doesn't cry at shots or even when a skylight breaks on his head. So it was off to the Pediatric ER for us. We called his doctor on the way who got us in lickety split. He cried the entire way across town and during his admission. And even more when I had to take away his sippy cup of water and his goldfish per the nurse's instructions (it was lunch time, you know).

But thankfully, the ER was equipped with the Disney channel and we got to watch Handy Manny, which calmed him down. However, every 5 minutes or so, he'd clutch his left arm, say "Boo Boo" and then shudder. And when it came time to be Xrayed, he freaked out again. (Because we WERE contorting his arm around.) And yet, he still managed to say "Cheese" when the radiology tech told him he was going to take a picture of his arm and "Tank Ooo" to the nurse who wrapped his arm and gave him his teddy bear sling.

We get his hard cast from the Pediatric Orthopedist tomorrow at 1:30. (Because I still am thinking we'll be going to Henry's Preschool Orientation tomorrow morning at 10. Keep your fingers crossed we sleep tonight. Henry's got liquid Lortab.) And the Dr knows our family, because he's set my nephew's arm three times and even put a steel rod in it. Henry reminds me a lot of his cousin, Jonathan. Perhaps I should just ask for a prophylactic steel rod. And yes, we'll be getting the waterproof Gortex cast.

As it is now, Henry is happily plopped on the couch watching his beloved Lightning McQueen. I'd been trying to have a complete two weeks without watching the movie Cars, but alas, God is teaching me to not be such a legalist. I'd hoped to phase out TV all together because the Pickle gets REALLY sour when a show ends and I haven't wanted to deal with it. Thanks, God, for not letting me not love my son and reminding me that Henry is not a problem to be dealt with but a person to be related to.
It also sort of gives me a parenting bye. I have no guilt in letting my son watch TV all day for the next few days. On tap, some Phillips family faves--Cars, Space Chimps, Bolt, and the Leap Frog Letter Factory Video. It really is the only way he'll sit still. I mean, this is the kid who has been known to scale walls and sit on the top shelf in his closet during nap time. (How we've lasted this long without a broken arm is shocking, really.) He's not crazy about propping up his arm on a pillow, but has been fine with me sticking an ice pack in his sling every hour or so. Apparently, I was right--I'm not raising a wienie.

Broken arms just hurt.

Thankfully, he has lots of people praying for him. And his friend Anna (his BFF's older sister and the reason why Henry calls ALL little girls Anna) is apparently crafting for him. Upon hearing Henry broke his arm, she told her mother, "Oh I know just what to do. I'm going to color him a Curious George picture." What a good friend, and what a good reason for her to be that person to whom all females are compared. I pray he continues to have such dear friends who know and love him.

I don't like new people. Oh well.

With the year anniversary of my going into the hospital, God has really been working in my heart. As I've written before, I've been struggling with the seeming randomness of His blessings and grace and wondering a) how in the heck did I get through it, and b) what about all the other women with similar stories.

Last night I was praying and pondering what I could do. I've been working on a book about all of the blessings God showed us throughout our infertility, misscarriage, and difficult pregnancy, but have been plagued by the remoteness of it coming to fruition and my love for procrastination. I was thinking that I could take baskets to women in the hospital like I did for the woman at my church--full of soft toilet paper, bendy straws and post-it notes--but then I remembered that, as a general rule, I don't like meeting new people. I pretty much assume that if I don't know you, there's probably a good reason for it. After all, I'm like a wet sponge. Saturated.

So today, for Valentine's day, Henry and I went to pay a visit to my nurses on 3 West at Henrico Doctor's hospital. I took them goodies and we laughed about how many things I had up on my walls and how no one was allowed to visit me when Guiding Light was on. How there were pictures from my nieces and nephews everywhere. They said they'd used my making up of a schedule and adhering to it as encouragement for many patients and I confessed that it wasn't the schedule that got me through it, but God and God's good use of them and my doctors.

Then a nurse told me that she had a patient there that had been admitted at 23 weeks (exactly when I went in) a couple of days ago, and that she was pretty down and scared and would I be willing to talk to her. Before I'd even had time to think that I'd be talking to someone I don't know I said yes and I was pushing Henry's stroller into a hospital room.

I met this women who like me, had her feet high up in the air. She was very thankful to see me and asked me tons of questions. We talked about my schedule, how I had billions of pillows, the best way to cut meat with one hand, bed pans, hospital food, greasy hair, the fear of losing your child, the nurses, ultrasounds, meds, basically everything that I went through. We laughed. And then all of the sudden I was talking about how being in the hospital was a blessing. That it was hard--but what the enemy meant for harm has made me a better mom, a better wife, a better listener. I told her how just knowing that it was God's plan for my family didn't make going through it any physically easier, but it gave me peace. And I told her that I thought to have a sense of humor about it all was a gift from God too. That I thought that when the Bible talks about the fruit of the Spirit, the reason peace is listed after joy is because joy is how we get to peace. And then I asked her if I could pray for her and I did!

And I am planning on taking her a basket of goodies next week. And I'm looking forward to it.

I got the contact information for the head nurse at Henrico Dr's Hospital and am going to contact her about getting permission to make and deliver baskets to women waiting on bedrest. I would have my contact information in the basket and also tell the women to let their nurses know if they would be okay with a visit from me. (While I do have a heart for these women, I also don't want to barge in on strangers who are stuck in bed and can't get away from me unless I'm invited in.) And I've contacted the pastors at my church to see if they would partner with me by asking if other women want to joing me and gathering donations of things to put in baskets and the baskets themselves.

My aim in all of this is to glorify God by: a) encouraging pregnant women on bedrest by meeting some of their physical and emotional needs, b) providing hope and humor in a difficult time by sharing my story of God's faithfulness to me, and c) establishing relationships with these women and praying for their babies to be healthy and to come to term. I do not see this as a door to door evangelism project. In fact, the thought of that makes my skin itchy. Rather, I see it as me providing some practical ways to make their hospital stay's easier. I think if this is done, God will do the rest.

Who knew I'd get excited about meeting new people? What is God thinking?!?

Welcome to the World--Part One

OK, so this is going to take awhile to update, so thank you for your patience. Most of my time is spent either at the hospital, pumping, or getting Henry's room ready so the blog has taken a backseat. I started trying to update it last week, but ran out of time, so I'll do this in installments until we are all caught up. As of now, he is doing well.

As most of you now know, Henry Marshall Phillips entered the world on Wednesday, April 25, 2007 at 10:12 am. He weighed 5 lbs, 1.3 oz, and was 18.5 inches long. He has very long fingers and toes and BIG feet--just like Daddy. Henry's feet, in fact, the same size as his shins! He also has his father's ears, but pretty much everything else looks like me. He has a head of dark hair and remains very wiggly.

So I went into labor at about 4:30 am on Tuesday. The day I turned 34 weeks. I woke up with painful contractions and they hooked me up to the monitors, an IV for fluids, and gave me my anti-contraction meds. Unfortunately (for me), my contractions, while intense enough to make me curse and writhing in pain, were not showing up on the monitor, so the doctor did not think I was in labor. It also sucked because it took several attempts to get my IV hooked up and eventually they called a Pediatric nurse to put it in. Around 6am, they gave me Nubain, some pain medication and I passed out.

When I woke up around 9am, it was again to a lot of pain. Because I sensed that this would be the day, I called Sloan and said, "I think today is the day. But the doctor doesn't think so." He showed up an hour later for a brief visit. I also took a shower, blew dry my hair, and put on make-up as I knew birth would be an ugly, sweaty affair and I didn't want to start out in the negative column. I then asked the nurse for some Tylenol to see if this would take care of the pain I was having consistently every 10 minutes that apparently was not contractions as the nurses assured me I was not in labor.

The Tylenol did not work. Eating lunch made me very nauseous and I basically just laid around writhing in pain for much of the afternoon. I was not in a good mood, so my nurse again called Dr. Murray to come check me. This was around 2 pm on Tuesday. Apparently my cervix had opened a bit more, but I was still only between 3-4 cm dilated and she thought these contractions were just Braxton-Hicks contractions and ordered me some Stadol and more IV fluids.

Unfortunately, my IV from the morning had to be redone as it had closed despite the "heplock". So three different Antepartum nurses tried and then they called down to Labor and Delivery. Laurie, my trusty L & D nurse who has been giving me massages twice a week, came up and said she had called the Anesthesiologist to come give me my IV as I'd been stuck enough already. After waiting 45 minutes for the Dr. to come, my nurse gave it one more try and it worked. I hated the Stadol. All it did was make me drunk. It did not make the pain go away, it just made me too tired to complain about it. The Dr. showed up an hour later to give me my IV and I was already in la-la land. Around 5, the pain intensified and I called my nurse to bring me more drugs. I told her that if this wasn't labor, I could not do this for another three weeks to bring Henry to term.

She called my Dr. again, saying, "Poor Mrs. Phillips, she rarely even asks for Tylenol and never complains and now she's cussing, arching her back in pain and banging on the bed rails." They decided to check and see if I had a bladder infection or kidney stones. My nurse gave me more Nubain. But this time it did not have much of an affect. Around 6:30, my nurse called the Doctor and said, "I'm sending Mrs. Phillips down to Labor and Delivery. I don't care what the monitor strips say, she's in labor." I called Sloan to tell him and he arrived shortly.

So downstairs I was still writhing in pain, begging for an epidural. But Dr. Murray said I had to wait until I could get blood drawn to check to make sure all of my blood thinner I was taking to ward off clots was out of my system from this morning. I could not have an epidural if it had not left my system. I began cussing again. Sloan laughed at this as often times I would try to whisper the cuss words or part of them, but say the wrong part silently. He reminded me that it was not the "mother" part of my apparent favorite word that was problematic.

And people kept calling him on his cell phone and my cell phone to check on me. Each ring was met with disdain. "I don't care if it is Jesus on the phone. Tell him I'm in $%#@ labor and not in the mood to talk." He turned off both our cell phones.

Finally, my favorite phlebotomist, Ernie showed up and took my blood. He said he'd put a rush on the order and was gentle enough to find the only vein that hadn't been punctured that day. God bless Ernie!

About thirty minutes later, the anesthesiologist showed up with my epidural and in ten minutes, I was out of pain. I highly recommend epidurals. Over the course of the night, I kept calling the nurse in the ask if she saw contractions on the monitor as I sensed them. She said, "Barely." Hmm. But they kept me on the epidural and flipped me from side to side every hour (so that the epidural worked evenly.) I also had ice packs all over me as I was burning up.

Around 1 am, I sent Sloan home. He had been sleeping on the floor and was coughing up a storm. I figured at least one of us should get some sleep before our son was born and knew it wouldn't be me. He had been coughing for awhile thinking he had a cold, refusing to believe that he has allergies. I kept asking my doctor to explain to him that you could develop new allergies as you aged, and she said, "I'm staying out of this, but she's right." So Sloan went home.

More to come later...

My Son Has Given Me Wings

My days are pretty boring these days. This is a good thing. My doctor says that you want to be interesting at a cocktail party but boring at the hospital. So I thought I'd give you a look at what is roughly my daily schedule.

6am--The nurses come in for my first dose of Nephedipene of the day and to test my blood sugar. (This keeps me from having contractions.) In order to get this med, they take my vitals as my blood pressure has to be 90 over 60. Lots of times my pressure is too low, but I've found that laying on my back usually raises it just enough. My low blood pressure is also one of the reasons the Dr's are hesitant for me to move around a lot. The low blood pressure is a side effect of the Nephedipene. We also listen to Henry at this time. I fall back asleep after this.
7-7:30--Dr. Murray makes her rounds. (She usually arrives around 10 minutes after I fall back asleep.)
8am--Usually by the time I fall back asleep, the nurse comes back in with my Heparin shot (to prevent blood clots). I get the shot in my belly and it is a good day when Henry doesn't kick me while I get my shot. I also get my breakfast at this time and tune into the Today Show for my daily dose of Al Roker.
9:15-9:45ish--I get my blood sugar tested again an hour after I finish eating. I also usually get put on the monitor for my hour long Non-Stress Test where they check for contractions and fetal heartrate. When the sound of Henry's heart beating doesn't lull me to sleep, I press a button every time I feel him move. The nurses always comment in hoe beautiful Henry's strip is.
10-11--Live with Regis and Kelly. Finish my NST. Bathe and get dressed for the day.
12--Lunch and then an hour later, my blood sugar gets tested. I usually get online at this time or sleep.
2--Time again for my vitals and Nephedipine.
3--Guiding Light and playing on the computer.
4--Ellen.
5--Dinner and then an hour later--blood sugar tested and MASH on the Hallmark Channel.
8--Another Heparine shot in the belly and either NBC or HGTV. Play with my Webkinz online.
10--Vitals, Nephedipene, listen to Henry and pray that I only get up to pee a couple of times in the night.

Occasionally I pull out my little hand mirror and check out my ever growing belly. In the past few days, I can see that Henry has both grown and found himself an odd position. I look like I have wings underneath my ribs. Dr. Murray tells me it is his butt on my right and his feet (which she guesses must be big like his Daddy's) on my left. It is really quite one of the oddest things I've ever seen.

Happy 12th Birthday Caleb!

First, I want to send a big birthday shout out to my nephew, Caleb. Happy Birthday!

I am in much better spirits today. I spoke with Dr. Murray and she had thought I had been only having 2 showers a week thus far and wanted me to go back to that. When I told her, no, I'd been having three a week since week 27, she gave me back my third shower. So today, I have smooth legs and clean curly hair. She also has given me strict orders to eat cake at my baby shower in two weeks.

Dietary has also been getting my meals correct today. Usually about three times a week my meal gets messed up and they send me something carborific and slathered in sugar that I can't eat. Well, adding fuel to the fire yesterday was that every meal was messed up. And when they send the wrong thing it usually takes about 45 minutes for my nurse to remind the cafeteria of my order and then receive. And I've always been snippy when hungry and pregnancy doesn't help. So at 6:45 last night, when she brought my correct dinner, the cafeteria worker tried to explain to me how it was my fault my meals were messed up.

"Maybe you don't understand how to fill out the menu or how it works. Are you new?"
"Umm, no. I've been here 2 months."
"Wow. That's a long time."
"Yeah. And I figure it's about time for y'all to get my meals right."
"You are filling them out wrong. Even though the first day is Sunday, we don't look at it until Monday so the Sunday is actually next Sunday."
I paused. "Hmm. First of all, that is asinine--which means it's stupid. In the Western Hemisphere, we read from top to bottom and left to right. You have Sunday at the beginning of this menu. If you mean for Monday to be the beginning of the week, Monday should be at the top. Secondly, by your backwards logic, I should be receiving today last week's menu's Sunday's meals." I pull out that menu. "This is not what you sent. I'm diabetic. I'd never order French Toast with maple syrup. Or macaroni and cheese."
"Oh. Well. You need to learn to write the menu."
Now, in my mind, I want to say to her Listen you greasy haired tongue ringed cafeteria worker, I've been stuck here in bed for 2 months. You work in the cafeteria. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who is at fault here. Instead I said, "Um, no. I don't think it's that."

Yeah, I know. It wasn't very Christian of me. But it felt great to be a bit snippy. I also finally cracked open my bar of Sugar Free Dark Chocolate. It rocked! So if you happen to be at Westbury Pharmacy and see the GuyLian fine Belgian dark chocolate No Sugar Added--feel free to bring me some chocolate. Studies show that dark chocolate reduces your risk for heart attacks, strokes, and in my case, mental breakdowns.

Hitting the Wall

It finally happened. This past weekend I decided that it sort of sucks to be in the hospital. Mainly I just miss Sloan. I balled my eyes out last night when he left to go home, clutching at him begging him to stay. My parents were also in town over the weekend which seemed to stress me out from disrupting my routine.

I have also decided to become crotchety. Not mean, per se, but I've come to the conclusion that I don't have the energy to lay on my head while trying to not go into labor and try to please everybody. I have begun to play the "because I'm in the hospital trying to keep my son alive card" without guilt. Basically this means I no longer feel compelled to entertain my guests other than offering them a chair and a Twizzler. I'm pretty sure that this is healthy.
I also think that my breakdown could have been from Al Roker withdrawal. This morning he was on Paradise Island tubing and swimming with dolphins. Bonus points for Al for giving me the weather whilst wearing a wet suit!

Sloan and I are also proud to announce the adoption of our Webkinz Elephant, Elliot Reid. My brother's children sent the adorable stuffed Internet pet to me and came up with the name Elliot. We added the Reid in honor of Dr. Elliot Reid on the TV show Scrubs, except our Elliot Reid is a boy. I went to the website to register him today and played some games with him, all of which were too difficult for me. (I am choosing to blame this on my lack on mouse and having to use my laptop's touch pad.)
Today I also tackled shaving my legs for the first time since being admitted. As I did it while laying in bed, it was quite a challenge.
Today I laughed because scientists are stupid. Apparently some Spanish scientists just learned that exercising is good for your lungs and last week, some other scientists came to the conclusion that American teens are self-centered. Next week I am expecting a study out of Canada to tell us that eating Asparagus makes your pee stink.

Sloan is wonderful

A few of you have commented that I titled this the EJ and Henry blog, leaving my sweet Sloan out. So here is a brief update on the world's best husband.

Sloan visits me every day--usually at night. He sleeps here on the weekends and loves the fact that the Subway at the hospital is open until midnight. He also does all of my laundry, rubs my feet, and fetches me things from home. He has become quite the homemaker.

I would have to say that being away from him is the hardest part about hospitalized bed rest. Yes, I'm uncomfortable, my hair is greasy, and I'm not allowed to get out of bed. Mainly, I'm just Sloansick. I miss taking care of him and just lolling about with him.

Today is week 26 and so we will celebrate by him bringing in takeout for dinner. Tonight I'm craving pizza.

First Blog Post

I am going to try and update this as often as possible, however, it is a tedious task while I'm not allowed to sit up or even lay flat in the bed. As for now, Henry is doing great and I am holding steady dialated at 2cm with less funneling than I had when I was admitted 10 days ago. I haven't had any contractions either since last Friday. The doctors are hopeful that I'll make it to 28 weeks (March 13th).
Tomorrow is 26 weeks.

Thanks to everyone who has called, emailed, and visited. I'm putting a moratorium on people bringing me books b/c I've now got about 10 to read. (Which is a great problem to have.) If you really want to bring something with you, snag a roll of soft toilet tissue from your house before you visit.

I have another ultrasound with Dr. Troyer tomorrow so I'll let you know more then.

As for now, if you want to "share" in this experience with me--I'm going to try to give you a daily challenge of tasks I've mastered. So today, see if you can shave your armpits while laying down with your feet above your head.

Also, for more on the rationale on my lowered head position, Google "Trendelenburg Position."