One Year Later

It's amazing how I can remember almost every single detail, in vivid color, exactly what happened on this very night one year ago. I'm aware that probably nobody but me (and maybe my mom) has any bit of interest in some of these details. But I write this for my own memory's sake. Because in five or ten years, it won't be so vivid anymore and I'll weep because it was so long ago and so hard to recall. And then I'll read this. And I'll remember. And I'll probably still weep because it'll seem like just yesterday.

So please feel free to click away and not read. Or please feel free to stay and live the experience with me. Yes, it'll be long.

So the story goes that after eating an evening meal of grilled chicken salads and packing up the last of the essentials, Matt and I took a few pictures together and climbed into the car. We pulled out of the driveway as a couple. Just the two of us. We were as nervous as a Kindergartner on a first day of school, not knowing what was next or how it was all gonna happen. Of course, we had a general knowledge and some small idea, but truly, we were clueless. And ecstatic. And scared. And anxious.

We found parking in the the parking garage across the street from the hospital and got lost in the halls. I was pretty sure (and VERY hopeful) that I'd go into labor right then and there. You see, I was already 9 days overdue with our little boy. My "due date" (whatever that means) was April 26th. It was May 4th. And just the day before at yet another ob appointment, my doctor confirmed that we just couldn't keep him in there any longer. So, he instructed us to check into the hospital at 7:30 on Wednesday evening so that I could be induced early the next morning.

We were so bummed. Nothing was going according to plan (ha! it still never goes according to plan!) and we were just so ready to meet this babe, but we wanted it to be in his timing. But as we learned, sometimes you just have to help them along and trust who knows best.

So, we checked into the hospital and got settled into the room. Before I even had a chance to use the restroom or get comfortable, I was all hooked up to a number of annoying machines. And the sounds of our little boy's tiny, strong heartbeat filled the room. I wish we had thought to capture more (or any at all) pictures of this waiting time. This is the part that's the most of a blur to me.

I remember the sweet nurse who was with us that night. She was so patient and persistent as she tried so hard to get a steady and constant pick-up of Josiah's heartbeat. He was (and still is) very, shall we say, independent and didn't like "being pinned down." So any time she had the monitor in the right place to get his heart beat, he would move and it would be gone. And she would have to come back in the room and try to find it again. After about the 13th time (no exaggeration!) I wanted to tell her to go find somebody else's heartbeat.

It wasn't just her. (And she really was so super sweet.) It was the constant flow of random people coming and going from the room ALL NIGHT LONG. Did they forget that we were there to have a baby and this was most definitely the last possible chance for a full, decent night's sleep? Apparently.

The next morning, Cinco de Mayo, even before the sun came up, they were in my room again giving me some kind of pills that were supposed to induce labor. They worked. My doctor also came in and broke my water. For the next 9 or so hours I labored. I experienced the agony joy of contractions. But they weren't normal, how-it's-supposed-to-be contractions. No, they were medicinally-induced contractions. They came fast and furious. I did okay for awhile. I breathed and closed my eyes and would just listen to the soft worship music playing in the room. But after awhile, one off-the-charts contractions would start before the last one was even over. Whoa. Intense. My body had no time to relax. I was really starting to have a tough time. The nurses (who had switched at this point) and my doctor came in to check to see how far I was dilated/effaced. He said I was about 4cm dilated, 50% effaced. Not bad, but definitely not sufficient progress. With this gloomy news, I decided there was no way I would have enough energy to push a human being out of me after another couple hours of this. Just before noon, much to my (then) disappointment, I opted for an epidural.

That was an experience worth a post by itself. If you've had one, you know. If you haven't had an epidural, let's just say...it's complicated. And add to the fact that right as the fat needle was going in my spine, I had another fairly intense contraction. Also, they normally don't allow the dads to stay in the room, but Matt stayed for some reason. And I was grateful. Except for the part when he and the anesthesiologist were chatting away about The Netherlands and the old country and Dutch last names and blah, blah, blah. Umm...hello. You are sticking fat needles in my spine. Let's stay focused here. Thank you.

The disappointment in myself did not last very long. Before too long, I was feeling good. My legs felt crazy strange and really, really itchy. But man, I was feeling good. Good.
*It was weird. I could tell I was having a contraction because everything got tight, but I felt no pain.

My mom showed up about 5 minutes after I got the epidural. I now know that she had rushed to get across town to come to my rescue and help me through the agony of labor just to arrive to find out that her wuss of a daughter got the drugs. Thanks anyway, Mom.
*My Dad was sadly out of town and couldn't be there that day. He got to meet Josiah the day after we brought him home from the hospital. 

Not long after my mom arrived, Matt's parents both showed up. We sat around and chatted for a bit and they laughed at me for being so certain of my plan for how this birth was gonna happen and how vastly opposite it was turning out.

They all (Matt, my mom, Matt's parents) decided they would go down to the cafeteria and get some lunch to give me a chance to take a nap. That's right. I took a nap. While in the throes of labor. Welcome to Epidural World! Of course, it wasn't completely satisfying, seeing as how nurses and other random people (really, no clue who some of these people were or why they were in there...kinda disturbing thinking back on it all) kept waltzing in and out every 5 minutes. But still, it was a little bit of rest.

After about an hour and half of nap time, around 2:30ish, my doctor walked in the room. Mind you, everybody was still gone, eating lunch and giving me time and space to rest. He woke me up, asked how I was feeling. And then the man proceeded to tell me that he was sending me to be prepped for surgery. (!!!!!!) He said he had been watching Josiah's heart beat and my labor activity on his computer back in his office (across the street) and it looked like Josiah was getting tired. He said he could tell because normally, the baby's heart beat will fluctuate with the ups and downs of contractions but that his had been pretty steady and he was concerned that he was exhausted and just needed to be taken out. I wasn't as shocked as I should've been, I guess. I had a feeling this would happen, but I was still very freaked out that no body was in there with me. I asked if I could talk to my husband first, but when I called, he didn't answer his phone. Officially freaking out. How do not answer your phone when your wife is upstairs in a hospital room alone about to have your child at any moment!?!?

That's when our moms both walked in the room. I asked them where Matt was and they said he was talking to the guy at the financial aid department to see if we could get a little help paying for this baby. I remember saying that that was important because it looked like it was gonna be more expensive than we thought.

Everything at this point is fairly blurry to me. Somehow or another I must've communicated to Matt to get his rear to the room because they were threatening to cut his darling wife open. We all sat in the room and prayed and asked the Lord if this cup could be passed from me, but nevertheless, not my will but Thine, O Lord. And we asked the nurse if she thought my doctor would be willing to hold off on the cesarean if they did another check and I was more dilated. So, they did a quick check before wheeling me into surgery...no progress.

So, off I went. Down the hallway, on a bed. With wheels. And railing. In a hospital gown. Visions of scenes from shows like ER from my childhood flashed through my mind. You know, the ones where they're being rushed off to surgery and they have a terrified look on their face like they know they'll probably never make it out? I knew that wasn't me. No, I knew that I had to come out, because there was gonna be a baby on the other end of this surgery. And he needed a mommy.
*Another funny note about this scenario: I also distinctly remember thinking that I should've paid more attention to this part in the hospital tour, but I had been so certain that I would not be needing this information. Call me stubborn.

Matt wasn't allowed in at first. So, I went in with the nurses. I couldn't tell if it was really that freezing cold in there or if it was just the effects of the drugs mixing with my nervousness. But I remember shaking so bad. So bad that I asked the anesthesiologist if it was normal for me to be shaking this bad. He looked kinda concerned which made me even more concerned. Which probably just made me shake even more. Looking back, I wasn't so nervous about the surgery, but more so about that fact that I was about to meet my son. Well, that was until I looked up and noticed a big, bright, metal lamp that was a little too much on the reflective side, hanging directly over me. Then I got nervous about the surgery. And I got even more nervous when they tied my arms downs and put a huge, heavy blanket over them. I shouldn't have asked why they did that...but I did. That's when I started singing "The House of God Forever" (Jon Foreman's song version of the 23rd Psalm...beautiful) over and over in my head.

Matt came in the room and sat up by my head. I can't remember if I asked him to start singing it out loud, but I remember wanting him to.

As they were cutting me open, Matt and the doctors operating on me had another nice, little conversation about how everybody in the room had last names that were foreign of some sort. I was super thrilled about this conversation taking place while I was being operated on and while I was anticipating the birth of my son.

And then they said it. They said they saw him. That they were about to pull him out. I started crying. It was 3:49pm. And he screamed. So loud. And I cried more. It was the best sound I had heard in my life. Then they showed him to me. And I had already prepared myself, that no matter what method of birth, he was not gonna look cute...not yet. And I was right.

But then they cleaned him up and bundled him and came and put him on my chest. He was still crying, but it only took a few moments of me talking to him until he got silent. And he was looking at me like he knew me somehow. And my heart immediately understood what it was like to unconditionally love another human being. I unconditionally love my husband now, but he had to earn that love for a time at first. Josiah, my son, my impossibly tiny baby boy, couldn't have done anything to earn my unconditional love. But he had it. And I understood, in a very small way, what the heart of the Father feels for us. We've never done anything to earn his love, but what His heart holds for us is unfathomable.

And what my heart held for that tiny bit of a human being in that moment was unfathomable. But what's even harder to comprehend is how much that love has grown over this last year. I loved that fresh, newborn baby boy, but he didn't have much of a personality yet.

This little boy can melt the hardest part of my heart in an instant with his crazy-tooth smile or his goofy, little laugh. And even when he laughs after I get on to him for something, or has an absolute meltdown because I put him down for 10 seconds, I can't help but love him even more. Even as I type this, I've told him "No!" several times. He LOVES trying to touch the computer and just can't resist banging on it. He knows he's not supposed to, but does it anyway. And I love him more for his persistence.

It's only been a year since I met him. My heart can't handle the thought of how much I might love him or how much richer my life will be in another 5 or 10 years.

Josiah Schaeffer Hoogendoorn, you have brought so much light and life to our days. This has been one of the best years of mine and Daddy's lives together. And we're so, so, so excited to celebrate your precious, little life tomorrow. And even more excited to watch you grow and learn. And our greatest joy will be when your little heart someday experiences the same love and joy you bring to us.

We love you! Happy Birthday, Little Buddy!