The News
I now fully understand what the lyrics mean, the ones that say “She got the call today, one out of the grey, and when the smoke cleared, it took her breath away. She said she didn’t believe ‘it could happen to me’ I guess we’re all one phone call from our knees.” We really are one phone call from news that will forever change our lives.
I got that phone call last November. I was in my driveway. It was Friday-my day off. I had just loaded my dogs in the car to take them to run around the trails at Sutton Wilderness in Norman. We used to live a couple of blocks from the trails and I would take them out there almost every day-let them off their leashes and walked the trails as they ran and explored…they were free for about an hour. Now that they are city dogs, they never get to roam free. I know, I’m crazy to drive 30 minutes each way on my day off so my dogs can run and swim without a leash!
The phone call was from my doctor; I recognized the number and said “Hello” in a chipper voice. Had I known what he was going to say, I never would have answered the phone. He gave me news that I never expected to hear. He said Jake and I wouldn’t have children. Just like that. He was so matter of fact, so calm like this news he delivered that shattered my world was just a diagnosis. It didn’t affect his life- I bet he met his wife for lunch after our conversation and never gave me a second thought. Why does he get to decide my fate? He doesn’t even know me. He doesn’t know my heart. He doesn’t know that I had dreamed of being a mom since I was three years old when I took care of my baby dolls- I made sure they were all wearing socks so they wouldn’t “catch a cold”- practicing for the real thing. He doesn’t even care. I’m nothing more than a statistic now.
I hung up the phone; the news hadn’t sunk in yet. I called Jake to tell him what the doctor discovered- he was clearly panicked and confused; I was numb.
I am high-strung, a control freak, and I worry about everything. Jake on the other hand is reserved, calm, and logical. But in times of emergency, our roles flip; I become calm, numb, and emotionally distant and Jake is the worrier. Maybe I slip into survival mode to calm Jake down because that was my role growing up- when my parents would fight, or when my mom forgot our birthdays, I was the one who didn’t show emotion in order to keep my siblings calm. I had to convince them that having a mom who constantly threatened to leave or commit suicide was normal. I guess I’m a good actress when I need to be. I convinced Jake that “Every little thing was going to be alright,” just like the Bob Marley song says. I drove to Norman without a thought in my head, when I put the car in park, I didn’t even remember driving there. I got the dogs out of the car and began walking on the trail like I had hundreds of times before, like nothing was different.
About 30 minutes into the walk we came to the pond where I threw sticks to Lola and Jude and watched them swim and retrieve the sticks- praising them for a job well done; I was still in my care-taker mode. As we walked deeper into the woods, I finally let myself think. As I went deeper into my thoughts, I let my heart break. I had been way too strong for all of my life and my heart couldn’t hold anymore. I fell to my knees and cried right there in the middle of trees and nothingness. Not just cried, but I sobbed so loudly and shook so violently like someone I loved dearly had died, and they had. My dream of having a little boy who looked like Jake was dead. My dream of holding mine and Jake’s baby in my arms had died, and with it, a huge piece of my soul died as well.
I cried out to God to get me through this nightmare, but didn’t believe he could. I wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and walked back to my car. On the way home I started planning how I would fix this problem, because after all, God hadn’t helped me yet, so now it was up to me. For the next couple of days Jake and I didn’t talk much. Every time I looked at him, or replayed the phone call from my doctor, my eyes filled up with tears-it was more than I could bear. I felt like a walking zombie. I was one of those people you see who have no light in their eyes; my light had burned out and I didn’t care if it ever came back on. I wanted to go to bed, pull the blankets over my head, and stay there forever. Going to work and trying to be a normal person was torture. Every conversation I had-fake. I didn’t know this new person; but I knew I didn’t like her. I was only a shell of who I had been before.
Thanksgiving
Jake and I went in to have our consultation with my doctor on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Our Doctor presented our options like he was reading out of a textbook he got while in med school. I’m sure the title was “how to deliver devastating news to heartbroken people”. It probably was the same format that was used by doctors of every field, they probably carry a copy of it on their clipboards with blanks that say, “announce prognosis here,” “pause for patient to digest information,” “add a sympathetic face or head nod here.” The format would have been the same no matter what the prognosis… “I’m sorry but_________” fill in the blank: “you have cancer” or “your heart is failing” or “you can’t get pregnant”.
We arrived at the consultation brokenhearted but hopeful that the doctor might say, “I’m sorry, I was looking at the wrong chart when I called you, this has just been a huge misunderstanding.” But that didn’t happen and we left feeling hopeless.
We were given one option that might help us conceive…it was a long shot and $35,000 with only a 25% success rate, and as he told us about it, Jake and I both became visibly uncomfortable-there were so many steps, it was too invasive, and it seemed too much like playing God. We walked out of the doors of the Doctor’s office, got in our separate cars and pulled out of the parking lot in opposite directions. It was symbolic of our relationship at the time. It really felt like we were heading down a road that might divide rather than unite us.
Later that night we had Jake’s dad and stepmom over for dinner. It was the first dinner of many we could expect over the holiday season that I wanted to avoid. The holidays marked yet another reminder that I still wasn’t pregnant. I wasn’t looking forward to answering questions or knowing that family wanted to ask for the “update on our situation” but were too afraid to, which is even more awkward than answering questions about why your reproductive organs don’t seem to be working. This was especially odd for someone in my family since I come from a big family with kids everywhere- most conceived without “trying”.
I also called my dad’s wife and filled her in, then asked her to pass along the news to my dad. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. My whole life has been about trying to please my dad and make him proud of me. How do you tell your father, “I know you would be the best grandpa in the world, but I can’t give you a grandchild.” In my opinion, giving him a grandchild was the ultimate “thank you” gift for all of the laborious years he spent raising me- sort of like a fruit of his labor I guess. The thought of disappointing my dad killed me. He had sacrificed so much for me and my siblings. Logically I knew that it was not my fault. But I couldn’t convince my heart of that. Trying to get pregnant was the first difficult situation in my life that I couldn’t just “work harder” and get what I wanted or make it happen. It’s not like getting a 4.0 or running a race. Well, at first it’s kind of like running a race…the starting gun fired and I began running-neck and neck with all of my married friends, but after a while, all of my friends began to lap me with pregnancy announcement after pregnancy announcement. I was so confused; I thought I was still running at the same pace as my friends. I looked down to see my legs still moving, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I was still at the starting line. Running in place. Getting left behind. No matter how fast I tried to run, I couldn’t move. I have never been a quitter, but that night after we told our parents that we wouldn’t be having a baby, I officially gave up.
Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, Jake woke up early to go to the YMCA. We were both off work for Thanksgiving break, which equaled more time for us to spend just looking at each other with no words to say. I think we both actually wanted to be at work so we wouldn’t have to think about our broken hearts. I was lying in bed counting days in my head…was it possible that I was late? This NEVER happens. I counted over and over, trying to remain calm but each time coming up with the same conclusion-I was 5 days late! I stopped taking pregnancy tests over a year ago…there was no reason to torture myself. At one time I became obsessed with taking them. Why pay money to have a piece of plastic tell me that I was a failure every month? Every time I took a test I saw only one line, although occasionally if I looked at it long enough, I could convince myself that I saw a faint trace of a second line. You can pretty much make yourself believe any illusion if you try hard enough, but one day you will have to face reality. My reality was always the one line. Except that morning I got out of bed and with a pit in my stomach went straight to the single pregnancy test hidden under the sink in my bathroom. I hid it because I wanted it out of sight, but couldn’t bear to throw it away just in case I needed it someday. I took a deep breath and followed the proper procedures of the test-I was a pro at peeing on a stick. It was okay that Jake wasn’t there; we never took the test together like the cute couples you see in the movies. Most of the time I never told him if I took a test; it was really private for me. If I was going to fail, I wanted to fail alone. My biggest fear in life is failure. My second biggest fear is someone watching me fail. Never mind that Jake and I were supposed to be partners in this journey. I will forever regret that I didn’t let him help me during this time.
Almost immediately I saw two lines! How was that possible? I was sure I was seeing things. Jake came up the stairs about that time and I blurted out “I think I might be pregnant!” With a frown on his face and a compassionate voice he said, “Honey, I don’t think that is possible.” He had spent too many days entertaining my illusions of pregnancy. For some reason every month I just knew I was pregnant. It was sad really. I was like those people who by a lottery ticket every month sure they are going to win big and then they are actually disappointed when they don’t win. You feel sorry for those people because of their unrealistic view of reality. But I believed that someday I would have a baby, and no matter how many pregnancy tests told me “NO” I kept believing it would happen. Wait, isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result.
I said, “No, I’m serious this time!” He looked at me with a loss of how to react especially given the news we received from the doctor the day before. I think he thought I had really lost it, that I had finally crossed over to crazy town. I said, “Then you look at this test and tell me how many lines you see.” He said, “I see two, what does that mean?” “That means I’M PREGNANT,” I screamed. We just stared at each other, and then broke out in hysterical laughter. We kept saying, “How can this be?”
I called my doctor’s office and explained everything to the nurse. She said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Dearmon!” “What does this mean?” I asked. She said, “It means you are pregnant!” “No, you don’t understand, did you look at my chart? Yesterday you told us we couldn’t have babies, so what does this mean?” She sweetly said, “It means sometimes science can’t explain everything, it means you should be very thankful because you are having a miracle baby.”
I hung up the phone, relayed the information to Jake and we praised God for our Thanksgiving Miracle.
Baby Bump
At six weeks we went back to my doctor and were given an early ultrasound since my pregnancy was considered “special”. Not quite normal, but not really high-risk either. As soon as I saw the little black spot on the screen, I was in love! It was just a little bean, but it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen!! My doctor stood there scratching his head and confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. He pointed to the bean to where it was flickering and said, “See that movement right there? That’s your baby’s heartbeat!” As we were leaving he shook our hands and said, “I’m happy to be wrong in cases like these.” He suggested that I take it easy, not exercise, avoid caffeine and get plenty of sleep. I took his instructions very seriously. I became like a hen who sits on her eggs not moving from the nest for fear that her little ones might not hatch. I didn’t move unless it was absolutely necessary! I had waited so long for this baby that I didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize the pregnancy or make it go away.
At ten weeks we went to see my new doctor that would care for me for the remainder of my pregnancy since my original doctor was a specialist and not an OBGYN. After the standard exam, Dr. Ryan asked if I would like to hear my baby’s heartbeat. He said not to panic if we couldn’t find it because it was still a little soon to hear it with the monitor. He put the microphone shaped object on my belly and turned the button on the radio-like machine that was attached to the microphone. He began moving it around on my stomach to find the heartbeat but there was no recognizable sound, only static. I was watching his eyes they became worried looking which caused me to panic. I don’t think I was breathing but I could feel MY heartbeat get stronger and faster. He continued to offer words of encouragement reminding me that it “was just so early” and he is sure “everything is fine!” I requested an ultrasound, I just wanted to see the bean and make sure the flutter was still there, but he said that wasn’t necessary. He continued to search for the heartbeat, for at least another 5 minutes, moving the object back and forth on my stomach, while his eyes squinted, brow furrowed, and face frowned. I looked at Jake with a look of terror when-finally-I heard something more than static-it was music to my ears! The most beautiful sound I have ever heard! A very healthy, fast thumping noise! The sound of life! Jake grabbed my hand, kissed my forehead, my whole body relaxed, I finally let myself breathe, and then I cried. Dr. Ryan smiled and said, “Congratulations! I think you are going to have your hands full with this one, he didn’t want to hold still!”
At my 17th week appointment, we were going in for an ultrasound to determine the gender of our little bean. I always wanted a boy first, Jake did too, but we were sure the doctor was going to tell us it was a girl. At one point before we went in for the ultrasound, while I was standing over the toilet throwing up for the 4th time that day, I said to Jake, “I just know we are having a girl!!” He asked, “What makes you so sure?” I said, “Because she hates me! She is not even a teenager yet and she already hates me!” I was kidding, sort of. Either way, we knew that we were naming our baby Rowan. And we really didn’t care about the gender, just as long as he or she is healthy! Isn’t that what mature, responsible parents are supposed to say? That’s exactly what Jake kept saying right up until we saw the pear sized baby on the screen and the ultrasound tech said, “See that line right there?” I said, “Is that what I think it is?” She said, “YES! You are having a boy!” Jake blurted out, “Oh thank God!!” It turns out he was terrified of having a girl! “Especially,” he joked, “if she’s anything like you!” I agreed.
I cried again. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the screen where I watched my baby boy move and move and turn and flip. He really never stopped moving-tiny arms and legs moving a hundred times a minute. Jake and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes and laughed. Laughed because we were so happy that no words could adequately express how we felt. Laughed because we were both secretly relieved that we were having a boy. Laughed because we knew that we had no idea what we were in for, we would have our hands full with this active little guy, but were sure that we would love every moment!
Pregnancy
I have a confession to make… I had spent so many years anticipating getting pregnant, that I just knew I would love it! I actually couldn’t wait to wear maternity clothes; I would always walk by “Pea in the Pod” at the mall with longing. Whenever I saw a pregnant woman, I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes off of her; I loved the glow, the swollen lips, and the way each woman held her stomach lovingly as she talked. However, I did not love being pregnant! At first I was so sick! I had morning sickness all day. I was so tired too, which I know is common, but I would sleep until the last possible moment, roll out of bed, throw on some clothes, mascara and lip gloss and barely make it to work. At work, I was practically asleep with my eyes open. I got home at 4:30 and went straight on the couch, barely moving until it was time to go to bed. Eating was a chore because nothing sounded good. Too many times to count, my poor husband had to drive me around town, stopping at different places to satisfy my hunger, only to get the food in the car and immediately throw it away before I got sick. I had a lot of food aversions, but the biggest one was meat. Ordinarily I could eat a steak or burger every night of the week, but from week 6 to 26 of my pregnancy, I could not eat meat. I couldn’t even look at it or smell it! At about week 26 I started to feel better, but despite my minimal eating, I continued to get bigger and bigger. I dreaded my appointments because my doctor was a weight Nazi! The first thing he did was look to see how much weight I had gained since last appointment, and then proceeded to lecture me about keeping my weight in check! I left crying almost every time. After I started to feel human again, I began going to the Y and doing the elliptical, yoga, and squats. I felt like I was finally getting some muscle tone back that I had lost. I was actually excited to go to my next appointment hoping the doctor would comment that I had not gained too much since last visit-we don’t have a scale at our house, so I had no idea how much I weighed, but I was sure I had only gained about a pound. Instead, Dr. Ryan said, “You gained 10 pounds in 4 weeks, that’s a little too much at this point.” How was that possible? I said, “Well maybe it’s because I’ve been working out and I gained some muscle tone?” Both he and Jake started laughing, which infuriated me…I was not trying to be funny!
At the end of the pregnancy, I felt better but I was still getting bigger by the day! It was apparent that I would be having a big baby! I got to stop working at the end of May, so I had a couple of months off to finish preparing for the arrival. Nesting is hard work after all!
Special Delivery
When I started going in for the end of pregnancy check-ups I became increasingly discouraged because I was not progressing. But at the same time, I was so nervous about having him. I just wanted him to be perfect and healthy. Also, I knew that in utero I could protect him forever and therefore he would never catch a cold, get a scraped knee, or a broken heart. AND I really didn’t want to share him. He had been MY baby for 9 months and honestly, I wasn’t ready to let other people hold him. As much as I didn’t love being pregnant, I knew I was going to miss feeling him move inside of me.
Because I wasn’t progressing, and I was past my due date, we scheduled an induction for August 1st. I was excited for him to be born on that day because it is my half birthday and it would ensure that Jake and I would make it to Ashlie and Bryan’s wedding on August 7th. At the last minute though, Jake and I felt like inducing was not the right decision for us. We felt like God had chosen when to bless us with this baby and he should decide when Rowan should be born.
Since we decided not to induce, I put myself on a bed rest of sorts to try to keep him in until after the wedding. I laugh now when I think I had any control over the situation. At 3:30 am on Thursday my water broke while I was sleeping. Well, kind of. I wasn’t sure if it had really broken because it wasn’t like it is in the movies. So I was in the living room in the dark googling “Did my water just break?” When Jake woke up, noticed I wasn’t in bed and came to check on me. He said, “It’s 3:30 in the morning, why are you on the computer?” I said, “I think my water broke but I’m not sure, so I’m just googling it.” “What?” He screamed! “Call the hospital!” I didn’t want to because I felt stupid. What was I supposed to say? “Umm excuse me but could you tell me if my water just broke?” Shouldn’t I know the answer to that? I did call the hospital and they told me to come in. So I got our stuff together and we set out on our 5 minute commute to the hospital. While we were driving I called my dad singing, “It looks like you are going to be a grandpa today!”
I called Ashlie about 7:30 and said, “Well my bed rest didn’t work, it looks like this baby is coming today. But don’t worry, we will be released from the hospital on Saturday morning! We won’t be in the wedding, but we will be there!” Little did I know how wrong I was.
Labor did not progress quickly at all. The nurses had to up the Pitocin to speed along labor, which made my contractions stronger and more painful. I wasn’t ready for an epidural, so they gave me another drug to take the edge off, “it’s kind of like Ibuprofen,” the nurse said. My body doesn’t react well to medication, so I was hesitant, and had I known she was giving me the “crazy drug” I would have refused. The pain was much better than having my brain go numb. It was horrible. I couldn’t stay awake. I felt like I had no control over my body. For a control freak like me, that is pure Hell. I made Jake hold my hand because I was afraid I was going to fall asleep and never wake up. Every time I drifted off to sleep, I stopped breathing, so while dreaming I had to go to the store and buy a box of air and stand in line to pay for it before I could open it and pour it into my mouth, then I would wake up gasping. Or the other dream was that I had to wait in line at sonic during happy hour to buy a cup of air before I could take a breath. Yeah, like I said, it made me crazy. Eventually that drug wore off and I needed an epidural because the Pitocin was as high as they could make it and the contractions were unbearable.
After 17 hours my doctor finally said, “I think you are ready to push!” “What, really? I don’t feel like I’m ready!” I said “Yep, you’re ready,” he answered, “let’s do this.”
After pushing for 2 hours it was evident that we were getting nowhere. Dr. Ryan grabbed the vacuum, but that didn’t work either. All it did was make a cut on my baby’s head. At that point, he looked at me with compassion and said, “The baby is too big, it’s time to do a C-section.” I had told him before labor that I did not want a C-section unless it was a medical emergency. I did not go through 17 hours of labor and 2 hours of pushing just to be cut open, so I yelled, “THAT IS NOT AN OPTION!!” At that he became loud and panicked and yelled back, “Then you better push this baby out NOW!!!” He proceeded to grab the tuckers and rip my body in half. Literally. It took 4 nurses and Jake to hold me down on the table while the doctor pulled side to side and front and back like he was on a row machine at the gym. The look on Jake’s face terrified me. He was as white as a ghost. Somehow I got up enough strength, by the grace of God to push him out.
The next moment will forever be burned into my memory. Dr. Ryan said “Reach down and get your baby!” I looked down to see the most perfect baby. His eyes were wide open. Our eyes met. He looked at me like he knew me. He wasn’t even crying-just staring into my eyes. I laid him on my chest, his eyes still locked on mine and cried. “You are finally here! Your dad and I have waited so long for you,” I whispered through my tears. Jake was in shock, but kissed him and me. When I stopped talking, my precious baby would make the sweetest cry sounds but all I had to do was talk to him and he would stop crying and listen to me. I could have stayed just like that forever, but sadly I had the worst possible tear, so the nurses had to take my baby to clean him off and Jake had to stay with me while they sewed me up. It took them over an hour and the whole time Dr. Ryan was cussing because the tear was so bad and I was losing so much blood. When I would look at the nurses’ faces they looked like they had never seen a tear that bad. They mouthed words to each other that scared me to death! Meanwhile, Jake kept grabbing my face and making me look at him so I wouldn’t look down. I told him to go tell our families waiting in the lobby that everything was ok so they wouldn’t worry. He was a big, healthy boy-one ounce shy of 9 lbs. and 19 ½ inches long.
Soon family got to come in and meet Rowan. My Dad was the first to hold him, and Rowan immediately latched on to my dad’s finger with his little hand. He was so alert the whole time. Eyes wide open, just taking everything in.
When everyone left Jake and I got to be alone with our precious gift. We laughed as I said, “You did not make this easy on your mama from conception through delivery, but you are so worth the wait!” And he was. At that moment with my baby and my husband I felt content. Complete. Like my heart could burst any moment because it could not possibly hold that much love and joy. But at the same time, I was in so much pain and had no idea how difficult my recovery would be.
The next morning, Dr. Ryan came in to check on me. He said, “You are truly one of a kind,” as he bent over and kissed my head. Then he laughed as he said, “I’ve been delivering babies for 50 years and I’ve never had a woman in that much pain call the shots and tell ME what she was going to do!” Jake mumbled, “My wife kind of likes to be in control.”
The days in the hospital were a blur because of being heavily medicated and the excruciating pain. Jake had to take care of Rowan most of the time. One moment I would be feeding him and the next moment I would open my eyes to see Jake holding Rowan across the room and nurses over me holding an oxygen mask over my face because I had fainted. They couldn’t find a pain medication that my body agreed with, so I was either convulsing in pain, or throwing up the latest pain medication.
On Saturday evening, the day of the wedding, we were still at the hospital. We didn’t get released that morning after all. I was out of bed shuffling my feet around the room because the nurses said I would have to show them that I could walk unassisted if they were going to let me leave that night. As I was making laps around the room I got a text and grabbed my phone to see who had texted their congratulations. Except it wasn’t a congratulations, there were no words-only a picture. It was a picture of my dad walking my sister down the aisle. My knees got weak and I had to sit down. I was crying uncontrollably when Jake finally managed to get me to talk to him and tell him what was wrong. I showed him the picture and said, “I never thought in a million years I wouldn’t be at my little sister’s wedding!” Jake was holding baby Rowan. He said, “I know that has to be hard for you, but look at this prize, isn’t he worth it?” And he was. And all was right with the world. I was the luckiest.
My favorite part of his birth was Sunday afternoon. All of my siblings, their spouses, my dad and his wife came to our house after the wedding. It was Rowan’s first glimpse of just how many people loved him and had been praying for him. He didn’t cry all day, but was content to be passed from person to person, each one whispering, “I know I will be your favorite.”
