This post is part II of my story about birth and mothering.
When my baby Nora was eight weeks old, a very dear friend of mine passed away suddenly. She was working for the Lord in a children's home in Malaysia at the time. Before she left the country, she had come to see Nora and me in the hospital. I didn't know that would be the last time I would see her. Her birthday was the day we brought the baby home from the hospital. I couldn't make the party, so Joy had tried her best to arrange a time for us to get together before she left. It never worked out because I was too wrapped up in myself and my baby to make time for one last visit. I now live with that regret. But then, in the summer of 2010, I lived in a state of shock and disenchantment. I walked on, but I didn't feel. I didn't stop to think.. I had one more year of nursing school, and I set my eyes on the goal of finishing.
There was a day when I finally sat down and thought. I wrote ferociously. Things didn't necessarily make sense, but at least I was beginning to feel alive again. Joy had been the truest friend I had ever known. She pursued me when I did not want to be pursued. I had chosen not to obey God's Word and had become a mess of a person, but Joy never stopped ministering to me. Even when I tried to keep her at a distance or said hurtful things to her. She lived for eternity. What was I living for?
I had this to ponder. I also struggled moving on from Nora's birth. Another day in February, I began writing again. This time I wrote about birth. I was doing my final clinical rotation in the hospital where Nora was born. Every time I passed by the maternity unit, my heart would beat faster and my palms would get sweaty. I began having flashbacks of the moments just before the c-section, the moments I had experienced my first anxiety attack. I realized that I had things to deal with. Writing it all down was the beginning of the healing process. I still had a long way to go, but I felt ready to move forward.
David and I had always said we wanted a big family. We had never put a number on how many children we hoped to have, but we both felt it would be more than two or three. Because I knew having a cesarean scar on my uterus put a possible limit on the number of children we would be able to have, we didn't spend much time thinking about repeat c-section vs vaginal birth after cesarean. We also knew I was a great candidate for VBAC, especially if we were to wait a little to have another baby. We had plenty to distract us during this wait as I graduated and began learning the ropes of working as a RN. It wasn't long before we were officially hoping to see two pink lines.
I remember this season of my life as a time of questions, a time of searching for answers. I prayed to my God, who works things we can't understand for our good.