It's no secret that one of Isabela's favorite past-times is playing "doctor". It may be just because her life involves many doctor visits or maybe just because it's that special thing she does with her best friend, Cavett. It's really not hereditary from my genes because I have never really had an interest in the field nor did I have a basic understanding of it before her beautiful life. But, now, it's what we share with the once in a while opportunities that we get to sit together on the couch to watch tv--to watch "The Doctor Show", as Isabela requests to see. That show is "ER".
I am not an avid TV viewer, but with the help of my beloved DVR, I can control what I watch and manage when I watch it. Plus, because of the advantages of rewind and fast forward, I can sit with Isabela and even have her watch such a non-G-rated show, with my left hand inches away from her eyes and the right hand over the button picturing fast forward arrows, along with the repetition of "Remember Isabela, it's a pretend show. " But, really, with all the ER visits in her life, Isabela has seen so much up close and personal. Blood and needles don't scare her. But, surprisingly enough, ER did scare Me once. It scared me so much that I stopped watching it until just recently, almost five years later.
Today, I was reminded just why I stopped watching it. You see, 5 years ago on this April 6, 16 weeks pregnant, we found out about Isabela's heart condition, at around 5 pm on a Friday afternoon. That doctor told me to go home and think about abortion. Five days later, I had my level 2 ultrasound with a prestigious neonatoligist and she told me the same and consulted with a colleague who also concurred. Sammy and I went home, and on that route circling the Houston Astrodome, I kept hearing that word "ominous" that the first doctor had said. One doctor was one who had his own radio talk show with many local tv appearances and another who was deemed "the best" as far as high-risk doctors in the business by fellow obstetricians. But, I disagreed. Don't get me wrong, I didn't think I knew better than them. I just didn't agree with abandoning my child, so to speak. So, I fell into this black hole, feeling alone, as my doctor reminded me every single week of how "ominous" this pregnancy was. So, that takes me back to ER. At a time when I was looking so hard for inspirational stories, those who defied the odds, I happened to see an ER show with a main character who was expecting his first child with his beautiful French wife. However, at seven months (at the time I was almost 7 months, too), she had a stillbirth. Learning of the stillbirth was not the difficult part for me. What really grabbed me was when she had to birth her stillbirth son. It was a force that I couldn't wrap my brain around. It was a place I just couldn't go. I needed that notion out of sight, fast! After that episode, a new prayer ensued on my daily talks with God. That prayer was that if the doctors were right about Isabela not surviving, could he please not allow me to birth her without life. That was unimaginable to me. My anxiety multiplied immensely after that, I pleaded with my doctor to let me have NST visits at St. Lukes Hospital every week for the last 2 months. I remember her telling me that she did not see it as necessary, but she knew I needed it for my own peace of mind, so that was the only reason she would write me an order. So, because of that segment, I went to the hospital in the TExas Medical Center every week, extended my body across a labor and delivery bed, with a heart monitor around my stomach, and listened to Isabela's heart rate hum to me, for two peaceful hours, each time.
Of course, tonight on ER's last episode after 15 years, that storyline was spotlighted and those characters shared their 5 year old reeling pain to one another, within the confines of their broken marriage. "Kim" reminded her husband how their son, Joshua, would have been five years old today. I quickly paused the show, (still is), had a good cry and thanked God for something I simply forgot to thank him for years ago. He had granted me my request for birthing Isabela with life and obviously, he didn't stop there. My heart immediately flooded with more gratitude, not only for Isabela's life, but for everything else that has come with it, even if it is a life in which I worry about normal mommy stuff and not-so-normal mommy stuff.
Today, when Isabela and I went to her new Catholic school to drop off the final paperwork and deposit for her admission, we went by the parish office to ask some questions. On the way there, we walked by the church and peeked through the large ceiling -to- floor windows so that I could show Isabela where she would be having her weekly mass with her fellow peers. She pointed to a child who was on his knees on the first pew. Isabela said he was praying. I agreed and told her that it's my favorite time to go to church too, when it's only me in there. While on my hip, Isabela's right arm slid away from my neck and joined her two hands together with her eyes tightly closed and started saying "God, please let me be ok with my surgery. Please don't let me get sick. I love you, I love you, i love you. Amen." I was speechless. We have never planted the idea in her head that she may not have an "ok" surgery. But, I realized today that she knows it's a possibility. That was my heavy pain for the day. She has only seen me cry twice lately and both times I have talked my way out of explaining that I have some sort of headache or tummy ache or that I am just simply so happy to be with her. Evidently, I may not have talked my way out of it like I thought. However, I don't think she believes she won't be ok. But, today, I know she certainly won't know that she will be if I don't start acting like it.
Today was good. Tomorrow will be better. I must cling to those words that Valerie gave me 5 years ago as I watched over Isabela's warmer in dire need for hope , "If you pray, then stop worrying. If you're going to worry, then stop praying." I believe, I believe, I believe...
Dr. Helmrath,
an attending, who visited Isabela every single day for almost 6 months, for waht I tought was to only watch
her tummy surgery (pyloric atresia). I found out months later by another
doctor, that he only paid those persomal visits for me.
Normally, Residents do follow-ups. He knew I needed him. I
needed him to beleive along with me, that she would survive.
Do you remember him, Christina?
Her cardiologits, Heather, is holding Isabela as her beloved, Nurse Christina is happily about to escort her down to "the floor" (out of ICU)...at almost 6 months old.
I must admit that I was not so thrilled in teaching VBS this year, or any year, for that matter. I have to say that when Jennifer asked me if I wanted to teach with her, I know she had a really good guess that my answer would be, "not really, but I will.", once she told me that if i did, Isabela could attend. My biggest, and only struggle with a teaching role in any religion setting is that I embrace my worship in a very private and intimate manner. It's not that I don't want to share with my fellow neighbors, I think it's that I am afraid to hear or see something out of realm of believing and feeling. Plus, I tend to get so overcome with "his" spirit that I can get so emotional about any given teaching. Then I just get embarrassed. But, I did it, for five mornings, assisting Jennifer in her wonderful interpretations of the scriptures. I admit now, it was so good for my heart...for reasons I can not discuss here, that co-teaching experience couldn't have come at a better time. My heart and logic were getting mangled as I was trying to sort through a conflict with a very dear friend of mine. The week ended well, very well.
This morning as the alarm went off at 5am, I was so scared of waking up and finding out that I was still not well (bad cold)and that I would once again miss out on my highly anticipated reunion with my treadmill. But, I had to wake up. "ERGH!" Sore throat was still there and I was very congested. So, I decided to use that "fitness"time I had to fore-go for more sleep. As I allowed my sleep to seep through, I carefully planned out what I would do once I woke up. The big time saver to afford more sleep would be to Not wash my hair when bathing. I entitled my hair iron to spruce me up with a carefully-planned attire consisting of blue pin-striped suit pants with a white collared button down shirt covered with my detective-like beige trench coat. It was all so simple and would meet my expectation of stylish, but comfy. So, about 6:30 am, I was up and ready to execute.
