Moments of Joy

The "Final" Leg

It's been a couple of weeks since my last chat about my experience. I feel like it's time to wrap this journey up. Mainly because while I feel better about everything that has happened, it's still painful to talk about parts of it.

The actual procedure itself was fine and successful. I had much less bleeding than what I had imagined, and the physical healing aspect of the procedure went remarkable well. There were moments when I was quickly reminded of where I was. Here are a few of those moments:

 A close friend had come to visit and drop off food for us. I was still coming out of the grogginess of it all and can remember little of what we spoke about. I was covered up but was self conscious about not having pants on. My body began to shiver- I thought that this was due to my awareness of not having pants on. I made the comment about me being really cold, which never, ever happens here! In the course of 2 hours I had spiked a really high fever. It seemed to have come from no where- just came right in and gave me intense whole body shakes. Josh called for a nurse and three followed him back. He asked them to check my temperature because I have a fever. They brought back a mercury thermometer, stuck it in my armpit for less than a minute, and pulled it out with a normal reading. Everyone in the room could feel that I had a fever, although I was shivering. With Fiona on the phone, Josh asked if he could use an alcohol wipe to clean the thermometer and put it in my mouth for a better reading. I could hear her yelling on the phone," No!! Do NOT put that in her mouth!! No!!" We found out later that those thermometers are used rectally to check the babies' temperatures, so really who knows how clean they really are! Josh ran across the street to the pharmacy to buy an unused thermometer so we could safely stick it my mouth. My fever was well over 103, and at that point the nurses realized something was going on. The only way my shakes would calm down was with the gentle, reassuring touch of a Papuan nursing intern. She would gently place her hands, which were warm and comforting, on my arms, which were freezing.

After discussions about the best course of action and rejecting medicine we (who have no medical experience) decided I didn't need, my fever began to go down after given a large dose of a fever reducer. During this time I went to the bathroom. The nurse tried to get me to use a bedpan- I have never used one before. In Indonesian the word for "bedpan" is "piss pot". I did not learn that term (along with many other medical terms) in language school! The nurse helped me to the toilet. My birthing experience with Kate was that when I went to the bathroom, the nurses changed out bloody disposable gauze  sheets. That is not the case here. I returned to soiled disposable gauze sheets. That I could handle because we could easily throw that away and get another clean one- because we had to purchase all of those things before hand. What threw me off was the puddle of my own blood under the detachable bottom of the bed. This was from the procedure and had not been cleaned up. I only noticed it when I entered the room. 

There was also a sweet concerned intern who was practicing her English skills in the midst of all of this. So we chatted about the schooling process required to become a nurse here. Let's just say that during our conversation she paired the word "juicy" with describing a body part. In my feverish state I don't think I busted out laughing, although now when I tell the full story I can't keep a straight face. 

Due to the fever, it was recommended I stay overnight. This was not part of my plan. Karen's gracious response to this relieved so much stress. It would be our first night away from Kate, and this wasn't the ideal reason why. Knowing Kate was well taken care of made this momma's heart rest a little easier. Although resting did not happen. Josh and I argued about whether we should stay or go. This was interesting because it was in front of nurses- so I asked them to leave, I'm sure I had provided enough entertainment for the whole week. Looking back I'm proud of Josh- it's not easy to argue with me and even harder to win. I respected his reasoning and know it came from a place of love, although at the time I was really upset. We were moved to a private VIP room- which contained a *working toilet* with *toilet paper*. They brought in an extra bed for Josh. We tried to sleep. The fever returned in the middle of the night, and Dr. Josh did an excellent job of treating the patient with what he had. Sleep finally came around 4:30 AM, with the only check was a nurse who walked by and looked in our window at some point in the night. At 6 AM, the nurses crashed into our room with their metal cart, flipped on the harsh fluorescent lights, *pushed* Josh's bed out of the way (while he was still waking up) to get to the patient to check my blood pressure and oxygen level in my blood. We started the process of checking out of the hospital at 6:30 AM. Josh had to find the nearest ATM because the card reader was broken in the hospital. After agreeing to waive responsibility from the doctor to me, we were finally in the car heading home 3 hours later. 

I felt like I had severe jetlag- headache, tired, cranky, sore muscles. It turns out I was also having a reaction to the antibiotics. Red, itchy skin. So we stopped all of the meds, pumped me full of Benadryl and waited. I took the max dose of Benadryl and was awake and alert until 2 AM Tuesday morning when my body finally crashed.

Tuesday was when the grief came. The grief hasn't lingered, but does return frequently. I have a heightened sense of awareness of all things pregnant around me- women, dogs, cats. I grieve over birth announcements that I won't be making with this Little One. Pinterest is still giving ideas of how to decorate a nursery along with baby advice, which I won't be needing now. I've heard people say in the past when speaking of a lost loved one that "not one day goes by that I don't think of you". I thought that was just something that was commonly said among those who grieve. Oh, how my attitude has changed. While I have never met our baby face to face or held them in my arms, I did carry them for 9 weeks and 1 day. I think about this Little One every day. Not all day, but every day my thoughts drift towards what life would be like or imagining the flutter of life in my belly. It's an interesting mixture of happiness and sadness. God is gracious and gives me hope. I would be lying if I said this leg of the journey wasn't difficult. My comfort has come from the Lord. It's hard not having your family around during a really difficult time. Life continued as normal and the days are long when you're left alone with a toddler. God is my comfort and continues to comfort. 

Kitty Therapy

The ER

Ready for procedure 

IV

Dr. Josh resting in our private VIP room

The Patient waiting for freedom! 

Thank you to all who have reached out to us. Thank you for the words of encouragement and words of hope and healing. Your friendship and prayers are what have propped me up and helped me continue on when I would rather just sit down. Thank you just doesn't even seem to convey the depth of appreciation. 

Part 2

*This is not the entire account of the journey. There's just too much to say. It's too raw and I'm not sure this is the forum I want to re-live every single aspect of my journey. Thank you for walking with me and sharing in my grief, joy and healing. -Amber* 

Friday approached. Karen came to our house at 6 AM, and we left our sleeping Kate to get an early start. I began fasting the night before to be ready for a procedure that would start around 10:30 AM. The procedure should be quick, and I would return home that afternoon to recover. This was *the* plan. It was the *only* plan that I had in my mind- silly me! After living here many years, I should know better than to think that way- often things don't work out the way I plan. 

After going between a couple different buildings a few different times, I waited as Josh registered with the hospital. There was a stray cat who had walked into the waiting area. I still think it's interesting the areas cats are allowed admittance. The cat was familiar with the area, and at one point I lost track of him. The receptionist began shushing out of no where, and it was clear where the cat was. The cat came back to the chairs where I was sitting, and I began to pet this stray cat. It was therapeutic in some ways- calming nerves. 

My journey began in the ER, which is heartbreaking place. Incredibly sick people come hoping for answers to their pains. A little girl, no older than Kate, was writhing in pain on a hospital bed while her exhausted Momma helplessly looked to the nurses for an answer. Already emotional my heart broke for this Momma. My heart began to pray for answers. 

I was taken to a bed to wait for something- no one said what we were waiting for. The walls had dried blood next to my face when lying down. A nurse approached to insert the IV line. She attempted first on my right wrist under my thumb. I stared at a spot on the dirty ceiling willing myself to be strong. She kept pushing on the area of the inserted needle asking me if it hurt. Bravely I said," Yes, it hurts but it's okay." I finally looked to where she was pointing because she held up my wrist and said," Does this hurt? (poke. poke.) Because it's big right here." My skin had a huge swollen bump where the needle had gone in! With each poke pain shot up my arm- yes!! That hurts!! So, she took it out and left. She returned with a friend who attempted to insert the IV on the back of my left hand. The attempt failed even though she pushed and pushed the line in. Be brave. Be brave. I yelled at Josh to please call Fiona thinking she could come and put in the IV for me. They kept asking why my veins were like this? Had I been fasting? Why had I been fasting- my procedure was not until 3:30 that afternoon. What?! This was news to me. 

The two nurses left. Fiona came. She said in her Aussie way "How you going?" and I burst into tears. They flowed. Tears mixed with fear came streaming out. Phrases like "I don't want to do this!", "What am I doing here? I just want to go home. But I don't want to do *this* at home!", or "Is there any other way?" came jumbled out. Fiona listened. God restored my strength and we pressed on. A third nurse came in at some point to insert the IV. We dubbed her "The Ringer", because she looked like she had done this a thousand times. She put the IV in on the back of my right hand. The first nurse was left to complete the job. Cross cultural lessons do not stop in the midst of an ER. She poked her failed attempt and asked if it was still sore. I said yes, it is. She then poked her friend's failed attempt and said "Yes, but *this* one is much more sore, right?" Seriously?? I almost lost it- I said No- your's is much more sore! I was then wheeled away through the hospital to my next destination. I'm glad someone was pushing me because I'm sure I would have gotten lost. It was a sight to see- a bright red-faced, crying white woman being pushed in a wheelchair through the hospital. 

The Women's Ward was in a beautiful new building. The rooms were spacious with little to offer for comfort. We had a bed, which we provided our own sheets for, and a plastic chair for Josh. I stared at a blank wall that had a wall clock and a gold crucifixion hung above it. Josh was given a list of medicine and supplies to purchase at the pharmacy in the hospital. In Indonesia the patient is required to purchase the supplies needed for any procedure prior to the procedure. The pharmacy in the hospital did not have the majority of the listed items and told Josh to go across the street to another place. The pharmacy across the street did not have the items and recommended he make a 15 minute drive to another place. He returned after hunting down all the listed items at the various pharmacies around town. Fiona kept me company while Josh was on the hunt, which was nice because fear was on the edge of my heart throughout the whole experience. 

The nurses entered in a whole team- like a pit crew at a NASCAR race. The head nurse said they wanted to give me a medicine to help begin the miscarriage process naturally. I told Fiona in English- the whole reason I'm here is so I would not have to experience anything naturally! She calmed me down by telling me the facts- the amount they wanted to give was 1/8 of a dose that would be given in Australia or America. The medicine was inserted and I was to lie on the bed for the medicine to take effect. 

This is the part that I'm convinced the Lord was gracious to me and gave me perspective of love rather than bitterness. The Women's Ward was a place grief and joy slam into one another. I was there because my baby had died, and others were there because their babies were being born. Two sets of twins were born that morning. I heard first cries of other babies, knowing that I would not hear my baby's cry. At the moment (and even still) I'm grateful for life. Also in that moment I realized that I lived in a world that disregarded the emotional side of medical care- it should not be that death and life share a room. Even now a month later, my heart is stirred and tears well up at this memory. 

A flurry of activity swept into my room around 2 PM. The nurses seemed excited that something was finally happening on this somewhat slow day. They had attached the stirrups and were about to remove the lower part of the bed when the head nurse came in and stopped all activity because the anesthesiologist would not be ready until 3. The nurses hung their heads as they left the room. The whole crew returned at 3:30 ready to go. We have a photo of at least 8 people in the room besides me- doctor, anesthesiologist, interns, med students, nurses, and patient. No privacy- I'm glad I was knocked out. 

The anesthesiologist talked fast and was right in my face. When someone is that close you can see straight into their mouth and examine all their teeth. It was too much for me. I just nodded and smiled as he spoke because I only understood about half of it. Fiona was with me the whole time. She said," They are about to give you the medicine to make you forget." I replied with "Good. I don't want to remember any of this." My last remark was "I think it's working..."