I am not sure where to start with this post. I've not written anything for a while, obviously. It is becoming increasingly tricky to stay awake long enough to sit at the PC. I have had a fair amount of coffee today (more than normal), so I'm fairly optimistic that I will be able to write without nodding off.
Last year at this time, I wasn't sleeping very well. Physically, though, I was doing okay. I was working with my personal trainer two times a week, eating well and running.
In October, I found out I was pregnant. This was of course happy news. Due to some complications, however, I had to put a full stop to my training and running. We were concerned for a while that the pregnancy might not go full-term.
Those worries were quelled with a very positive 20-week ultrasound. It showed that baby was developing well, that the bleed I'd had was resolved, and that everything was on track.
The problem was, that's about when all the illness started. I caught a respiratory bug that just wouldn't go away. I started sleeping on the recliner downstairs (that's a part of our sectional couch) to get some relief from the coughing. I found out that I had gestational diabetes. I was told that walking would be good exercise. Unfortunately, I've been experiencing a fair amount of pain in my pelvic floor. Even walking around the block made me feel winded and sore.
The kids, meanwhile, have been sick on and off since the start of the year. It has meant our attendance at church, small group and MOPS has been spotty. It has limited the amount of play dates, dinners and other social gatherings that we've been able to attend.
All of this, coupled with the weather, has taken me by the hand and led me to the edge of a deep depression. I have felt very isolated from people. I have grown resentful of people who seem to not have so much going on. My body has continued to deteriorate. I developed sleep apnea around February. I struggle to sleep at night because I wake up at regular intervals, either gasping for air or having to pee. This makes me tired during the day, which causes me to nap. Excessive napping causes me to not be sleepy at night, and so on and so forth.
As of today, everyone is back to healthy. We attended church for the second week in a row. We've not attended for this many weeks in a row (as a whole family) for about six months. We had dinner with our best friends on Thursday night (we hadn't been able to hang out with them since Christmas, again due to illness--ours and theirs). Things were starting to look up, honestly.
However, sometime during the last week, my body threw another curve ball at me. I know it's a common thing that happens with pregnant women. Of course I have to pee all the time, that's not a headline. A woman who is 33 weeks pregnant with her fourth child in 10 years is not going to have a lot of bladder control. I wasn't expecting, however, to become almost completely incontinent. Yep, you read that correctly. For reasons I can't quite understand, I have lost almost all ability to control my bladder at all. I broke down and bought special pads at Wal-Mart the other day.
So let's recap. In September, I ran a half-marathon and was doing plank rows with 15-pound weights. It's April now and I am swollen beyond recognition, my pelvic floor hurts almost all the time, I'm having Braxton-Hicks contractions very regularly and now I'm peeing my pants on the regular.
It's a lot to handle.
This morning, I had Brian drop me off at the church entrance. Even walking from the van to church (less than 10 steps) caused me excruciating pain. I was almost in tears as I waited for Brian and the kids to get in from the parking lot. One of my least favorite things is crying in public, but the pain I was feeling made it almost impossible to fight back tears.
Our pastor is doing a long-term sermon series on Romans. I have missed a bunch of the sermons due to illness. (I know they are available digitally, I just haven't been able to stay awake long enough to get caught up.) Today, he preached on Romans 5, verses 1-11. I will admit, I dozed off a couple of times (spilling coffee on my purse and myself for an added bonus). I cried silently into Brian's shoulder because of how much I was hurting. I excused myself to the washroom and cried in the bathroom stall for a minute or two. Really, though, I did hear what he had to say.
The part that was most impactful talked about suffering, and how suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character and character; hope. He talked about the fact that suffering is actually a gift.
I have had my fair share of non-physical suffering over the past few years. I have not always been able to see it as a gift. I can't say that physical suffering is easy to see from that perspective, either. Especially today, when just walking a few steps into church made me almost burst into tears, I couldn't see how suffering is a gift. For some reason, though, my pastor's words were oddly calming and soothing.
Mind you, I was still almost in tears, I had to waddle to the bathroom to make sure I didn't wet my pants and my hip started bothering me. But I didn't feel as resentful as I had felt before I got to church.
A few people tried to greet me and I mostly just rushed by. I feel kind of bad about that, but then again I didn't want to burst into tears in public. I just wanted to get out. Another friend saw me as I was losing control and gave me an impromptu hug. I sobbed a bit on her shoulder, then made for the exit before anyone else could see me cry.
Most of the time, I would be counting the minutes until I could settle back into my recliner. Today was a bit unique. I had received an email a few weeks ago letting me know that Bekah had a performance today with her dance company.
Over the past few months, she transitioned from doing one class a week to doing four classes a week (this comes out to about 4 hours of dance a week). She just performed at the Raue last month and did beautifully. When I read this email, I made special note of the date. I am not a details person, but since she's upped her commitment, I feel obligated to pay close attention to the details. I want to make sure she doesn't miss an opportunity to perform.
Almost every time I receive an e-mail from her dance school, I write back with questions. I clarify even when it seems like the information is crystal clear. I want to make sure my lack of focus is not a detriment to her.
Except for the email about today. For whatever reason, I put this performance on the calendar, told Bekah about it and had it all planned out. She was supposed to be at Harper College at 2:15. That gave us enough time after church to eat lunch, do her hair and make-up, check in on my friend's dog and get her to Harper. I dropped her off backstage and waddled, you guessed it, to the bathroom. I ran into a friend and we sat down together to wait for the start of the performance.
As we talked, I realized that the email stipulated they would be performing a dance routine from Phantom of the Opera. I assumed, wrongly, that they would also be performing another number, Carnival of the Animals. Since Bekah is newer to the dance company, she learned the choreography to Carnival but not Phantom.
So there I sat, exhausted and in pain, ticket already purchased, wondering how devastated my daughter was going to be that she couldn't perform. I wondered aloud why I hadn't received a separate e-mail stating her attendance wasn't mandatory because they would be performing material she didn't know.
To God's credit (not mine, mind you, because I deserve none), I had no impulse to head backstage and make a scene. I had no impulse to find out if Bekah was okay or not. I clutched onto my ticket as we entered the auditorium and had an overwhelming sense of peace. April and I continued to chat and I did cry a little as I recapped the morning (how much pain I had been experiencing). My shoulders slumped as I imagined how devastated Bekah was going to be at getting all dressed up and not being able to perform.
The show started and I dried my eyes. I love dancing, though I am not good at it. I appreciate the talent that goes into it and tried to just enjoy the different routines.
Before long, it was time for the Phantom performance, which is really a medley of routines and songs. To my surprise, there on stage, in costume, was my Bekah. Of course I burst into tears again. She did a great job and looked as beautiful as ever.
After her portion was done, she was able to sit in the audience with the rest of her level (age group). There was a beautiful dancer that performed in several pieces while in a wheelchair. It was wonderful to see the effort she made and the way she was integrated into the routines.
Once the show was over, I stood up to go retrieve Bekah (and promptly wet my pants, just for good measure). I did my best to let on that I hadn't just done that and was secretly glad that currently black maternity yoga pants are the only things that fit me. Black does hide a multitude of things.
Bekah's face was radiant when I picked her up. April complimented her (as did I). I guess there was a girl that was supposed to be there and didn't show. Bekah, in a very short amount of time, was able to learn the choreography and perform it admirably.
There was a reason God gave me peace. He knew how it would all turn out. He knew Bekah would be able to perform. He knew there would be a solution that meant she wouldn't be devastated. He used my pastor's words this morning to put my heart at ease before I even realized it needed to be at ease.
I am not sharing this because I feel proud of myself (the peeing my pants helps keep the proud feelings at bay). I am proud of my daughter, whose talent allowed her to participate. I am proud of my God, whose plan and peace transcended my own understanding.
He will make a way when there seems to be no way. I'm not much for singing in church (especially in the morning and especially when I've not had coffee yet), but these song lyrics exemplify what happened today. I am happy, not proud, that I was able to be quiet enough to let God do his thing.
