Lessons from a Do-Over

I just spent six weeks recovering from major surgery.  In many ways, it was a surreal journey through familiar territory I had hoped to forget.

When our son was born prematurely, I lost a lot of blood during the delivery – so much that I (temporarily) lost my vision.  My brain was shutting down non-essential functions to try to save my life.  I heard the doctors yelling at my husband to get out of the OR, calling for bags of blood to transfuse me, and asking me how much pain I felt while prepping me for emergency surgery.

I couldn’t see anything, but I heard the urgency in their voices.  I kept asking, “What’s wrong?  Why can’t I see?  What’s happening?”  Instead of answers, they responded with frantic questions of their own:  “Can you feel this?  Does this hurt?  Can you see now?  What’s her pulse ox?  Where’s the blood?  Are we ready?”

Thankfully, the surgeons did their job well.  I survived — as did the baby who was born that day.  But, the doctors told me that, somewhere down the road, they’d need to do more surgery.  Their sole focus that day had been keeping me alive.  They hadn’t worried about future function, sensation or appearance.  So, at some point, they’d need to operate again – to repair some things, reconfigure some things, redo some things – in order to return my body to normal.

That’s the surgery I just had.

Here’s why it was such a gift….   It felt like a do-over.  Like a second chance to experience that day, but to do so mindful of God’s faithfulness.

Here’s what I mean.  Six weeks ago, I was waiting in pre-op for a nurse to put in multiple IV lines (my veins are tiny, so it frequently takes 4 or 5 sticks to get a line in).  I dreaded this part of the process and knew I had to keep myself calm.  I was cold and shivering – adrenaline, no doubt – and suddenly I remembered how cold I was that day in the delivery room, lying on the table unable to see.

I could feel fear rising in me, threatening to become panic.  So, I started humming “Peace Like a River” — like a little kid whistling in the dark.  And guess what?  It actually worked.  My shivering slowed and I could feel my body begin to relax.  Nurses hustled back and forth outside my pre-op room, but no one bothered to check on me.  No one came with needles and IV lines.  So, I kept humming.

I closed my eyes, trying to visualize peace like a river.  Soothing.  Flowing.  Making its way from the Source to me, and back again.  Then, love like an ocean.  Vast.  Powerful.  Endless.  And joy like a fountain.  Constantly overflowing.  I hummed, and hummed, and hummed some more.

Gradually, my effort to calm myself became an impromptu worship service.  Tears came to my eyes as I thanked God for walking with me through the darkest days of our journey (peace), for the lives of our children and the strength of our marriage (love), and our hope for the future (joy).

I could feel His presence and His delight in my gratitude.  I was headed for surgery, but all was well.  I could let go of fear and walk through this focused on His goodness and faithfulness.  And He would walk with me.

I won’t lie to you.  I threw up (repeatedly) when I came out of the anesthesia.  I didn’t meet the criteria for discharge, so they admitted me to the hospital.  My belly was as big as if I’d just delivered, and it took weeks before I could quit taking Motrin for pain.  But, I felt that peace wrapped around me like a blanket.

And now?  I’m fine.  And God is good.  What I had dreaded – and repeatedly postponed – turned out to be a reminder that I only need to invite God to be present in my struggles, and He will be.  Always.  Bringing peace, love and even joy to the journey.

Invite Him to do it for you, too.

A Lesson in Fertility Fundraising

What if instead of keeping your infertility a secret you actually told everyone?  I mean EVERYONE.  Before you say, “Never!” read this excerpt of a story from the San Francisco Chronicle:

Molly and Brian Walsh were in their mid-30’s when they married.  They wanted to start a family, but Brian has Marfan’s syndrome, a connective tissue disease, and they did not want to pass it on to their child.  They needed $25-30,000 for IVF with PGD (pre-implantation genetic diagnosis).  They saved $10,000.  Then, they did what is to many infertile couples unthinkable:  they went public.  In a big way.  The decision to go public was not easy, but ultimately, this was a race against the clock.  They used email, Facebook and Twitter to invite friends to a “Makin’ Whoopie” wine tasting party, at $35 a head.  Not only did 100 friends agree to attend, they also donated trips, tours, art and wine for a silent auction.  Many also offered up stories of their own struggles with fertility to encourage the Walshes in their pursuit of a healthy, successful pregnancy.

Funds raised:  $8000.  Hope renewed:  priceless.

What do you think?  Outrageous?  Inspired?  Unimaginable?  Whatever you may think about the idea, I think there’s a lot to learn from the story.  Here are some examples you could follow:

1. Face the truth – For Molly & Brian, inheritable genetic defects indicated IVF with PGD.  And that required a big budget.  Money was tight and time was short.  The facts weren’t encouraging, but facing them squarely gave them a starting point.
2. Set pride aside – The one variable they could control was their insistence on privacy.  Once they realized they needed assistance to reach their goal, the choice was clear:  forget pride, get help.  All that required was humility.
3. Come out of hiding – The party invitation read:  “You can’t help us in the bedroom, but you can help us make a baby.”  Pretense was pointless, as was secrecy.  They sent invitations to hundreds of people – some of whom they hadn’t seen or talked to in years.
4. Ask for help – Their request for help explained their situation and invited people who cared to be part of the solution.  The humility inherent in their appeal was irresistible to many of those they contacted.
5. Invite openness – After publicly telling their story, the Walshes experienced an unexpected blessing:  “Our friends shared amazing stories with us on Facebook – successes, as well as struggles and challenges.”  The Walsh’s willingness to share their story opened the door for other couples to do the same.
6. Build community –  Before this, Brian Walsh said, “we had felt like a private island in no-man’s land – surrounded by friends who have kids.”  Knowing about other couples’ struggles “made it easier.”  The Walshes formed new bonds with old friends whose success conceiving had seemed to create a wall of separation; now, they shared a common foe (infertility) and a common goal (parenthood).
7. Encourage investment – The Walsh’s friends literally invested in the outcome of their infertility journey.  But even figurative investments translate into ongoing support & concern, instead of perceived judgment or unwelcome pity.
8. Leave a legacy – The Walsh’s creative campaign not only raised funds, it also created a huge network of loving future godparents – each of whom is deeply invested in breathing life into the dream of a Walsh family.  What a legacy… for this newly-strengthened community of friends, and for the Walsh’s much-anticipated child.

I believe the example the Walshes set is relevant to every infertility journey.  Not the party, necessarily… but the logic behind it.  The Bible teaches that we are one body [I Cor 12:22-27].  We need each other.  We are intended to bear each other’s burdens, and share each other’s joys.  How can that happen if infertile couples refuse to share their secret, ask for help, build community, or invite others to become invested in their success?

Party or no party, I think the Walshes are onto something.

What do you think?

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Find more resources and cause for hope at PregnantWithHope.com