It is Sunday morning in Puerto Galera, and the roosters are all competing to see who can be the loudest. I think the one next door is winning, and his raspy morning voice is making me dream of buttery chicken soup.
I am lying in bed with my back to the window, and despite the curtains, the sun is slamming through the window with force, bouncing off the mirror on the far wall and cutting a swath of warmth across my face. With it I feel God leaning through the window and kissing me with promises for this new day… because that is what He does.
My little family is off to church, and no doubt Jules will return in the front pack, sweaty and fast asleep cause that's her style. We’ve begun closing the clinic on Sundays until late afternoon so that all of us can have a family fellowship day. The staff will all gather here in our Sala (living room) this afternoon for worship, and my sweet husband will carry me down our steep steps and srop me on the couch so that I can join in.
I am thinking of all of you this morning, and praying for your lives, your hearts. The truth of it is that you have been battling with us, praying and praying, and praying some more, and that I cry when I think of how amazing it is that God has given you to us. I see you as the body, and we are some little body part that is being held up and bandaged and transfused with life from your blood supply. Thank you for loving us, for keeping us going, for fighting with us and for us. I feel incredibly blessed.
Yesterday France and I made the two hour trip to Calapan, the town with the hospital. We met with two different Obstetricians and had two ultrasounds. I have been losing a steady and constant amount of blood for the past two and a half weeks (it has now been over four weeks since the original hemorrhage, and I am now 15.5 weeks pregnant), and the amount I have lost is far greater than the estimated size of our blood clot, so I was hoping that there would be no blood left inside. It seems that I did lose most of the old clot, but now there is a new hemorrhage in my uterus, and no way of knowing why it is occurring, or where it is coming from. Our baby looks so perfect and big, kicking and punching as we watched him (or her) on the screen. France asked our Obstetrician, in her experience, what she generally expected with this new development. She looked at us guardedly, “I have never seen this before”, she said, “I have no point of reference. The baby is usually lost by now with bleeding like this. This is one of a kind, a strong baby.”
Of course I would not say I am pleased with this course of events--I wanted to be out of this bed by today and maybe dancing around a bit, or at least taking a shower that did not involve laying in my bed with a bar or soap and a washcloth, I wanted to know that our baby is “safe”, that things look secure. But my plans are not usually the ones that happen, and definitely not the ones with great outcomes. My husband held my hands as we looked at that screen, with the big dark mass underneath our perfect baby, and then he looked at me. He nodded with peace in his eyes. I know that look. We are still being held-- no doctors’ prognosis, or scary new developments change that fact.
And so here we are, more meds to take to slow the contractions, more finger wagging to make sure I do not budge from this bed (where I am growing fat, our staff has informed me), and more waiting.
I am thanking God today for life. Again. For little fighter in my belly, for all you incredibles, and that God has a good plan in the middle of what looks like craziness. I am thanking Him that when He says that His grace is enough for us, He means it, when He said that His strength is made perfect when we are weak, it's the truth.
Thanks for being with us, we love you.
Grace and Peace,
Francis, Leah, Julia and Little fighter Daytec