Doves

One of the many reasons I love our neighborhood is because of the doves. Doves can be seen almost anytime of day, whether they be hanging out in our blue spruce, or flying overhead, or sitting with their plump little bottoms on the telephone wire. Even when they aren't seen, they can still sometimes be heard cooing softly to one another. The kids are certain the sound is that of an owl, but I know it's the doves singing their nighttime lullaby.

I haven't always noticed the doves. Once I saw some nesting in a plane at the Hill Airforce Muesuem, but that was a few years ago. Other than that, I never took note of them. They were just another part of this great big world we live in. It wasn't until something life shattering and life changing happened that I began seeing them around our house and street.

Exactly one year ago today I came home from the hospital. I'd entered the hospital grounds in an ambulance the day before. I remember shaking because I was cold. Also, I was very sleepy. Pastor called 911 when I collapsed in the bathroom. What happened while I was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor is another story in itself. For now I will stick to this one.

About a week before all this drama unfolded, we went to the doctor's office. It was a routine visit. One to check on the baby growing in my belly. We were hoping to find out the gender of the baby that day. I was about 16 weeks along. I was excited, of course. Finding out the gender of the baby is always an exciting thing. The doctor used his ultrasound machine to look at the baby. He couldn't find a heartbeat. The baby had stopped growing soon after our last doctor's visit at about 12 weeks. My world shattered then. My heart broke there in waiting room as Pastor arranged an emergency ultrasound with the technician downstairs. The wait was excruciating. She didn't have anything better to tell us. We went back upstairs and were referred to a doctor across the waiting room. He specialized in miscarriages.

We were told we had two options. One was to let the miscarriage happen naturally. The other was to have a D&C. Meekly and emotionally, I asked what would happen to the baby. He said the body would be thrown away and burned. This horrified me beyond belief. I wanted to be able to see the baby, but the doctor said there wasn't much to see. That's why I decided to let the miscarriage happen naturally. That's why I ended up passing out on the bathroom floor from the loss of blood. That's why Pastor had to call an ambulance when I was so weak I couldn't lift myself off the ground.

It was worth it. I got to see him.

I say "him," but the gender of the baby was never really technically determined, not scientifically. I'd had the fact that he is a boy confirmed to me when I was pondering over what we might one day name the baby. This was before we knew his heart had stopped. The words came to me, "his name is Adam."

Adam. I'd never had a name given to me this way. It wasn't a name I'd ever considered for any of my children either, but it seemed fitting for reasons I didn't understand then.

Well, the ambulance came and I was rushed to the hospital. Pieces of the womb were stuck inside me, hence the heavy and persistent bleeding. We found that out from another emergency ultrasound. Somehow, I was left to sit and wait in the emergency room as I bled and bled. The emergency room doctor kept telling me how his sister had gone through the same thing. He seemed to know what he was talking about. I didn't think he might not until the OBGYN came. The moment she saw my face, she turned to a nurse and said, "get the operating room ready." That was frightening, but she was suddenly fighting to save my life and she was fighting the ignorance of some who shall remain nameless. Mainly because I can't remember his name. ;)

She went through the motions of prepping for a D&C, telling me things like, "transfusions will be used" and "there is always a chance when anesthetics are used that you might not wake up." I nodded and agreed as readily as I could. Her sense of urgency is what alarmed me the most. I was pulled out of the ER. White lights flashed by overhead. I was still cold. I was still shaking. Only now I was scared.

The anesthesiologist came. He was wearing a bandana with flames on it. He was more reassuring than the OBGYN. No doubt he saw how scared I was because he kept saying things like, "don't worry," and "we're going to take good care of you."

That sleep was the best sleep. It was a sleep I wasn't ready to wake up from, but blessedly I did. I found out later that I'd nearly lost half of my blood. I was very close to death, closer than the ER doctor ever hinted at, possibly because he didn't know. Thank heavens for that OBGYN who knew a real emergency when she saw one.

The weeks that followed were the hardest of my life. I wished I was dead. I thought of ways to make that happen. Thankfully it never did. God was watching over me. Adam was watching over me.

One of the comforts I received in those weeks was when we were driving to Wal-Mart to pick up our groceries. We were at a light when I looked up through a tall tree. It had nice, rich, dark green leaves. The sun filtered through some of them, making them a very bright green. "That's Adam's color," I thought. I don't know why I thought it, but ever since, whenever I notice the sun lighting a leaf to make it glow, I think of Adam. Later on, I noticed a dove and remembered how it was a symbol of God's love. As I pondered on God's love, I knew I would one day see Adam again. Both the doves and the glowing leaves would come to mean even more when I lost my twins a few months later.

Through all of my turmoil, God had found a way to give me peace. Sometimes I lose sight of it, but more often than not, I am so grateful for the doves as they nest in our pine trees and coo at us from above.