Called

Today has given me much opportunity to reflect on what it means to be Called of God. Called to Serve. We had a missionary farewell in church today, the oldest son of a friend and fellow blogger will be entering the Missionary Training Center this Wednesday. We also had a special fast in our ward, for a very recently returned missionary. He has just been diagnosed with bone cancer. The Bishop had forgotten to return his missionary plaque earlier, and so did it today. Two missionaries, two callings. One is just getting ready to go, another has served faithfully for 2 years, and now faces the biggest trial in his life. I know Heavenly Father has a purpose for both of them, and will continue watching over this young man in his great trial, he is not forgotten. In addition to the missionary calls, I am reflecting on the call I've been given. I am the visiting teacher to the mother of the young man with cancer. How can I serve her?? What can I do?? It isn't often that a special need in the ward falls under my personal responsibility. But in this case it does. I've been asked to be one of the people that she can call on, that will step in and help her when needed. This isn't a random assignment, it comes from Heavenly Father. I have been a bit intimidated by being called to serve her already, she has much more experience than I do. Now, it is really time for me to step up, get out of my comfort zone, and stretch my abilities. I know that I will have help from the Spirit when I do. Meanwhile, I'll be praying, and listening. If you have a moment, will you please pray for both of these young men and their mothers??

Christmas Spirit

Well last month was fun, counting blessings. This month I'd really like to get more in the Spirit of Christmas. This means I will not have time to blog daily. But I'll try and post weekly at least. So far for the month of December we have 2 advent calendars, and 2 nightly stories to be read. One calendar is a wooden Christmas tree the kids helped me decorate with buttons. It currently says "22 days 'til Christmas" The numbers are interchangeable. I got it at a Super Saturday with my mom, but I think mine is the only one decorated on 2 sides. The other advent calendar is from the Friend magazine. Our stories are a Christmas story book put together by my mother in law for us, with some of the standard stories, and a gift from the primary to Abby which guides us to read stories of Jesus from the scriptures every night, also an advent calendar of sorts. We are going to be decorating this weekend, so my primary goals right now are to get cleaned up so we can. I'm looking forward to reading stories from the Ensign and Friend. Christmas stories are one of my favorite things about the season. Along with the movies and music. I'm soaking it all in, and doing my best not to stress about what I haven't done yet. What are you doing to welcome Christmas in your home??

Tradition! Tradition!

29- I am blessed with Tradition. Thanksgiving traditions abound in the family I sprouted from. Thanksgiving is the biggest holiday in our family. I think it stems from generations of good-pie-bakers. Not fancy bakers, just really good ones. My dad took a room-mate home to his Grandmother's for Thanksgiving one year. The roommate was concerned that he might be intruding, or that there might not be enough food (??????) or something. My dad assured him there would be at least 30 pies. Roommate doubted, roommate repented of doubt. There is generally an open-door policy at all Stewart feasts, which is anything Grandma puts on, it's all a feast. But Thanksgiving is still special. Aunts fill brown bags with treats and toys, Uncles hide said bags all over property (in most absurd hard to find places), and cousins make the great search for the bag with your own name on it. And get a good laugh at the cousin who has to climb up a pole to retrieve his/her bag. Some years have brought sugar cookies but in the shape of pilgrims to be painted with colored milk by kids. There have been plenty of football games on the large back-lawn. Many years have brought late nights of board games while feasting on pie. One year, the boy cousins took a bunch of pies out to the trailer they were staying in and polished them off on their own. The funniest part? No one missed the pies, there were plenty more. In a large (very very large) family, everyone has their own specialty, and when many hands pitch in, the load is lightened and the feast is amazing. Turkey, pan gravy, potatoes, rolls, cornbread dressing. Rainbow Jello, green salad, sweet potatoes, green-bean casserole, some-other jello, fruit salad, fruity-sugary-yummy drink concoction. Pie, pie, pie, more pie. They all come together so beautifully on our giant plates. But don't fill them too full. 'Take all you want, but eat all you take' (or else) says Grandpa. No worries, there should be a nice handful of teenage boys to help you out when your eyes are bigger than your stomach. This year, things weren't quite the same. Not as many people gathered together, and while we tried to make up for it, they were missed. The food was still good, but no Rainbow Jello procured itself. No pilgrim cookies. We even had to sneak the kids leftovers to the trash, because there was a decided lack of boys to finish it off. I really did not do my mom's rolls justice either. Unfortunately, it is a simple fact of life. We are growing up. It's hard enough to get together 11 households. (or even just half of them) but now that cousins are moving out, getting married, having kids, it's nigh unto impossible. My marvelous Aunts and Uncles are probably just as grateful as my parents are when they can get the kids back to their own homes, to say nothing of Grandma's house. But the traditions are still there, waiting for us to carry them out in our own ways, with our own children. I have a lot to learn before I can make a holiday run as smoothly as my Aunt PhyllisAnn can. I'll probably never pull it off, but I can take the most important parts, and create a wonderful Thanksgiving for my own family.

30- I am grateful for my extended family, and all they are. oxoxoxoxoxoxo(((HUGS))) to all of you. And Tyler, I'm gonna tackle you with my biggest one, just for old times sake.

Counting THANKSGIVING

26- Pie

27-Rolls

28- Turkey

'Nuff said.

Counting Blessing 25

I am grateful for my SLING. When Willie arrived, I ordered a ring-sling from an Etsy shop. I'd always heard that baby #3 was hardest because you didn't have enough hands anymore. And boy, oh boy was that true. Since I figured it out, I've worn Willie practically everywhere and gotten lots of compliments. I was able to tend to almost anything that needed my hands, and still have him right there 'in my arms'. It was great. It hasn't been used as much since he started walking, but this morning he brought it to me, and when I put it on he reached up to be picked up. Actually he's done it twice this morning. He may be a bit more independent but he still like to be secure with his mommy I guess. I am so grateful for this apparatus that made having a clingy baby a joy, not a frustration.

23, 24

23- I am grateful for Harvey. He is such a playful, incredibly fun little guy. He makes me laugh and smile, and drives me up the wall. Often times he doesn't seem to have a clue what he means, or what he wants. But it's always an adventure trying to figure it out. He's very loving, and just wants to be around the people who love him. His playful smile is very difficult to stay mad at. And his favorite response when he is told no is 'But it's FUN'. Harvey is our rubber child. He bounces right back from almost any hurt. Of course this sometimes means he bounces back and forth from emotion to emotion, opinion to opinion. But I wouldn't change him for anything. What would life be like without Harvey's imagination?? No fun, that's what

24-I am grateful for Willie. During the first half of his pregnancy Jeff and Abby were convinced we were having a girl, I expected we would have a girl, because my family came GBGBGB. And I was depressed, it just felt all wrong. I didn't know my baby at all, I never saw him in a dream like I did the older two. But as soon as we had the u/s and saw it was a boy- I realized I had known all along that a boy was on the way, and all was right with the world. Willie is very much a Momma's Boy. He is my most affectionate child, he really loves to give love, be loved, cuddle, and more. Before he was mobile he hated being put down, and was kind of difficult that way. But when he finally learned to crawl at 9 months old, his whole attitude changed. He's been into everything ever since. He's at that perfect stage where he is incapable of being naughty. And he almost never throws a temper tantrum. I am so glad we had another boy, because Harvey very mcuh needed a friend that would look up to him. If we had had a girl, Harvey would be the only boy as far as the eye could see, and would never get over it. Definitely grateful for Willie. I keep trying to tell him to just stay the way he is now, but I'm pretty sure he is ignoring me.

November 22nd, my best blessing.

Today is November 22nd. Six whole years ago my daughter was born. It is a day emblazoned into my brain, my heart, and my soul. The day that a first-child is born is an especially momentous day for any mother. It is not just the child born in that moment, but the mother. The past nine months discomfort is a barely adequate introduction to the immense change that your life is about to go through. We eat right, we visit the doctor, drink lots of water, take lots of naps, make frequent bathroom visits, don't sleep well, worry over every little change, desperately wish for it all to be over so we can hold our little miracle. But in the end, a healthy baby arrives and a mother is born. Or so it should go(and usually does). We tend to take for granted that it will indeed play out in that very way. I know I did. But, apparently Heavenly Father (and probably Abby too) saw fit that I have true appreciation for the miracle that was my daughter. And so they forced it onto me.

November 22nd 2003 was a Saturday. I don't really remember what day of the week my boys were born, I'd have to go look it up. But I remember lots of which-days in Abby's birth story. From the Wednesday night that she was more active than she had ever been, turning somersaults and doing flying acrobatics. To the busy Thursday where the doctor said things were looking well, how was the baby moving? 'Not much that I've noticed today, but that's normal and last night she was going nuts.' 'OK then, we'll see you on Monday (due date), then discuss possible ways to encourage labor'. The Sealing Session at the Temple that night was interesting, kneeling down on a narrow ledge with a giant belly in front of you is tricky. Dinner out was good, I was tired, I still hadn't felt my daughter move really. But, her movements in general were so slight, and I'd been so busy today, I probably just hadn't noticed. And I really don't want to go to the hospital just to be told I was being paranoid and should simply take time for kick-counts every day. It's late, we have an hours drive ahead of us, let's just go home. Friday still nothing much. Definite decrease in movements. But I second guessed myself ALL DAY. We ate a big spaghetti dinner in and effort to jump start some baby movements. That night I called my mom. In tears. And she promptly told me in no uncertain terms to call the doctor RIGHT NOW, who said yes, go get checked. Rather than drive an hour to St George where my doctor was, just to be told baby was sleeping, we went to the local hospital. Apparently the nurse was about to send me to St George where I already was a patient, but changed her mind and hooked me up to some monitors. I think it was about 8:00 at night. Friday night blurred into Saturday.

On the monitors, I was relieved to see Abby's heartbeat. Pretty steady at about 156. Definitely good. As is standard practice, they kept me on those monitors for a full hour, and handed me a button to push so I could record any movement. I pushed it a couple of times, but the sensation was very, very small. While I sat there all relieved that my baby's heart was beating, Jeff and the nurse were noticing that the monitor line was practically flat. She had no accelerations or decelerations at all. It took me a little bit longer, but I'd gone to the pre-natal classes too. I knew this wasn't good. But she might be sleeping after all. A thought which seemed far more hopeful than silly now. The nurse said it seemed likely that the baby would need to be delivered, I asked if we should get to St. George. She said no, if I was transferred at all, it would be after. They have a tool they use to wake up sleeping in-utero-babies, did you know? I don't know what it's called but it vibrates and sounds like a power tool. So the nurse pulled out this little gadget, applied it to my belly and **BUZZ** **BUZZ**. Nothing, not a flinch, not a twitch. Her heart rate remained steady. I was terrified. I wanted my baby out right now, because something was very, very wrong. The nurse called the on-call ob and he arrived quickly, with an ultrasound technician and machine. They began what I have since learned is called a bio-physical profile. An ultrasound in which they score certain indicators regarding babies well being(like an in-utero apgar). It usually takes a half-hour. They took a lot longer on mine. During which they asked me if there had been anything unusual found on my ultrasound a few weeks prior. NO. Should there have been??? Well, there's something floating by her head. The doctor showed me her upper lip, it was perfectly formed with lines like a bird flying high in the air. She was beautiful, I knew. With the BPP, immediate delivery is recommended for scores 6 or lower. Abby scored a 2. Time to set up an emergency c-section.

In the middle of the night, in a small but well-equipped hospital, an emergency c-section takes some time to set up. They need to get an anesthesiologist out of bed, along with some operating room staff, a pediatrician and neo-nate nurses. Then everyone had to drive in the middle of the first big snowstorm of the season. If the emergency had been a delivery complication, it would have been different. But there was a baby coming that was going to need some help. Just what the problem was, no one knew. And the situation was steady, better to have everyone there than to rush. The pitocin that they had given me for a required 'trial of labor' made every muscle in my back spasm, so the nurses used a sheet to roll me onto the operating table, where the anesthesiologist gave me the spinal. Jeff got all decked out in the surgical coverings, and came to sit with me. Up went a big teal curtain across my chest and they started prepping. An important part of which was making sure the anesthetics were working. They pinched my abdomen, yes I could feel it. Then they pinched my arm, ok NO I didn't feel that much. So they proceeded since I didn't feel any real pain. But I felt the pressure. And it isn't a little bit of pressure either, the pulling and tugging is remarkable. Especially with stomach half-full of spaghetti dinner. So the anesthesiologist held a bowl and a vacuum hose while I vomited, and talked to me. He reassured me that I was doing fine, and let me know what was causing the sensations ('They just opened up the uterus') while Jeff held my hand and kept his mouth shut. Kept his mouth shut about the copious amounts of blood all over the table and floor. Kept his mouth shut about the doctor's comments that they had never seen this much blood, where was it coming from??. When Abby was delivered at 4 am, not a single sound came from her. She never drew a breath, her apgar score was 0. I only saw the top of her head as they took her to the NICU. She had beautiful dark hair. It was off to the recovery room for me, where I think they drugged me so I would sleep for a few hours.

It was about 10 am before I got to go see Abby. Dr. Ghaffari had spent 6 hours hand-bagging my baby to keep her alive. The only reason they let me get up at that point was because the life-flight team was there to get her, and she would be transported soon. Getting into the wheelchair was agony, and the trip down the hall felt like a roller-coaster. I looked at her and set my finger in her hand. That was all I was allowed to do, because more touch would cause more over-stimulation. Her beautiful upper lip was covered in tape that secured the ventilator tube to her nose. Her body was swollen from the IV fluids they had pushed to keep her blood pressure up. The life-flight attendant came to talk to me, get the required permissions, and confirm which hospital they were taking Abby to. They gave me the choice of sending her to a hospital in SLC, or to the Utah Vally hospital in Provo. I chose Utah Valley, they had taken very good care of my baby brother 4 years earlier(this whole thing was like a horrific flashback for my family), and it was a little closer. She told me that I needed to sign forms for a possible heart-lung bypass, informed me of the high risks, and said some other scary stuff that I gratefully have forgotten. Jeff came to kiss me goodbye, and followed Abby out into the hall. They had given permission for him to go with her. I had just had surgery, and would have to stay in the hospital for 48 hours. I was taken to my room, where I would have to wait alone.

Many details of my time in the hospital are blurry. I know I had visitors. Jeff's mom must have been with me a good deal of the time. My grandparents drove up to sit with me for a while. My Aunt and Uncle came by. My parents left Green Bay earlier than they had planned and drove straight through, so they must have been there on Sunday. But I think I was alone a lot on Saturday. I know I was alone when Jeff called. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon. He called to tell me they were at Primary Children's Medical Center in SLC. They had tried going to Provo, but a large cloud bank rolled in and they couldn't land. So they had to fly to Salt Lake, where Primary's said they had plenty of room, hurry up and bring her in. There was still no real change in Abby. They'd gotten her apgar scores up to a 2 at this point. But nothing was improving. Jeff was calling to let me know that they were going to get ready to put her on an ECMO machine. The heart-lung-bypass. They would have to administer blood thinners to prevent clotting. This was likely to cause a bleed in the brain, and if it did they would stop trying. I was in tears. I vehemently told Jeff that he couldn't let them take her off of life-support. At least not until I got there to say goodbye. He didn't say much, we'd talk more later. He was going to go talk to the doctor and wait. I was alone, so very, very alone. We had home teachers assigned to us, but I couldn't remember their names. So I looked up the phone number of Bishop Steffensen and called him. No one answered, and I left a message on their machine through my tears. As I sat there and grieved for my daughter, I wished desperately that they hadn't taken her. Why did they take her away from me?? Why couldn't I have just held her for an hour? I just wanted to have a relationship with my baby, if she had to die, couldn't she die with me? Then other thoughts forced their way through my grief. There had been so many close-calls. If I had waited until Saturday morning, she would have died. If I'd gone to St. George, that extra hour may have been too long. That bank of fog?? If they had gone to Provo first, they would have been transporting her to PCMC right now, because only PCMC had the ECMO machine she was needing. Heavenly Father was taking care of my baby, and he wouldn't let her die alone, I'd see her again. I was sure. I was fierce in my certainty, I practically growled at the demons in my head. "You can't have her!! She is my baby, and she is here to stay!! God wouldn't take her away from me now, not after all this!" I was a little concerned that I was being irreverent, but held onto the hope. Sister Steffensen returned my call then, Bishop was not home just now, but he'd be home soon, and would come see me right away. I told her I appreciated it, and that I just desperately needed a blessing. I needed some comfort, something more than the hope that had formed in my mind. I don't recall exactly which happened first. But 2 things happened. At 4 o'clock I got another phone call. It wasn't Jeff, it was the doctor. She had wanted to call me herself. Abby was finally stable. They hadn't needed the bypass. She didn't know how long recovery would take, or how much permanent damage there was but for now, Abby was fine. Jeff would tell me later that Abby was literally being prepped for surgery when the improvement started. It wasn't medicine that did it, it was Heavenly Father. Bishop Steffensen came in and gave me a blessing. In that blessing I was promised all that I had desperately prayed for earlier. In almost the very same words. A relationship with my daughter and she would live. I hadn't told Bishop what exactly I was wishing for, but someone had heard my prayers, and was answering them in a way I could not ignore.

I believe in Miracles. I believe in the power of the priesthood. I know that my daughter is a blessing straight from Heaven. She is my daughter, and she is incredibly special. There is so much more to tell about this story. The blessings Jeff and other worthy priesthood holders gave her. Men who were nearby in the hospital and could help him. I don't tell them now, because I was not there for them, and this story is what I remember about that day. There is more I'd like to share, but it will have to wait for another day. The miracle of her recovery. The impact she had on the people that helped her. The impact they had on us. The prayers of dozens of close-family members. The worries that my mother and husband hid from me. Then there is six years of wonderful life stories. Abby is my refining fire. She is intense, and stubborn, and loving, and smart. I am so grateful for her. I am so incredibly grateful for the priesthood power that kept her here. It is very, very easy for me to Give Thanks this time of year.