The Pit

I read a poem, while pregnant with Tessa, called The Pit.

Those days, I walked in despair daily.

The Pit was my constant, and the end felt far, far away.

Although she was still alive and kicking inside of me, I was told so many times that she would not make it that I lived as if I had already lost her.


The pit is full of darkness, heartache and despair, it paralyzes your thoughts, movements and ability to ration. The pit leaves you forever changed, unable to surface the person you once were.

Some of my pre-grief friends gather around the top of the pit, waiting for the old me to appear before their eyes, not understanding what's taking me so long to emerge. After all, in their eyes, I've been in the pit for quite sometime. Yet in my eyes, it seems as if I fell in only yesterday.

Not all of my pre-grief friends are gathered around the top of the pit. Some are helping me with the climb out of the darkness. They climb side by side with me from time to time, but mostly they climb ahead of me, waiting patiently at each plateau. Even with these friends I sometimes wonder if they are also waiting for the pre-grief me to magically appear before their eyes.

Then there are the casual acquaintances, you know the ones who say, "Hi, how are you?" when they really don't care or really want to know. These are the people who sigh in relief, that this happened to me and not them.

My post-grief friends are the ones who climb with me, side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit. They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance, rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move forward when I don't have the strength. They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to smile more often and find joy in life, but they also accepted the person I've become. The "person" who is emerging from the pit.

Obviously, Tessa's birth was a quick removal from the pit of despair.

The hope and joy she has brought lightened up the burden of her pregnancy.

Thinking back, I realized most of this past year was spent wishing my circumstances were different.

That I had a normal pregnancy.

I would still be carting around my big belly; complaining about my swollen ankles, aching back, and kicks to the rib.

Yesterday, a parent was sharing how Tessa's journey affected her child, and a light bulb went off.
It was the first time I was really thankful to be part of Tessa's story, exactly as it was written.

Oh, what a story, huh?

The testimony of her life and God's goodness to our family struck me so deeply.

I know I will never be the same.

Although someone else's suffering might be uncomfortable, I will never sit back and not help dig them out of the pit, as so many of you did for me.

Thanks especially to this guy, who encouraged me daily, when no other doctor would:

*I secretly hope Tessa falls in love with their little guy, soon to be adopted. He is adorable. The cheeks between the two of them. Sigh.*

A few new prayer requests:

Tessa has had a rough few days, with a TON of desats. Her monitor never stops dinging. So far, they have not put her back on CPAP. If she keeps this up, I am sure it is coming. Please pray for her lungs to open and that she would breathe easily.

They found a heart murmur yesterday, so they will be doing an ECHO tomorrow to see what it is from. Please pray that if it is her PDA, that it will quickly resolve with medicine.

Her hemoglobin is very low (8.2). I would love to avoid another transfusion. This last one caused so many other problems and set her back about two weeks. Not to mention the whole NEC business.

As always, for her to stay free from infections.

Praises: Tessa has started to take bottles. She even took a full 47 mls today! In order to go home, she needs to take all of her feedings by bottle for 48 hours. It feels good to move in the right direction.

Our nurse, Ann, moved us to a new room! It is bigger and has a window. In the sunlight, I do believe I see the true color of her hair.

Verdict: red.