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I'm Expecting
By Jerri Phillips

When doing a weekly devotional, it is really easy to jump on my own soapbox and try to write about some injustice or spiritual violation that I see. Usually, I spend hours doing nothing but writing and rewriting, only to erase my night’s work with the punch of a delete key. Tonight I was trying to be the prophet of correction, and after the third rewrite, I stopped long enough to ask God what He wanted said. I know it is an odd thing to do since He is the One who supplies all my work…oh, the sarcasm.

Anyway, I was sitting here, being still, meditating, and trying to hear what the Lord wanted me to say when I looked up at my rock. That is rock with a little r. And I immediately knew some of you need to know about my rock.

In July 1999, we found out that we were going to Italy for four months. We were excited. I had never been overseas, and I imagined all the wonders Anna and I would see while Rob worked. He’d have off on weekends, and oh!, the adventures we could have in two days time. At the beginning of August, only two weeks before we were to leave, we also found out that our second baby was on the way. We were thrilled. However, after the pregnancy complications we had with Anna, we wanted to make sure all was well.

Because we had had such a horrible experience with the doctor and hospital staff when Anna was born, we opted not to use a doctor. We chose to have a midwife and try an at-home birth. A friend suggested her midwife, so we met her, and we really liked her. Our new midwife gave us her approval, and to be safe, we got a second and third opinion. Everyone agreed that the trip might even prevent some of the problems I’d had with Anna. Glory!!! We had approval, and more importantly, we had peace. We were headed to Italy.

On August 19th, we left DFW Airport for Genoa, Italy. We arrived on the
20th. Suffice to say, it was not the dream we had envisioned, but we tried to cope pleasantly. On the 26th, Anna and I walked down to the beach. She and Rob had been there to play in the water earlier in the week, and a wave had knocked her down. She was not ready to play in the water again, so we played in the sand. While we were there, I found a rock. Now, if you have never seen the beaches in Genoa, Italy, from a distance, they look like black onyx. They are stunning to behold. I was awed just being able to dip my toes in the Mediterranean, and I wanted a souvenir, so I found a rock. It is a lovely black rock. There is white marbled all through it, but on top is one lovely swathe of white.

Anna and I had not been on the beach long when my back began to ache horribly. Deciding it was better not to overdo, and having no place to find shade or water, we headed back to the hotel. By the time we arrived at our room, I was feeling crampy. To say the least, I was becoming concerned, so I lay down for the rest of the afternoon. That evening when Rob got back from work, we were going out to eat which we had to do since our stove didn’ t heat water, little less cook. We never made it to dinner. Instead, I began spotting. Now, I try not to be an extremist, but backaches, cramps, and spotting when a woman is nine weeks pregnant is a very bad sign.

Rob went to the receptionist’s desk to get directions to the hospital. It is really hard to get direction when you are using a dictionary to translate. “Just call a taxi!” I yelled from our room. The receptionist called the taxi, and we were on our way to a hospital, Rob holding Anna and me clutching my Italian/English dictionary and a pregnancy book.

The taxi driver took us to a hospital that had been closed for all but minor care situations. There was no way the doctor there could begin to diagnose the problem, but it was obvious that he thought the same thing I did. Cramps, backache, spotting, nine weeks. Oh, boy. I pray that I never forget that man. As I am sitting in a chair, not knowing what to do in a country where I speak very little of their language, this precious man knelt beside me and held my mind repeating, “You need to stay calm. This may not be a miscarriage. You must stay calm.”

An ambulance was called, and we were taken to another hospital. Rob said the ride was only about ten minutes long, but it seemed like forever. As we were in route, I looked at Rob, the head of my family, “Rob, is everything okay?”

He looked at me with the calmest expression of peace. “Jerri, this baby is fine. Everything is fine.”

“Are you saying that to make me calm down, or do you know within your heart that is true?”

“Jerri, I know with all that is in me that this baby is fine.” Okay, God, he’s the head of my house. I’m going to relax trusting that you have given him a word of knowledge.

Now, understand that in the ambulance, we have an emergency caregiver who speaks broken English. She knows I am pregnant, and all three attendants are excited that we are going to have a baby, except they are mistaken about time frames. Finally, I hold my arms wide open. “Nine months,” I say. I hold my hands close together. “Nine weeks,” I say. I point to my stomach. “Nine weeks.” Suddenly, understanding washes over everyone in the ambulance, and silence floods us. Now they get it, I thought to myself.

When we arrived at the hospital, our ER nurse had studied English in England. She actually did marvelously. She was able to ask questions and get much needed information. When I asked if she thought I was miscarrying, she said, “Probably yes, but probably no. We have a saying here in Italy, do not take medicine until you become ill. Do you know what that means?” I smiled. I understood in the deepest part of me.

When we finally made it to the obstetrics ward, the bleeding had stopped. A sonogram showed a beautiful beating little heart. I called Rob in to the exam room so he could see the picture of his baby. Still, too cautious to be optimistic, I thought it might be the only chance he ever had to see his second child.

Although everything looked good, for precautionary reasons, it was decided that I needed to be admitted to the hospital overnight, maybe for a few days. Overnight I would agree to; more than that was a definite no. I did not realize until later that the doctor really thought I was going to miscarry and wanted me at the hospital for my own safety.

I was taken to my room, which was actually a ward with eight beds. The hospital looked like something from a World War II movie. One of the windows was broken. There was no air conditioning, and I was terrified, but once again, we had a nurse who spoke English, at least enough English to settle me. We ran into a glitch though. I could not be admitted without my passport, which was still at the hotel, so Rob with precious Anna in tow headed back to the hotel room. While they were gone, I found out that nurse Jordano would be leaving in an hour and no English-speaking nurse would be on our floor for at least two days. I was already scared, and that information sent me into full-scale panic.

I called for Nurse Jordano and using the dictionary I had brought, we spoke until she understood that I wanted to go back to the hotel. She said it was my choice, but the doctor came back and was emphatic that I needed to stay. When she left, I burst into tears. Evidently, one of the other patients called the nurse’s station because in a short few minutes a nurse came to our room. Another nurse had come to give me medicine, which I had refused being afraid it was sleeping pills. Nurse Jordano explained that it was a muscle relaxant to stop the cramps and that I really needed to calm down. “I just want to go home.” Home? A hotel room that was far from what we were promised had become home? Rob and Anna were there. It was home. Nurse Jordano suggested that I speak with Rob when he came back with my passport. I agreed.

As promised, the doctor and nurse spoke with my husband and told him about my escalating blood pressure, risks, and so forth. He nodded and came to talk to me. “I need you. I just need you. I’m in a country where I can’t talk to them. I’m scared, and I need you.” My darling husband nodded. He knows me well, and he knows that I can be one very clingy woman. Off he went down the hall to confer with the medical staff again.

I don’t know what he said, but Nurse Jordano brought the release form that waived the hospital of all responsibility, and I was on my way "home".

Two days later, we were on a plane back to the States. On the plane, I began spotting again. I immediately told our flight attendant who went into action. I could not have asked for better care anywhere. If I did not check in with them every thirty minutes, they checked on me. They had their own chart for me. I had to give them symptoms, estimated blood loss, the whole thing, and you know what they gave me? “Mrs. Phillips, if you need anything, you call us. Don’t bother getting up. We are at your beckon call. I spotted with all three of my children, and they are healthy adults now. Don’t think this is an automatic miscarriage. It may be nothing. Just try to relax.” I cannot express the gratitude I have for their constant encouragement.

We arrived back at DFW a mere eight days after we left. So much for four months in Italy. I was confined to bed for a few days, as long as possible. God provided care for Anna for the first three days, and then we didn’t have anyone. “Okay, Lord, you always provide for my needs. If we needed someone longer, you’d have provided, so I am going to be Mommy trusting that this baby is going to be fine.” And I did just that. Now, I was sane. We played on the floor and colored a lot. She played in the sandbox on our patio, and I watched from a chair as I drank a lot of water. We were okay.

With the spotting episodes, we moved from a normal pregnancy to potentially high risk, which meant that our midwife was no longer able to give the care we might need. It was time to call in a doctor. Although I was less than excited, I called Dr. Gerald Balsley. He was a doctor we had interviewed after Anna was born when we were looking for a new doctor. We had liked him, and he had a midwife who worked in his office. At the time we interviewed him, he was concerned about the hour drive from our house to his office. With the spotting, I was not afforded the luxury of making commute an issue. I needed a doctor I trusted, and I trusted Dr. Balsley.

When I called to make an appointment, I was told it would be three weeks before I could get in to see our new doctor. However, when I called Rob, I confidently told him that he needed to take off the next morning because an appointment would open up. He was skeptical, but sure enough, that afternoon, I received a call. “We can see you at 9:00 in the morning.”

The next morning, we met with Dr. Balsley for the first time with him as our doctor. A thorough exam showed that the bleeding wasn’t the baby at all. In fact, baby was great. The bleeding was coming from a cut on my cervix. The doctor who had delivered Anna and had never fixed it had obviously made the cut. “Will this compromise the cervix?”

“I don’t know. I will by the next time you come in, though.” I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or not. I didn’t have long to wait for the answer to my question, though.

The next week found me back at the doctor’s office due to more bleeding. It was getting heavier. The cut was stretching, so to repair it, Dr. Balsley cauterized it. “Give it over the weekend, and if you’re still bleeding Monday, let me know.” If this didn’t work, the next step would have to be stitches. If the cut continued to stretch and tear, there could serious problems later in the pregnancy.

Less than two weeks later, we made another emergency trip to the doctor’s office. This time I was diagnosed with a prolapsed cervix. Just to put this in perspective, Dr. Balsley had seen one of those in his twenty-plus years of obstetrics. “Didn’t I order the plain vanilla pregnancy?” If things went well, the uterus would pull itself up as the baby grew. Then it would simply sit on my pelvic bones for the rest of the pregnancy. While it might be uncomfortable, it would solve the prolapse issue. If that didn’t work, there was a treatment that could be used, and it was virtually always effective. We’d talk next time I was in to see him.

Finally, I made it to my first monthly scheduled checkup. The prolapsed cervix was slightly better, but I was having other serious symptoms. I was diagnosed with an incarcerated uterus. That means my uterus was trapped in the pelvic bones. If the uterus did not move up, the baby would be crushed, and I could die. Even if it did move up, the baby could still be deformed. A pessary was used to push the uterus up out of the pelvic cage, and thankfully, it was successful. (I have read since that if this maneuver is not successful by the thirteenth week, an abortion is typically necessary to save the mother’s life. I was fourteen weeks pregnant when this was tried successfully.)

That was early October, and from that point, the increasing complications became almost comical. We didn’t have the usual things. No gestational diabetes for us. None of that hypertension or toxemia. No, sirry. Let’s do the really good stuff.

By November, we were growing weary. Surely, there were no more surprises to be found around the corner. We had opted not to have the alpha-protein test, but we chose to have the ultrasound. While others look forward to ultrasounds anxiously wanting to see whether their new baby is a boy or girl, we went in wanting to see two arms, two legs, ten finger, and ten toes. I looked closely as the technician scanned each bone and internal organ. They all appeared fine. While abortion was not an option for us, if we had a deformed baby on the way, we were going to have to prepare for it. At the end of the ultrasound, it was announced that we were expecting what appeared to be a perfectly formed, healthy baby boy.

Another hurdle down. However, we were far from done. In December, we were excited when Kathy, our midwife, told us that for the first time we appeared to be having a normal pregnancy. “Normal”. What a beautiful word! Oh, praise God! We were normal. “Normal” lasted two days.

Rob brought home a cold, and then Anna jumped onto the bandwagon, and then they lovingly shared. Now, this would typically be no big deal, but for me, it was huge.

Just so you know why it was such a big issue, when I was pregnant with Anna, she moved into the birth canal with two months left in the pregnancy. Our little five-pound baby grew to a whopping nine pounds, two ounces…still in the birth canal. The muscles were so stretched out from Anna that they would never hold Robert. If he moved into the birth canal, he would come, and with the complications we had already had in the pregnancy with him, it would take very little to cause such a thing to happen. A hard cough, a hard sneeze, vomiting. Any of those things could be enough pressure to cause premature labor. We were barely past halfway. As I said, we were far from done.

I was put on bed rest. Rob, who was out of town, was called home. Over the weekend, he was full-time nurse to me and daddy to Anna. When he went back to work, Anna spent time with friends. Just a few hours of being able to lie down and sleep each day did wonders.

In January, we bought a house and were schedule to move six weeks before Robert’s due date. My goal was to pack three boxes a day. Sometimes I accomplished that, and sometimes I spent the day lying down to prevent contractions. All in all we were doing well, and our medical staff and we were becoming more and more optimistic that we’d make it full-term.

However, I was becoming increasingly concerned that Kathy had not received her delivery privileges at the hospital. She had been hired by Dr. Balsley a few weeks before we first saw him. While she had graduated and was a certified midwife, the hospital had not granted her full privileges. Without her privileges, she would only be able to attend the birth, not deliver the baby. The nightmares of Anna’s delivery played in my mind. While I really liked Dr. Balsley, the very idea of a doctor delivering this baby was extremely stressful. Still we had two more months at least. I had to try to stay optimistic.

However, everyone’s optimism waned when the stomach virus hit. Once again, I was on bed rest. If I was sick, I had to hang off the side of the bed, which is challenging enough when you are the size of a blue whale. Again, I was told that gravity was not my friend. For four days, all I could hold down was Dr. Pepper. Even water was too offensive for my body to contain. As with the cold, the virus hit on a Thursday. Rob was able to stay home the next three days, and friends helped out the next week.

Our two-bedroom apartment was becoming more cardboard clad, and this baby was inching closer to safety. With great joy, we turned the calendar to February. We would be closing on our house on Valentine’s Day, and we would be moving that weekend. I’d have plenty of time to clean and arrange before the baby came, and all was good, and it looked like it might even work out that way, but no.

On February 14th, we closed on our house. We immediately went to work transporting boxes, organizing the kitchen, and painting. Anna and I washed walls while Rob painted them. I put away dishes and sat a lot. I was quickly reaching the point where my back ached constantly, and rest was a must, not an option. Still, we were getting a lot done.

On February 17th, I went for my regular checkup. I only had six weeks to go. Two weeks until Baby Boy was safe. “You’re at 3 cm and 50% effaced.” Huh? My mind swirled. “It’s time to go to bed. You need someone to take Anna full-time. I don’t want you alone with her. You can get up for food, as long as you don’t stand to cook it, and something to drink, and you can go to the bathroom. Otherwise, just stare at the television or read a book. Do not do anything else.” I’m moving. An incredulous stare, “Someone else may be moving you, but as of now, you are not moving.”

On the way home, in my shocked mental state, the Lord gave me the plan for the move and Anna’s care. When we arrived home, I immediately began making phone calls. Rob called his work to tell them that he would not be in until the following week and explained why. His boss had been with us in Italy and understood completely. When I had finished making phone calls, Anna had care for the next two weeks, and we had a crew to move us. (I could write a huge amount about those loving people, but suffice to say, when the dust had cleared two days later, we were moved, my kitchen was perfectly set up, our bathrooms were set up, our bedroom was set up, and the apartment had been scrubbed for us to turn in the keys. Talk about love in action. We saw it clearly!)

At our next appointment, I had not changed, and we had reached the momentous thirty-six weeks. We all sighed a sigh of relief. For the first time in seven months, we were not high risk. We were okay. Again, we didn’t get to enjoy that long.

When Anna was born, she was depressed. The long stay in the birth canal and a hard, long labor left her tiny body in shock. She wouldn’t breath on her own. For two-minutes, I waited to hear her cry while the nurses and doctor worked with her to get her to breath. Obviously, we didn’t want to run that risk again. A full-term baby could find us at that very point. Now that we knew Baby Boy was safe, we needed him to come…soon.

On March 20th, I went in for another surprise trip. We thought my water was leaking. As it turned out, my water wasn’t leaking, but I was at a generous 5 cm and about 60% effaced. My blood pressure was elevated significantly, and my feet and hands were swollen. “I think you are staying today,” and with that, I was off to the hospital to be induced. On the way out, Kathy joyfully told us that she would be delivering our bundle of joy. She had been given her privileges the previous Friday.

When we got there, I was put on a monitor to get a baseline. The baby’s heart rate was zooming over 200 bpm. We waited. It didn’t slow down. “Have you taken…” any of a slew of possible stimulants? Nothing. We watched. It stayed over 200 bpm. Finally, I asked how long till Dr. Balsley would arrive. Debbie said it would be about ten minutes. At that point, there was a strong possibility that induction was out of the question and c-section was the order of the day. “Okay, I know I ordered the vanilla labor and delivery.”

Within five minutes of Dr. Balsley’s expected arrival, Robert’s heart rate dropped to normal. Nearly twelve hours later, our little boy came into the world crying. It was incredible. He was perfectly formed and marvelously healthy.

A few months later, Dr. Balsley retired for health reasons. To be honest, I grieved the loss. In a numbed-stupor, I walked over to our neighbor’s just to share my news, and I mentioned his name. “Dr. Gerald Balsley?” Yep. “Jerri, he was my doctor. I had bladder problems so bad it was nearly gangrenous. I was sent to him by my other doctor because Dr. Balsley was the premier high-risk doctor in the area.” I had no idea he was a high-risk specialist.

So what does any of that have to do with a rock? In the Bible, we are told that Jesus is our Rock (1 Corinthians 10:4). He is our ever-present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). The white swathe in my black rock reminds me of that truth.

When we were in Italy, the Lord provided English-speaking medical staff for us. Perhaps we didn’t communicate perfectly, but it was still really good. When we were on our way home, the Lord had the perfect flight attendant there to minister to me and give Rob and Anna a lot of room for motion. On a moment’s notice, we had someone to pick us up at the airport. We had all the care we needed for Anna through out the complications. Bed rest always hit on a Thursday when Rob could come home early or at least be home for the next three days. As the pregnancy progressed, statistically, we were in trouble, and yet, Robert was born fine. I was blessed with a great counselor who helped me deal with my fear and find peace with the possibility of Dr. Balsley delivering Robert, and if he had been the one to deliver our baby, I’d have been perfectly calm. Despite the mention of possible c-section, I was calm. When Robert developed a fever at two days old and was kept in the hospital two extra days, there was complete peace.

I could go on and on, but the point is that even when it was dark and situations were black, God was there. The spotting in Italy didn’t surprise Him. In fact, He had already provided the answers. The same is true for the spotting on the plane. Do you know how far in advance He had planned this? The Bible says that He knew Robert before the foundation of the earth (Jeremiah 1). I have the evidence of a high-risk obstetrician with a suddenly appearing open appointment to prove that He was clearly planning a few years in advance.

You know why I tell you this? I tell you this because I look at Robert, and I often feel that I am looking at a miracle. Statistically speaking, we should be dealing with serious health issues, and instead, we are enjoying a marvelous little boy. I see the manifestation of the Light in the darkness, and I can’t help but feel that some of you are in need of seeing my Rock, that is most especially with a big R.

It is very easy to see the darkness of the circumstances. In fact, sometimes it is hard to avoid it, but I can tell you with complete faith in my God that there is Light woven all through that darkness, and He can work miracles for you just as easily as He can for us. I don’t know what miracle you are expecting. Maybe you want your wayward teenager to come home. Maybe you want your spouse healed of that life-threatening disease. Maybe you want to stop living in the nightmares of an abusive past. Whatever it is, my God is in your darkness, and He can work you miracle. Please don’t give up on Him.

I know it is easy to throw up our hands or look at medical diagnosis and believe them, but I am asking—pleading with you to believe the Word of God that says He is the the Wonderful Counselor, the Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6). Believe that He healed everyone who was brought to Him (Matthew 8:16). Believe in Him. Is there darkness? Of course there is, but that doesn’t eradicate the Light. It only makes it stand out more. Never allow the circumstances to cause you to forget that great things can be birthed when we petition an Almighty God and expect Him to keep His word. So, take a stop of faith. Petition God for the seemingly impossible, expect in faith, and see what comes to life.

Personal note from me: Have you ever read something like this and felt frustrated: why do such things happen to others and never to me? I have. I also know what it is like to question my faith when I didn’t see results and to feel like I was standing all alone because I didn’t think anyone else would stand “doubtless” with me when the odds looked insurmountable. Maybe you find yourself there. If so, I want to extend my e-mail address to you along with my heart, my shoulders, my ears, and my prayers. If you need someone to cry to, I’ll listen. If you need someone to pray with you, I’ll get on my knees. As I said, I feel deeply that someone out there has an incredible need to know about my Rock. I don’t know the circumstances, but I know the Source of the answer. I am at your service. Yes, that means you. You can reach me at jerri@jerrismunchies.com

Blessings and peace to you all,
Jerri