Headaches, Babies, and Trusting God

I love babies, and I love a good birth story. I’m also one of those women who actually loves being pregnant (I know, please don’t hate me). In my young married years, I couldn’t wait to start a family. But I also used to tell people my middle name was “epidural,” and that I’d be screaming that word the second I crossed the hospital threshold. But as he often does, God had different plans.

I was diagnosed in 2001 with chronic daily headaches. I woke up one day with a headache, and it simply didn’t go away. Some days it would be at a migraine level. Other days I could function and almost pretend it wasn’t there. But for six years, I suffered. My husband suffered. I eventually had a spinal tap in hopes of diagnosing the cause, and I had a severe and adverse reaction to the procedure that resulted in excruciating back pain. Keep in mind that I was already a chronic pain patient at this point, so my tolerance level had adjusted. But I was miserable. And the dreaded spinal tap needle? It was the same size as the one used for the epidural, and it was used in the same place. I quickly determined there would be no more needles in my back.

The headaches continued as we started our family, and I began researching natural childbirth. I was determined I could get through labor without a needle. With my two daughters, I did. And graciously, God saw fit to relieve me of the never-ending headaches between their births. I couldn’t have been more grateful, and I am grateful still.

I’m an answers girl. I’m logical. I like to know the reasons for things. I knew God must be trying to teach me something through the headaches, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what. Many times I prayed, asking that he wouldn’t just take them away gradually but that he’d take them away quickly so I could go around screaming, “God took my headaches away!” He didn’t do that. They slowly and gradually, but finally, went away.

Fast-forward to 2011. I was pregnant with our son. I was expecting this to be my last pregnancy, so I worked to cherish each moment. My girls had been six and eleven days past my due date, but with an October 25 due date this time, I was hoping to avoid a Halloween baby. Having experienced unmedicated births the first two times, I knew instantly I was in labor on the evening of October 16. The contractions came swiftly at three minutes apart while I frantically tried to finish sewing the going home outfit I thought I had two more weeks to complete. We called my mom, gave her our own comfy bed so she could stay with our girls, and off to the hospital we went.

The staff told us I was only at four centimeters, and if I didn’t progress quickly, I’d be sent home. What?! Did they not understand they were talking to a mom who was in her third rodeo here? They checked me again in less than an hour, found I hadn’t progressed, handed me an Ambien, and sent me home. (Yes, you read that right—an Ambien. I feel stupid now for taking it, but they assured me all would be well. It was three in the morning, y’all, and I was tired.)

Given that my mom was in our bed, my husband took a twin bed in the nursery, and I slept on another twin bed in my craft room. This served the dual purpose of me being able to sew if I couldn’t sleep. I did sleep for about an hour, but then I woke up to the oh-so-painful transitional contractions. I could barely breathe through them. I knew I needed to go get James and head back to the hospital, but I kept failing to execute that decision (thank you, Ambien). We think I laid there having contractions for about an hour before I finally had to pee bad enough that I got up. As I went to use my girls’ bathroom across the hall, I realized there would be no hospital delivery. Two contractions later, I found myself alone in a dark bathroom holding my precious son. Only then did I have the wherewithal to wake my husband, who was, as you’d expect, flabbergasted!

But do you know who is even more precious to me than my sweet son? My loving heavenly Father. I don’t know why I had five years of unending headaches. And I don’t know why God saw fit to plan a risky home birth for our son. But I do know God was there. He was in it. He taught me to trust him, even if the outcome wasn’t what I’d hoped. [Tweet “We are not promised our outcome; we are promised his presence.”]

When we went to the hospital after the birth, with me holding my son in my arms, the doctors and nurses were  alarmed. So many things could have gone wrong. “Did you tie off the umbilical cord?” Um, no. That wasn’t in my send-you-home-to-catch-baby-yourself  paperwork. It turns out (and credit can go only to God) that I held our son at exactly the same level as the womb on our way to the hospital, which kept him from either getting drained or flooded with blood. Either option could have significantly hurt him. It gives me chills to think how gracious God was in those moments.

We don’t always get to know the why, and that’s hard for my logical brain. But we do get to know the how: trust in him. When I feel fear and worry starting to rise, I try to remember these moments and so many others when he has proven faithful. And I make the choice to trust.

Amy Wiebe is a Jesus follower, wife, mom of three, church planter, finance director, and lover of sarcasm and deep conversation with friends. She also loves camping, rafting, skiing, sewing, and having people over. Amy blogs with her husband at fringechurch.com.

Photograph © Bethany Beams, used with permission