As I hold our precious little girl this week I am reminded of the fear I felt when I was told that I had anti-E antibodies. The tremor in my voice when I scheduled the appointment for prenatal counseling with a high-risk specialist. The dread that washed over me when that conversation included things like severe jaundice, amniocentesis, blood transfusions to the baby IN the womb, specialists, referrals, blood tests, NICU stays… I look at our little girl and I think about the blood tests every 4 weeks, the waiting, the wondering, the results. The nights I laid awake and prayed that the levels would be low. The excitement I felt when I received news of low titers. The frustration when they discovered the anti-Cw antigen. I think of how strange it felt to order a medical bracelet so that if there is ever an emergency, doctors would know. I think of the conversations Sam and I have had, the “what if’s,” questioning if this would, by necessity, be our last, and hoping, pleading, praying that she would make it. That my body would not fight the pregnancy and harm the life I had growing inside of me. And I think of you, all of you, who stood with us, praying for us, encouraging us, standing in the gap for the precious little life I carried.
The last 9 months have required of me a greater level of trusting God than most of the 26 years prior. Faced with circumstances that were completely out of my control, I had to choose whether I would let fear rule my life, or whether I would choose to trust in a God who is GREATER, who’s plans are BETTER, and who’s love for me, and for our precious little girl, knows no bounds. Testing, monitoring, waiting for results, regular appointments with a high-risk doctor…it wasn’t always easy. But I chose to trust Him. Instead of spending my sleepless nights in fear, I chose to lay in bed at night and pray over our little girl.