Last Sunday our family made the much anticipated trip to Wapsie Pines Tree Farm to pick out the 'perfect' Christmast tree -something Stephen and I have done each Sunday-after-Thanksgiving since we've been married. We love real Christmas trees, including the adventure in getting it (even the inevitable arguments about what tree is best) and the way it makes our house smell so good! No, of course our kids don't care about getting a Christmas tree yet, but it should still be fun to bring them and spend time together as a family....right? Well, of course the twins didn't get down for their naps right away after church, causing them to sleep further into the afternoon. We decided to wake them up so we would have time to get to the tree farm and pick out a tree before they closed. Bad idea. Of course they didn't want to get ready to leave and Grady whined the whole way there. We ended up quickly choosing a pre-cut tree in the front of the farm as not- so-little Ella was whining to be held the whole time and Grady was inconsolably screaming for the "tacta"(tractor) that was pulling the trees to the front of the farm to be strapped onto the vehicles. We went into the cute little hut to get a cookie for the kids that they didn't even want, paid for our tree, and left. Now there's some family fun!
On the way home, we decided to stop at Pizza Ranch in Oelwein to feed the kids. A desperate attempt to make the last 30 minutes of our ride home halfway peaceful, as we really love eating out with two 1-year-olds and a baby! As I brought the kids to a table while Stephen paid for the buffet, I noticed a strangely familiar face a couple booths behind us kind of looking at us. I didn't look closely because of course people stare at the crazy people bringing their three very small children to a restaurant. A couple minutes later I turned around when I heard Stephen's voice talking to that familiar face. How could I forget that face? It instantly brings me back to the most painful night of my life, a place my heart guards my mind from going...
I was lying down to get a little rest for the first time after the twins were born. Night number two in the hospital. Stephen was heading into the office to grab some work to bring back, while I tried to close my eyes and rest with Grady in the room, Ella was over in the NICU. That familiar face in Pizza Ranch, our nurse, came in and insisted I send Grady to the nursery so I could really sleep while they took good care of him. I was a little resistant, but accepted and I quickly drifted off to sleep for the first time in 2 days. Only five minutes later, the door flung open as Stephen, with tears flowing down his face, runs into the room. He couldn't even get out words. My heart sunk trying to figure out what was wrong. "What had happened to Ella?" I thought. My beautiful baby girl was taken away from me not too long after birth because she wasn't breathing well. At that point, I still didn't really know what was wrong with her and how she was doing. Then, I heard Stephen utter Grady's name. My heart sunk a little lower. The healthy one. Now something's wrong with him? Until 2 days ago, I had surprisingly carried twins to full term, only having a c-section because Grady was breech. They were both healthy the whole time and grew just as a singleton baby should. Now, my supposed healthy babies both had problems and I had no control of the situation. I hear Stephen get the words out, "Grady...not breathing....rushed down to NICU...." I still was not moving well and in a lot of pain from the c-section, but I'm pretty sure I sprinted down to the NICU. To my horror there was a hospital chaplain there, trying to stop me, I rushed in to see them working on my blue baby boy, who had just started to breathe a little. I gave them their space as they said he was stabalizing and collapsed in Stephen's arms in the room across the hall. We were both sobbing at the thought of losing our son. They even sent a chaplain up to talk to us as they expected him not to make it. I just wanted him to leave. He was a nice man, but my heart was aching so bad I really just wanted to throw a fit and kick him out of our room. A few minutes later (which seemed like an eternity) we knew he was going to be ok. They told us he had somehow choked causing him to stop breathing in the nursery and that he was Septic. They joked with us that it was his way of getting to be back with Ella again as they then shared a NICU room. You see, that lady at Pizza Ranch saved my son's life. We got to see her again when Mikah was born a few months earlier and I had to fight back the tears when I saw her. I blamed it on the hormones then, as I just had a baby. But I had to do the same thing again this time. God sent us that amazing, humble nurse to convince me to send Grady to the nursery. She then saved his life by performing CPR when she saw that he stopped breathing. Something that wouldn't have happened if he stopped breathing in the bassinet next to me as I slept in my room. I have no words when I look at this woman. Oh, how I wish I did, but happy, thankful tears are the only things that come out.
So as we sat there eating pizza on the end of that Thanksgiving weekend, the crazy Christmas tree hunt, the dumped-out parmesean cheese, pizza sauce everywhere, and running around the tables didn't bother me so much. I was even thankful for the tantrums in public, because we had two little kids there with us to throw those tantrums. I was so thankful that God made our paths cross that night, to give me that perspective. How can I so easily forget all that I am blessed with? I have SO much to be thankful for.
