The Sun Has Risen...At Last

Journee Izabella Rose made her long-awaited debut into our lives on March 23, 2012.  I wish there were words to express how I felt to hear that first cry from our baby, but there isn’t.  I’ve heard of people crying tears of joy and happiness, but never experienced it for myself until 9:21 a.m. when I heard our daughter’s first cries.  That was a moment I will cherish for the rest of my life. 

I had imagined her birth a thousand times before.  I had imagined what it would be like to hear that first cry and see the face of my miracle baby for the first time. The problem with imaginations is they are only that – interpretations of what you think an event will be like or feel like. Until the event happens, it remains an imagination. It’s like closing your eyes and pretending to bite into a warm, chocolate chip cookie if you’ve never tasted a warm, chocolate cookie.

The tears I shed that morning were for so many reasons. I cried because birth is beautiful and miraculous. I cried for the empty years of waiting for this one, perfect moment. I cried because one journey was ending and another one was beginning. I cried for all five of my children because even the joy of her birth did not cause me to forget my four other little ones I never got to meet. I believe I started crying at that first wail and I’m not sure when I finally stopped. 

Her birth was much different than what I imagined. I had imagined 24-48 hours of labor followed by that moment when my doctor would deliver her to Puccini singing the last strains of Nessun dorma (my favorite aria) and then she would be laid on my chest.  What really occurred was not in the plans to say the least.  My doctor announced he would be doing an emergency cesarean section.  We hadn’t anticipated that and in all honesty, it wasn’t my favorite option.  I had thought about the possibility, but never wanted to go that route since only my husband would be with me and my mom wouldn’t get to welcome Baby Girl in her first moments of life.  That was upsetting since Mom has been with me through each and every loss, and every step of the way with Baby Girl.  When my doctor finished explaining the details, I asked him if Mom could please be in the operating room with us.  He smiled and said he didn’t have a problem with it and he would check with the anesthesiologist, but was sure it would be fine. I don’t think he was surprised at my request since Mom was with me on so many of my visits. She cried with me as we heard the heartbeat for the first time. She was there when we were told she was a girl and the doctor laughed with us as we laughed and cried and held each other as told each other over and over, “It’s a girl, can you believe it? We are going to have a girl!!” I’m sure he knew what I would want before I even asked.

The doctor left to get things rolling and then the nurses came back saying that it was a go for Mom!  I’ve said it before, but I love my doctor!!!  I know it is VERY rare they allow two people in there and I also know if my doctor hadn’t known our journey of loss and heartache, it probably wouldn’t have happened. 

I fought major anxiety all the way to the operating room.  It surprised me honestly because I’m no stranger to surgery and it wasn’t until they wheeled me in there and I saw that sterile bed that I knew why.  The last time I was in that environment, they were taking what was left of my dream – the tiny baby that would never know life outside my womb .  It surprised me that the heartache and trauma of that day still lies deep within my subconscious.  Fortunately, before I had time to mull over that, my doctor was there helping me out of the chair and being my support for the spinal anesthetic.  It was a new experience getting numb from the chest down. In fact, I have laughed since then because there I was lying on the table looking down at my toes, not feeling a thing.  Since it was new and I wanted to make sure for myself I was numb before they started cutting on me while I was awake, I actually laid there and told myself, “Move your toes!”  Then for the next 30 seconds or so, I concentrated the hardest in my life to move my toes.  No movement at all! Whew! LOL!

So there I was, flat on my back, paralyzed, this big, huge, blue screen in front of me so I couldn’t see what they were doing, my hubby at my left and my mom at my head.  I heard the wonderful words from my doctor, “We have our baby” and then I heard the most exquisite sound on earth - her cry.  Let me tell you, she wailed in protest and there was no denying that she had arrived.  I bawled and bawled and bawled some more in between asking, “Is she all right?”  I heard my doctor saying, “She is perfect,” but I had to ask Mom several more times before I was satisfied.  I just kept saying, “We have our baby!  We have a daughter! We have our miracle.”  It was so frustrating to just hear her cries and not to be able to see her for myself. Baby’s daddy left to be with her while they examined her and I had to rely on Mom to tell me what they were doing.  I’m so thankful Mom was there because she was able to reassure me and keep me informed of the details around me. She actually used her iPhone to video the events happening across the room and I got to see a bit of what was happening, but it seemed so far away!

And then, the moment I had been waiting on so long - my hubby comes walking up with this tiny bundle all swaddled in blankets and I saw our Journee for the very first time.  She wasn’t too happy being out of her warm swimming pool and squinted up at me, but she was the most beautiful little person I had ever seen.  I stared in awe at her and then looked up at my hubby to see two very teary eyes.  I had wondered what his reaction would be.  He is not a very emotional person so I knew he wouldn’t sob or cry like me, but I’m satisfied with those teary eyes.  They told me all I needed to know.

When they wheeled me into recovery and I left the operating room, all I could think about was the barren woman whose arms were empty for so long is no longer barren and those lonely arms are filled.  I no longer have to sit on the sidelines and watch babies being cradled in their mother’s arms and wonder for the thousandth time what it feels like to cuddle your own baby.  The days of coming home to an empty, quiet house filled with the knowledge of love lost was over.  I felt fulfilled and complete. 

I also thought about my other babies and sent a prayer Heavenward in thanks for those four little babies who are waiting for me beyond that crystal river and all I could say in my heart was “Thank you so much for giving me today, for letting me hear that healthy cry, thank you God for a beautiful daughter.” 

Unfortunately, the effects of surgery caught up with me in recovery and after the happiest 15 minutes of my life holding her, I don’t remember much of her first day of life.  Since we had waited so many years for this miracle, we had all agreed I would be the first one to post those wonderful words on Facebook and select the first picture that would be sent out. We did not think of a backup plan, and Mom and hubby were getting panicked. So many dear friends had shared the journey with us and were getting frantic at no news, but what now that I was so out of it and couldn’t send the announcement? We had names picked out, but I had told them we were not naming her before she was born and before I got to meet her.  I would know at birth if her name fit her.  Somewhere in the middle of the day, I remember Mom and my hubby insisting I make a decision. Actually, they had been asking and pleading with me for a while, but I would just go back out to dreamland without answering.  I eventually remember looking at her tiny face, those intense dark blue eyes and the shock of dark hair and thinking, “Yes, this is my Journee AT LAST.” 

My mom had to be the one to share the news since I went back to being unaware, but Mom and Justin were understandably relieved I came to enough to make a decision! I knew most all of you who know me would understand the meaning behind her name.  This has truly been a long journey to meet our miracle baby, but her name has another meaning that is just as poignant.  In French, Journee means “Rising Sun.”  How perfect.  The sun has risen in our lives to a new day, a new chapter, one that is the happiest I’ve ever known.  I know there will be some raindrops in this new chapter, but for now I bask in the warmth of this exquisite piece of humanity, this beautiful creation, my Journee, who warms my soul as surely as the sun warms the earth.