My baby boy is finally here. He is everything I have dreamed of and more. We are all  overjoyed to have a boy to add to our family of girls. I am excited to see the day when he can work alongside his dad and do some of the heavy lifting. When I am an old woman he can rock me and tell me he believes in me. I look into his eyes and then to his nose, his mouth, and his red cheeks. I look in wonder at this beautiful creation God has gifted our family. I continue to admire this beautiful bundle in my arms and I gaze at his legs and his feet. Holy crap! This boy has a pair of skis for feet. He will need those long strong feet to walk his journey with God. 

I lay in the hospital bed with solo piano radio playing in the background and the overhead lights turned low. My sister is at my bedside as I rest while the family is admiring our new little bundle. The nurse walks in and checks the pads on my bed. She stands for a moment and looks at my face. We make eye contact and I am keenly aware that she is concerned about something. She comes in a second time and again checks the pads on the bed that I am laying on. The Doctor takes his turn to check on me without speaking and then returns to his other patients. An hour has passed by and I am feeling like I am on cloud nine. Little did I know I was about to join my maker on cloud nine in a few moments. The nurse comes in again for the third time and she runs out of the room. Ten seconds later a team of nurses and the doctor are removing people from the room. 

Immediately my legs go back in the stirrups and my Doctor is mumbling something about an emergency hysterectomy. I am confused. I am not sure what is going on. I am shot in the leg with something and then shot in the arm again. My eyelids are no longer working. I mumble in my confusion, “Hello, Hello, is anyone there-I Cant open my eyes?” A strange phenomenon. I have never lifted weights with my eyelids before but I think that might have been beneficial right now. I am struggling to lift them open but my muscles have turned off.  I feel bright lights pulsing through my eyelids. Whatever they just shoved in my leg caused my eyelids to quit working. I feel someone rip the gown from my body and I lay exposed in front of a roomful of people. I hope none of my family is standing in the room right now. I pray no grandparents got shoved into the corner with little time to escape the emergency.  

I hear people at the head of my bed monitoring my heart rate and vitals. I sense there are nurses assisting the doctor as he is hurrying to scrape the inside of me. It’s almost like he lost something in me when he delivered my baby and now he is feverishly trying to find it. Pain curses through my abdomen and other parts. I lie here groaning while I try to manipulate my body back and forth. My mind is racing trying to find answers and solutions to what is going on. I am blindly being poked and prodded while being fully conscious. Unfortunately my effortless epidural has worn off an hour ago. I can tell by the Dr. ‘s labored breathing and harshness that I am in critical condition.            

Someone comes in and says to cover her up her brother is coming to give her a priesthood blessing. I petition that someone will actually cover me because if I don’t die in this birthing room I will die of naked sibling syndrome. 

Finally the doctor is finished inside of me. He gives the okay to the nurses and he walks over to the sink and washes his hands and arms thoroughly. My eyes have been released from the drug that was cruelly inserted into my arm and thigh and I am able to keep them open about half mass. He walks over to the heart monitor and stands and stares at the alarmingly high numbers. I see the nurse point to the bulky machine that looks like a broken traffic signal blinking from red to yellow. I turn my attention back to the Doctor and he shrugs his shoulders while looking at the nurse and says, “There’s nothing I can do about it now.” He walks briskly out of the room. I glance at the numbers and my monitor is glaring an abnormal heart rate with a dangerously high blood pressure reading.  

Again, the nurse walks into my room and it has been several hours since the Doctor has been in. She stands at the foot of my bed and says, ”You hemorrhaged after your baby was born and the Doctor thought you were okay but I knew you were in trouble. You are not out of danger yet. We need to give you a blood transfusion and we will put you on mag tonight. Two things are very likely to happen to you within the next eight hours: 

1. You are at high risk of seizure  

2. There is a likelihood that you will have a heart attack or a combination of the two.

We will administer the mag and you will feel really heavy in your chest and feel pressure.  You will feel like you were run over by a truck.” 

In addition to bearing my third child I feel like I am a sitting target. All hope is drained from me. I am lying here while the mag drips slowly into my body and strangers’ blood is mixed into mine. The taste of metal and the smell of antiseptics leave me feeling heavy. I can’t shake the thought that someone is trying to dig a grave and I am being forced to accept my fate. I lay in the cool dark room staring at the round halogen lights perfectly placed in the ceiling for clarity, light, and definition in the room. Yet I have lost all of those things. My clarity is fogged over by the information rattled so carelessly out of the nurse’s mouth. The light that I had felt earlier bringing my baby into the world has been snuffed out by my own cruel reality. The room that was once full of elated grandparents and family is now defined as lonely, death, and hollow. There is a blue overcast in the dark room tonight and I can’t change that color and I can’t change my fate as I lie here losing hope. My throat is scratchy and my eyelids now long to close and maybe never open again. I slowly collect my thoughts before the nurse leaves the room and say, “thank you for saving my life.”

Sometimes I feel like there is an anonymous grave digger waiting by my marked plot ready to dump me in when my trials become too heavy. This was one of those moments in my life when I completely lost hope and I just laid for hours waiting to see if my body would jump into convulsions or my chest would explode with pain. So I lie and I wait while the clock ticks by and I slumber off and on in an uneasy sleep. 

We can lose hope in our lives just like I did as I laid in the hospital bed awaiting my unknown fate. Finally when morning came and I could pinch myself, open my eyes, and take deep breaths from my lungs I knew I was going to be okay.  Early morning sunlight peeked through my room and my hope started to be restored again. 

Furthermore, when hope is lost we can hang onto what we know is true and eternal. 

1. Jesus Christ our personal Savior and Redeemer. 
2. Lean on family, relationships, and deep connections. 
3. Remember and have faith in your priesthood blessings. 
4. Continue to keep your covenants that you have made with God. 

These are the only things I could hold onto as I laid in the hospital bed. My body was bound, my mind had nowhere else to go and my life was left in God’s hands. In other situations when we lose hope there are additional things we can also do to help restore hope:  

1. Pray often with meaning and purpose.  
2. Ponder the scriptures and look for God’s direction in your life. 
3. Keep a journal of pain and  joy, hardships and  blessings, and sorrow and happiness. Some of our  greatest growth can come from these pages.   

More healthy recipes coming soon!

Resources: 

▶ Dealing With Despair: 6 Ways To Find Hope

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/promoting-hope-preventing-suicide/202007/hope-in-time-despair

Medical disclaimer: The information on this site are my own thoughts and experiences. This is not a substitute for professional and medical advice. If you need help please consult a medical professional or healthcare provider.