Phenomenal

Proof that I finished!

Now that I’m finished with grad school (at least for the moment), I have been enjoying the newly discovered free time by filling it with activities: projects around the house; taking Kate into the great outdoors for hiking and swimming; playing games; grilling out;  and attending social events not involved with school or work (although I do enjoy those). Kara and I have a little tradition of spending time together each night and watching a series together. Over the course of our marriage, we’ve watched several: The Office, Lost, 30 Rock, Sherlock, and probably a few others I can’t remember at the moment. At the recommendation of some family members, we began watching Parks &Recreation. 

#knopeforpresident

Our initial reaction was a hearty, “It’s okay…” and we almost stopped. However, we were told that it improved with each season, so we’ve persevered and just began season 3. While the humor is very simple (yet dry and funny), I find myself laughing more and more as the characters develop and the plot moves forward. They’ve recently added Chris Traeger (Rob Lowe), a state auditor who is ordered to Pawnee with his co-worker Ben Wyatt (Scott Adams) to help slash budgets so the city can stay afloat. Traeger is an interesting character who seems to be an intensely positive health freak and workaholic at first, but as his relationship with Ann develops, we discover that he views everything as “phenomenal” because he was born with a blood disorder and wasn’t supposed to live more than a few weeks. So, in his eyes, each week is a gift that is to be lived to the fullest. Interestingly enough, we watched this episode after having a small crisis when Alisa (our unborn baby girl) became really still (she’s normally an active kiddo) and almost booked it to the ER.

My dog Pete's reaction when we told him we were having a baby.

As most of you know from my wife’s posts, we’ve had a whirlwind adventure with our new baby girl. The surprise and joy of discovering a new member of our family, the excitement of the initial tests and OB visits, the shock of discovering she will be born with Down Syndrome, the renewal of joy as supporters rallied around us and our little ones, dreaming and praying as we  feel and see Alisa play and grow in the womb, the cold fear of learning that her life was in danger due to blood flow issues in the placenta. As we drove into Dallas that morning, Kara’s suitcase in the backseat, there was little conversation between us. My mind was full of questions and thoughts about taking care of Kate, keeping my job afloat, house chores, how weird it would be to sleep alone for the next few months, and even the possibility that my child could possibly be stillborn. (It’s pessimistic and morbid, but I actually had a dream that I was planning her funeral a few days before.) I also thought about things no parent wants to consider. “Where would she be buried?” “What Bible passage would I preach through for the sermon?” “What songs would we sing?” “How would we tell Kate?” (Thankfully I know there is an age of accountability, and that we would meet Alisa in Heaven one day.) Traffic was normal, and I dropped Kara off at the entrance to the Landry Center a few minutes before 9. I squeezed between two cars and strolled into the building, entered the elevator, and went up to the doctor’s office. The nurse called for Kara, and we were escorted to the ultrasound room. Our first doctor came in to check Alisa’s heart, and had good news: the hole was smaller and blood flow looked better. Good news! We thanked her and were escorted to another room for the next appointment.

We laughed and rejoiced as we waited on our next doctor to enter. He is a great guy, but a very quiet man. That, combined with the soft hum of the machinery in the room and my hearing problems, means that I have to really concentrate to hear him. I closely watched as he sat down and begins running the ultrasound. It is not long before the screen goes from a charcoal blank to a chaos of shadows and light, revealing Alisa’s bone structure, shape, face, and even internal organs. He spent several minutes focused on Alisa’s heart while he talked. I literally sat there and watched my baby’s heart as it beat, constricting and relaxing, valves opening and closing, and thought, “This is the most awesome thing I have ever seen. I won’t even be able to see her heart beat after she’s born, and I’m watching her life flow while she’s in the womb!” (If you haven’t figured it out by now, I am awestruck by technology, and very thankful for it.) I kept watching her heartbeat, the valves fluttering open and closed, in awe as I thought about the driving force and strength behind that heartbeat, as well as the fragility of it at the same time. I even thought that, had I slightly known all the work of bringing a new life into the world when I was younger, I would have had a lot more sympathy on the cows and calves I helped through birth!

That day, our doctor delivered the encouraging news that Alisa’s umbilical cord blood flow looked better. Relief flooded through us both as we learned that Kara would not be admitted for observation and Alisa would not be born 11 weeks early. (But we would be admitted a week later! More posts to come!) Right there, sitting in the semi-darkness of an ultrasound room, watching the tiny little heart beat on the screen, I realized anew that life is so precious, so beautiful, so strong, and it is to be cherished above all things. Instead of spending my time worrying and planning, maybe I should spend more time living.

Life is a gift. You might even say that it is a phenomenal gift. Enjoy it!